Turning fears into fun

A wonderful life

2011-01-15T18:54:00.005-07:00

I hear often the phrases " I want a big life", "I want to live bigger", "Living big", and I wonder what a big life means. Is it being famous? Having lots of stuff? Knowing lots of people or doing lots of things around the world? Why is it even a phrase? How can a life be big or small? A seemingly "small" life can change the world for the better just like an apparently larger life.

Okay - I am being obtuse, asking rhetorical questions, but I have a point which was clarified for me when I watched the Christmas classic "It's a Wonderful Life". No life or place is small or big; our impact on the world is how we live, not where or how much of the world we see. To live like George Bailey is to live in a small town, yearning to travel, while your younger brother receives accolades for his big deeds. To live like George Bailey is to make a difference in the lives of others through integrity. Like George Bailey, we seldom know the impact we make on others. We don't realize that the smile we share with a child in a grocery line-up may lead to more politeness. We don't realize that simply saying hello to a lonely student or senior makes a difference. Helping someone shovel a car stuck in snow may help them get home in time to help someone else. It's trite and the stuff of movies but still a good approach to life. We don't know what is a big life or a small life. We don't know. It's a wonderful life.

All Souls Day

2010-11-07T07:00:00.013-07:00

I was in Zermatt this year at the end of October. Life and death seem to touch in this place of high altitude where the Matterhorn dominates the view from cobblestone streets. The trams up the mountain are full of joyous healthy skiers, starting the season early. Travelers of many nationalities and age walk trails and through the streets, marveling at the Matterhorn and history of the village. No matter where any of us walk, we pass several graveyards, all well kept. The largest is flanked by the river and any day, at sunset, there are several people clearing leaves or windswept brush and lighting candles. Almost every grave is marked, not just by its headstone, but by care. Evergreens and heather are common in late fall, but in any season, there are flowers and natural offerings to remember the climbers, residents, and visitors who are buried there.

A few days before I left, an arrangement of greens, pinecones, and purple flowers adorned by two white fleur-de-lys was delivered to the hotel. I asked why. The receptionist, now in her sixties but who in her youth had climbed the Matterhorn three times, explained, " We are Catholic. Monday is All Saints Day". Later as I walked through town, I saw similar arrangements; some for sale at the grocery, some already placed on graves.

I am home now. The remnants of Halloween are apparent. Candy wrappers fly in wind. Jack o'lanterns shrivel in the cold. I recall learning the origins of All Hallows Eve, All Saints Day and All Souls Day when I was about nine years old. I remember being fascinated how the combination of old English, Irish, and French traditions led to carving jack o' lanterns and trick or treating. I remember learning that the customs of Halloween provided protection and that the next two days were very holy.

This Thursday is Remembrance Day in Canada, commemorating the armistice of the First World War and paying tribute to all who have lost their lives in war. This year seems especially somber to me. Even the teenagers who carry boxes of poppies to pin on collars for remembrance have a gravitas that I do not recall. 2010 has been a year on on-going war and natural disasters. Many have unexpectedly lost their lives, and many others have suddenly lost friends or family.

I think of those that I loved that are gone. I think of friends and family who have lost their loved ones. I think of the passage of seasons - the abundance of summer, the barrenness of late fall, the purity of snow in winter, and the blossoming of spring - and I think of nature as a great teacher. The traditions of how we recognize passages change with each generation but we still do revere the cycle of life. I am grateful to have been in Zermatt to be reminded of All Saints Day and All Souls Day. I am grateful for these lessons.

Battle of the Blades

2010-09-27T13:56:00.010-06:00

I like the CBC television program, Battle of the Blades, in which ex-NHL hockey players are paired with world class figure skaters and compete in weekly pairs competition eliminations. It brings together many aspects of what I have loved through different stages of my life.

My mother (and you'd have to know my mother to really appreciate the subtleties in this comment) used to say that I was not graceful with shoes on but put skates on me and I transformed. I do know that skating was freedom for me as a child. I was the ultimate in self-consciousness, which meant that off-ice I lived in my brain, without mind/body/soul integration so perhaps there was an element of truth in what my mother said. My brothers played hockey; I figure skated, and a large part of our family life centered on the trips to the outdoor rink where we trained and competed. The road to the rink was circuitous, hilly and dark, the kind of road that was rife for nightmares. In my memory, even those moments of worry were positive as they meant I was going skating.

Activity was an escape from dysfunction inside the house, so I would join my brothers and practice wrist shots and slap shots on the driveway. A few years later, that practice came in handy when I was in the first class of girls attending a prep school that had been all boys for the previous 100 years. There were a number of figure skaters among us and we would spin and jump on the limited ice time allotted. We compared our amount of practice time to those of the hockey players, and formulated a plan. We would form an ice hockey team. Recruiting players was easy, and one of the coaches agreed to help us. Our first game was against the freshman boys. I recall the fans leaning against boards cheering but I do not remember the score. I believe we played that first game in figure skates and were then told that if we wanted to play again, we would need to be in hockey skates.

The transition from figure skates to hockey skates is not as challenging as the opposite. No toe pick but a slightly different balance point. I became a hockey player and a figure skater, a pioneer of sorts, doing anything for ice time. At university several years later, the same principle held true. Hockey was the way to ice time. It was the mid '70s and women's hockey was just emerging. There was no official team, but enough women came together to create a league. The pictures from that time are amusing...helmets, gloves, jerseys, and shin pads layered over tight blue jeans. I continued to wear my figure skates to open ice every Friday afternoon, and still have those well worn skates. The padding on the tongue is dry and the leather full of scratches. I prefer them still to my new skates. Those old skates helped shape who I am.

Watching The Battle of the Blades hockey players trip over their toe picks and laughing as they joke about making fools of themselves on national television is a good lesson for us amateur athletes. It is a joy to see seasoned professionals learning something new. They are like the rest of us. They fall, they laugh, and they get up. They have fear but it's not stopping them. It is also a joy to see these strong and capable women teaching the hockey players the sport they love. The addition of music to movement frees up some of the athletes; constrains others. Choreography - training the body to respond in certain ways time after time - is new to most of the men.

The initial segment highlighted some of the back stories of the athletes, reinforcing that the images we see on Olympic or NHL arenas are only part of the person. The story of Theo Fleury's past addictions, the story of Russ Courtnall's father's depression and suicide, and tapes of Ekaterina Gordeeva's youthful exuberance eating an ice cream cone after an Olympic win and then skating alone without a partner, when her husband and partner, Sergei Grinkov, died suddenly of a heart attack at age 28, all shift our perceptions of professional athletes. With their stories, they again are like us. They have pain and challenge but they go on.

I love sport for its inherent life lessons. I love sport because it reveals greatness in ordinary people, and when two of my favorites sports are combined into one corny but incredibly fun television show, I am happy.

Facebook profiles

2010-09-20T15:37:00.005-06:00

When I was a child, I often heard the phrase "Don't judge a book by its cover". One of my favourite songs now is "Diamonds on the Inside" by Ben Harper. This song and, indeed, the whole album have resonated with me for over seven years. The lyrics are nuanced, taking on new subtleties as I grow and change. For a number of reasons, I have always been sensitive to the idea that what matters is on the inside. I believe this now more than ever.

I believe that we often hold ourselves back from living life the way we are meant. Sometimes, we hold ourselves back because we fear what our parents or friends or associates might think. "You want to do WHAT for a living? Do you really think you can do that?" might be the reaction to a child who tells her parents " I want to be the next Ellen DeGeneres". We hold ourselves back because we fear what we want is impossible to achieve. We hold ourselves back because we fear that what we want is not good enough.

One way of dealing with the fear is to create a personna. We hide ourselves behind these masks.
They protect us. You can't see into my soul or even my eyes if I am wearing a mask. I have a personna...mother, skier, climber, yoga practitioner, MBA, teacher. My personna has shifted over the past ten years but I still have one. Some days it is more apparent than other days. If you talk to me, and you hear my vocabulary expand, my mask is probably slipping on and I am relying on my intellectual personna.

When I first started using Facebook, I deliberately tried to be open and authentic. No credentials, just me. Over time, this has changed. My facebook page now shows pictures of me outdoors, generally when I happiest. My facebook page does not show me first thing in the morning as I awake bleary-eyed. My facebook page does not show me worrying. Facebook gives me glimpses into old friends' current lives, but we are all showing only what we choose to reveal. I am a personna on Facebook, not a person.

This is important because having the confidence to be yourself is a task that many of us struggle with throughout life. Certainly, lack of confidence haunts me but it is not apparent to many of my friends, Facebook or otherwise. I am myself enough of the time to know that external symbols of success ( diamonds, degrees, cars) do not make me happy. Facebook can play into fears...it's keeping up with the Jones in 2010...and we all know what happens when you keep up with the Jones and your name is Smith or Chevalier or Raj or Adewaki. You are not being you. So, focus on being you more of the time and being less aware of your neighbors. I will do the same.

That all said, one of the things that troubles me about this blog is that it also creates a personna. By writing, I move into my head and my intellect. I try to be honest but my ego gets in the way. I sometimes feel that I write as if I have answers. I definitely don't have answers. I am writing about my personal experience with the hope that it shines a light so that others question the thoughts that bind them still. I write because I need to, because it is part of who I am.

Namaste.

To everything there is a season

2010-09-19T17:49:00.006-06:00

One of the things that I like about Bikram yoga is that it is the same 26 poses every time. One of the benefits of this is that I really get to know what is going on for me on any given day. On Monday, I might be struggling to stay balanced for a full 60 seconds in standing bow pulling pose, but ten minutes later I might find my flexibility increased and my head closer to the ground in standing separate leg stretching pose.

Bikram yoga occurs in a closed environment. The room temperature and humidity should be the same no matter where in the world I practice. The dialogue should be the same. The variable is me. The lessons are profound. I am slightly different each day in my strength, my balance and my flexibility. Sometimes the differences are in my body. Other days they are in my focus and mind. No matter where the difference is, I see and feel yin and yang. The truth of this resonates in my body. When I extend a muscle, the opposing muscle contracts. When I lose a fraction of balance, it may because I have gained strength or flexibility.

One night, not too long ago, as I was falling asleep, my mind turned to standing bow pulling pose. I said to myself, "there is no reason for you to fall out of it as often as you do". The next day, I stayed in the pose, with my leg held high and my torso moving parallel to the floor, for a lot longer than usual. Mind over matter. Belief makes a difference.

Life does not occur in a closed environment yet similar lessons are inherent... just harder to see and feel when so many variables are in flux. I wrote recently about patience. When I am finding it challenging to be patient, something else is growing within me. Perhaps, it is conviction or confidence. The seed is there and with time (patience), it blossoms into a gift. Other times, I may be feeling sad. The sadness may be because I am out of sync. It is fall and I want it still to be summer. The key to understanding life' s lessons is to listen to our whole selves, body, mind and spirit.

A favorite song of mine, and one of the few I have learned to play on the guitar, is "Turn! Turn! Turn! ( to everything there is a season). The lyrics are taken almost verbatim from Ecclesiastes:

"To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:
A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, a time to reap that which is planted;
A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;
A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away;
A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace"

Do. Do not...Strength; Vulnerability... Striving; yielding....Firmness; flexibility... Be. Just Be.

Namaste,
Ginny

Patience

2010-09-13T16:36:00.003-06:00

Certain words irk me. Patience is one of those words. I hate being told to have it and I hate being told that I have it. Either way it irks me.

I have been home from skiing in Chile for nearly three weeks and my knees are still sore. I know that I am lucky that my knees are as good as they are, but I am impatient for them to get better. The problem is nothing that I do will help. In fact, most of what I do harms. So, I must be patient and allow time and gentle stretching to loosen and heal tight muscles, ligaments and tendons. Heat and rest also speed recovery but I am impatient.

The first night that I was home from Chile, I was so sore that I climbed up the stairs using my hands and knees like a toddler. I knew that my calves were tight but I thought I was stretching them every night. I suspect the issue is that I skied for eight days in summer and then sat, with my knees bent, on a plane or bus during the twenty-four hour trip from El Colorado, Chile to home in Edmonton.

I expected that, once I got back to yoga, I would loosen up quickly. For the first day, I focused on locking my knees, even when just standing. This proved to be a challenge, and I realized that it would take more than a day to loosen. There was a lesson for my ego as well. I began Bikram yoga seven years ago, and one of the first poses for me to relax into - Fixed Firm - suddenly was hard. My knees and ankles did not yield when I asked. I sat up and leaned forward. I could not do what I was used to doing. My ego wanted to yell out " this is usually a piece of cake for me... I am just stiff today", but I did not yell out. Part of yoga is learning to put my ego aside and do what I can in any moment.

I am generally patient. I have learned to persevere in difficult circumstances. I do not often respond in immediate anger when provoked. Part of patience is learning when to act and when to let things evolve. I suspect that I am currently impatient because, for so many years I was overly patient. My patience reserves are out of balance.

There are so many inspiring quotes about patience being a virtue that I feel "un- virtuous" by proposing that there ever can be too much patience. So, I scanned quotes and found a few:

"I have just three things to teach: simplicity, patience, compassion. These three are your greatest treasures.” - Lao Tzu
“Patience is waiting. Not passively waiting. That is laziness. But to keep going when the going is hard and slow - that is patience.”
Patience is something you admire in the driver behind you and scorn in the one ahead. ~Mac McCleary
"Have courage for the great sorrows of life and patience for the small ones; and when you have laboriously accomplished your daily task, go to sleep in peace. God is awake.” - Victor Hugo

And, ah ha...perhaps my patience reserves are not truly out of balance. It is not patience that irks me. It is my own self-talk. Patience comes from within, and the reason that I dislike being told that I am patient (or impatient) is the perceived external judgment of others and the internal judgment of my ego. Sore knees don't even qualify as a small sorrow so I will go to sleep grateful for the trip that I took, grateful for my strong body, and grateful for my (over)active mind.

Namaste,
Ginny

Summer of '10

2010-09-03T19:11:00.012-06:00

Sunset - El Colorado, Chilean Andes

It never got hot this summer where I live. The temperature never reached 30 degrees Celsius (approximately 85 Fahrenheit). The weather where I live was an anomaly in North America. Most of the continent sweltered in high temperatures and humidity. My friends in the East are saying " I am DONE with summer". I'm not...I yearn for a few more days of warm mornings. I want my tomatoes to ripen. I'd like my zucchini to grow (yes, even my zucchini has been stunted by the lack of heat and sun). There are only two fruits on the plant. One is the size of a baseball; the other of a pickle. I'd like to mow the lawn at least three more times, and I'd like to gather about thirty sweet pea blooms into a posy.

Pleasurable as summer is, autumn is on its way. Gusts of wind cast some yellow leaves onto the ground. There has been frost outside of the city, and snow in the mountains. School has started and the pace of life is picking up.

