Unfolding serenity

February has flown by. I have been busy. Busy with work, busy with family, busy with fun. But, have I been too busy? Maybe, maybe not. The month has flown by and, by and large, I have gone with the flow. I made plans but situations changed, and I altered my plans. The biggest difference for me in this month versus similar past busy months is that I didn't over-analyze things. Some of the situations (almost all) were not within my control. In the past, I would have questioned what I could or could not have done differently to affect the outcome. This month, I recognized that what was done was done and I can only control how I feel at any given moment. I realized that I can influence how I choose to feel.

This made it much easier to be in the moment. It was almost as if I were an observer, watching a flower unfold. During the month it rained (figuratively) but instead of seeing this as dampening effect, I chose to see it as providing moisture to nourish future growth. During the month, winds of gossip and dissension swirled in my vicinity. I chose to step aside and watch as the winds dissipated. During the month, I developed my ability to let the right things be. I've been familiar with the "Serenity Prayer" since I was a teenager and I have tried to live by its precepts for many years. This was the month, in which I allowed myself to live by its precepts. For a stormy month, February was indeed serene. Serenity is a flower, pink and yellow, soft and fragrant. Serenity unfolds in warmth and closes with cold. It is everblooming but requires fertilizing. Life can be serene.

"God grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change;
courage to change the things I can;
and the wisdom to know the difference.

Living one day at a time; enjoying one moment at a time...."
- Rheinhold Neibuhr

The end in sight

I was driving home from the mountains last Sunday night after a great powder day. Since snow is a necessary ingredient for powder skiing, the drive home was bound to have its challenges. Initially, the roads were clear of fresh or blowing snow and we drove along with traffic out of the mountains, through the rolling hills, and back into prairie. It was on the long stretch of highway between Calgary and Edmonton that the sky let loose its torrent of snow. Within seconds the visibility went from good to nil. The snowflakes were large, the wind was high, and all I could see was a small ridge of snow marking where other cars had driven. If I looked up from the snow covered pavement, I saw flakes swirling at me and had no sense of where the road curved.

I was the lead car. There were no distant red tail-lights to follow. I slowed to a comfortable pace (well under half the speed limit) and thought "I will just drive and soon we will be through the storm". Stopping was not an option because 1) I wasn't sure where the lane ended and the shoulder began, 2) cars might not see me stopped and 3) I wasn't sure where shoulder of the road ended and the ditch beside began. So I drove. My friend kept reassuring me that I was doing a good job navigating through the whiteness.

The storm abated just a tad and some impatient drivers decided to pass, resulting in snow from their tires flying up and creating clouds of whiteout that were even more blinding than nature's. I swore. I swore like a stevedore. My friend and I then had a good laugh. Our laughing stopped when a red car passed to the left and moments later we saw its tail-lights partially buried in the ditch dividing the highway.

The storm seemed to go on and on. I checked the clock. Fifteen minutes had gone by since the whiteout began, then twenty five minutes. The kilometres crept by and I realized that if things stayed the same, if the storm continued and I continued to drive at 40-50K, it would be two hours more of classic white-knuckle driving. It seemed as if there were no end in sight. I felt like I wouldn't be able to go on for two hours but stopping was still not an option, so I drove on.

About forty-five minutes into the poor driving conditions, visibility improved. Passing cars still spun the loose snow into mini-blizzards but there were respites when I could see. The end was in sight and I relaxed.

The interesting thing about relaxing once the end was in sight, is that I have a habit of doing this. I do it in rock climbing, I do it in driving, I do it in skiing, I do it in life. I wrote early in my blog about climbing in the gym with a blindfold on. It was a drill designed to help the belayer visualize moves rather than a drill for the actual climber. I found, however, that I climbed better not knowing where I was on the wall, not knowing whether I was close or far from the end. I climbed each move as I was directed. I was fully in the moment. The climb was relaxed and easy and I was surprised how quickly I reached the final hold. Ordinarily, I would have sweated the climb until the last few moves and then relaxed and reached the pinnacle with ease.

I have this same habit of not relaxing until the end in my skiing. I received some feedback a few weeks ago that "once you have the end in sight, you ski well". This past weekend, I was told "once you get into your rhythm, your skiing is smooth". Knowing my prediliction for a good finish, I translated that into "once you have the end in sight, your skiing is smooth".

Apparently, learning to relax, whether or not the end is in sight, is one of those life lessons which is particularly important to me. I am therefore receiving the lessons in multiple forms. I believe that I have progressed; that I am no longer a novice but moving on to intermediate status. The end is not in sight, but I am moving forward.

Fee, Fi, Fo, Fear

Physical fear is easy to understand. I know what it is like to ride a bicycle and catch a barefoot pinkie toe on a rock as I round a corner. I know what it is like to caroom down a paved hill on rollerblades, miss the turn, and slide into pavement and grass. I know what it is like to have road rash oozing through clothes making it difficult to sit. I know what it is like to have a bruise as big as a basketball on my thigh and have it last for four months. And I've been lucky.

Emotional fear is more difficult to understand. When I first began my journey from fear into fun, I recall a therapist asking me "what was I afraid of ?" He asked the question because I was frozen with fear, unable to move, unable to change or grow. I had no answer. Intellectually, I knew that any answer I gave had a rebuttal, but the fear that resided in me was primal, emotional, and impervious to logic.

I began to break through my emotional fear by acting on my physical fears, and through physicality become connected again to my self. I came across a quote "As you go the way of life, you will see a great chasm. Jump. It is not as wide as you think" - Joseph Campbell. Just imagining life in terms of movement helped me break free.

With movement and freedom, I began to see my fears. I feared that I was not good enough. I feared that I might fall, that I might fail, and especially that I might not fall (my obfuscating but very true way of saying that I am afraid to succeed). The first time that I heard a friend say that she feared that she was "too much", I did not understand. I am moving toward understanding that fear now. This quote from Nelson Mandela has helped:

"Our greatest fear is not that we are inadequate, but that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that frightens us most. We were born to make manifest the glory of God within us. It is not just in some; it is in everyone. And, as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same."

Nelson Mandela is right. It is scary to let our own light shine and yet other people, famous and otherwise, do it all the time. When I see Bruce Springsteen perform live, I sense his joy and
others become happier. When I watch figure skaters or skiers glide effortlessly, I move in synchronicity. When I watch "The Dancing Boy" move to the beat of his music and that of traffic on Edmonton street corners, his light shines and others become happier. I know that I am scared to let my light shine. This is the fear that inhibits me most right now, but I do know that when I break through that fear, I feel joy. And so, when I teach skiing, when I teach university classes, when I am with family and friends, when I rock climb or when I write, I know I am successful when I shine with who I am. Shine on.

Namaste,
Ginny