On Tuesday I wrote about being happy and today I woke up with a very different feeling. I felt tired and heavy and questioned whether I liked what I am doing in terms of teaching at a university, consulting, ski teaching and life coaching. I felt like crying but couldn't (wouldn't?). I knew in my heart that one of the reasons that I felt tired is that I am tired, but still questioned whether what I wrote on Tuesday was true. Is it true that I no longer fear failure or success?...or am I just wanting that to be true?
As I drove to the university for an early morning meeting with a student, I thought about my activities over the past few days and what my beliefs were about the outcomes. I realized that I have some work to do on some beliefs, that I wanted to be perfect in a couple of situations and was hard on myself when I perceived otherwise.
My day shifted when I met with the student. She had come to me earlier in the week looking for advice on whether to go to grad school or look for work, and in both cases wanted direction on which grad school and which type of work. I didn't give her the answers that she wanted but asked her some questions. She told me that her parents had given her direction and advice and she knew that she wanted something different. She also described how that was the very reason she was talking to a number of her professors and instructors. She was looking to them to provide the direction she feels she is lacking. We talked about how only she can read her internal compass and how only she knows when a direction is right or not for her. We also talked about how she was replacing her parents' advice with advice from others. I asked her to make a list of things she likes to do, environments she likes to be in, and group them however she wanted.
Today, the student came in with five pages of lists and recounted how she felt when she wrote down information about grad school. She said she felt "panicky". We talked some more and she described how she would feel in other circumstances. She was articulate and perceptive. After comparing a few alternatives, her conclusion was: "Follow the happy feeling". I like that. "Follow the happy feeling". Happiness is not always in your grasp, but you can see it and know that it is there ahead of you. I am still happy. Not in every moment, but overall I am following the happy feeling. So, the student taught the teacher, and isn't that what teaching and learning is?
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Being happy in the world
Before I went to Switzerland, I wrote about being happy and being afraid that it wouldn't last. At the time, I was happy anticipating the trip. I've been home for a month now and I am still happy.
The reason that I am learning to be happy is that I no longer fear "falling" or "not falling". Failure or success. It doesn't matter. And with the fear of both falling and not falling dissipating, I no longer fear happiness and so I am beginning to experience it. I am, however, learning that I have a lot to learn about happiness. Two blog entries stand out in my mind as helping me on my path.
The reason that I am learning to be happy is that I no longer fear "falling" or "not falling". Failure or success. It doesn't matter. And with the fear of both falling and not falling dissipating, I no longer fear happiness and so I am beginning to experience it. I am, however, learning that I have a lot to learn about happiness. Two blog entries stand out in my mind as helping me on my path.
- Trying is a blog entry that I quote to myself or someone else nearly everyday. When I looked up the dictionary definition of trying, and realized that it means causing hardship, strain or distress, a light bulb went on. I try too hard and by trying I choke happiness. This is a theme I am riffing on now in pretty well every area of my life.
- Fear and Happiness is also helping me clarify my beliefs about happiness. In it, I describe when I realized that I was happy but didn’t trust it to last. I turned to Finding Your Own North Star and Martha Beck’s words on the topic (Don't hoard your toast, be overwhelmed by joy, be in the moment) really resonated for me.
The changes that I feel and see as a result of allowing (note the distinction - allowing myself to be happy rather than trying to be happy) are subtle. Yesterday, I had of those phone calls which used to cause my inner lizard to take control. I listened to the call and did nothing right away. This morning, I woke up knowing exactly what the solution was. I implemented the solution and the problem is fixed. I find humour in more situations. I used to second guess a lot of the things I said to people during the course of a day. At its worst, I would come home from work and replay every conversation, cringing and wanting a mulligan on my day. Now, I seldom rehash what I said once I say it, and it is even more rare that I want a re-do. That's a lot less internal criticism and anxiety on a daily basis ( plus it gives me more time to do the things that I like!)
One thing about being happy is that it shows. And while I'm happy to show that I'm happy, I still feel a little exposed. But, I've spent too much of my life covered up - it's time to show who I am. Iris by the Goo Goo Dolls is a song in which one stanza always made tears flow,"And I don't want the world to see me, Cause I don't think that they'd understand, When everything's made to be broken, I just want you to know who I am".
In the past,when I heard the song I really felt the paradox of not wanting the world to see me but at the same time, just wanting to be known for who I am. It's taken years but I've learned that I know who I am and that knowledge is why I'm okay with being in the moment, being me. And if I'm just me, it's okay for the world to see me and, if the world doesn't understand me, great, and if the world does, great. It is great to be in the world.
Saturday, November 24, 2007
The beginning of a wild journey
I have a book, well, I can barely call it a book anymore, which was one of the first that consciously started me on my journey from fear into fun. The book is "Women who Run with the Wolves" by Clarissa Pinkola Estes, Ph.D. The reason that I can barely call it a book is that I have read it many times over the past ten years - on airplanes, in bed, and most frequently in the bathtub. Between being waterlogged and well-thumbed, the paperback book is now aged yellow and in many pieces. I have bought multiple copies of the book but have given them away, keeping my own ragged one as a talisman.
It is no wonder that this book has so much meaning for me. It is comprised of stories told through myth, folk and fairy tale that illuminate the consistent nature and stages of life of women across generations. For example, there is a section describing "Homing: Returning to Onself." The story here is a version of the Celtic Selkie and is called Sealskin:Soulskin. The return of intuition is described in Vasalia and finding one's own pack in the Ugly Duckling. Clarissa Pinkola Estes tells these classic stories and others in a riveting and inimitable manner and then provides Jungian insight into why these stories are so powerful, why they sear deep into our pysches and why we need them to stay true to ourselves, to our essential selves, to our wild and natural selves.
As a child who felt isolated, I found solace in books. They were my source of education and nuturing. They were my mother. I read voraciously and among my selections were classics, myth and fairy tales. As a teenager, I continued to read myth, fantasy and fairy tales and, as an adult, I still do. I believe that these stories hold truth for us and that, especially in our culture where we are bombarded with noise and messages, we need the stories that our foremothers told and that their foremothers told and that their foremothers told.
The premise of "Women who Run with the Wolves" is that the feminine instinctive nature is endangered. To me, this instinctive nature is akin to what Martha Beck calls our internal compass, our internal North Star. We need our instincts to live the life we are meant to. For me, I am a woman who also longs for the wild. I am still scared to be called " wild" but to live in the wild, to follow the call of the wild makes my heart sing and my feet dance. "Women who Run with the Wolves" tells stories from our past when we did live in the wild and then helps me understand how they apply to my present.
Initially, I dove into the book, reading front cover to back. This reflected where I was in my personal development at the time. I was looking for answers and I was thinking linearly. Now, I know the book well enough that I turn to certain sections for reassurance or new insight. Sometimes, I just find a page and let what is on it guide me for a time.
Through time, I have learned that it is more than okay, that it is necessary, to say to the world and family , "give me some time and grace to be by myself, to restore my spirit " and then come back, refreshed and light. Through time, I have learned that tears are healing, that to quote Martha Beck, "you don't cry when you lose hope, you cry when you get it back". Through time, I have learned to ask for dreams. Through time, I have sussed out the meaning of many night dreams and have seen some of my deepest, highest reaching dreams come true. Through time, I have learned that there is always time, time enough to do what you want to do, be what you want to be, if only you feel.
It is no wonder that this book has so much meaning for me. It is comprised of stories told through myth, folk and fairy tale that illuminate the consistent nature and stages of life of women across generations. For example, there is a section describing "Homing: Returning to Onself." The story here is a version of the Celtic Selkie and is called Sealskin:Soulskin. The return of intuition is described in Vasalia and finding one's own pack in the Ugly Duckling. Clarissa Pinkola Estes tells these classic stories and others in a riveting and inimitable manner and then provides Jungian insight into why these stories are so powerful, why they sear deep into our pysches and why we need them to stay true to ourselves, to our essential selves, to our wild and natural selves.