This summer felt different to me, and it wasn't just the weather. I entered the season feeling "off". I didn't know what felt wrong, just that I didn't feel right. I experimented with change, looking at houses for sale and job postings, but none of these were right either. Gradually, summer passed and my feelings evolved. I now feel back to myself, back to the person I am and am becoming. No single event or thought catalyzed the shift from unease to ease but many contributed. At the end of this summer, I am grateful for:

Spending a rainy June day in a natural rock spa in the Gatineau
Waiting in line for the folk fest to open its gates, and hearing music stream into the air. Realizing that the music was Ben Harper playing an old Neil Young song as a sound check and that I was one of the few people standing on top of the hill, looking down at the stage, almost like a private concert. As the music ended, the Canadian Forces Air Demonstration team flew in formation over the hill three times.
Hearing Ben Harper play that night on a candlelit hill. He was humble, yet radiant.
Lots of new music on my playlist..."Time to Smile" Xavier Rudd, "Echoes" Dar Williams and more...
Reconnecting with an old friend from university
Camping during a mountain biking trip and sharing the tent with an Australian shepherd puppy, who thought I was a toy kong wrapped up in my sleeping bag
Being bitten by a deer tick in Ontario and NOT getting Lyme disease (Yes, I did find the tick and had it tested)
Yoga class, and especially Yin class on Fridays
Meeting a friendly local in the Kalamalka Provincial Park parking lot who showed me the single track mountain bike trail.
Acting impetuously on the way back from the park, and trying Stand Up Paddleboarding for an hour while still dressed in my cycling shorts and jersey. Managing to stay dry until I adjusted my stance on the board to enable a tighter turning radius. Falling into the lake and washing off the grime from the mountain bike ride.
Chilean sunsets ( like the two at the top of the page)
The host at our hotel in El Colorado, Chile who called me "little Jeannie" after the Elton John song
Seeing three condors in Chile. The first time I saw one, I actually exclaimed " is that a bird or a plane?" , unintentionally mimicking the classic Superman line. The third time, I saw a condor was just as we were leaving the mountain. I stood with a friend and, arms waving like traffic controllers, we signaled for the bird to come nearer. It did and we could see individual wing feathers, splayed like fingers.

I am grateful, indeed, for all of summer's blessings.
Namaste,
Ginny

For no apparent reason

2010-08-11T16:02:00.002-06:00

Yesterday at the rock climbing gym, I climbed two routes that were challenging me. One is graded a 5.7, which should be easy for me. I have tried it many times and kept cheating (reaching for a hold off route) at one spot. I have been climbing with skilled woman climber who declared,"Ginny is struggling on this route for no apparent reason". I laughed off the comment saying, "it is because I don't like the colour of the route marking tape". The truth is we all struggle at one time or another for no apparent reason.

I still don't know why I struggled, but yesterday night, I ended the battle. I climbed the route start to finish without hesitation. I shouted " yeah" at the end and that was that. Why I struggled in the past will remain a mystery. The key thing is that yesterday I climbed the route.

Today, I had lunch with a friend. Most of her conversation was about wanting to know why something happened. Knowing "why" won't change what happened, nor would it change her actions. Though she didn't want to admit it, she wanted to know why because she wants to absolve herself from any responsibility for what happened. What happened to her, happened for no apparent reason. Looking back won't help; looking forward won't help.

Even when the reason is apparent, I wonder. I wonder how much is perception. I wonder what caused the apparent reason. I wonder what could be done to change this in the future. I wonder what I could have done in the past. Wondering, like worrying, is no help. We may know; we may not know, and that's okay. We're taught to learn from our mistakes - the hitch is that the circumstances may not be identical and the fix may now become the mistake. Wonder can be a wonderful thing, but only when it is rooted in the present like wondering at the beauty of a sunset or wondering at the dexterity of a two year old's ability to pluck a petal from a flower.

Summertime

2010-08-09T16:02:00.005-06:00

It finally feels like summer in this northern city in which I live. I am slightly sunburned and hot. As I walked the dog, I noticed a scent which reminded of the ocean. I thought, "how could that be? I am thousands of miles from the sea" and then I realized that I was a passing a garden of petunias. Their gentle peculiar scent was what I associated with the ocean. The beach that I grew up on had planters lining the boardwalk and so, it was not the Atlantic that I smelled but flowers.

How nice to smell the flowers without even stopping. Drinking in their fragrance is restorative as is the feeling of laziness that the heat brings on. I feel so lucky, so fortunate for the time to spend in the summer sun and cloud. I am lucky, yes, but I have also chosen a path which allows me such luxuries.

I feel fortunate also that I have woken up in time to realize how much I have. This spring I was feeling restless, unable to appreciate the wealth of my life. Thanks to some good friends and breaking open some old beliefs, I am closer to being who I am than I have been in the past. There is a song by Leonard Cohen that goes:

"Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack, a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in"

That sense of being less than perfect, of being vulnerable, is what opens us to the light and, also, how our light gets out. I look at the record of my journey from fear into fun and am amazed by the transformation. I still get scared. I still get stuck. But, I continue to learn to leap when my heart tells me and to just be still when my heart says so. The biggest challenge is clearing away the morass of daily life to hear my heart. Music (and I've had plenty in this summer of concerts and folk fests) ...nature (whose beauty I witnessed in six National Parks this summer)... activity (yoga in my favorite studio, mountain biking in new places, and trying a new water sport - Stand Up Paddeboarding - on a whim) all help me to hear, to be. I am grateful.

Fear of falling + Fear of not falling = Stuck

2010-07-25T19:31:00.010-06:00

When I first started writing about my journey from fear into fun, I riffed on two themes, fear of falling and fear of not falling. At the time, I genuinely believed that I was stopped by both fears. Fear of falling was fear of failure and fear of not falling was fear of success. What I believe now is this: I wasn't afraid at all... I was just plain stuck.

As a child, I used to climb trees regularly. Sometimes, I would climb up, up, up among the crab apple blossoms until no one could spot me. Other times, I would stop lower down and linger among the scented flowers. I didn't give much thought about falling or not falling, until one day when I was climbing with my brother. I would have been 10 or 11. My brother was two years younger and famous (at least in our family) for his risk taking. He learned to swim early and well and soon gave up swim racing for surfing, and when that became tame, joined the adolescent boys jumping off the 1240' drawbridge into the river. He was the brave one. I was the tame, conservative older sister. I was sceptical then, one day that summer, when we climbed the crab apple tree and my brother got stuck. He told me so and I didn't believe him. I climbed down and went inside the house.

Shortly after, emergency vehicles raced into our driveway. The rescue personnel told us that neighbors had heard a child yelling for help and thought that someone was drowning in the river. I don't recall whether I revealed that I left my brother stuck in the tree but soon enough, the firemen discovered him sitting midway up the tree. The next day, the local newspaper ran an article with the headline "What goes up, must come down" and described the incident. I was mortified, and yet now, forty some years later, I realize the truth of that headline. What goes up, must come down. You either fall or you don't fall. I am not a believer in black and white dichotomies. I much prefer a continuum. However, if I am just plain stuck because I haven't moved to one outcome or another, it is that much more complicated when there are many choices. Sometimes simplicity helps. What I also realize is that I can chose to be stuck and I can just as easily ( okay...sometimes it hurts a bit like a band-aid coming off) choose to be unstuck. I can also choose to re frame my thoughts about that intermediate period when there is no action, and consider that I take action or no action when the time is right.

Rainbows

2010-04-21T09:26:00.002-06:00

Driving home from Lake Louise on a late April Sunday evening, cars were pulled off onto the road’s shoulder. People were standing by the side of the road, as other cars sped by at 130 km, just looking up in the sky at a rainbow that spanned the horizon. It was reasssuring to know that there are others who take time to look at nature despite the rush of our times.

I went to yoga the next day, and during class, I saw fragments of light refracting like a rainbow. Blue, pink, purple were all there, shooting up toward the ceiling. I felt something loosen inside of me and felt safer than I have in a long time. Later, lying in savasana, I answered a question that had been with me for several years. I’ve wanted to move and thought that I wanted to move to the mountains, but lying in savasana that day, I realized that I want to live in a home with soul. The mountains have soul but many of the housing developments in mountain towns do not. My current house has soul but my neighborhood does not.

That same afternoon, I was walking my dog in my neighborhood and found chalk notices printed boldly on several curbs. “Concerned? Come to a community meeting Thursday at 8:00 p.m.” I was confused. The only time I had felt a community within my neighborhood was during the previous year as we coalesced to fight against a high voltage transmission line. The power company was installing the line elsewhere so what was there to be concerned about? Yes, the nearby highway noise and construction dust was a problem but that was well publicized and discussed. What was I to be concerned about now?

My answer came when I ran to the corner store to get some milk. A THC Hemp store had opened. I could understand why the neighbors were concerned. My question to myself then became: “If I know that I can make a home with soul wherever I live, why does my neighborhood matter?”

Good question, probably one whose answer is dependent on life circumstances. Is it easier to make a home where there are kindred souls, where there is inherent beauty, where art is appreicated? Yes. Is it possible to make a home on a battlefield? Probably not. And what about all the places in the middle? We do carry our homes within us and our life circumstances will influence how hard or easy it is for that soulful place to emerge. Rainbows can be seen from everywhere. Right now, my thinking is: why make it more difficult than it needs be? If my circumstances allow, I will choose a place that facilitates soul rather than impedes it

Practicing what I know

2010-01-23T17:21:00.003-07:00

Today is the first in a long time (December 13, to be exact) for which I had no plans. I have been looking forward to it for nearly two weeks. I enjoyed Christmas and all the activity it brings. I enjoyed the start of January and the New Year. I have been doing things that make me happy. But that's just it... I have been doing things. Too many things and I am tired.

I know that to stay balanced I need time to myself. I also know that I need physical activity, wind in my face, and intellectual challenge. I came close to toppling over this week both figuratively and literally. I felt irritable, on edge.

Today I am taking time for myself. I want to write, so I am writing here. I wanted to cook, so I baked cranberry and white chocolate oatmeal muffins. I walked the dog without a grudge. I enjoyed the frosting of snow on the evergreens as I did so. I still feel edgy, but I have started to come back to myself. All those times that I have written about yoga and climbing and skiing and the need to balance precipitously have been practice for me.

Practicing what I know entails hard choices. I am grateful that I enjoy so much that there is not enough time to do all that I want. Day after day, small things make me happy. The smell of paperwhite narcissi, drooping tulips in a vase, snow sculpted by wind, the voices of friends and family. Big things (skiing in the mountains, travelling, fine meals) make me happy too but I am learning that I need to really appreciate the small things. My habit is to list what I am grateful for at the end of the day and then go " there, that's done, now I can sleep". I need to pause for longer and savour the peace.

Let my little light shine

2009-12-02T15:37:00.006-07:00

I have tears in my eyes as I write. Lots of things are wrong and nothing is. I feel genuine sadness about two people I have known in my life, one of whom recently passed away; another of whom has been fighting cancer for a year. Feeling sadness, when there is a reason, is a sign of health, and the tears are healing.

I am also feeling sad because a place where, in the past, I have felt free and have regarded as a place of escape, now feels like a prison. I am not imagining a change in the vibe. The change is real and it is not in me but in someone who I regarded as a friend. I understand her unhappiness and her reactions to me but that does not mean that I can be treated as if I do not exist. In the past, I would have blamed myself and gone on a tirade inside my head about what I could have done differently.

There is nothing I could have done differently. I can not control my friend's thoughts. They are hers, not mine. What I can control ( or at least observe) are my own thoughts. The reason that I am writing today is that I am blaming myself a little. I am using the Byron Katie method of asking myself "what is true?" What is true is that I went to Switzerland. What is true is that I traveled to Calgary and enjoyed a training session. What is true is that I love being outdoors and hearing the sounds of children and the wind blowing. What is also true is that I like teaching skiing and teaching at the university. The list could go on...What is true is that I am not a slacker. I am not all about me. What is true is that I have learned to do what makes me happy and I am learning not to let others' thoughts interfere with that happiness.

Just writing this down makes me feel better. If the situation persists, and the place continues to feel like a prison, I know what to do. Shed the shackles and fly where I feel free. I may choose to shed my light in place that suddenly feels dark, or I may choose a brighter place. I have a choice and I know for sure that I am going to that I am going to "let that little light of mine shine".

Just when you think things are under control

2009-08-28T14:34:00.003-06:00

I sat down on the couch last night, feeling very satisfied. I had mowed the lawns, weeded the garden, washed the floors, vacuumed, and even cleaned the second story windows inside and out. My to-do list was under control and my house was sparkling. I wanted to rest and enjoy the quiet of a late August evening when I heard a sudden and loud crack. I checked the laundry room to see if something had fallen off the dryer while spinning. No. I thought I heard water running so I checked the kitchen. Nothing out of the ordinary there. I looked over to the neighbors' to see if their above-ground pool had been over-filled. Nope.

The sound of water became louder. I ran to the upstairs bathroom and discovered inches of water pooling on to the floor and heading to the hallway carpet. I turned off the toilet tap, and the water still ran. I threw every towel that I could find onto the bathroom floor to sop up the water, still not knowing the source.

Once I was convinced that the towels were absorbing the water, I paused to look for the leak. The water was dripping from the toilet's tank. A crack ran the length of the tank and all of the water had emptied. I was grateful that I was home when the tank cracked and thought to myself, at least the water is confined to the upstairs bathroom.

I was wrong. When I went back into the kitchen, water was leaking into the lighting fixture and dripping onto the laminate floor. More towels and paper towels into action. I turned off the light and very carefully lifted the fixture off the ceiling and poured the accumulated water into the drain. Finally, I placed a bowl on the floor to catch the last drizzles of water coming from the ceiling.

Still grateful that I was home, I decided that there was nothing more to do but I wondered how a toilet tank cracks spontaneously, and especially cracks just when I was feeling that there was nothing left to fix or clean. I think the lesson is that there is always more and there is always less and what is more and less is out of our control.

I am not my job, my accomplishments, my labels...

2009-08-27T16:55:00.008-06:00

Last week, I dipped my toe into corporate waters and nosed into the future. I had applied for a full time permanent position that built on my twenty years of business development. During a preliminary interview, the recruiter asked "Imagine you have accepted this position and are travelling on an airplane. I am sitting next to you and ask what you do. How would you answer?" My reply was that I would answer as I have for many years - that I would say that I do many things, one of which is working for organization X.

I did not get the job. As I reflect on the interview and the process, I realize that I have come a long way since I last worked corporately. My definition of success has changed. My definition of leadership has changed. I have changed.

I had applied for this same position a few years ago and was short-listed. When I did not receive the job offer, I blamed myself. I felt that I had not performed well enough in the interview, that I was not good enough. I believe in the mandate of the organization. I genuinely believe that I could lead it effectively, however, this time I am not disappointed. I answered honestly and am proud that I showed who I am.

In the past, I did define myself by my job and accomplishments. Now I don't. Sometimes, I miss the shortcut and ease that this provides but other times, I am amused when people try to place where I fit. Two weeks ago, I met a fellow who couldn't figure out my social status, even asking what the square footage of my house was. I enjoyed playing with my reply and told him the colours of my walls rather than the number he was looking for. (There was a slight guilt pang but it was fun.)

I am realizing yet again just how pervasive fear can be. While I was confident that I was being true to myself, job-wise, I felt uncomfortable and anxious in the days following. I yearned to drive my children to school again (an unrealistic yearning since they are adults and have been for a while). I worried about my retirement. I agonized about how the value of my home might drop if a proposed high voltage transmission line were built nearby. I was living in my head...in the past and in the future.

A passage from "The Power of Now" by Eckhart Tolle reminded me of what I know but do not always do. Be in the moment. Interestingly, now that I am paying more attention, I notice that I have a crick in my neck which I often take as a sign that my mind is disconnected from my body. The crick has not disappeared but is lessening. The integration of mind and body that sport provides to me so beautifully is becoming more available in each moment. I am grateful for this and all the lessons that life provides. I am not my job, my accomplishments, my labels. I am me, a human being.