As a child who felt isolated, I found solace in books. They were my source of education and nuturing. They were my mother. I read voraciously and among my selections were classics, myth and fairy tales. As a teenager, I continued to read myth, fantasy and fairy tales and, as an adult, I still do. I believe that these stories hold truth for us and that, especially in our culture where we are bombarded with noise and messages, we need the stories that our foremothers told and that their foremothers told and that their foremothers told.
The premise of "Women who Run with the Wolves" is that the feminine instinctive nature is endangered. To me, this instinctive nature is akin to what Martha Beck calls our internal compass, our internal North Star. We need our instincts to live the life we are meant to. For me, I am a woman who also longs for the wild. I am still scared to be called " wild" but to live in the wild, to follow the call of the wild makes my heart sing and my feet dance. "Women who Run with the Wolves" tells stories from our past when we did live in the wild and then helps me understand how they apply to my present.
Initially, I dove into the book, reading front cover to back. This reflected where I was in my personal development at the time. I was looking for answers and I was thinking linearly. Now, I know the book well enough that I turn to certain sections for reassurance or new insight. Sometimes, I just find a page and let what is on it guide me for a time.
Through time, I have learned that it is more than okay, that it is necessary, to say to the world and family , "give me some time and grace to be by myself, to restore my spirit " and then come back, refreshed and light. Through time, I have learned that tears are healing, that to quote Martha Beck, "you don't cry when you lose hope, you cry when you get it back". Through time, I have learned to ask for dreams. Through time, I have sussed out the meaning of many night dreams and have seen some of my deepest, highest reaching dreams come true. Through time, I have learned that there is always time, time enough to do what you want to do, be what you want to be, if only you feel.
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Connections
Today is American Thanksgiving. I wrote earlier in the week about the sadness I felt creeping in as the holiday season approached. I let today evolve. I was conscious not to push myself to do something, anything to stay busy. If I had worked non-stop today, I would not have been true to the emotions I feel within me. I needed a day for quiet and a day of connecting to family and special friends.
I had an early morning latte with a friend, and then was quiet most of the morning. I taught at the university but other than that, no television, no radio, no books or magazines, no computer to stimulate me. The quiet soothed me and by mid-afternoon, I felt ready to connect with the world. I picked up the cordless handset and was about to dial one of my brother's number, when the telephone rang in my hand. It was one of my daughters calling to wish me a Happy Thanksgiving. She's been having a good week and it was a pleasure to talk to her unexpectedly during the day.
I then called my brother. He was just finishing his Thanksgiving meal and described in detail how he basted the turkey and how the turnips didn't turn out quite right. He was excited to report that he has new skis. Weirdly, his skis are the same as mine - longer but the same brand and model. If this had happened in childhood, we would probably have argued over who was the better skier. (Actually we did have that debate when we last saw each other in the summer, but didn't go there today. Some childhood frictions are like the Energizer Bunny; they keep going and going. )
My other daughter phoned while I was waiting for the pizza to be delivered. She was also calling to say Happy Thanksgiving and we chatted about the work in her lab and the snow in Ottawa.
I then talked to my other brother. His children had performed in a play last week and he recounted his feelings watching them on stage. THE REMEMBERER tells the true story of Joyce Simmons Cheeka, a Squaxin Indian girl who was chosen as the "rememberer" for her tribe. It was her duty to pass on the stories, history, and wisdom of her people. In 1911, Joyce was forcibly taken from her home and sent away to a government boarding school. The play tells the story of her patience, humor, and curiosity as she forms a bridge between this new world and the world of her ancestors. My niece played Joyce and her older brother played Joyce's grandfather who passes on the role of "rememberer" to her. I spoke to both my niece and nephew and we talked about the play, whether they had read a book called "The Giver" by Lois Lowry, and how their sports (basketball and ski racing) were going.
It has been over six months since I last saw my niece and nephew but I still felt connected to them over the phone. Perhaps, it is because the little I know of the play THE REMEMBERER, reminds me of another holiday when I read "The Giver" for the first time. Neither my niece or my nephew had read the book but they both knew of it.
For me, "The Giver" is a story much like the "Velveteen Rabbit" though it is written more like a parable than a bedtime story. Both describe the pleasures and pains of living a real life. "The Giver" is about a twelve year old boy who is singled out to hold all memories of pain and pleasure, while the rest of the community exists in a grey numbness. A favorite section is when the boy asks "The Giver" for his favorite memory.
I had an early morning latte with a friend, and then was quiet most of the morning. I taught at the university but other than that, no television, no radio, no books or magazines, no computer to stimulate me. The quiet soothed me and by mid-afternoon, I felt ready to connect with the world. I picked up the cordless handset and was about to dial one of my brother's number, when the telephone rang in my hand. It was one of my daughters calling to wish me a Happy Thanksgiving. She's been having a good week and it was a pleasure to talk to her unexpectedly during the day.
I then called my brother. He was just finishing his Thanksgiving meal and described in detail how he basted the turkey and how the turnips didn't turn out quite right. He was excited to report that he has new skis. Weirdly, his skis are the same as mine - longer but the same brand and model. If this had happened in childhood, we would probably have argued over who was the better skier. (Actually we did have that debate when we last saw each other in the summer, but didn't go there today. Some childhood frictions are like the Energizer Bunny; they keep going and going. )
My other daughter phoned while I was waiting for the pizza to be delivered. She was also calling to say Happy Thanksgiving and we chatted about the work in her lab and the snow in Ottawa.
I then talked to my other brother. His children had performed in a play last week and he recounted his feelings watching them on stage. THE REMEMBERER tells the true story of Joyce Simmons Cheeka, a Squaxin Indian girl who was chosen as the "rememberer" for her tribe. It was her duty to pass on the stories, history, and wisdom of her people. In 1911, Joyce was forcibly taken from her home and sent away to a government boarding school. The play tells the story of her patience, humor, and curiosity as she forms a bridge between this new world and the world of her ancestors. My niece played Joyce and her older brother played Joyce's grandfather who passes on the role of "rememberer" to her. I spoke to both my niece and nephew and we talked about the play, whether they had read a book called "The Giver" by Lois Lowry, and how their sports (basketball and ski racing) were going.
It has been over six months since I last saw my niece and nephew but I still felt connected to them over the phone. Perhaps, it is because the little I know of the play THE REMEMBERER, reminds me of another holiday when I read "The Giver" for the first time. Neither my niece or my nephew had read the book but they both knew of it.
For me, "The Giver" is a story much like the "Velveteen Rabbit" though it is written more like a parable than a bedtime story. Both describe the pleasures and pains of living a real life. "The Giver" is about a twelve year old boy who is singled out to hold all memories of pain and pleasure, while the rest of the community exists in a grey numbness. A favorite section is when the boy asks "The Giver" for his favorite memory.
Jonas felt the joy of it as soon as the memory began... he could smell things cooking, and he heard soft laughter. A golden haired dog lay sleeping on the floor... a small child went and sat on the lap of the old woman, and she rocked him and rubbed her cheek against his...Not all connections are love; but all love is connection. Whether it is a young Native American building bridges between the past and present, whether it is a story about how life is meant to be lived in colour, with pleasure and pain, whether it is talking to family members daily or much less frequently, we all need connection, and with connection, we stay real. Yes, there is risk in being real. But much can be healed with light and warmth, and as healing as connection is, love brings even more growth. So, I am going to throw another log on the fire and keep the candles burning.
Jonas hesitated."I certainly liked the memory...I couldn't quite get a word for the whole feeling of it, the feeling that was so strong in the room."
"Love," the Giver told him.
Jonas repeated it. "Love". It was both a word and concept new to him...
"I liked the feeling of love", he confessed..."I can see that it was a dangerous way to live"
"What do you mean?"
Jonas hesitated. He wasn't certain, really, what he meant. He could feel that there was risk involved but he wasn't sure now. "Well," he said finally, grabbing for an explanation, "They had fire right there in that room. There was a fire burning in the fireplace. And there were candles on a table. I can certainly see why those things were outlawed.
"Still," he said slowly, almost to himself." I did like the light they made. And the warmth".
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Thanksgiving
This Thursday is Thanksgiving in the United States. I was born and raised in the U.S., but came to Canada to go to McGill when I was 18. I have lived here ever since. Thanksgiving is celebrated in both Canada and the U.S. but at different times and with different traditions.
I miss American Thanksgiving. Where I grew up, late November was the start of the crisp cold. Watching football, whether Pop Warner, high school, or college games on television, was the norm. The meal didn't vary - turkey, stuffing, gravy, mashed potatoes, green beans, cranberry, maybe sweet potatoes with marshmallows melted on top, and pies for dessert. It was a simple holiday without the complex emotion of Christmas.
When I first came to Canada, I often went home for American Thanksgiving. This meant skipping some classes, toting textbooks on the train or plane, and then returning Sunday with textbooks unopened. One year, I brought turkey sandwiches with stuffing and cranberry to another American student who was unable to go home. I don't think I would get a gooey sandwich like that across the border these days.
When I was older and raising my own family, we celebrated Canadian Thanksgiving. I toyed with the idea of also celebrating American Thanksgiving and once bought tiny pilgrim candles to set a seasonal table. The end of November is too busy a time with a young family to take a day off from work to cook a meal when no one else is celebrating. (Or so, I though then. Wouldn't it have been nice to do that? 20/20 hindsight can also be rose-coloured.) So, if I wasn't enjoying an oven roasted turkey with all the trimmings, I decided not to cook at all. My Thanksgiving tradition became ordering pizza on the third Thursday in November.
For the past few years, I have visited my brothers in New England. I teach part time at a University so this sometimes meant catching a "red-eye" on Thursday night, missing the main meal, but being there for the leftovers and family time over the weekend. It is a good time to visit family. There is a sense of imminent celebration but the energy is still low key. This year, especially, I am missing my brothers. My mother passed away last April. She hadn't been able to travel for the past few Thanksgivings but for her, Thanksgiving was the kick off to Christmas. And how she loved decorating and buying gifts for Christmas!
I was expecting to feel a bit sad come Thursday, given my nostalgia for American Thanksgiving and the sense of my mother really being gone. I was surprised when the sadness crept in last night without my realization. I'd had a busy day yesterday, beginning with a conference call at 7:30 am, interspersed with e-mails, research, meetings at the University with students, a meeting downtown at 5:15 pm. Shortly before 8:00, I was at home on my computer still working. I recall thinking to myself that it was one of those rare days when I actually crossed off all the items on my (short term) to-do list. I glanced at my in-box and had an e-mail from my brother asking if it was okay if he dispersed some money before Christmas from my mother's estate as a gift. My automatic response was "Sounds like a good idea. Mom would want gifts" and I pressed send.
I went back to my work and noticed that I felt heavy and very tired. I phoned a friend and said "I just want to say Hi. I don't want to talk for long. I'm going to bed soon, but I just wanted to say hi." We talked briefly. I shut off my computer and went upstairs to bed. As I was writing in my journal, I realized why I had suddenly become so tired. My brother's message was like a time-release capsule. I had been waiting to feel sad and the gel cap had dissolved. I felt sad that my mother is no longer here to buy extravagant un-needed presents. I felt sad that the phone calls which always came whenever I sat down to eat would not come this year. I felt sad that she wouldn't be asking me what the girls wanted for Christmas and then sending something more suited to a Floridian than a young Canadian. I felt sad. And then I realized that I had wanted to let someone know that I was sad before I even knew that I was sad. I wanted to connect with someone before I went to bed that night. My heart knew what I wanted before my brain knew.
Today, I don't feel as sad. When I was typing, some tears surfaced as I wrote about my mother's decorating and gifts, but they quickly evaporated. I was sad last night. I was sad for a moment earlier, but overall, I am thankful. I am thankful for my family. I am thankful for my friends. I am thankful that it snowed a little bit last night. I am thankful for scented candles and boisterous dogs. I am even thankful for pizza places that deliver.
Namaste,
Ginny
I miss American Thanksgiving. Where I grew up, late November was the start of the crisp cold. Watching football, whether Pop Warner, high school, or college games on television, was the norm. The meal didn't vary - turkey, stuffing, gravy, mashed potatoes, green beans, cranberry, maybe sweet potatoes with marshmallows melted on top, and pies for dessert. It was a simple holiday without the complex emotion of Christmas.
When I first came to Canada, I often went home for American Thanksgiving. This meant skipping some classes, toting textbooks on the train or plane, and then returning Sunday with textbooks unopened. One year, I brought turkey sandwiches with stuffing and cranberry to another American student who was unable to go home. I don't think I would get a gooey sandwich like that across the border these days.
When I was older and raising my own family, we celebrated Canadian Thanksgiving. I toyed with the idea of also celebrating American Thanksgiving and once bought tiny pilgrim candles to set a seasonal table. The end of November is too busy a time with a young family to take a day off from work to cook a meal when no one else is celebrating. (Or so, I though then. Wouldn't it have been nice to do that? 20/20 hindsight can also be rose-coloured.) So, if I wasn't enjoying an oven roasted turkey with all the trimmings, I decided not to cook at all. My Thanksgiving tradition became ordering pizza on the third Thursday in November.
For the past few years, I have visited my brothers in New England. I teach part time at a University so this sometimes meant catching a "red-eye" on Thursday night, missing the main meal, but being there for the leftovers and family time over the weekend. It is a good time to visit family. There is a sense of imminent celebration but the energy is still low key. This year, especially, I am missing my brothers. My mother passed away last April. She hadn't been able to travel for the past few Thanksgivings but for her, Thanksgiving was the kick off to Christmas. And how she loved decorating and buying gifts for Christmas!
I was expecting to feel a bit sad come Thursday, given my nostalgia for American Thanksgiving and the sense of my mother really being gone. I was surprised when the sadness crept in last night without my realization. I'd had a busy day yesterday, beginning with a conference call at 7:30 am, interspersed with e-mails, research, meetings at the University with students, a meeting downtown at 5:15 pm. Shortly before 8:00, I was at home on my computer still working. I recall thinking to myself that it was one of those rare days when I actually crossed off all the items on my (short term) to-do list. I glanced at my in-box and had an e-mail from my brother asking if it was okay if he dispersed some money before Christmas from my mother's estate as a gift. My automatic response was "Sounds like a good idea. Mom would want gifts" and I pressed send.
I went back to my work and noticed that I felt heavy and very tired. I phoned a friend and said "I just want to say Hi. I don't want to talk for long. I'm going to bed soon, but I just wanted to say hi." We talked briefly. I shut off my computer and went upstairs to bed. As I was writing in my journal, I realized why I had suddenly become so tired. My brother's message was like a time-release capsule. I had been waiting to feel sad and the gel cap had dissolved. I felt sad that my mother is no longer here to buy extravagant un-needed presents. I felt sad that the phone calls which always came whenever I sat down to eat would not come this year. I felt sad that she wouldn't be asking me what the girls wanted for Christmas and then sending something more suited to a Floridian than a young Canadian. I felt sad. And then I realized that I had wanted to let someone know that I was sad before I even knew that I was sad. I wanted to connect with someone before I went to bed that night. My heart knew what I wanted before my brain knew.
Today, I don't feel as sad. When I was typing, some tears surfaced as I wrote about my mother's decorating and gifts, but they quickly evaporated. I was sad last night. I was sad for a moment earlier, but overall, I am thankful. I am thankful for my family. I am thankful for my friends. I am thankful that it snowed a little bit last night. I am thankful for scented candles and boisterous dogs. I am even thankful for pizza places that deliver.
Namaste,
Ginny
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Looking Forward
When I was skiing at Lake Louise, we were asked to be especially conscious to look forward as we skied down one run. I noticed that keeping my head up is not natural for me. I realized that I have a habit of tucking my chin into my jacket. At the time, I attributed it to years of protecting myself from the wind by hunkering down into my clothes and pulling my shoulders up. I also realized that I felt taller, stronger and more balanced when I looked forward.