Namaste,

Ginny

Superheroes

2009-08-03T19:28:00.019-06:00

When I first started this blog, I described a quote that inspired me. "As you go the way of life, you will see a great chasm. Jump. It is not as wide as you think" . The phrase is attributed by Joseph Campbell to a bit of advice given to a young native at the time of his initiation. Jumping chasms is what it takes to live life fearlessly. The chasm, depending on what scares you, may be leaving a job, saying no to a friend, trying something new or even just being alone and still. I have found the advice to jump very true, and the chasms narrow to mere cracks after the fact.

I recently listened to a song written by Martin Simpson and Eric Bibb that further illuminated the idea of jumping. What does Superman do? He leaps tall buildings in a single bound. What does Spiderman do? Use his spidey sense and powers to move up, down, and sideways. What do kids playing often need? A cape...and that is what these song lyrics are about:
He’s one of those who knows that life
Is just a leap of faith
Spread your arms and hold your breath
Always trust your cape
The new idea that these lyrics convey is to "always trust your cape". When I first started jumping, I probably held my breath. I definitely did not spread my arms though I yearned for that freedom. I trusted something, though I did not know what. Since then I have learned a lot about trust. I began rock climbing, thinking that I would learn to trust others. Instead, I learned to trust myself. What I have just realized is that we are all superheroes and we all have capes. Our capes are invisible. Our capes have many names. They are our guardian angels, our inner compass, our faith in a greater power - whatever name (God, the source, the universe) we choose. So, I am trusting my (invisible) cape and spreading my arms and breathing as I make my leaps of faith.

Learning to fall better

2009-05-17T13:11:00.005-06:00

Several years ago, a writer who I respect told me that it is hard to write about happiness, and that Anne Lamott is an author who writes well about happiness. I had never heard of Anne Lamott but noted her name. Some time later, I went to the bookstore looking for one of her titles. I checked the store's computer and found that they had five copies in-store. The computer indicated that they were in the Bargain pile , under Religion. I looked and looked and checked under the table but could find no copies. I left without buying a book.

This spring, I returned to the same bookstore and again checked the computer. Not surprisingly, the computer indicated there were five hard copies in the Bargain pile, but it also indicated some paperbacks were available. I was on a bit of book buying binge and had already selected several to take home so I headed to the library next. I checked out Anne Lamott's Plan B: Further Thoughts on Faith as well as several books by Pema Chodron.

I have now finished reading my pile of books. The recipes from Moosewood Cooks at Home were tasty but my real nourishment has come from Anne Lamott. One story in particular resonated with me. The story was about skiing, and skiing with a friend with terminal cancer. The friend pointed out to Anne that "you're so afraid of falling that it's keeping you from skiing as well as you could. It's keeping you from having fun."

True in skiing. True in life. Now to apply the lesson fearlessly in both skiing and life.

Namaste.
Ginny

Light and dark trucks

2009-05-15T09:37:00.009-06:00

I feel the menace behind. I look into my car's rear view mirror and there it is. A large Dodge Ram pickup truck, its grill bared like shark's teeth as it approaches me. This particular truck is black with silver trim but in the past, it has been white or, occasionally, blood red. The colour doesn't matter, or even the brand. It is the size that matters - over-sized, thirsty, and looking for dominance.

The truck looms behind me, moving ever closer until I feel its cold breath on my tailgate. I hold my steering wheel and speed steady. With a sharp jerk, the truck finally accelerates into the passing lane and I exhale with relief.

I never see the driver. It is as if the driver is an armoured knight atop a warrior steed. The anonymity helps with intimidation. There is a fraternity of these trucks on the highway and I feel their raw unformed anger regularly. I picture these trucks and their drivers as forces of evil, much like the dark forces in Tolkien or Star Wars.

This realization makes me sad for, historically, the signs of a dark age are family disputes, war, famine, and travellers wandering highways (or, in our times, mall alleyways). Yet,despite 911, despite military involvement in Afghanistan and Iraq, despite poverty, gang violence and familial abuse, we in North America feel that the battle between light and dark is being fought elsewhere. Thinkers, writers and even scientists are warning that earth is at the cusp of a big change but most of us do not realize that we are choosing sides through our daily actions.

The side of light is well represented, but like light itself, is sometimes hard to see. Light is most present in simple everyday acts. Just yesterday, I drove past the corner where a young man dances regularly. This is a very busy corner, intersecting an east-west highway with a north-south artery. Traffic invariably backs up and drivers fume as they sit still in their cars.

In about 2000 or 2001, I first noticed a boy about 14 or 15 years, bundled up against the cold in winter, with headphones on, grooving to the music. When light signals changed, that would be his stimulus to move to the next corner, still bopping as he crossed the street. I worried why he wasn't in school, but I worried more if he wasn't there. Seasons and years went by and still, "The Dancing Boy" was out in all weather dressed appropriately and dancing. Drivers stopped fuming and watched and traffic seemed to move all the better itself when "The Dancing Boy" traversed the corners.

Yesterday when I saw "The Dancing Boy", he was astride his bicycle adjusting his music player. A dozen multi-coloured balloons were tied to the handlebars and danced in the wind. I wondered what the occasion was but realized there was no occasion needed. It was May 14 and snowing. What other reason is needed for balloons to brighten a dark day?

Today, I saw a force of light leaving a dark truck. I had gone to the garden centre needing green after yesterday's snow. The truck was typical. Large and looming, it impeded me as I tried to park. As I got out of my car, I was surprised that two little girls were lifted out of the truck by their father. A few minutes later, I was walking down the aisle of the garden centre and heard a shopping cart directly behind me. I stepped out of the way. The metal cart was being pushed by the truck owner, with one daughter sitting in the cart and the other one walking beside. As the older daughter passed, she looked up at me and said "thank you". I replied "you're welcome".

The little girl's words and actions are illuminating. And by her actions, she is setting an example to me and to her father, who deep inside is likely still a vulnerable and scared little boy. Without our armour, without our big trucks and houses, without our brand names, we can see one another as we truly are.

And time passes by

2009-03-09T15:20:00.003-06:00

It's nearly four months since I last posted, which almost exactly matches ski season. I have not felt the need to write, nor do I particularly feel the need now. I do know that I love writing and will come back to it, and so this entry is like dipping my toe back into the ocean. I don't know if I will dive all the way in, but at least I am testing the writing waters again.

I haven't felt as pressed for time as I have in other winters, yet I have been busy. I have been at the local ski hill most weekdays. I have taught business two mornings a week at the local University, and I have driven to the mountains most weekends to ski. In other years, I have counted my mountain days. This year, I really do not have a clue. The measure is not how many days, but how I feel. I feel like I have gotten skiing in the mountains enough. Some years the craving to ski in the mountains aches in me. This year, I have logged between 15 and 25 days (see what I mean about losing track) and I know that I have skied good terrain and that I have made the most of the season. It is not a good snow year and my skis show the results. Every trip back from the mountains carried a new edge burr or base ding.

This weekend I took my skis to be tuned and all the burrs and dings were removed. My skis are like new, but with less base and fewer options for more tuning. It's a good thing that people are not like skis. When we get "tuned up", hopefully... generally, it means that we have even more options, and that we don't wear out. When I took my skis out on the cold corduroy snow, they felt balanced and precise. I felt relief. I really do love to ski. It was fun. No wonder the time from November to March passed so quickly.

Happiness

2008-11-11T19:39:00.002-07:00

I know what happiness is. It is a feeling deep down inside that bubbles out when I look at a magpie perching on the topmost branch of a willow tree that is bent with the first snow of the year. It is a feeling of contentment when I sit in my house and watch flickering fire light and am grateful for all that I have. It is going to yoga class and being with myself. Happiness is driving home after rock climbing knowing that I have stretched physically and emotionally. Happiness is loving and being loved, in all of love's incarnations.

Some write that being happy is a conscious decision. I agree that we choose happiness but my experience is that I needed to clear a path in my life and my thoughts that would enable me to be happy. The readers of this blog have witnessed some of the barrier falling as I mused upon my fear of falling, my fear of not falling, my pre-occupation with trying and my thoughts. Over the past months, I have written far less than I have in years. Prior to this blog, I kept a journal, writing in it regularly for about seven years.

Through writing both in my journal and blog, I have cleared out my thoughts. There is still plenty of underbrush but the pathways to happiness are more clear than they have ever been. I suspect that I have written little over the past months - one or two entries here a month, one or two entries in my journal - because I was in the process of checking that new barriers would not emerge. I recall that one of my fears was that "the other shoe would drop".

The shoe has not dropped and I am confident that even if it does, I can navigate the way barefoot or with one shoe or new shoes. I am writing again because that is one of the things that makes me happy. This entry feels good.

Namaste,
Ginny

October

2008-10-26T20:18:00.004-06:00

October is flying by. I left for Zermatt Switzerland on the third and am just now getting back into my routine at home. The month has been one in which I have received reminders in various forms to be in the moment and to stay focused on the present.

1) I was dreading the airline flights. My route was from Edmonton to Minneapolis to Amsterdam to Geneva and then Geneva to Montreal then Ottawa via rail then Halifax and back to Edmonton. I was carrying skis, boots, helmet, ski clothes and ordinary clothes for two weeks of travel. My fears were unfounded. My flights were on time and my skis and bag traveled safely and with no extra surcharges to all my destinations.

2) I arrived in Zermatt with a pounding headache and wondered why I had come. The answer revealed itself as soon as I was back on skis high above the clouds with a vista of mountains peaking beyond. I love to ski and I love being in the mountains. It's that simple.

3) I didn't want to leave Zermatt but I did. I was conscious of staying open to what the next phase of my trip would bring and it brought ordinary delights. I watched re-runs of the Gilmore Girls with one of my daughters. We walked in woods, where leaves fell gently from trees and autumn light created brilliant hues. We ate good food, some in restaurants with creative flair, some in hotels with years of tradition and some at her home.

4) I didn't want to leave my daughter but I did. When I arrived in my next city, I decided to treat myself with a manicure. The subtle colour that I chose has amused me for a week. The reason I was in Halifax was to celebrate two graduations with a group of family and near-family and I am grateful that I was able to be part of the celebration.

5) I had looked forward to sea kayaking since the trip was planned and my expectations were surpassed. As soon as I sat in the kayak, I relaxed even though the temperature hovered a few degrees above zero. I paddled without effort and enjoyed the sea swells and smells.

6) More good food...and then back to Edmonton and all that I love at home. Back to yoga, climbing and the start of the ski season.

7)An unexpected exit from the Edmonton Ski and Snowboard Show challenged me to stay present and to ask myself what is really true. The truth is that I stayed true to my principles and acted with integrity. What was, was and what is, is.

Namaste.
Ginny

Caught

2008-09-27T17:10:00.004-06:00

I was caught, twice this week, leaving yoga class. There I was sweating among 20 or 30 other people and I left. I didn't leave the room. I left the moment and I was caught.

The first time that it happened I was moving from a front down savasana into the next pose. I do Bikram yoga, which is the same 26 poses every time, so I know the routine. Somehow (actually I know how) my mind stopped listening to the dialog and I found myself upright on my knees with my hands on the small of my back. It took another moment before I realized that I was one pose too early. I chuckled quietly to myself and moved into the correct sequence but the instructor and I exchanged glances as we both knew that my automatic pilot had shifted in gear and then gave me away.

Today in class I was very present at the outset. I was coughing and assessing how my body felt as a result of a mild cold. I could feel the tightness in my shoulders as a result of rock climbing two days in a row. I could feel my hamstrings and glutes stretch as we warmed up. We then shifted from the standing series to the floor series. The instructor varied slightly from the dialogue and commented that the floor series presents new challenges, that since we take savasana between each pose, we have more opportunities for our minds to shift into gear. I listened, agreed, and decided that wouldn't happen to me.

Ha!...I was midway through the floor series, laying in savasana and heard the instructor say "Ginny, are you sleeping?" I nodded, realizing that I had momentarily closed my eyes. Then I heard him say "Cathy really doesn't like you that much" and I realized that I was laying face turned in the wrong direction, nose to another's nose, removing any privacy from the person on the mat next to me. I laughed out loud as I become conscious just how far away I had slipped.

Several things have become clear to me as a result of practicing yoga this week. Staying in the moment continues to be a challenge and, ironically, I am catching myself leaving when I believe I am most present. Staying present in yoga class is not to be taken for granted. Chuckling and laughing when caught is a new reaction for me. In the past when I received feedback to do something differently I would strain and try too hard. I became heavy. Maybe I am still not present as much as I believe I am but I am grateful for this new lighthearted response. Rather than feeling caught, I feel a light shining the way.

Expectations vs. intentions

2008-09-22T20:10:00.004-06:00

The last time that I went rock climbing, I climbed really well. I was telling a group of friends just that and one asked "What does climbing well mean?"

Good question. It's not like there are time trials or judges. Even route grades are controversial. What is easy for one person is not so easy for another, whether it is a 5.7 or a 5.11b. When I say I climbed well, I mean that I broke through either a physical or mental limit. It means that I have climbed with my mind quiet and my body active. On that particular night, I climbed a route, that none of my friends have done, top to bottom without stopping. It was the fourth time that I tried the route. I had the benefit of knowing the pattern of movement from my past attempts. There was one moment when I almost stopped but I continued.

I then tried another route that I have climbed many times. Only once have I climbed it without a stop. There are three moves that I find mentally challenging. Physically I can do them all. My self-talk is what inhibits me. I look at the hold out to the right and know that I have to move my foot up and out parallel to my hip. Once I do that, the only parts of me that are close to the wall are my hands, gripping holds, and my feet, placed on hold. When I climb I like to be close to the wall and this position plays on all my fears.

As I made the first move, I was pleased with myself. I was even happier when I made the second difficult move, and at that point, I lost focus and listened to my talk and didn't succeed in making the third move. It's like in yoga when I try to balance just on one foot in toe stand. The instant I realize that I am doing it, I fall out. I am afraid not to fall because that would mean that I would have to stay in toe stand even longer. The expectation is what causes me to fall.

Expectations are inherently a balancing act. If my expectations are too low, I don't reach high enough. If they are too high, I get frustrated. The answer: set intentions not expectations. For me, setting intentions creates challenge but allows me freedom to let my body move and my mind observe. Expectations are more rooted in outcomes, in the future. An intention is set in the present. An expectation is rooted in the past and future. When I climb hold by hold, rather than focusing on the end, I climb more confidently and smoothly. Moment by moment, hold by hold with quiet intent.

Winnie the Pooh as glue

2008-09-17T18:58:00.010-06:00

In the past two weeks, I have read several books. At first they seemed disparate. I read "Last Child in the Woods" by Richard Louv which reinforced my belief that nature is a source of healing, spirituality and beauty, and that without contact with nature, our souls are thinner. I read "Comfortable with Uncertainty" by Pema Chodron. I resonated with many of the concepts but wondered how to reconcile the notion of "groundlessness" with the feeling that being "grounded", being "centered" contribute to me being a more true me. I also took some to time to begin to understand Tonglen. The idea of breathing in whatever seems bad initially felt counter-intuitive, though the idea of breathing out and passing on good made sense from the outset. I read "Shadow Catcher" which contains some of the most poetic prose I have ever read and a number of themes, varying from early photography as an art form and truth-teller, to the treatment of Native Americans, to trains as metaphors, to children whose fathers disappear. I also re-read the "Tao of Pooh" by Benjamin Huff.

Language is one of the tools through which we communicate and I realized that "groundlessness" and "being grounded" express the same concept, but with slight difference in nuance. Groundlessness means not being rooted, allowing one's self to be open to the moment, allowing one's self to feel all that is present. When I do that, I am me and more. I am me and I am connected to all that is. When I am grounded, I mean that I am feeling open to my feelings but the connection to all that is, is more limited almost as if the connection extends only as far as my roots.

Breathing in the pain and bad feelings and the breathing out the good has helped me deal with a number of stressful situations over the past couple of weeks. I found that as I practice Tonglen, I observe my own thoughts and feelings more closely and feel a tighter link with others. For example, yesterday, my car was rear-ended as I drove down a freeway. I immediately got out of my car and checked that the driver of the car that hit me was okay. Later, I felt angry that she had not done the same for me. Later still, I realized that I could relate to how she was feeling, that she wanted to believe that she was not at fault, that this inconvenience could be pushed away by denial. In the past, I would have told everyone I saw that day that I had been in a car accident. I would have fondled the story (and perhaps I am now) but I do know that I haven't focused on the incident the way I would have in the past.

"The Shadow Catcher" is a novel which intertwines history, fiction, and personal memoir. It's value to me at this time is to illustrate that the lines between the three types of oeuvres are illusions, and made stronger or weaker by recounting or forgetting. Interpretation of any story is individual as well. Perhaps a scholar could determine if A.A. Milne had read Lao-tse or been exposed to eastern philosophy, but I doubt his intent in writing "Winnie the Pooh" was to create a parable illuminating Taoist ideas. Even if A. A. Milne did have such an intent, it wouldn't matter. Rabbit's calculations and Owl's pontifications would still just fall on Pooh's ears. Winnie the Pooh is a simple bear who illustrates a way of learning from whatever happens in everyday life. He is pretty much okay with whatever happens. He does without doing . And despite my protestations to the contrary, it is no coincidence that Winnie the Pooh is a childlike bear who lives in the woods and is very comfortable with uncertainty. Winnie the Pooh is the glue in my reading.

Dragonfly

2008-08-02T11:06:00.001-06:00

I went outside a few minutes ago to make sure the front gate was closed and there was an amazing dragonfly holding tightly to my doorknob. It had a wingspan of about 2 1/2 inches and its wings were like bronze lace. I felt like I was in the presence of a tiny ancient warrior. He's still there now, guarding my door.

Left, right, right

2008-07-30T15:37:00.004-06:00

I was at the rock climbing gym one Sunday afternoon and none of my friends were available to belay me, so I bouldered (which is climbing without a harness and rope but only to a certain height). Some rock climbers prefer bouldering. Others use it to train endurance by doing horizontal circuits around the gym. Still others boulder to work out certain "problems" which are series of moves determined by the placement of particular feet and hand holds.

I bouldered a circuit for a while but I could only endure so much for so long and I turned to the problems. The ones at the gym where I climb are graded in increasing difficulty from 1-24. Usually I can complete problems 1-8 without much difficulty and I have never completed a problem higher than 12. This is still true. That Sunday, I completed 1-8 with no problem. I started 9 but it is in the cave with the moves set from the side to the ceiling. I get stuck on a ceiling move. Whether I lack the core strength or technique or willingness to commit, I don't know, but I get stuck at the same place every time. I was able to complete problems 10-11 with coaching from others and I am now working on 12. I can do each individual move but cannot string them together to flow from start to finish. I would like to break past this level of climbing and progress, so I decided to specifically work on moves that I find either mentally or physically challenging.

One of the moves that I find difficult is to be in a position with my feet high on the wall, knees fully bent and hands on a single hold, somewhat like a backstroke swimmer at the start of a race, and then dynamically reach up high with one hand to the next hold. It's like being in a squat and reaching up to a basketball hoop. I decided to practice this un-coiling and catching the hold until I had done it ten times in a row.

First try - I positioned my hands on the start hold, brought my right foot up and then my left foot and reached with my right hand. Miss. Second try, I did the same thing and succeeded in catching the hold. My brain and body had used the information from the first try to gauge how much unfurling was required. Third try, I did it again. My neurological circuits were firing and the move was transitioning into body memory.

I decided to experiment and make a subtle change in the movement. Experiment - I positioned my hands on the start hold, brought my left foot up and then my right foot and reached with my right hand. Miss. Second try in the experiment, I did the same thing and missed. Third try, I missed again. Fourth try, I missed again. Clearly, something was amiss.

The pattern of movement - left, right, right - is not the pattern I am accustomed to in ordinary life. I walk, left, right, left right. I swim, feet kicking left, right, left right and my arms arc left, right, left right. To move two limbs on one side of my body in succession feels wrong. This is why it is good for me. I am breaking through old patterns and creating new neurological pathways. Not only will this help me climb better but research shows this learning will help me as I age. Learning dance moves or yoga poses, I encounter the same thing. New ways of moving create new ways of being.

And so, if you notice yourself moving in the same pattern, time and time again, alter the pattern slightly and notice what happens next. You may feel a frisson of fear as you do something new, but it's all part of the fun.

Seeing things

2008-07-14T18:32:00.002-06:00

I was walking my dog this afternoon and, about twenty minutes into the walk, I noticed my thoughts. I was thinking about skiing. Now, as much as I like to think about skiing, thinking about it in July in the northern hemisphere is clearly an example of not being in the present moment.

So, I shifted from visualizing future enjoyment into the "now". Immediately I began to see things differently. I was walking past a grove of birch trees. I looked at a tree and noticed the subtle gradations of pale gray and green bark . Ants were channeling up and down the trunk. The next tree was also a birch but I was struck by its stark white and black. Two trees of the same species next to one another, much the same when viewed quickly, but with dramatic contrast when viewed with intent.

The life lessons are apparent and almost cliched. Be in the present moment. Pay attention to each individual. Do these things and life will reveal itself differently.

Namaste,
Ginny

Plus ca change

2008-07-05T19:00:00.004-06:00

I've been going to yoga a lot lately, and I feel changes happening in my body. The progress I began to feel last year in loosening my tight hamstrings continues. My hips continue to open, and my lower back feels more aligned. I attribute the changes not just to the physical exercise but to how I am feeling emotionally. I am letting go, and so my body follows (or perhaps, it's the other way round, my body is letting go and I am following).

My left leg in particular is loosening and tightening at the same time. For the first time in many of the poses, I am holding it locked and strong. It is a new feeling. These changes are not dramatic and they are not driven by external circumstances. I am not injured. I have not gained or lost weight. I am simply doing yoga, and by doing yoga I am changing.

I am finding that my ego is challenged by some of these changes. The shift from slightly bent knee to straight knee, from hip and quadricep almost parallel to the floor to parallel is having consequences on my ability to hold triangle pose. This has been a favorite pose, similar to warrior pose, and one that I have moved into easily since beginning yoga. Now, I am falling out of it, unable to stay balanced. Sometimes, my feet start to slip and I wonder if I have the inner thigh strength and the inner mental strength to keep holding the pose. Sometimes, I hold the pose. More often than I would like to admit, I put my hands down on the ground for respite. It is humbling to no longer be able to stay in a pose for the full sixty seconds. I imagine that the instructors think that I am wussing out for, in the past, I have always been able to hold the pose.

I realized that I was competent in the pose previously. Now I am on my way to a new strength and flexibility. To achieve this, I will fall out of poses. I will find new edges and limits. Internally generated change, simply to grow, seems difficult. I am asking myself to be resilient, to be comfortable with discomfort, to create new neurological pathways.

Many of my big life changes have had an external stimulus such as change of job or change in marital status. I am realizing that to make a big life change or to simply become unstuck requires a different strength when the motivation is internal. The change is incremental and almost unobservable until the accumulation results in a action that others perceive as change. Change is constant. Change is real. Plus ca change, plus ca change.

Trust

2008-06-19T17:28:00.004-06:00

I started rock climbing because I wanted to trust people more. As a neophyte, I believed that the relationship between climber and belayer had to be one of trust. It is. What I have learned about trust from rock climbing , though, is more fundamental. You have to trust in yourself before you can trust in others.

Without trust in yourself, there is no trust. Without trust in yourself, you have abdicated responsibility. This is especially true in rock climbing. The climber does rely on the belayer to catch falls and identify risks but the first onus is on the climber for the climber's safety. Trusting oneself is more difficult than it sounds. Self-trust relates to confidence and body-mind awareness. Trust is being in the moment, listening to the stillness, and acting accordingly. Because most of us go in and out of the moment, most of us go in and out of trusting ourselves.

And if we can't trust ourselves, every moment of every day, how can we trust others? Especially, when trust is one of the foundation building blocks of any meaningful relationship? The answer that I am pursuing is to act as if trust is present. Assume trust.

Trust will not be there every moment in my relationships with my family and my friends but if I act as if it is, it will be more and more often. This is true in the big important things in life, and it is true in the small things. I continue to explore my ability to trust myself on a daily basis, as I rock climb, as I navigate a hilly curve on my mountain bike, as I lift my heel in toe-stand in yoga, as I am open and honest with friends, as I communicate with family. Trust grows.

Fairy Tales

2008-06-11T19:57:00.004-06:00

As I child, I read and I read and I read. Interestingly, I don't remember learning to read though I do recall the laminated paper tools we used for phonetics. I also recall that in grade one, we were divided into two groups and I turned whenever the other group read Jimmy's name out loud. (Jimmy being the main boy character in our primer, and sounding a lot like Ginny when pronounced by a six year old). I do know that I read all the books in the children’s section of our town library by the time I was 12. I spent so much time with books that I could identify the publisher by the smell of the ink and texture of the paper.

In grades six and seven, I became engrossed in Andrew Lang's coloured Fairy Books. There are twelve books in the collection, published between 1889 and 1910. The Blue Fairy Book was the first and then the Red. The most widely known fairy tales were selected in the early books with lesser known stories in the later ones. I read them all - Blue, Red, Green, Yellow, Pink, Gray, Violet, Crimson, Brown, Orange, Olive, and Lilac. Last night I read an essay by Barbara Sjoholm about "The Snow Queen" included in the Pink Fairy Book. Serendipitously, today I found my forty-year old, yellowed copy of the Blue Fairy Book.

As I grew older, I continued to read fairy tales and myth. I thought the value was in escapism not education. I began to realize the powerful influence that fairy tales have had on my values and decisions when I first read Women Who Run With Wolves by Clarissa Pinkola Estes. Estes is a Jungian psychologist who re-tells familiar tales and stories from around the world and then illustrates their import on the female psyche. I read her description of Hans Christian Anderson's "Red Shoes" and thought of Princess Diana. Brittney Spears also wears red shoes which dance out of control. "The Snow Queen", which is not included in Women Who Run with Wolves reflects the shattered shards of adolescence and dysfunctional families.

Classic fairy tales are no longer being read by children. Classic fairy tales are no longer being read to children by adults. Our society is lacking as a result. The tales are rooted in our history and provide universal lessons of risk, caution, and caring. Do cartoons, anamie, Air Guitar and Wii provide the same richness, just in a new cultural context? Maybe so, but certainly, the adult re-reading of old favorites is lost and symbols of the past, like the Little Match Girl and Red Shoes, are fading away. Adults need doses of fairy tales even more than children. Our prescription seems to be cardboard reality television and box office movies. Stories and magic in music, even the most popular, linger on and give me hope. Keep re-telling the old stories.

Blind spots

2008-06-05T12:14:00.002-06:00

Lately, I have been very conscious of my blind spot when I am driving my car. I make an effort to shoulder check and look at the small but very dangerous spot when the car close on the right is not visible. Too often, I see a car when I did not sense one.

Lately, I have been wondering why certain people get to me, triggering thoughts or behaviour that do not reflect the me that I want to be. Yesterday in yoga class one of those people practiced next to me. I heard a noisy thunk as she hurled her mat onto the floor. I looked up to see who it was. I saw her and felt dismay. I resolved to focus on my practice, to get into the poses, hold them and move on. As I did so, I realized that what triggers me about her isn't so much her drama but her frustration with not getting the poses right or perfect. It seemed as if she wanted someone to notice her and compliment her - good work, good effort, good girl. I know that feeling and gradually over time the need for external recognition is diminishing in me. It's still there, though, and pops up when I least expect it.

Recognizing my blind spot in yoga class spawned other ah-ha's. There was a woman who spoke to me in the climbing gym about watching her climber while she belayed him on lead that triggered anger in me. I held back my snarky retort but it troubled me so much that I moved to a different part of the gym but did not enjoy the rest of my session. I realized that it was because she saw me as a middle-aged beginner climber, not an experienced intermediate.

With that realization came others... the guy who told me that some of my short radius turns were good; others not so. I became VERY passive aggressive (knowing short radius turns are an area of improvement for me), and challenged him to tell me specifically which ones were good and which ones weren't and what I did differently on each. It was a trigger-fest on skis. His lack of self confidence (which I would have seen were it not one of my blind spots) triggered my lack of confidence. I fired back. He volleyed in return. Good thing we weren't in cars, but at least in cars, we know to check our blind spots.

This is the lesson that I am taking away - check my blind spots. When I feel unease, I become less present and worry that I am not good enough. Instead, I need to open myself to the situation and ask myself what it is going on. The irony is that by worrying about not being good enough, that's what happens. Maybe I can tape a note on my nose that sticks up in front of my eyes. Check your blind spots! No - that would make me blind to other things...the answer is (with apologies to the Grateful Dead) to "keep on truckin".

Over and over

2008-06-04T19:05:00.005-06:00

One of the colloquial, somewhat humorous, definitions of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result. I disagree. It is almost impossible to do the same thing over and over again in exactly the same way. The key is "exactly the same way". Last night I was at the rock climbing gym and was stuck getting past an overhang. I was on top rope so I could attempt the challenge in several different ways. On my first try, I positioned my feet, one under the overhang, the other around the corner and reached up with my left hand to a higher hold. I successfully grabbed the hold. Now I needed to get my right hand higher and then pull my body weight upwards, past the precipice.

I moved my right foot to a hold about three inches higher, closer in to the wall, beneath the overhang. My chest and hips were parallel to the overhang and, relying on core strength, I reached up and over on to the higher right hand hold. I grasped it but then my hold slipped and I swung left in the air over the corner.

I repositioned myself and attempted the same move the same way. I didn't even come close to reaching the hold. A different outcome doing something the "same way". My friend who was belaying me, suggested moving into a backstep which meant bringing both my feet onto the corner wall, pulling my right side in, and then reaching up with my right hand. I tried and felt unbalanced. A "new way" and the same outcome: I wasn't yet past the overhang.

I reverted back to my original position which was comfortable and reached up for a fourth time. My hand did not reach the hold and again I swung in the air on top rope. I recall saying to myself "you can't quit, you can do this" and I reached up with my right hand in the same way as I had in my first, second, and fourth attempts. This time my hand gripped the hold and I pulled myself up and over, wondering why it had taken me so many attempts when the successful reach was so easy.

The difference between the successful reach and the unsuccessful reach? To people watching, there was no difference. A snapshot would have shown me in the same starting position time and time again. But, the snapshot would have been misleading. There were several differences. At the outset, I was not certain of my technique and not certain that I would pull myself up. A bit of experimentation convinced me that my technique and skill would allow me to pull up. The experimentation also gave me insight into the millimeters of difference in where I positioned my hands on the holds, and in the milliseconds of timing in reaching, pulling and moving my hands and feet up. So, millimeters and milliseconds made a difference. The most important factor, though, was my intent. There was no doubt in my mind when I made the final pull-up. I was going to do it that time. My intention was clear and my body and mind worked together to make it happen.