Looking forward must be something that I am meant to do right now, because today in yoga, the instructor asked me to look forward. This has never happened before. In yoga, you are asked to be your own teacher in terms of both physical alignment and personal growth. Several years ago, I had difficulty looking at myself in the mirror. I developed a hazy gaze which gave the appearance of looking forward but which hid the fact that I was hiding from myself. Gradually, I learned to look forward when I had two feet planted on the ground. However, I was aware that there are two poses which specifically require you to look forward and not down as you move through them. They are both poses in which you balance first on one leg and then the other. I do them using a spot point for balance but rather than looking forward into the mirror for my point, I look down to the carpet.
I was in one of the poses today when the instructor asked me to lift my chin and turn my head slightly to the right to look forward at her. I smiled, lifted my chin, and turned my head. I had a similar physical response to the one I had skiing - I felt taller, stronger and more balanced.
The synchronicity of being asked to look forward in two different sports within the span of a few days struck me and I begin to think about my downward gaze. It is not just with me in sports. Almost every photograph of me as a child and adolescent shows me, head slightly turned, chin tucked down. In the past year, I've been conscious of this and lifted my chin for the camera, the result being pictures that feature too much neck. I still have not found a natural pose, looking foward at the camera. Why is this? This is because I am self conscious. There is an inherent irony in being self conscious, yet unable to look straight forward at yourself. I am conscious of myself but cannot look at myself. I know that in the past I was afraid of what I might see. I know now that I almost always like what I see. So, I am beginning to look forward and, as with many changes, have occasionally over-corrected (chin way up, too much neck). Simply by being aware I will begin to look forward more naturally.
There is another inherent irony in the phrase, look forward. It sounds like advice not to be present in the today, not to be in the moment. This is not what looking forward means. It means greeting yourself in the here and now. It means recognizing the beauty and complexity of the present and who you are. It means looking yourself in the eye and smiling, and then feeling your neck and shoulders relax. It is a way of truly being.
Namaste,
Ginny
Looking forward must be something that I am meant to do right now, because today in yoga, the instructor asked me to look forward. This has never happened before. In yoga, you are asked to be your own teacher in terms of both physical alignment and personal growth. Several years ago, I had difficulty looking at myself in the mirror. I developed a hazy gaze which gave the appearance of looking forward but which hid the fact that I was hiding from myself. Gradually, I learned to look forward when I had two feet planted on the ground. However, I was aware that there are two poses which specifically require you to look forward and not down as you move through them. They are both poses in which you balance first on one leg and then the other. I do them using a spot point for balance but rather than looking forward into the mirror for my point, I look down to the carpet.
I was in one of the poses today when the instructor asked me to lift my chin and turn my head slightly to the right to look forward at her. I smiled, lifted my chin, and turned my head. I had a similar physical response to the one I had skiing - I felt taller, stronger and more balanced.
The synchronicity of being asked to look forward in two different sports within the span of a few days struck me and I begin to think about my downward gaze. It is not just with me in sports. Almost every photograph of me as a child and adolescent shows me, head slightly turned, chin tucked down. In the past year, I've been conscious of this and lifted my chin for the camera, the result being pictures that feature too much neck. I still have not found a natural pose, looking foward at the camera. Why is this? This is because I am self conscious. There is an inherent irony in being self conscious, yet unable to look straight forward at yourself. I am conscious of myself but cannot look at myself. I know that in the past I was afraid of what I might see. I know now that I almost always like what I see. So, I am beginning to look forward and, as with many changes, have occasionally over-corrected (chin way up, too much neck). Simply by being aware I will begin to look forward more naturally.
There is another inherent irony in the phrase, look forward. It sounds like advice not to be present in the today, not to be in the moment. This is not what looking forward means. It means greeting yourself in the here and now. It means recognizing the beauty and complexity of the present and who you are. It means looking yourself in the eye and smiling, and then feeling your neck and shoulders relax. It is a way of truly being.
Namaste,
Ginny
Saturday, November 17, 2007
Letting loose on Wiwaxy
I am back from skiing again. I was at Lake Louise, one of my favourite places in the world. This week's trip to Lake Louise was for a convention of ski instructors. Only one run was open but, in addition to about 130 instructors, there were equally keen snowboard professionals, skiers and boarders. The run can get crowded, especially in corners and as we pass one another. We make fast laps on the run; hence it's nickname "Wiwaxy 500". I've gone to the convention twice previously. Both times, most of the mountain was open so this was the first year that I experienced the Wiwaxy 500.
I'd been told that you don't really notice that you are only on one run for three days because you are concentrating on your class. This is true but I am hanging every "Let it Snow" banner that I have. I really just want to let loose and ski ungroomed soft snow up to my ankles or knees. This will happen. It is just a matter of when.
What was fun for me on the Wiwaxy 500 was that I did let loose. The first day of convention I was taking a class on ski improvement. The Level 4 instructor is someone who has seen me ski over the years and has talked to me on lifts and so knows some of my foibles. At the end of class, I asked him for some advice on which other sessions I should take at convention. His advice matched my intuition. I am full up with technical advice and just need to ski.
So, the next day, I took a race coaching clinic. The head coach did not give me or others any technical advice. The intent was to discover on our own when we felt fast, when we felt balanced, when we felt on edge and how those feelings interrelated. We skied with our boot buckles undone. We skied runs deliberately looking ahead, at the other skiers, at the trees on the periphery and at the glorious mountain views ahead.
That night I received an e-mail reminding me to breathe in the scent of evergreens, look at the views across the valley to the lake, and enjoy meeting new people. I had looked at the views but had not yet inhaled the scent of the trees. It was a gentle reminder to look beyond skiing and to look at life. So I did and the next day was even more fun.
One of the reasons that the next day was fun is that I chose a session which again did not focus on classical ski improvement. It focused on outcomes. The Level 4 asked us each to identify the biggest strength and weakness in our skiing. I answered that my weakness is my head, meaning that I over-think, and that my strength is the joy I feel when I ski. Over-thinking sometimes inhibits me from feeling the joy and freedom. Another skier answered that his strength is that he just skis and his weakness is that he does not think of technique. I looked at him and said, "Put us together and we have the perfect combo". The Level 4 said "That's just what I'm going to do" and challenged us to observe each other's skiing and develop a plan to build on the strengths while addressing the weakness. The desired outcome: Better Skiing.
My partner's tactic for me - just follow him as he skied fast with varying turn shapes. My tactic for him - just feel the pressure under his boot. We both surprised each other and we both had fun. Part of the fun of being partnered was that we are so different. I am a woman, middle-aged, and a traditional ski instructor who loves to ski but thinks too much. He is a young man who coaches park and aerials, who loves to ski and, according to him, doesn't think too often of technique. Despite these differences we helped each other ski better and found mutual respect. Not bad for two "race car drivers" on the Wiwaxy 500.
That loosened me but there was more in store. The Level 4 soon had us pretending to karate chop and move like a sumo wrestler. Next we skied with our arms in motion, almost like we were swimming through the mountain air. Untraditional ski improvement, but motion and movement were enhanced. I stopped thinking and just did it. What a feeling!...and that's what it was - a feeling. Yeah! Having felt it, I can feel it again and I look forward to letting loose the next time I ski.
I'd been told that you don't really notice that you are only on one run for three days because you are concentrating on your class. This is true but I am hanging every "Let it Snow" banner that I have. I really just want to let loose and ski ungroomed soft snow up to my ankles or knees. This will happen. It is just a matter of when.
What was fun for me on the Wiwaxy 500 was that I did let loose. The first day of convention I was taking a class on ski improvement. The Level 4 instructor is someone who has seen me ski over the years and has talked to me on lifts and so knows some of my foibles. At the end of class, I asked him for some advice on which other sessions I should take at convention. His advice matched my intuition. I am full up with technical advice and just need to ski.
So, the next day, I took a race coaching clinic. The head coach did not give me or others any technical advice. The intent was to discover on our own when we felt fast, when we felt balanced, when we felt on edge and how those feelings interrelated. We skied with our boot buckles undone. We skied runs deliberately looking ahead, at the other skiers, at the trees on the periphery and at the glorious mountain views ahead.
That night I received an e-mail reminding me to breathe in the scent of evergreens, look at the views across the valley to the lake, and enjoy meeting new people. I had looked at the views but had not yet inhaled the scent of the trees. It was a gentle reminder to look beyond skiing and to look at life. So I did and the next day was even more fun.
One of the reasons that the next day was fun is that I chose a session which again did not focus on classical ski improvement. It focused on outcomes. The Level 4 asked us each to identify the biggest strength and weakness in our skiing. I answered that my weakness is my head, meaning that I over-think, and that my strength is the joy I feel when I ski. Over-thinking sometimes inhibits me from feeling the joy and freedom. Another skier answered that his strength is that he just skis and his weakness is that he does not think of technique. I looked at him and said, "Put us together and we have the perfect combo". The Level 4 said "That's just what I'm going to do" and challenged us to observe each other's skiing and develop a plan to build on the strengths while addressing the weakness. The desired outcome: Better Skiing.
My partner's tactic for me - just follow him as he skied fast with varying turn shapes. My tactic for him - just feel the pressure under his boot. We both surprised each other and we both had fun. Part of the fun of being partnered was that we are so different. I am a woman, middle-aged, and a traditional ski instructor who loves to ski but thinks too much. He is a young man who coaches park and aerials, who loves to ski and, according to him, doesn't think too often of technique. Despite these differences we helped each other ski better and found mutual respect. Not bad for two "race car drivers" on the Wiwaxy 500.
That loosened me but there was more in store. The Level 4 soon had us pretending to karate chop and move like a sumo wrestler. Next we skied with our arms in motion, almost like we were swimming through the mountain air. Untraditional ski improvement, but motion and movement were enhanced. I stopped thinking and just did it. What a feeling!...and that's what it was - a feeling. Yeah! Having felt it, I can feel it again and I look forward to letting loose the next time I ski.
Monday, November 12, 2007
To-do lists
What does it mean if you have something on your to-do list for years and years? I have had "clean the basement" on my Outlook task list for a couple of years. I actually had two other items on my Outlook task list for several years, and I felt very satisfied as I checked them off as complete this summer. I finally fixed both the front steps and the side steps to my house.
Back to the original question...(not that I am procrastinating or anything), the reason that I haven't cleaned the basement is that it is not urgent. I only feel the need to clean it when I go down to the basement and see the mess. I only rarely descend that set of stairs so I only rarely see the mess. Some believe that the rooms in our houses mirror our internal psyche. Using this logic, I have cleaned the rooms in my psyche that people see but I still have internal work to do. I agree that I still have some deep underlying work to do but I also believe that I have done a lot of housecleaning and, overall, my basement isn't as messy as I think it is. I just need 1-800-Junk to come and haul the stuff away. So, what's stopping me? I am. Perhaps, I am clinging a bit to the past. Most of what is in the basement represents the past - books and magazines, baby clothes, old toys, old skis. Having written what I have just written, I see that I need to collect just a few keepsakes and donate the rest. And having written what I have written, I realize that I have been taking small steps to clean the basement. I have made at least three trips to Goodwill this fall. My plan is to make two more trips before December, and then after Christmas to call Goodwill for pick-up and then 1-800-Junk (it really does exist) for what Goodwill won't take.
My Outlook task list is my minor, but long term to-do list. I usually have another to-do list of more urgent items going on a yellow pad of paper. Right now my list has four columns and 26 items noted. Before I went to Zermatt,my to-do list had three columns (For Work, For Me, For Trip) and a total of 45 items that I wanted to complete. A friend teased me about needing a spreadsheet for my list and questioned whether I really needed to do all the tasks. It was clear that she would have found the list intimidating and the sheer volume of work would have stopped her cold in her tracks. This is an example of how we're each unique. What scared her, frees me. When I make a list, I am taking the clutter out of my brain and putting it on paper. I can then make an assessment of whether something is important, urgent or neither. It also prevents me from worrying about whether I will forget something. The reason that my lists are long is that I break tasks into small pieces. This makes them more manageable for me, but definitely is not the way to go for everyone.
Of the 49 items on my Zermatt list, I crossed off 34 of the items. The rest went undone. I really didn't need new headphones for my MP3 player, so even though that was on the list, it didn't get done. I didn't buy Swiss francs until I got to Switzerland, and I didn't plant new bulbs in the front yard. I made good choices and prioritized well. My to-do lists work for me and that's okay.
BTW - my inspiration for this blog was a note on Blogger that a book, based on a blog of to-do lists, has just been published. I didn't visit the website until after I wrote this entry but if you are interested in to-do lists, visit www.todolistblog.com. You can always add it to your list of things to do!
Namaste,
Ginny
Back to the original question...(not that I am procrastinating or anything), the reason that I haven't cleaned the basement is that it is not urgent. I only feel the need to clean it when I go down to the basement and see the mess. I only rarely descend that set of stairs so I only rarely see the mess. Some believe that the rooms in our houses mirror our internal psyche. Using this logic, I have cleaned the rooms in my psyche that people see but I still have internal work to do. I agree that I still have some deep underlying work to do but I also believe that I have done a lot of housecleaning and, overall, my basement isn't as messy as I think it is. I just need 1-800-Junk to come and haul the stuff away. So, what's stopping me? I am. Perhaps, I am clinging a bit to the past. Most of what is in the basement represents the past - books and magazines, baby clothes, old toys, old skis. Having written what I have just written, I see that I need to collect just a few keepsakes and donate the rest. And having written what I have written, I realize that I have been taking small steps to clean the basement. I have made at least three trips to Goodwill this fall. My plan is to make two more trips before December, and then after Christmas to call Goodwill for pick-up and then 1-800-Junk (it really does exist) for what Goodwill won't take.
My Outlook task list is my minor, but long term to-do list. I usually have another to-do list of more urgent items going on a yellow pad of paper. Right now my list has four columns and 26 items noted. Before I went to Zermatt,my to-do list had three columns (For Work, For Me, For Trip) and a total of 45 items that I wanted to complete. A friend teased me about needing a spreadsheet for my list and questioned whether I really needed to do all the tasks. It was clear that she would have found the list intimidating and the sheer volume of work would have stopped her cold in her tracks. This is an example of how we're each unique. What scared her, frees me. When I make a list, I am taking the clutter out of my brain and putting it on paper. I can then make an assessment of whether something is important, urgent or neither. It also prevents me from worrying about whether I will forget something. The reason that my lists are long is that I break tasks into small pieces. This makes them more manageable for me, but definitely is not the way to go for everyone.
Of the 49 items on my Zermatt list, I crossed off 34 of the items. The rest went undone. I really didn't need new headphones for my MP3 player, so even though that was on the list, it didn't get done. I didn't buy Swiss francs until I got to Switzerland, and I didn't plant new bulbs in the front yard. I made good choices and prioritized well. My to-do lists work for me and that's okay.
BTW - my inspiration for this blog was a note on Blogger that a book, based on a blog of to-do lists, has just been published. I didn't visit the website until after I wrote this entry but if you are interested in to-do lists, visit www.todolistblog.com. You can always add it to your list of things to do!
Namaste,
Ginny
Friday, November 9, 2007
Bouldering Problems
The rock gym where I climb sets a new series of bouldering problems every month in ascending order of difficulty. Competitive types go to the gym on the first Friday night of the month and work on the problems, with other climbers and spectators encouraging them on and giving them "beta" (information). I'm told there is music with a strong beat and that it is lots of fun. My friends keep suggesting I go with them some Friday night, and my answer is "maybe after the ski season". Part of the reason why I haven't gone yet is that I am a competitive type and yet I am not confident in my climbing and bouldering when presented with a new series of problems. I also know that I am self conscious and suspect that the "beta" could be overwhelming for me.
I prefer to work on the problems a few days later, and that is what I did this past Monday night. I realized on Monday why there are called "problems" and how thinking ( which I often malign) actually helps solve them (doh!). I also realized that what I call thinking sometimes isn't thinking but a trick my mind plays on me.