So, is it insane to do the same thing over and over and expect a different outcome? No. This is how athletes train. They do the same thing over and over, making minor adjustments (and sometimes major changes), until the movements are patterned and reliable. Still, almost every 500 meter run, every triple Axel, every ball pitched, and basket sunk has some minor variation.
The "insanity" is to think that it is possible to do the same thing the same way over and over. The truism isn't true . That said, I do agree that there are times when small change is not enough to produce different outcomes and when boldness is required, but that is fodder for a different day and a different climb.

Namaste

A new language

2008-06-02T18:43:00.005-06:00

There's lots of talk about listening to our bodies. I hear the talk on television about workout intensity...I hear the talk in yoga class... I hear the talk among life coaches. I have been trying to listen to my body for a while but just this week I realized how amazing it is to really hear what my body is saying. It's as if I have been listening in one language and my body has been communicating in another, and this week, finally, I have begun to learn the language of my body.

In the past, I have listened to overt signals from my body. My toes hurt. My calves are cramping. I feel blocked in my stomach. These were real signals and my body communicated effectively, like a sailor waving bold semaphore flags. The signals were hard to miss. Sometimes they were easy to interpret (semaphore isn't that complicated) but other times I was off track.

What I have learned to hear over the past weeks is a deep knowing. My body is using more subtle semiotics. For example, I woke one morning feeling normal (which for me includes a tinge of anxiety). I went about my morning tasks and as I was walking from the kitchen to the dining room, I felt a deep sense of peace. I distinctly noticed it and observed it and briefly wondered why. Shortly after, a family member phoned with good news.

On Friday, I struggled through yoga class. I had to sit out poses. I turned red. Tears eked out of my eyes. I realized that there was a message in the signals my body was sending me but I focused so much on just getting through class that I did not try to understand what the signals were. Today I learned that, at the exact time, I was in yoga class, the final piece of settling my mother's estate fell into place.

That our bodies hold wisdom, that our bodies communicate physical pain, that our bodies hold memories of past injury, is becoming more accepted. My experience bears this out. As I have learned to listen to my body, through therapy and through activity, I have released much of my past. Perhaps, the deep knowing language is available to me now only because I have unclogged the transmission highways over the past nine years. This language of knowing is new to me It is nice to imagine that this knowing is a reward for hard work. I am like a first grader reading a primer, sounding out words. There is inherent joy. Drawing conclusions about why I have learned a new way of reading my body now is premature and unnecessary. I am just grateful for being and communicating.

Musings on feet and music

2008-05-28T21:00:00.004-06:00

I have lots of things to blurt out today. First, I went to yoga which in and of itself isn't unusual. Today, however, my feet started cramping even before class began. A horizontal strip across the bridge of my foot, just underneath my toes clenched and unclenched. As it released, the pain moved to my inner arch. The cramps were more pronounced on my right side. I asked myself if the cramps were due to dehydration. The answer was no, so I focused on relaxing and forgot about the cramps until a few poses into class.

Awkward pose - well named with three parts. During the first part, you squat. That went fine for me today. During the second part, you stand on your tiptoes as high as possible and then bend knees and hips to move down as if sitting. My toes would not let me stand on them. I tried to move forward onto the tips. One calf cramped; then the other; then all the toes. I kept moving into my toes but kept coming out of the pose. The third part in which you rise slightly on your toes with your knees together and then lower down was cramp-free.

My intention in yoga class yesterday was to "let go". Let go of the tension inside of me. Let go of past hurts. Let go of all the things that are tight and impeding me. Surrender to what is. I felt progress yesterday so my intention today was the same. Suddenly, in class today, I realized why I was cramping. My mind was saying "let go", but my body (specifically my toes, arches, and calves) were tightening, clinging to the tension. Usually, it is the other way round, with my brain leading, but the message was clear to me. I am letting go but it is gradual. Let it be. My body knows the way.

Music inspires me and I look forward to the August Folk Fest with anticipation. There is a sense of community energy that is hard to find during the rest of the year. The line-up for this year's folk fest was announced today and I just spent hours listening to music by artists I haven't heard and exploring the websites of those I know. I discovered that a favorite musician who is also a producer worked with one of my favorite bands on their new album which is to be released next month. The collaboration is a mix of traditional and edginess. It'll be cool and as I listened to the digital tracks, I relaxed, feet and all.

Gripping the ground

2008-05-19T10:22:00.004-06:00

I'm not a naturally relaxed person (surprise, surprise!) so over the past few years, I 've become very conscious of checking with my body to see where I sense tension. I am feeling it in my toes and feet, so much so, that I just wish they could they could relax. I am gripping the ground, toes curled in, achilles tendon and heels slightly lifted, weight on the balls of my feet.

The good news is that I am aware. The bad news is that there is nothing I can do. Yoga and relaxation tapes just intensify the feeling. Whatever is causing me to grip and ground with the edges of my toes is in me and will come out with allowing, not trying. I was curious as to what could be causing this new/old feeling so I investigated some reflexology websites. I'm not convinced that the feelings that I have are related to the energy meridians associated with my vital organs. Let me re-phrase that...I'm not convinced that I understand how what I am feeling and what is going on in my life is related to the energy meridians associated with these particular vital organs.

Maybe I am gripping to stay where I am, trying to resist change. Maybe I recognize that I am falling forward into change and haven't fully allowed it. Maybe I am trying to stay grounded as change occurs. My toes are saying " stay, stay" while the rest of me wants to get up and go. Is that true? It seems so. All three wordings imply the same thing. Change is occuring and I want to stay rooted. It is time for another gardening metaphor. A rootbound plant doesn't thrive. Transplanting to a better location or bigger pot causes temporary shock but luxuriant growth follows. I need to let go of these roots so even stronger ones can grow. This is why the feeling is new/old. I have been through it before. In the past, I was uprooted through storms of change. This time, the impetus for growth is within me. My toes are still curled, but I think I'm on to something, and it's not just the ground.

Namaste,
Ginny

Being a change

2008-05-18T20:10:00.015-06:00

"Be the change you want to see in the world" - Mahatma Gandhi

I can change the world
With my own two hands
Make a better place
With my own two hands
Make a kinder place
With my own two hands
With my own
With my own two hands

I can make peace on earth
With my own two hands
I can reach out to you
I can clean up the earth
With my own two hands

I'm gonna make it a brighter place
I'm gonna make it a safer place
I"m gonna help the human race
With my own two hands
With my own
With my own two hands

With my own two hands
I can comfort you
With my own two hands
But you got to use
Use your own two hands
Use your own
Use your own two hands - Ben Harper

"Be the change that you want to see in the world." I see this quote from Mahatma Gandhi on a daily basis. Friends sign their e-mails with it; the quote is on the wall at the yoga studio where I practice. I also listen to this song by Ben Harper on a regular basis. Recently, I realized that these are not aspirations. They are happening. I am making a change in the world and I am doing it with my own two hands. This is true, not just for me, but for many of us.

It is exciting to realize that change is happening. The scale might not be grand but the impact may be. What helped me realize that I am making a difference? Small ordinary conversations - some while walking the dog, others while weeding the front garden, still others waiting in a line of some sort. For example, yesterday as I was walking around the block, one of my neighbors was tilling up soil. I complimented him on his yard, saying that there can never be too many flowers in the world. He looked at me and asked "Which house is yours? I told him and he said "Ah, yours is the one with the Livingstone daisies in the front. I saw them last year and have about 100 seedlings growing now."

It's a small thing but knowing that planting a flower gave such enjoyment to another that they are doing the same makes me feel humble and happy. Gardening is powerful magic, healing the people who plant and till and weed, and feeding the souls of those who observe with beauty. Our actions are like gardening. Each smile is a seed for another, each opening of a lane in traffic to another car is an opening of our hearts, each kind act roots us more in today and provides the strength for tomorrow. So... I may not know which change I am being on any given day, but to know that I make a difference is inspiration to keep learning and being. And so may it be for others.

Still sorting

2008-05-14T12:31:00.006-06:00

I am still sorting things out. Some things seem destined not to occur, or at least not now, but even those things are not sorted out. To put things into mundane perspective, one of the things I am considering is moving to a new home. I called a real estate agent ten days ago to look at two homes on the market. We set a tentative date and time of 1:00 Wednesday afternoon. At noon, on that Wednesday, I hadn't heard from the agent so I called her. Lots of apologies and excuses and a new date and time was set - Tuesday May 13. Yesterday came and went and no call from the real estate agent.

So, does this mean that I am not meant to move? Probably not, although a part of me wants to say so. Does this mean that I am not meant to use this real estate agent? Yes. She's fired and doesn't even know it. Does this mean that I am not meant to buy either one of those houses? Maybe yes, maybe no. Sometimes I think I try to read entrails where there are none.

I am still sorting out work. I conscientiously pointed out that a revised proposal was two weeks overdue. Executives sprang into action...or more precisely, meetings are being held and words being written down. Tomorrow I am meeting with a different company to discuss a proposal that I have put forward. The challenge for me in the midst of these uncertain opportunities is to stay true to what I believe. I believe in not anticipating the outcomes (waaaay easier to write than to do) and I believe in listening not to logic but to my intuition when the time is right to make a decision.

I have experience in listening to my intuition and having the outcomes be fortuitous. I have experience in not listening to my intuition, and being aware that I was not listening, and having the outcomes be less positive. I know to listen to my intuition. It's just that sometimes it is a very quiet voice and I need to quiet many other thoughts to get to that inner sage.

The other thoughts surround my family. My mother's estate is being settled after a year in probate and my bank doesn't know how to set up the account. The cynic in me is really surprised. The real issue is that, by dealing with her money, I am thinking again about the past. It doesn't matter. Only the present does. I need to be present. Not in the past, not in the future. Now.

So I know what to do. Stay present. Be in the moment. Listen to myself. The hard part is the doing but at least I know.

Namaste,
Ginny

Amateur Love

2008-05-10T17:57:00.006-06:00

The stories of Olympic athletes have inspired me since I was a child. I have been motivated by other sporting events but, like many people, the Olympics have a special place in my heart. Part of the inspiration is the very notion the Olympics - the best amateur athletes from around the world come together in a series of contests to foster "sound mind in a sound body" and to promote friendship among nations.

Because of their very nature - the gathering of people from across the world and the consequent attention globally - the Olympics encapsulate the times in which they are held. I like to think that the Olympics are non-political but issues are been present since the modern international event was conceived in 1896. Race issues were prevalent early on. Jim Thorpe and Jesse Owen are almost always identified by race.

War prevented the games from occuring in 1916, 1940, and 1944 but war has been waged in the world during many other Olympic years. Eleven Israeli athletes were killed by Palestinian terrorists in 1972 in Munich. To protest the 1979 Soviet invasion of Afghanistan more than 60 countries, led by the United States, withdrew from the 1980 Summer Games in Moscow. The Soviet Union withdrew from the 1984 Summer Games in Los Angeles. War is going on today in many parts of the world but the Bejing Olympics are still scheduled.

Boycotts have also occured for political reasons. The 1956 Olympics were boycotted by Netherlands, Spain, and Switzerland because of the repression of the Hungarian Uprising by the Soviet Union. In a protest against a New Zealand rugby tour of South Africa about 30 African nations boycotted the 1976 Summer Games in Montreal, To counter the U.S. boycott in 1980, the Soviet Union withdrew from the Los Angeles Olympics in 1984.

From a small beginning of less than 250 athletes (which was still one of the largest sporting events ever held) to over 11,000 athletes and 16,000 broadcasters and journalists (and more countries participating than in the United Nations), the Olympics has opened itself to the world.

I want to believe in the indomitable spirit of the athletes and the demonstration of grace that athletes, engaging in what they love, convey. I want to believe the Olympics are non-political and at an individual level, I think most athletes do represent the Olympic spirit. I am troubled by this year's torch relay. Protests have plagued the torch run, and I am sad that the Chinese have chosen to carry the torch to the summit of Everest.

To make the climb possible, China relied on technology, and Nepal to close key routes to other climbers. The torch was carried up the southern side of Everest from Nepal to the summit while the descent was down the north face through Tibet. The fact that most of the climbers representing China are Tibetan is small solace. China and the IOC were aware of the political impact and, indeed, shrouded the timing of the summit with secrecy and did not incorporate the climb into the on-going route of the torch. I understand the imagery -the torch, representing the peak of amateur athleticism, sparking the sky above the earth's pinnacle. The two should not have been twinned. The gesture is not grand. The gesture is that of a bully.

My hope is that all the individuals involved in this year's Olympics participate ,and participate as "amateurs", whether they are athletes, officials, volunteers, journalists, broadcasters, or spectators. Love is global and grand.

Namaste,
Ginny

Sorting things out

2008-05-07T12:52:00.004-06:00

Sometimes when my mind becomes over-active, I muddle things into a ball. I think "If I do this, I can't do that, but I want to do that, but if I do that, then this will become more difficult. And what about this? And what about that?" And so on and so on, until I am a twisted mess. I was heading down this path yesterday, conscious that I was doing so, but still mixing and twisting things that don't belong together, and I decided to write.

This was a good idea. I wrote, stream of consciousness, and discovered clarity. I wrote: "I've got lots of mixed feelings going on...I tend to lump all the stuff into a ball and instead of looking at the opportunities ( which is really what I have in front of me), I get frozen worrying about the future if I pick this one or that one. For now, all I can do is pursue the opportunities. Today there are no decisions. I just need to keep reminding myself of that. Time will untangle this mixed-up ball of feelings. I know that."

Things are untangling. I ran into someone at yoga who I wished to see. A tentative appointment to look at a new home has been postponed but that's okay. I am not ready today but I will be. Other tasks seem less daunting. I have given myself permission "not to know", not to know with certainty where I will be living next fall, what the major source of my income will be, what activities I will be involved in. The irony is that, even if I think I know, I don't.

The only thing I know for certain is that I am happier, more "me" when I sit with myself and listen to my intuition. In addition, I am going to implement some life coaching advice and create a vision board of things that resonate with me. I know that on the board will be a letter I wrote to myself today that will say "open in January" as a reminder to me, that when I get busy, to stop, go to yoga, just be and breathe.

Breath

2008-05-04T14:40:00.003-06:00

I learned to breathe when I was over 40 years old. I really did. Prior to that I was inhaling and exhaling but I was not consicous of breath, of its life force. I would breathe open-mouthed with shallow inhalations, never deep into my belly. From time to time, I would try to breathe with my mouth shut but I felt like I was suffocating, like I couldn't breathe. I attributed my inability to breathe through my nose to my nose. I thought I was naturally congested and had a vague recollection of an allergist when I was a child, suggesting so. And so, I believed.

I remember the first time my belly expanded with breath. I was in yoga class. I was in savasana, not a pose in which instructors generally comment or adjust, but that day, Melissa saw the contraction and expansion and drew my attention to it. I am grateful. I can fall into old patterns of stress-breathing but the knowledge of how a deep breath feels is with me and I know its calming effect.

Today, Melissa taught her last class at our yoga studio, at least for a while. She is moving to another city and it is a passage for her and the yogis she has influenced. The class was fun, with experienced practioners alternating between focus and pulling fun on Melissa. We all laughed together - all fifty of us, some taking her yoga class for the first time, others for the nth time.

Namaste, Melissa, and thank you for accidentally stepping on my loose toenail today when we hugged. Just another way in which you help me shed layers of myself....

Success

2008-04-27T13:29:00.006-06:00

Nearly a year ago in preparation for a workshop, I was asked to write several stream-of-consciousness paragraphs about a topic I found compelling. I wrote about success. When I re-read what I wrote, I see seeds of learning that have since germinated. Growth is occuring.

Here is what I wrote last July:

"Society values success. We all want to be successful, but do we know what it is? For many years, I thought I would be successful if I climbed the corporate ladder. I didn’t want to be President of a large company; Executive or Senior Vice-President would be fine. I now believe that if I had gotten that role, it would be at a large personal cost. I would probably be working too much, skipping meals and eating too much at night, and not enjoying life. Externally successful; internally anguished.

A Canadian Olympic swimmer who I worked with once confided that he hated swimming, that his father drove him to it, and that when his swimming career was over, he was happy for the first time. Is coming in fourth success?? Is success being thin? Is success living in a nice house or driving a nice car? Is success having successful children (whatever that means)?

Success sometimes seems to be black and white – either you are or you are not successful. Success seems externally driven, based on other’s perceptions. You seldom know how that person you perceive as successful perceives himself.

I believe that success is not black and white. There can be a single moment or outcome that is “success” but success is accompanied by other moments. I successfully completed an axel (but how many times did I fall in trying). I successfully sold my car (but what the heck does that mean except that I sold it). I succeeded in raising $2000 for charity (but was that success? What if my target was $20,000?)

When I was in a group therapy session with other women, I commented that I thought they should give medals for overcoming challenges like abuse, alcoholism, addiction. So the next Christmas, one of the group members gave each of us one of her synchronized skating medals. The group fell apart shortly after and I haven’t seen that woman since the day she gave me my medal. I hope that she now views herself as successful. That’s all that matters.

Success is individual and ephemeral. When an individual truly has an internal picture of success, success builds on success. Ideally, success is learning, success is achieving an outcome and then moving on to the next desired outcome and trying and getting it or not, and then trying again. The most successful people wear their medals on the inside. "

The seeds that have flourished are these:

Externally successful; internally anguished. Here I am beginning to separate my achievements and my situation from me.
There can be a single moment or outcome that is success but "success" is accompanied by other moments. My view is evolving on this....I am realizing that success IS the moment, not the moment before and not the moment after. Success is not an outcome. Success is being in the moment. This is an area of continuous attention for me. I am able to be in the moment, but I still have many moments when I am not present and I still have some moments where I am far far away.
Success builds on success. Being in the moment does build on itself. I know this. Ease follows.
Success is individual and ephemereal. How can it be otherwise?

I also wonder whether this is a case of the etymology of language influencing perception, expectations and action. The word from latin succedere - roots "sub" meaning "go under" and "cedere" go along. The word's early meaning is : to follow, to inherit, especially to inherit the monarchy. The association of success with money and status is rooted in the word's history. Success has indeed built on success. Eckhart Tolle imagined the earth without the word "work " in The Power of Now . I feel the same way about the word "try". I'm adding "success" to that list of words. As our society grows, so will our ability to express true meaning.

Spring's waves

2008-04-25T09:07:00.008-06:00

For the past five years, the end of April has marked a transition for me. During winter, I go full tilt (maybe at windmills, maybe not) and then halt screechingly once the ski season and the university term end in late April. I was particularly busy this winter with teaching at the university, teaching skiing, consulting, writing, and driving to the mountains most weekends to train.

I expected this April to be different. I had a contract for a three year consulting project and was looking forward to the continuity and activity of the project once teaching was done. I worked many hours this winter, often over 60 hours per week, and the thought of a single project was appealing. This is not to be.

The project is on hold, with a new proposal forthcoming within a few weeks. I now have plenty of time to write, to go to yoga, to read, to rock climb and see friends, to walk my dog. I am grateful for this period. Just two days into the slower pace, and I feel more like myself. It feels good.
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For many years, my metaphor for life was climbing mountains. Strength, resilience, tenacity were all attributes I desired. My metaphor is changing and has been changing for some time. I had one dream several years ago that sustains me when I feel lost and afraid. I am in a small sailing dinghy and a large wave looms ready to crash down and crush. I turn to face the wave and my boat and I dive under the crest and come out to stillness. Face your fears and be still. Let the hard become easy.

In another dream, I picture the trail map of a ski mountain. There are white snowy paths lined with trees and rock. Coming down the trails, in reverse of salmon spawning, are humpback whales crowded together. The whales flow down much the way water flows in a river. A bringing together of nature's extremes - mountain and water, hard and soft. No resistence, just flow. Power and grace, a whale and a mountain singing together.
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So this is me, now. I am at home, facing the wave of spring change. It need not be hard. It will be easy.

Namaste,

Ginny

A week later...

2008-04-23T17:12:00.003-06:00

Since I posted a week ago, lots has happened but nothing really. I drove to Jasper, and then from Jasper to Lake Louise and then from Lake Louise to Edmonton. During that week, I was in some of my favourite places but, with the exception of a few minutes during my drive along the Icefields parkway, I was not present in those places.

I have been in my mind way too much this past week. I was trying not to but that is what happened. I tried. I tried and I tried, and then when things weren't working out, I tried to fix them by thinking. As I did at Christmas, I felt tension arising from within me and rather than allowing myself to feel and observe, the tension triggered old coping mechanisms. Toward the end of the week, I recognized the old patterns. I felt particularly tense, squinty-eyed, and low one morning. I recognized that I needed to alter my energy and decided to do yoga. The only private (?) place was a public washroom so that's where I went. I felt much more at peace but within ten minutes, I was flooded with anxiety again as I received a well-intentioned comment and started thinking about it.

That said, I am not bringing out my figurative baseball bat to whack myself into my senses. I have moments where I think about what happened this week and tell myself stories, but then I notice my thoughts and feel better again. A friend of mine once said that she felt like she had remedial karma when she left one coporate behemoth and joined another only to find the same patterns repeating. I suspect I will see these old patterns emerge in my life many more times. The key is to see them and not fall into them.

Life gave me other lessons this week. They are not clear to me but I am gaining insight into my journey from anxiety into consciousness. I received kindness and empathy from people I don't know and that is a real gift. I also realized this morning that as much as I love skiing, I may have focused too much on it over the past weeks, leaving me out of balance. I knew I missed yoga. I knew I missed cooking good meals. I knew I missed the companionship of friends. I was so focused that my sight narrowed, leaving a breadth of opportunity unseen.

The tension that I felt over the past weeks is dissipating. My lower back no longer hurts. I still feel tense in pockets throughout my body but the clenching is relaxing and I am allowing spring to come (even though Edmonton is still covered in deep wet snow from a blizzard over the weekend and has had three days of record low temperatures).

P.S. When I was doing yoga in the washroom of a ski lodge, I really was in the moment, focusing on my breathing and asanas. When I left the washroom, though, I chuckled to think what someone else would have thought if they had walked in to see me prone stomach on the floor, ski boots on, lifting into cobra pose. Sometimes even thoughts have their moments.

Literary learnings

2008-04-15T20:01:00.005-06:00

I've loved to read ever since I was a child. Even though books and stories have transported me to Narnia, to Winesburg Ohio, to the Alps, to New York City at the turn of the century, and many other places and eras, when I read I am usually present in who I am. I recall as a child, knowing a book's publisher by the smell of the ink and the texture of the paper. I've also known that books nourished my soul and nurtured me in ways that my own parents did not.

I have learned and continue to learn from books. Just as a tree's age can be estimated by counting the concentric circles on its trunk, my learning can be traced to beginnings in books read years ago to lessons from books I am still reading. When I read the following passage from Eckhart Tolle's "The Power of Now", I was reminded of Charles Dicken's "A Christmas Carol":

I was awakened by the chirping of a bird outside the window. I had never heard such a sound before. My eyes were still closed, and I saw the image of precious diamond. Yes, if a diamond could make a sound, this is what it would be like...I recognized the room yet I knew that I had never truly seen it before. Everything was fresh and pristine, as if it had just come into existence. I picked up things, a pencil, an empty bottle, marveling at the beauty and aliveness of it all.

The similarity of Eckhart Tolle's awakening to that of Scrooge is remarkable. Scrooge also sees his familiar surroundings with new eyes and marvels at the lightness of everyday beauty.

Yes! and the bedpost was his own. The bed was his own, the room was his own. Best and happiest of all, the Time before him was his own, to make amends in! "I will live in the Past, the Present, and the Future!" Scrooge repeated, as he scrambled out of bed. "The Spirits of all Three shall strive within me. Oh Jacob Marley! Heaven, and the Christmas Time be praised for this. I say it on my knees, old Jacob, on my knees!..."I don't know what to do!" cried Scrooge, laughing and crying in the same breath; and making a perfect Laocoon of himself with his stockings. "I am as light as a feather, I am as happy as an angel, I am as merry as a schoolboy. I am as giddy as a drunken man. A merry Christmas to everybody! A happy New Year to all the world! Hallo here! Whoop! Hallo!"

One book is fiction, written in 1843; the other is non-fiction, written in 1999. I am sure that there are many other stories written before and after that illuminate the same point. Living in the present is the key to life.

I also find parallels from Tolle's book to those in Phillip Pullman's trilogy "His Dark Materials" ( which some argue is based on John Milton's "Paradise Lost"). Tolle describes how gaps in the stream of thought occurs rarely and accidentally for most people but in these moments, there is inner stillness and a subtle but intense joy. Pullman describes the subtle knife that opens a new world from an existing one. The different world is first found with guidance from a cat. Later the world is more deliberately approached for what lays beyond.

As a reader, I have been able to immerse myself in worlds not my own and learn about my own life situation through them. There have been times, though, when I have started to read a book and not been able. At the time, I did not realize the lessons inherent in choosing a book and then being unable to stay present through it. Now, I realize that many of those books contained lessons and analogies about emotional pain which I was not yet ready or willing to work through.
For example, I began to read "Angela's Ashes" by Frank McCourt when it was first published and kept stopping. Several years later, I read the book from start to finish. The difference is that I had done work on my own childhood shrapnel and was present in myself as I read without any over-identification with the main characters. The lesson was not implicit in the book; the lesson was related to me and my situation and the filters with which I read.

And so as I continue my journey as a reader, I strive to be present. However, each book I read, each author whose work I appreciate, has an effect on me. The works that resonate with me are personal. They are not generalizable. Our own individual experiences are why we are drawn to the books that we are, and why there are so many beautiful and meaningful stories in the world. We all have a set of stories that speak to us, and as we find them, we grow.

Pleasure and Joy

2008-04-11T20:30:00.003-06:00

I've been thinking about the difference between pleasure and joy. This may or may not be a good thing. I was in the grocery store on Thursday and saw the "Power of Now" by Eckhart Tolle in the 40% off bin. With all the buzz about "A New Earth", I had been thinking (there's that word - thinking- again) about reading Tolle's work, but the rebel in me, slight as it is, didn't want to conform. When I saw the book in the bin, I didn't resist and I'm glad that I allowed myself to buy the book.

I like how Tolle emphasizes "watching the thinker". Becoming conscious of my thoughts is a large part of my journey from fear into fun. I haven't rushed through the book. I am still in the first chapter but I've stopped to ruminate (not think) about the difference between pleasure and joy. According to Tolle, every pleasure or emotional high contains within itself the seed of pain. I liken it to yin/yang, dark and light - without one we can't have the other. Tolle also says that "pleasure is derived from something outside of you, whereas joy arises within." I get this in terms of food. The sensations and taste of chocolate, and the resulting pleasure, is from outside of me. The feel of silk against my cheek is externally derived. Pleasure seems to come from our senses, which translate the external into internal reactions.

Where the distinction falls apart for me, is when I ski. I've written much about how I feel when I ski. There were times and still are, where I don't enjoy skiing. Often when I am not enjoying skiing, it's because I am not in the moment, I am not in the "now". Earlier in my journey from feeling frozen to feeling free, I realized that skiing was one of the few times in my life when I felt mind/body integration. I've now incorporated other activities into my life that result in the same feelings...yoga, rock climbing, gardening. Activity is the easiest way from me to get out of my mind and into my body.

I know this isn't true for all. For some, skiing or rock climbing or kayaking gives little pleasure and much muscle pain. But for me, who lived in my head for so many years, the pleasure of intense sport quiets my inner voices and sets the stage for me to allow joy to bubble up from within. My inner voice is still active but my skill in choosing when to listen and when to observe is developing. I have many more moments of being fully present, and it's wonderful.

Light and dark

2008-04-08T19:52:00.008-06:00

I was driving home from the mountains on Sunday and the sky cast shadows and light, changing the landscape from familiar postcards to dramatic and meaningful photographs. Storms hovered on the horizon as I passed through the valley between the mountains. As I looked to the south, the peaks were covered in white, etched lower down in shades of grey and white. There was no colour. It was as if Ansel Adams were taking still shot after still shot. While the peaks and cirques were snow-covered, the limestone ridges, cracks and features were dusted with rectangles of snow. Instead of pointillism, I saw hatching but no person had painted the picture. It was nature's alone.

To the north, there was colour, not a lot, just the dark sage of evergreens clustered and silhoutted against the muted mountainside. The valley itself was straw-coloured, but every now and then, a beam of light would center on a peak, a gap, or a tree, and the contrast made me gasp. Nature's spotlight.

Miles later, when I was driving north along flat prairie, the road curved upwards for a moment. There were mountains where there should have been none, but these mountains were not remnants of glacial movement. They were cloud. A stormfront was ahead but instead of ominous grey sky, cumulonimbus clouds reached down to the earth. Above this layer, were altostratus clouds, then blue blue sky. Far above still was a layer of cirrus clouds. It was like a mirage of mountains and I was awestruck.

The drive felt almost spiritual, as if I were receiving a lesson in how to observe and interpret the world, in how light and dark affect perception, and how what we think we see may not be. I am grateful.

Listening to signals

2008-04-07T15:31:00.012-06:00

My body is sending me a chorus of signals. I was born under the astrological sign of cancer,which is a water sign. The ocean is calling.

I've written in the past about my toenails, how they get banged and bruised from skiing. In what is becoming a spring rite, I have a toenail that is about to fall off. The fact that it is just one toenail is good. For the past four seasons, I've lost both my big toenails. The timing is ironic in that the bruising happens in early winter and the loosening of the injured toenail occurs in early spring. It's almost like I am shedding my winter's shell and emerging raw and vulnerable to spring's growth.

I've also been feeling dehydrated this past week, so I drank more water, more gatorade, and ate salty foods. What's ironic about this timing is that I was less active last week than I have been in four months. The ski hill where I taught on weekdays is closed so my only skiing was on the weekend. I would have thought that I would feel thirst earlier in the season, not last week. Most likely, though, I was thirsty and dehydrated previously. I just didn't give myself the time to notice. Last week I had more time and I noticed. Today's lunch shows that I hunger for spring. I was drawn to spinach, avocados, blueberries, strawberries, and cashews. I dressed the salad in raspberry walnut vinaigrette. I had an orange for dessert so I got almost all my fruit and veggie colours. The natural fruit and vegetables satisfied my craving more than any of the gatorade or vitamin fortified water out there.

It's not just my toe and thirst that are signalling me. I have a sore lower back. I know this is a common ailment but it is new to me. I feel fine when I look straight ahead. Twisting and turning is what causes discomfort. So for now, I am not twisting and turning. I need to stay on my current straight path. I also suspect that my sore back relates to the anniversary of my mother's death. My back feels better and worse when I suck my core in. I am still holding something in. The release is imminent.