There are rules for solving the problems. The first one is that you need to have two hands on the start and both feet on holds to begin. After that, you are allowed to use only the holds taped for the boulder problem number that you are solving. You can (unless specifically noted otherwise) use the features inherent in the climbing wall (corners, cracks, bumps, imperfections, etc...). Most people start out by looking at the problem and visualizing where and how they will put their hands and feet. Once they have visualized the first move, they begin a dance which is seen in crags and gyms. The dance is simply the climber standing at the bottom and putting their hands in the air, micmicking how they will move. Left hand up, right hand two inches to the right. left hand moves four inches, right hand matches on the same hold. Sometimes hips sway and legs move into a high step but hands dominate the dance. When I first started climbing, I would look at experienced climbers and wonder how they could develop such intricate patterns just from looking at the holds on the wall. It's taken two years, but I too now visualize the moves.
For example, I was looking at two problems at the upper end of my current climbing range. I looked at #11 and just didn't see a way. I looked at #12 and immediately pictured how I would move and what I would do. I was with a climber far more experienced than me and she doubted that I could do #12. She showed me how to do #11, but even with her beta, I just couldn't manage to take my right foot off a hold at the same time that I was reaching around the corner with my left hand. The problems are in increasing difficulty so theoretically #11 should have been easier for me than 12. But, we are all individuals, each with specific strengths. I tried #12 and fell off several times when I used the beta of my friend. I then decided to try it my way and climbed to the finish of the problem.
The success I had with bouldering problem #12 illustrates some key points. Belief that you can do it - I believed that I could do 12 but not 11, and my belief was borne out. My experiences in the corner where 12 is located have been more positive than in the door well where 11 is. This influenced my thoughts, positively in the case of 12 and negatively in the case of 11. As a result of this learning, I realized that I am not in the moment as much as I might be when I let an extraneous, irrelevant past event influence my current state of mind and action. This is a good point to be aware of as I move through bouldering problems and life. We are all different. What works for one person might not work for another. Individual variation is part of the beauty of climbing and life.
I prefer to work on the problems a few days later, and that is what I did this past Monday night. I realized on Monday why there are called "problems" and how thinking ( which I often malign) actually helps solve them (doh!). I also realized that what I call thinking sometimes isn't thinking but a trick my mind plays on me.
There are rules for solving the problems. The first one is that you need to have two hands on the start and both feet on holds to begin. After that, you are allowed to use only the holds taped for the boulder problem number that you are solving. You can (unless specifically noted otherwise) use the features inherent in the climbing wall (corners, cracks, bumps, imperfections, etc...). Most people start out by looking at the problem and visualizing where and how they will put their hands and feet. Once they have visualized the first move, they begin a dance which is seen in crags and gyms. The dance is simply the climber standing at the bottom and putting their hands in the air, micmicking how they will move. Left hand up, right hand two inches to the right. left hand moves four inches, right hand matches on the same hold. Sometimes hips sway and legs move into a high step but hands dominate the dance. When I first started climbing, I would look at experienced climbers and wonder how they could develop such intricate patterns just from looking at the holds on the wall. It's taken two years, but I too now visualize the moves.
For example, I was looking at two problems at the upper end of my current climbing range. I looked at #11 and just didn't see a way. I looked at #12 and immediately pictured how I would move and what I would do. I was with a climber far more experienced than me and she doubted that I could do #12. She showed me how to do #11, but even with her beta, I just couldn't manage to take my right foot off a hold at the same time that I was reaching around the corner with my left hand. The problems are in increasing difficulty so theoretically #11 should have been easier for me than 12. But, we are all individuals, each with specific strengths. I tried #12 and fell off several times when I used the beta of my friend. I then decided to try it my way and climbed to the finish of the problem.
The success I had with bouldering problem #12 illustrates some key points. Belief that you can do it - I believed that I could do 12 but not 11, and my belief was borne out. My experiences in the corner where 12 is located have been more positive than in the door well where 11 is. This influenced my thoughts, positively in the case of 12 and negatively in the case of 11. As a result of this learning, I realized that I am not in the moment as much as I might be when I let an extraneous, irrelevant past event influence my current state of mind and action. This is a good point to be aware of as I move through bouldering problems and life. We are all different. What works for one person might not work for another. Individual variation is part of the beauty of climbing and life.
Monday, November 5, 2007
Snow Bright
It snowed yesterday. I woke up, knowing that snow had been forecast but through the window from my bed I thought the forecast was wrong. I went downstairs and realized that it had snowed! The first snow of the year! I tried to decide if there was enough to break out my favorite snow song. But no, I decided that this snow was not deep enough to warrant the Hawksely Workman "First Snow of the Year".
I am genuinely happy when there is snow on the ground. It feels magical to me as if the earth had been transformed. I have been thinking about why it is that a snowy landscape energizes me. At first, I thought it was because a blanket of snow hides the unsightly. Perhaps there is an element of this, but there is more. I love snow because of the way it reflects light.
In November, before the snows come, the earth is grey. No leaves, no flowers, no green, november. The greys make us sleepy and lethargic. Like the earth, we want a period of rest. When snow falls, the world is bright again with the accumulated flakes acting as prisms to reflect the winter sunlight. On a sunny day, the landscape is practically ablaze with light. The minute particles of snow are separate and scintillating. There is something primeval about enjoying the light. We have it in abundance during some summer months, but in winter light is scarce. We create it in our homes through candlelight and firelight. When we go outside, we soak it in.
I know writing about sunlight in winter is counter to theories about seasonal affective disorder. For me, at least, snow and winter bring many of the ingredients for happiness: Crisp, clear days, wind, changes in weather, crunchy snow, soft muffled snow, sunlight. Add activity: skiing, skating, walking, sledding. And then vary the amount of companionship, sometimes alone, sometimes with good friends or family, sometimes with new people. And then I am happy.
I am genuinely happy when there is snow on the ground. It feels magical to me as if the earth had been transformed. I have been thinking about why it is that a snowy landscape energizes me. At first, I thought it was because a blanket of snow hides the unsightly. Perhaps there is an element of this, but there is more. I love snow because of the way it reflects light.
In November, before the snows come, the earth is grey. No leaves, no flowers, no green, november. The greys make us sleepy and lethargic. Like the earth, we want a period of rest. When snow falls, the world is bright again with the accumulated flakes acting as prisms to reflect the winter sunlight. On a sunny day, the landscape is practically ablaze with light. The minute particles of snow are separate and scintillating. There is something primeval about enjoying the light. We have it in abundance during some summer months, but in winter light is scarce. We create it in our homes through candlelight and firelight. When we go outside, we soak it in.
I know writing about sunlight in winter is counter to theories about seasonal affective disorder. For me, at least, snow and winter bring many of the ingredients for happiness: Crisp, clear days, wind, changes in weather, crunchy snow, soft muffled snow, sunlight. Add activity: skiing, skating, walking, sledding. And then vary the amount of companionship, sometimes alone, sometimes with good friends or family, sometimes with new people. And then I am happy.
Sunday, November 4, 2007
Climbing trees in Zermatt
I just realized that I climbed a tree in Zermatt. In fact, I've been told that when I was in the tree, a photo was taken so it looks like I am hugging the Matterhorn. When I wrote about climbing trees shortly before I left Alberta for Switzerland, I did not imagine that I would fulfill my goal of climbing a tree just for fun so soon and so unconsciously. And as I suspected, I didn't cry out like Robert Munsch's Mortimer "clang clang, rattle bing bang, I'm going to make my noise all day", but I did enjoy the climb.
It was a Friday afternoon and skiing was cancelled because the winds were blowing too fiercely on the glacier. Most people went shopping or napping but three of us decided to explore the high ropes course in Zermatt. We barely knew each other. I knew a bit about them from introductions at dinner previously. One was the husband of a woman with whom I have skied at Lake Louise; the other was British and still mourning the death of his wife the previous year.