Treating my toe, my thirst, and sore back reminds me of a quote from Isak Dinesen. "Do you know a cure for me? Why yes, he said, I know a cure for everything. Salt water. Salt water? I asked him. Yes, he said, in one form or another, sweat, tears or the salt sea". My mother lived near the ocean during all of her adult life. After her funeral, my brothers and I dove into the cleansing crashing waves of the Atlantic and body surfed. We had not played, the three of us together, in the ocean like that since we were kids. The healing comes from the salt, tides, sand, and all the other magical properties of the sea.

I am thousands of miles from the ocean. I know when I next visit it, the smells will bring tears to my eyes and salt will bring clarity to my vision. In the meantime, I hearken to the signals my body is sending me by soaking in epsom salts, to soften my toenail, to soothe my back, to relieve my thirst. I will visit the ocean soon but I know my mother, brothers and I were all blessed to live near it. As Rachel Carson said: "Those who dwell, as scientists or laymen, among the beauties and mysteries of the earth are never alone or weary of life. "

A poem (about my dog and me)

2008-04-02T20:12:00.003-06:00

My puppy is a bent star,
his edges curl over as if he has been dented
by life.
He was.
Stoned and abandoned,
he foraged for food
and found his way to a school
peopled by humans, some kind
some otherwise
All hurt or bent themselves
Their souls struggling to be
free, open, alive.
He was saved
and brought to me.
I struggle between companionship and freedom
He offers one but denies the other,
What if I saw them as the same?
Then bent edges would unfurl
His and mine
and we'd shine and refract the light
still slightly bent but
Bright.

Winter's backpack

2008-03-31T11:23:00.004-06:00

I cleaned out my backpack this morning. I've been using it nearly every day since October. It went to Switzerland with me. It went to Rabbit Hill every weekday since the beginning of December, and it has been to the mountains nearly every weekend. I knew there was stuff in it that I hadn't seen in while but was surprised by what I did find. (Thankfully, there were no month-old peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, but there was a three-day old tupperware with Friday's lunch residue - yuck but not super yuck.)

I found:
Three pairs of ski mittens
Three pairs of socks
A pair of earrings
My helmet and goggles
My goggles case
A small round tupperware container
A pair of jeans
An extra fleece
A neckwarmer
The electrodes from my boot heaters
My boot heater's batteries
Ski straps
some bits of Christmas wrap
loose change
a pencil
A CD of My Swiss Trip

Cleaning this backpack marks a transition. I no longer need it on a daily basis. I will need it only for the next few weekends and then it will either retire until next Fall or re-purpose into a climbing backpack. I am trying not to feel sad but another part of me says that I should allow myself to feel sad. I hope that part wins. I love winter and I love spring, summer, and fall. It's just that in April, spring really isn't here yet. The snow is melted except dirty clumps clinging to the shade. Brown evergreen needles, bits of garbage windblown through the city, dirt laid down on roads for traction are all uncovered and not yet cleaned by spring rains.

There are signs of spring. If I pull back the withered leaves of last year, I see new Iris shoots emerging from the damp soil. Huddled next to foundations, grass is beginning to green. Children are outside on scooters and trikes.

Winter is the heaviest season. We do need to carry more with us. It is time to shed my backpack and to take down my "Let it Snow" banner. Spring is a time of birth and growth and potential. I look forward to it and being part of it. Begone layers of socks and boot heaters. I will be walking barefoot in green grass soon.

Shoes are poetry

2008-03-25T19:20:00.006-06:00

I was at a Hawksley Workman concert this past weekend, and I think he introduced a particularly poignant song with the words "Shoes are poetry". I may not have heard quite right but the song was about shoes, the sad shoes of a shoeshine boy. I think Hawksley is right. Here's my take on shoes as poetry:

Green and brown herringbone Adidas trying to be cool. Jive man, but not quite
Smelly sandals, redolent of summer sand and surf
Pointed stilettos, pointed toes, black and red, what's the image? Nice girl. No
White Keds. Motherhood. Apple Pie
Patterned Keds. Celebrity sources. Advertising at its best(?)
Kids shoes that light up. They know the way.
Black leather boots - whose? They vary so much
Brands, brands, brands
Vans, Diesel, Etnie
Worn at the heel, open-tongued
Polished with spit, covered in mud
Shoes are poetry

So, what does this have to do with living a better life, with turning fear into fun? The point is that shoes are part of how we communicate who we are to the world. Sometimes, our choice of shoes is conscious. We choose to match our outfit, our mood, our clique, our sport. Sometimes we don't have choices. We have one pair without holes in the bottom so we wear them. Sometimes, we wear the shoes even with the holes.

Shoes are only part of how we show ourselves. Marketing convention suggests that the reasons a person chooses a BMW do not relate just to the tangible attributes of the vehicle but also to the psychological benefits. Television programs such as "What not to Wear" play into this aspect. This is all fine and well. My concern is that we not judge each other based on the shortcuts of shoes, clothes, car. Take off the shoes, take off the clothes, strip away regional accents and we are all people. People with the same basic needs. We need food and water, shelter and clothing. We need love and hope and respect.

Over the past week, I have seen numerous people judge each other based on superficial cues. One of the joys of life is meeting people who seem very different from you and then finding connection with them. Heart to heart. Sole to soul.

Labels

2008-03-19T21:04:00.004-06:00

I taught a beginner class of skiers yesterday. As I started to move away from the Snow School sign with the group, an adult pulled me aside. "Two of the children are special needs, and lack balance. My husband will stay with the group and help them". I asked "Are you their mother?" She replied, "No, their aide". Walking with skis on for the first time is a challenge for most children. The skis are like big long sticks attached to their feet, and their feet are encased in plastic shells. Many comment that it feels like they are walking on the moon. One of the special children looked up at me as she walked away from the sign with skis on for the first time. "I'm going to have fun today", she confided. I answered, "Yes, you will".

She did have fun and I did too. There was enthusiasm and encouragement for the whole class. On a mere hiccup of a hill, the children practiced sliding their feet into a wedge in order to stop. They listened to instruction and came down in an orderly fashion (or at least as orderly as a beginner class can - there were the expected veers toward the right and the sit down slides to avoid hitting friends). After a bit of practice, we headed to the rope tow on the bunny hill. I provided the usual explanation. "Stand with your skis pointing uphill, put one hand over the rope; then other, letting the rope go through your hands. Hear the buzzing of the rope in your hands and then gently squeeze the rope like you are squeezing toothpaste and let it pull you up the hill".

The temptation to grab the rope and use it for balance while skis are still sideways to the hill is strong. Yet, yesterday, the children resisted the temptation. Some fell during their first try but because they were startled that they riding the tow, not because they were yanked suddenly. I stood behind the boy with special needs. His aide told me that he doesn't have much core strength. I asked if it was okay if I poked his back (which I have learned causes kids to pull in with their abs and stand with strength.) I was told it was okay. I stood directly behind him, with my longer skis parallel to his. If necessary, I would hold on to him as we went up the rope. It wasn't necessary the whole way. I got him started and then gradually slid away from him until he was riding the tow on his own. The aide, her husband, and a parent started to cheer. The boy smiled and said "this is fun". I felt good and felt peace and connectedness. The rest of the class progressed well with all the children learning to slide to a stop and to ride the tow with confidence.

Today I taught another class of beginners. Some elementary schools choose not to identify students with special needs. This is the school's prerogative and I respect it. As soon as we started to move away from the Snow School, I realized that today's class also had several children with special needs. One parent followed us to the bunny hill and observed from a distance. Without the help of aides or parent volunteers, the children waited while I gave the individual attention that was necessary to keep them safe. Some of the children lacked gross motor skills and were not able to line their foot up with the ski to put them on. Progress was slow and, to be honest, my patience waned. I love teaching skiing to children, especially to children who do not often get to be outside and who do not feel the joy and freedom of sliding and the wind in their face. And to be honest, I don't think the children felt the joy and freedom of sliding today. An aide or volunteer or the smaller class size that we would have assigned to me had we known in advance, would have made a difference in the quality of the lesson and enjoyment of the lesson.

Labels can be damaging but they can also be inhibiting. I believe with every fibre of my heart in treating every person I meet with respect and that every person I meet has a role to play in my life. I really felt it was a privilege to witness the children's excitement yesterday when they skied independently. I felt sad today that I was unable to give the same experience to children capable of even more. If differences were accepted, then labels wouldn't matter. Children with autism, children with brain injuries, children with spina bifada, children with two parents, children with no parents, children of the world. Children are children.

Playing chess

2008-03-18T18:38:00.005-06:00

I was playing chess with a friend of mine last week, and he asked "how did I learn to play chess?" I really don't remember. I do recall my father teaching me backgammon but it seems that I have always known how a knight moves versus a pawn, king or queen. My friend's interest in how I learned to play chess intrigued me, so I did some research on the internet about women and chess.

Men and boys do predominate the game. Only 1% of chess grandmasters are women and, according to the Chess Museum, "today only a small percentage of players in organized chess are women". Women have played chess since the 19th century and why few girls play and fewer women is the subject of much debate on the internet (which I will not go into here).

Chess is an ancient game. The most widely accepted theory is that chess appeared in India around 600 A.D., played in Persia in 700 A.D. and adopted in Arab culture a hundred years later. There are a lot of variants of chess. The chess that I play is sometimes called Western chess or International chess. Some of the language that we commonly use is derived from chess. The phrase "endgame" reflects the last part of a chess game when relatively few pieces remain on the board.

I associate chess with war tactics. My association has some roots in history. During the middle ages and Renaissance, chess was used to teach young nobles war strategy. Certainly, some war tactics are used in playing a game. I recently used an encirclement strategy while my opponent outflanked me and won.

The learnings from chess are not just about strategy and tactics. Benjamin Franklin wrote an article on the "Morals of Chess" in 1750. In it, he emphasized that chess teaches:

" 1st, Foresight, which looks a little into futurity, and considers the consequences that may attend an action…
2nd, Circumspection, which surveys the whole Chess-board, or scene of action: - the relation of the several Pieces, and their situations…
3rd, Caution, not to make our moves too hastily"

During the game that I played with my friend, I commented that I play chess the way I play golf, which is well, until I lose focus. When I lose focus, I do tend to make moves too hastily. This is exactly what happens to me in golf, in chess, in skiing and in life. So, yet again, I am learning to be in the moment, take time, and take action when the time is right. I enjoy chess more now than when I was a child. Slowly but surely, I am learning and the learning is fun. Vitae Discae.

Changing Seasons

2008-03-10T18:54:00.002-06:00

It is March in Alberta and the temperatures are above normal. The snow is melting and the sun is warm. There are only a few weeks left at the ski area where I teach, though mountain skiing will remain open through May. North Americans moved to Daylight Savings this past weekend. The season is changing from winter to spring.

Though I love to ski and have written much about skiing this past winter, I welcome spring. As I walked Bode this afternoon, it was not just his nose that twitched. Mine did too. I smelled spring. Underneath the melting snow, is earth. Pungent, moist. The smells bring me back to childhood, playing near the river where I grew up. The smell is pleasant and evokes the magic of new growth. I noticed tiny buds emerging on shrubs. The grass is still matted and dull brown but no matter, it will green up soon enough. Spring is on its way.

As I drove to the ski hill earlier in the day, I reflected on how I am feeling this year relative to last year. I am happier. There is no doubt. Much has happened in my life since last year but the change is not in the events. The change is in me. I am more accepting of who I am. I realized about ten years ago that I either lived in the past or in future imagining. While I have aspired to live in the moment, it has taken many seasons of change to help me to this point. My happiness is in me. It is not because I am looking forward to a vacation overseas. It is not because my hair is blond, red, or brown. It is not because I am getting a promotion at work.

My happiness is because I now write. I write this blog. I write in a journal. I even write poems. My happiness is because I take risks and pursue challenges and find them both easy and hard. My happiness is because I spend time with myself and time with others. My happiness is because I am active with too many options to do them all. My happiness is because I am alive. Alive to feel the wind on my face, the sun on my arms. Alive to inhale the scent of lemons, cinnamon, and fresh grass. (Alive to be allergic to freshly mown grass). Alive to feel the tightness of an overworked muscle. I am happy in this moment, in this liminal time between winter and spring.

Being. Thinking. Doing.

2008-03-08T19:13:00.008-07:00

I've written a fair bit over the past months about being in the moment, and how over-thinking impedes me. I've also written how movement (doing) helps me be, so I was interested to learn a catch phrase of Deepak Chopra while watching PBS. Deepak Chopra kept saying "We are human beings, not human thinkings, not human doings". I really like that. I am a human being, not a human doing, and certainly not a human thinking.

In contrast to the presentation of eastern philosophy by Deepak Chopra, I was given a newspaper article this week that describes a similar way of being, but from a very different perspective. The article is from a rural weekly newspaper (I have a clipping and am looking for the author in order to give credit) and describes a six year boy's response to his dog's death. The adults were wondering about the fact that many animal lives are shorter than human lives. The six year old piped up that "People are born so that they can learn how to live a good life - like loving everybody all the time and being nice, right? Well dogs already know how to do that, so they don't have to stay as long."

Okay, so this doesn't explain an elephant's lifespan but it does get at the point of animals being and doing, not thinking. The article went on to describe the lessons we might learn from a dog. I was surprised to see how many of them describe how I want to live my life (my comments are in italics).

When loved ones come home, always run to greet them (I do the running part not so often, but it's almost always in my head to do so)
Never pass up the opportunity to go for a joyride (Even with a broad definition of joyride, I admit to letting many opportunities pass by)
Allow the experience of fresh air and the wind in your face to be pure ecstasy (YUP!!! It's why I love skiing and sailing so much)
Take naps (Yes - I especially like them in late winter when the sun shines in and warms my legs)
Stretch before rising (Does yoga count? Actually, I did stretch my legs and arms straight this morning before getting out of bed)
Run, romp, and play daily (especially in ski season)
Thrive on attention and let people touch you (Nope, but I am learning to appreciate attention rather than retreat from it)
Avoid biting when a simple growl will do (I'm not sure how to answer this one)
One warm days, stop to lie on our back on the grass (I really like doing this, especially in early spring and early autumn)
When you're happy, dance around and wag your entire body (sports are my way of dancing and wagging)
Delight in the simple joy of a long walk (Yes, but not always, though more and more often)
Eat with gusto and enthusiasm. Stop when you have had enough. (Most of the time)
Be loyal. Never pretend to be something you're not (This is my quest to just be and on-going
Be always grateful for each new day. (This is also an on-going quest)

A dog is not a human being, but can teach me how to be. I have learned from books and through my thoughts how to be. I am learning through doing how to be. Part of being is learning for life, through life. Vitae Discae. Pace.

Found poetry

2008-03-05T16:43:00.004-07:00

Poetry. The mere word evokes rhythm and emotion. Sensuous, frivolous, silly, strong, captivating. Poetry is part of life and not often read. Yet, I have found myself looking for poetry in the unexpected. For the past few months, I have looked for poetry in road signs, in journals, in newspaper headlines and in e-mails. And, I have found that poetry does appear where least expected. Just last weekend, I found a bulletin board full of actual poems outside a public washroom. Some of the poems were serious; others were limericks.