There are three levels to the ropes course, involving various balance-y walks and ziplines. The walks and ziplines are joined by trees and the pattern takes the participant gradually higher. We all navigated the first level and the Canadian fellow went off to join his wife elsewhere. The second level began with a rope ladder, involving loose rubber rungs. Frank went first and struggled. I laughed to see him awkwardly step and fall and recover. I used a slightly different but just as awkward technique, placing my knees first and then stepping up. Frank seemed to enjoy his struggle and loosened up. I saw him smile for the first time on the trip. As we made our way around the course, Frank gained confidence and smiled and laughed. It felt like a treat to see someone who clearly was still in pain, emerge at least temporarily and enjoy themselves again. On that day, playing in the trees outside was a joy for Frank and it warmed my heart to see him have fun. I also had fun.
It was a Friday afternoon and skiing was cancelled because the winds were blowing too fiercely on the glacier. Most people went shopping or napping but three of us decided to explore the high ropes course in Zermatt. We barely knew each other. I knew a bit about them from introductions at dinner previously. One was the husband of a woman with whom I have skied at Lake Louise; the other was British and still mourning the death of his wife the previous year.
There are three levels to the ropes course, involving various balance-y walks and ziplines. The walks and ziplines are joined by trees and the pattern takes the participant gradually higher. We all navigated the first level and the Canadian fellow went off to join his wife elsewhere. The second level began with a rope ladder, involving loose rubber rungs. Frank went first and struggled. I laughed to see him awkwardly step and fall and recover. I used a slightly different but just as awkward technique, placing my knees first and then stepping up. Frank seemed to enjoy his struggle and loosened up. I saw him smile for the first time on the trip. As we made our way around the course, Frank gained confidence and smiled and laughed. It felt like a treat to see someone who clearly was still in pain, emerge at least temporarily and enjoy themselves again. On that day, playing in the trees outside was a joy for Frank and it warmed my heart to see him have fun. I also had fun.
Showing my feelings
Yesterday, I did a happy dance in celebration of a silly little accomplishment. The fact that I felt joy over something so small, much less showed my happiness through a jig surprised me. I was at the ski hill and we were practicing a chair lift evacuation. There are teams of three working to get skiers and boarders off the chair lift in case of an emergency. It is something we practice and seldom use.
I was feeling that I wasn't doing things right. The head patroller didn't like how another instructor and I anchored ourselves, and suggested (strongly) we do it another way. Shortly afterwards, I tried to flip the rope over the chair and failed. The person teaching me told me to take a wide stance, keep my head down, like in golf, and move the rope from my right uphill foot to my left downhill foot. Like in golf, I failed to keep my head down and failed to move the rope to the correct spot. Soon, the head patroller came by again and made me show him how I brake manually (which went well) and how the safety engages as a brake. Again, he didn't like my anchor position and made me shift. He indicated that an experienced person could do it the way I originally was positioned but that a newbie couldn't. His remarks frustrated me because he knows nothing about my experience belaying or anchoring - he just assumed that I didn't know what I was doing.
So, a few minutes later, a friend of mine was practicing flicking the rope to remove the rope-saver from the cable. She was flicking properly with her right hand but then pulling down with her left to straighten the rope, which prevented the rope-saver from moving. She tried several times. I had never tried but thought I could do it. I took the rope, flicked my wrist, the rope-saver moved, and voila! I was dancing up and down on the hill. A small success but I did celebrate it (and got teased for a while afterwards).
Spontaneously showing my feelings does leave me feeling vulnerable. I felt silly for being so happy over such a small thing. What is true, however, is that there was a lot more involved yesterday morning in my happiness than just flicking the rope. That small movement relieved a lot of my earlier frustration and proved a point only I knew that I was making.
While I was in Zermatt, I also showed my feelings unexpectedly. It was the morning when the level 3 exams were beginning. I was at breakfast with a friend who was taking the exams and his wife. We'd been chatting and heard a booming voice from across the dining room (the same booming voice that had sung traditional sea chanties a few nights earlier while slightly intoxicated). The fellow with the voice was talking about taking the level 3 course and how there was no potential disappointment because there were no exams available until later in the season. My friends and I heard the comment about disappointment and burst out laughing. We all laughed hard, wiping tears from our eyes - my friend who was taking his exams, his wife who was taking another course and me. One of the examiners was at the table behind us and asked with a smile in his voice, "Are you laughing at what I think you are?"
The feelings that I expressed as I laughed were complex. I was releasing a lot of the anxiety that I had created. I was laughing because the comment felt naive. I was laughing because, even without exams, disappointment is a possibility. I was laughing because my friends were laughing. I laughed in some disappointment (just a little), a lot of relief, and some awareness that others would not understand that my decision not to take the exams is a decision rooted in allowing rather than trying. Later that morning, several people commented on how relaxed I had looked at breakfast.
Showing my feelings does leave me feeling vulnerable because only I understand the complexity of my feelings. A single word often simplifies what perhaps should not be named. An expression might look like disappointment to others but, to me, there may be relief, satisfaction, frustration and anticipation mixed in the many layers of emotion. An expression might look like competitiveness (as did my happy dance) to others but, to me, I am only aware of how I feel in the moment. As I learn to show my feelings, I am learning that others' responses to my feelings do not validate or invalidate me. My feelings are my own, and the people that I want to spend time with are those who recognize when feelings are authentic and transparent and appreciate that I am me.
I was feeling that I wasn't doing things right. The head patroller didn't like how another instructor and I anchored ourselves, and suggested (strongly) we do it another way. Shortly afterwards, I tried to flip the rope over the chair and failed. The person teaching me told me to take a wide stance, keep my head down, like in golf, and move the rope from my right uphill foot to my left downhill foot. Like in golf, I failed to keep my head down and failed to move the rope to the correct spot. Soon, the head patroller came by again and made me show him how I brake manually (which went well) and how the safety engages as a brake. Again, he didn't like my anchor position and made me shift. He indicated that an experienced person could do it the way I originally was positioned but that a newbie couldn't. His remarks frustrated me because he knows nothing about my experience belaying or anchoring - he just assumed that I didn't know what I was doing.
So, a few minutes later, a friend of mine was practicing flicking the rope to remove the rope-saver from the cable. She was flicking properly with her right hand but then pulling down with her left to straighten the rope, which prevented the rope-saver from moving. She tried several times. I had never tried but thought I could do it. I took the rope, flicked my wrist, the rope-saver moved, and voila! I was dancing up and down on the hill. A small success but I did celebrate it (and got teased for a while afterwards).
Spontaneously showing my feelings does leave me feeling vulnerable. I felt silly for being so happy over such a small thing. What is true, however, is that there was a lot more involved yesterday morning in my happiness than just flicking the rope. That small movement relieved a lot of my earlier frustration and proved a point only I knew that I was making.
While I was in Zermatt, I also showed my feelings unexpectedly. It was the morning when the level 3 exams were beginning. I was at breakfast with a friend who was taking the exams and his wife. We'd been chatting and heard a booming voice from across the dining room (the same booming voice that had sung traditional sea chanties a few nights earlier while slightly intoxicated). The fellow with the voice was talking about taking the level 3 course and how there was no potential disappointment because there were no exams available until later in the season. My friends and I heard the comment about disappointment and burst out laughing. We all laughed hard, wiping tears from our eyes - my friend who was taking his exams, his wife who was taking another course and me. One of the examiners was at the table behind us and asked with a smile in his voice, "Are you laughing at what I think you are?"
The feelings that I expressed as I laughed were complex. I was releasing a lot of the anxiety that I had created. I was laughing because the comment felt naive. I was laughing because, even without exams, disappointment is a possibility. I was laughing because my friends were laughing. I laughed in some disappointment (just a little), a lot of relief, and some awareness that others would not understand that my decision not to take the exams is a decision rooted in allowing rather than trying. Later that morning, several people commented on how relaxed I had looked at breakfast.
Showing my feelings does leave me feeling vulnerable because only I understand the complexity of my feelings. A single word often simplifies what perhaps should not be named. An expression might look like disappointment to others but, to me, there may be relief, satisfaction, frustration and anticipation mixed in the many layers of emotion. An expression might look like competitiveness (as did my happy dance) to others but, to me, I am only aware of how I feel in the moment. As I learn to show my feelings, I am learning that others' responses to my feelings do not validate or invalidate me. My feelings are my own, and the people that I want to spend time with are those who recognize when feelings are authentic and transparent and appreciate that I am me.
Thursday, November 1, 2007
Subtle Balance
Skiing is about balance. Life is about balance. Balance is both simple and complicated. I learned a lot about balance while I was skiing on the glacier in Zermatt. My first day on snow started out roughly, when my alarm clock didn't go off. We were supposed to be outside completely ready to go at 8:30. I was lying in bed in my hotel room and heard noise but didn't see much light through the window so I supposed that it was still early (6:30 or so). Something made me look at my watch and it was 8:15. I leaped out of bed, brushed my teeth, put sunblock on, threw my ski stuff together and hustled out. I had a leftover banana from the night before and an energy bar, plus I'd gulped down some water in the room. I was ready to go at 8:30.
The first day back on snow is always about regaining balance on skis. A good test is whether you can ski down a slope in just your boots. As we came out of the restaurant after lunch, the level 4 instructor who we were skiing with, slid gracefully down a pitch on her boots. The rest of us lurched forward and backward, and some avoided the whole issue by gingerly side-stepping down. The level 4 noticed this and told us that when she is coaching racers she doesn't let them ski gates until they are completely balanced when just boot skiing. I was able to boot-ski down the same pitch but not for several more days.
The second day back on snow, I awoke at the right time but my legs felt shaky and unbalanced all morning. It might have been the altitude, it might have been me adjusting to the food, or it might have been that I was slightly dehydrated, but I did begin to feel stronger in the afternoon. I made some good turns and received feedback that I need to feel the move to the inside (which for skiing "insiders" means that I need to work the lateral plane of balance).
On the third day back on snow (and this is beginning to sound like the "Twelve Days of Skiing"), I felt good about my skiing and received feedback again that technically my form was sound but in terms of function, I needed to move more to the inside and that this would help me become more dynamic. That evening, however, my mind began the insidious process of thinking too much. I realized that it was my thoughts that were concerning me and worked that steps that help establish mind-body balance for me. My thoughts continued their invasion the next day. I began to second guess my skiing competency and whether I was ready to take the exams. I wrote in my journal. "I am holding back. My thoughts are holding me back. If I don't take the exams, will I feel like I have left something undone?"
The next day I tried. I tried and I tried. Now, those of you who read my blog regularly know that, in my view, trying is not a good thing. Trying implies that I am not fully confident that I will achieve my goal. When I try, I stiffen up. Trying causes strain, and strained skiing is not fluid and dynamic.There is inherent tentativeness. And so, it was not a day in which I skied with joy and abandon. It was a day in which I was hard on myself and compared myself and messed up my skiing by trying and thinking too hard.
"Do not try. Do or do not" - Yoda. Good advice. Since I was trying, I began to think of not taking the exams, of just skiing and enjoying my time in Switzerland. I skied the next day and skied much better. I also liked myself better. I was more helpful to my classmates and more genuine in wanting the best for each of us. I still had a few days in which the instructors would evaluate us and in which I could assess my own skiing. I thought about some of the other things that I have been exploring in my own development. Would not taking the exams constitute a "fear of falling ( or failing)? or would I feel like I had left something undone, that I hadn't reached for that last hold?
The answer is no. In my heart, I was not ready to take the exams. I see the evidence in my own writing. In this blog, I wrote that "I am not concerned whether I pass or fail my exams. I love to ski and I love to teach skiing. This is an opportunity to refine my skills in a setting that epitomizes alpine skiing. I will have fun skiing, I will eat pasta on the Italian side of the mountain every day for lunch, I will drink a little bit of wine, I will eat chocolate, I will make new friends." When I thought about the exams, I pictured myself getting my teaching or my skiing but not both.
And so, I chose not to take the exams. I know that getting my level 3 certification is an achievable goal. I know that with more time on snow my balance will improve further. And I know that one day soon (very likely later this season), I will wake up knowing that I am ready to take the exams. I achieved the goal that I set out for myself when I went to Switzerland. I had fun skiing (especially once I relaxed), I did eat pasta every day on the Italian side of the mountain and especially relished dipping bread in smooth bodied olive oil, I did drink a little bit of wine (but not too much), I did eat chocolate and I did make new friends. Again, I am learning the subtle balance between ease and challenge, and that makes me happy. Life does not have to be trying.
The first day back on snow is always about regaining balance on skis. A good test is whether you can ski down a slope in just your boots. As we came out of the restaurant after lunch, the level 4 instructor who we were skiing with, slid gracefully down a pitch on her boots. The rest of us lurched forward and backward, and some avoided the whole issue by gingerly side-stepping down. The level 4 noticed this and told us that when she is coaching racers she doesn't let them ski gates until they are completely balanced when just boot skiing. I was able to boot-ski down the same pitch but not for several more days.
The second day back on snow, I awoke at the right time but my legs felt shaky and unbalanced all morning. It might have been the altitude, it might have been me adjusting to the food, or it might have been that I was slightly dehydrated, but I did begin to feel stronger in the afternoon. I made some good turns and received feedback that I need to feel the move to the inside (which for skiing "insiders" means that I need to work the lateral plane of balance).
On the third day back on snow (and this is beginning to sound like the "Twelve Days of Skiing"), I felt good about my skiing and received feedback again that technically my form was sound but in terms of function, I needed to move more to the inside and that this would help me become more dynamic. That evening, however, my mind began the insidious process of thinking too much. I realized that it was my thoughts that were concerning me and worked that steps that help establish mind-body balance for me. My thoughts continued their invasion the next day. I began to second guess my skiing competency and whether I was ready to take the exams. I wrote in my journal. "I am holding back. My thoughts are holding me back. If I don't take the exams, will I feel like I have left something undone?"
The next day I tried. I tried and I tried. Now, those of you who read my blog regularly know that, in my view, trying is not a good thing. Trying implies that I am not fully confident that I will achieve my goal. When I try, I stiffen up. Trying causes strain, and strained skiing is not fluid and dynamic.There is inherent tentativeness. And so, it was not a day in which I skied with joy and abandon. It was a day in which I was hard on myself and compared myself and messed up my skiing by trying and thinking too hard.
"Do not try. Do or do not" - Yoda. Good advice. Since I was trying, I began to think of not taking the exams, of just skiing and enjoying my time in Switzerland. I skied the next day and skied much better. I also liked myself better. I was more helpful to my classmates and more genuine in wanting the best for each of us. I still had a few days in which the instructors would evaluate us and in which I could assess my own skiing. I thought about some of the other things that I have been exploring in my own development. Would not taking the exams constitute a "fear of falling ( or failing)? or would I feel like I had left something undone, that I hadn't reached for that last hold?
The answer is no. In my heart, I was not ready to take the exams. I see the evidence in my own writing. In this blog, I wrote that "I am not concerned whether I pass or fail my exams. I love to ski and I love to teach skiing. This is an opportunity to refine my skills in a setting that epitomizes alpine skiing. I will have fun skiing, I will eat pasta on the Italian side of the mountain every day for lunch, I will drink a little bit of wine, I will eat chocolate, I will make new friends." When I thought about the exams, I pictured myself getting my teaching or my skiing but not both.
And so, I chose not to take the exams. I know that getting my level 3 certification is an achievable goal. I know that with more time on snow my balance will improve further. And I know that one day soon (very likely later this season), I will wake up knowing that I am ready to take the exams. I achieved the goal that I set out for myself when I went to Switzerland. I had fun skiing (especially once I relaxed), I did eat pasta every day on the Italian side of the mountain and especially relished dipping bread in smooth bodied olive oil, I did drink a little bit of wine (but not too much), I did eat chocolate and I did make new friends. Again, I am learning the subtle balance between ease and challenge, and that makes me happy. Life does not have to be trying.
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