I believe that I am looking for poetry, without picking up a book, because poetry implies flow. Mihaly Csíkszentmihályi writes about flow in stern almost academic prose. His writing is not poetry but his ideas about flow are. In an interview, Csíkszentmihályi described flow as "being completely involved in an activity for its own sake. The ego falls away. Time flies. Every action, movement, and thought follows inevitably from the previous one, like playing jazz. Your whole being is involved, and you're using your skills to the utmost." To achieve a flow state, a balance must be struck between the challenge of the task and the skill of the performer. If the task is too easy or too difficult, flow cannot occur."

That every action, movement and thought follows from the previous one is the appeal of found poetry to me. Not all poems have flow but many words and thoughts printed in ordinary prose become poetic when flow is present. The melody is there, and resonance, and message. Poetry is individual and authentic. It is part of life. Poetry helps communicate and define emotion: joy, catharsis, anger, fear, love. Language alone is not a bridge to channel feelings from one person to another. Language, turned to poetry, is the bridge. For poetry to flow, the challenge for the writer is the careful selection of words and the challenge for the reader is skillful interpretation.

I am looking for poetry because I am looking for truth and beauty. Finding poetry, where unintended, requires me to use my my aptitude for language to my utmost. Finding poetry is part of my path.

Unfolding serenity

2008-02-28T18:23:00.005-07:00

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

2008-02-15T19:57:00.003-07:00

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

2008-02-02T18:31:00.000-07:00

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

Whimsy

2008-01-31T13:11:00.000-07:00

Whimsy appeals to me. I don't like kitsch or outright puns, visual or verbal, but I like whimsical art and books. Interestingly, when I look up the definition, the appeal lessens.

whimsy
n 1: an odd or fanciful or capricious idea; "the theatrical
notion of disguise is associated with disaster in his
stories"; "he had a whimsy about flying to the moon";
"whimsy can be humorous to someone with time to enjoy it"
[syn: notion, whim, whimsy, whimsey]
2: the trait of acting unpredictably and more from whim or
caprice than from reason or judgment; "I despair at the
flightiness and whimsicality of my memory" [syn:
flightiness, arbitrariness, whimsicality, whimsy,
whimsey, capriciousness]

Definitions aside, I still am attracted to whimsy. The triad of pictures hanging over my fireplace is whimsical. All three are of animals, a fox, an antlered deer, and a bighorn sheep. Two have wings. All three have curlicues in the backgound or foreground. I interpret the background swirls as stars. Those in the foreground I believe are snow. In my imagination, these animals evoke mythical archetypes. They are guardians, tricksters, angels. They are playful and yes, with wings, they are flighty. I look at them and I see nature, strong and powerful - nature, light and capricious.

I have a serious piece of art in my living room. It depicts clouds. Yet, when I look at it, the impression it leaves depends on my mood. Sometimes I see the clouds as mittens joining together. Sometimes, I see the clouds as menacing convergence. Gazing at clouds and the sky is freeing and when I look at my art, I am free to fly, to let my imagination roam, to be free of reason or judgement. Most would not call this piece of art whimsical but there in an element of freedom and lightness in the subject matter.

To be free or reason or judgement. This is why whimsy appeals to me. For someone who has lived in her head, who is over-educated and still subscribes to three daily newspapers, the notion of being free of reason, and especially judgement is compelling. Whimsy removes the need to think. I can just feel and not worry what others think. Whimsy is my explanation for the unexplainable, for the magic in the world. Whimsy is fun and odd. I like whimsy, and like magic, I believe we need more of it in the world.

Two sides of being a sponge

2008-01-28T20:31:00.000-07:00

I was thinking today about sponges, and realized that there at least two sides of being a sponge (and no, I don't mean one side is for scrubbing and the other is for soaping). I was thinking that being told I am a sponge means that I am absorbing others' fears, thoughts, anxieties, opinions and energies. I tend to think of being a sponge as negative, as taking on the unhappiness. But what if the reverse were true? What if I were a sponge and took on the happiness, excitement, joy and positive energies of others?

I was also thinking that being a sponge means that even if I harden a bit, it just takes a bit of moisture to soften me again. To be hard is to be inflexible, to be unable to bend with the wind, the snow, or the weight of life. A hard sponge breaks apart and has no purpose. A soft sponge is like a cushion, able to blunt life's impacts.

I was thinking of other analogies for being strong and soft at the same time (and, no, toilet paper ads don't count). I was thinking of willow trees and toasted marshmallows. I was thinking of chocolate covered soft ice cream and wind in all its incarnations. I was thinking of how I like to be when I ski moguls. But these other analogies don't have the same resonance for me as does being a sponge.

Being a sponge is personal to me. I was once given a sponge to carry as a reminder not to be one. Being a sponge is part of who I am. There are two sides to that sponge, a soft side and a dry side. The soft side allows me to be empathetic, to feel others' feelings. The other, dry, side lets me absorb others' feelings. The risk with absorption is that the feelings are overwhelming. In the past, when overwhelmed, I would retreat, avoid, and dry up. A pivotal point in my journey from fear into fun occurred when I was watching the movie, The English Patient. There is a scene where the patient, who has been completely burned, is brought outside on a stretcher. It begins to rain. I felt like I was that dry parched soul feeling the healing moistness of that rain. I opened up and began sobbing. It was the first time that I had really cried in years. Once I softened in that way, tears continued to come when they needed to. And so, I am still a sponge open to others' feelings and energies, but I am learning to take on only what I choose.

P.S. I realize that this sponge analogy is open to many spoofs (just like that more famous cartoon sponge). Oh well, at least, I live in a cold climate rather than undersea in a pineapple.

Coming to neutral

2008-01-27T17:33:00.000-07:00

Right now, in my skiing, I am working on coming to neutral as I begin a new turn. The reason that I need to come to neutral is to re-balance and establish a stable platform for the new turn. I've been visualizing and thinking about this part of the turn for most of the week, and as usual, my thoughts didn't follow a linear path but moved laterally (which is actually what I want to do when I ski). My thoughts turned to the life lesson inherent in coming to neutral before beginning a new turn.

Many of my friends are programmed to go, go, go. To stop and be with alone with themselves is a feeling never learned or abandoned. I suspect at least some of my friends are afraid to be alone with themselves. This makes me sad because they are missing out on knowing their own inner richness and beauty. To actually stop is scary so I have been reflecting on the notion of coming to neutral as a means of helping them see that that constantly going is a recipe for imbalance just as flipping from edge to edge when skiing will eventually cause imbalance.

Years ago, I also was afraid to be alone with myself. I was a classic type A achiever and if someone suggested that I might want to try yoga or meditation, my reaction was "yuck, that is too slow for me". I would go into the office on weekends. I recall flying to Calgary on a Sunday afternoon after one of my daughter's birthday parties. I didn't take summer holidays when others were off because I believed that I would then attend higher-profile meetings in their absence. When I wasn't at work, I would bury myself in a book, sometimes reading even as I stirred the pasta pot. On a Sunday afternoon, I would feel the urge to go to the mall just because I thought I had nothing else to do. I have learned now to be alone with myself. I can sit in a room and just be... When I am too busy, go, go going, I yearn for that time alone with myself and deliberately carve out a time and place. I did, however, learn to be alone by taking small steps. These steps, for me, were akin to coming to neutral.

My first small step was to begin a conscious program of exercise. Moving helped me reconnect with myself. My next steps involved long drives in the car with music. The drives had purpose; they were usually to and from the mountains but the time in the car was mine alone. From music in the car, I turned to music in the living room with headphones on. I began to pay attention when I cooked, to savor the aroma of garlic and red peppers sauteing in olive oil, to inhale the scent of oranges studded with cloves. And several years after I began re-balancing, I attended my first yoga class with one of those friends who, ironically, has not yet learned to come to neutral. Yoga is now a central part of my life and one of the means by which I pay attention to myself and the moment.

Life is a series of moments. They are all connected, just like one ski turn flows into the next. The lessons in my life are interconnected with my lessons from sport, which is precisely why I love sport so much. To move freely, to balance on edges, to un-edge, re-balance and move freely again are characteristics of skiing that embody many of the qualities that I want in my life. Coming to neutral is necessary to be balanced and I aspire to that flow in both skiing and life.

Namaste,
Ginny

My business

2008-01-21T18:46:00.000-07:00

"Mind your own business". How many times have I heard that phrase or thought that phrase silently to myself. It is trite and has a somewhat bossy connotation, like "don't tell me what to do". Yet minding our own business is exactly what each of us is meant to do.

I can't mind anyone else's business. First of all, I don't know it. I might think I do, but I don't. Second of all, I can't even if I try. It would be a strain and impossible to mind someone else's business. Sometimes, we are asked to mind someone else's business and, in my experience, this is where trouble strikes and stereotypes pervade. The bossy mother-in-law, the controlling boss, the nosy neighbour. Not a good thing, though good fodder for television sitcoms.

I do mind my own business. There are parts of life that are mine. I decide when to write in my blog, when to go skiing, when to do my contract work, when to go skiing. I even decide when to call my daughters and friends. All those things are but a sampling of my business. Others may disapprove of how I conduct my life, my business, but when I mind my own business, I am true to myself.

There are parts of my life over which I have no control. As much as I might want these things to be my business, they are not. I recently received numerous e-mails, one of which angered me. I chose to let it sit without a response and within a day, the situation had resolved itself. The aspect that had angered me was none of my business and by not attaching to it, I stayed calm and focused on my business. A key learning here is that others' reactions to us are not our business. Those reactions belong only to the other.

"Things will take care of themselves". I haven't subscribed to this notion. I have believed in doing, taking action, but I am learning slowly that things do take care of themselves, especially if those things are not my business. A lot of those old pithy aphorisms (Mind your own business, Things will take care of themselves, Let it be) may be trite but they are true. I still do believe in action but only at the right time, in the right way and with respect to my business. What I am learning slowly is what is my business is a lot less than I thought. (Which is good, because it leaves me more time to ski, play, and enjoy life.)

The Dancing Boy

2008-01-15T12:12:00.000-07:00

There are many people in my life whose name I don't know. There is the man, whose dog is named Georgia, who is always chasing after her as I walk Bode. There is the man in the booth where I pay to park at the University. There is the postman that I see filling students' mailboxes when I walk to and from class.

There are other people in my life whose name I know from their nametags. There is Raquel at the grocery store who almost always is at the express checkout. I asked her why once. She answered that she likes the constant flow and doesn't get stressed by the busy-ness.

Most of the people in my life recognize me whether or not we know each other's names. There is one person who is a regular in my life who would not recognize me. This person likes to be known as "The Dancing Boy". "The Dancing Boy" is a young man now, but he was a boy when he first entered my life and the lives of many others who reside in Edmonton's West End. There is a very busy corner, intersecting an east-west highway with a north-south artery. Traffic invariably backs up and drivers fume as they sit still in their cars.

In about 2000 or 2001, I first noticed a boy about 14 or 15 years, bundled up against the cold in winter, with headphones on, grooving to the music. When light signals changed, that would be his stimulus to move to the next corner, still bopping as he crossed the street. I worried why he wasn't in school, but I worried more if he wasn't there. Seasons and years went by and still, "The Dancing Boy" was out in all weather dressed appropriately and dancing. Drivers stopped fuming and watched and traffic seemed to move all the better itself when "The Dancing Boy" traversed the corners.

In the earlier years, his dance was completely oriented to the beat of the music. I often mused that the thundering drum of traffic contributed to his patterns. I could tell the type of music he was listening to by the cadence of his beautiful but somewhat uncoordinated moves. Then, there was a period, where I didn't see him. I wondered whether his parents had moved and whether he was on another street corner, this time in the south of Edmonton. Last fall, I spotted him again several blocks north of his original intersection. His moves have changed. He lip synchs now and his dancing now has more elements of guitar playing and stage showmanship. He is adding his perspective to the stories told by music resonating in his ears.

I saw "The Dancing Boy" today and was inspired by him as I often am. I don't know much about him. I know that he likes music,likes to dance, and likes hoodies and hats. What inspires me is that he is obviously doing something that he loves, regardless of what other people think. The fact that he loves dancing on street corners in traffic shows, and as I am stopped in traffic watching him, I look at the people inside the other cars. We are almost all smiling. Seeing someone do what they love has that effect. Smiles and joy are contagious and the world is a lighter, better place. Keep on dancing, whatever your forum - street corners, bathrooms, kitchens, studios, gyms, stages, snow, ice or bicycle. Just keep on dancing and smiling.

A quiet Saturday morning

2008-01-12T09:10:00.000-07:00

I am enjoying Saturday morning. I could have gone skiing or to yoga. I could be cleaning the floors, walking the dog, or doing office work but instead I am enjoying Saturday morning. What makes this Saturday morning different than others is that I set the intention earlier in the week not to plan anything. I did not set an alarm. I came awake gently after a dream about old places and felt secure and content. I was fairly certain that it was morning , that it was a good time to look at the clock. And it was. It was about 8:00 am. So I slid out of bed, stepped into slippers, zipped on a fleece, petted the dog, and turned up the thermostat.

Those few moments are the kind I love most. They are very ordinary but very human. All over the world and throughout history, people come awake, greet their families, and prepare for the day by building a fire, turning up the heat, putting the kettle on. The sameness is what appeals to me for we are all the same as we open our eyes to the new day. There is vulnerability and genuineness, and then our brains kick in reminding us of where we are, who we are and what we have planned for that day.

I came downstairs and opened the blinds. The brown clusters on the maple tree are laced with early morning light and the evergreens look darker than usual. The sky is pale pure blue with long spackled shreds of white cloud. It is going to be a beautiful day. Sunny, clear and crisp.

As a treat, I decided to make coffee rather than tea. I am sipping it now and feeling the start of a caffeine buzz. (One thing that I have discovered is that when you don't drink coffee regularly, you really do feel its stimulant effects). I will finish my cup and then pour the rest of the carafe down the drain as too much caffeine will disrupt the equanimity that I feel.

The phone just rang. I debated whether to answer but I did. My equanimity is still with me but my writing flow is gone. I am looking forward to the rest of the day and what it will bring.

Namaste,
Ginny

Happy books

2008-01-09T13:10:00.000-07:00

I am reading a serious, good book, a prize winning book. The book is a fictional story of a family during the Nigeria-Biafra War of 1967-1970. I am learning a lot and the book is well-written and evocative. And that's the problem...it is so evocative that it's not fun to read. The descriptions of malnutrition " kwashiorkor" are heart wrenching. The descriptions of death are graphic but the saddest descriptions surround the deterioration of the human spirit during the war. I haven't finished the book yet (and I've been reading it since October which is an eon since I usually complete a book within a few days or a week), so I don't know whether the ending is uplifting but I doubt it. Such an ending would not be true to the book or the nature of war. War does not just kill those who die; it can also kill those who live.

Books like this are necessary. They serve to educate and remind us of life, all aspects of life, no matter where we live. There is great sadness in the world. There is torture and war and other unspeakable crimes, but I believe there is also great light in the world. There are many people who respect each other, who see the light even through the darkness and strive to make the world a better place. These people are not just the Nobel Peace Prize winners; they are the ordinary folk among us who smile at strangers, who let us merge in traffic, who emanate cheer even standing in line at the grocery store...and the bittersweet, great thing is that many of these people are calm, composed and bright simply because they know the value of life.

I vow that the next book I read will be a happy one. The trouble is that happy fiction is hard to find. I've read all of the No. 1 Ladies Detective Series with its gentle approach to life and human foibles. I'm not particularly fond of British or American humor. P.G. Wodehouse and Bill Bryson do nothing for me. I've read and re-read the Little House on the Prairie series so many times that I can quote passages (though I always skip over Pa's fiddling). I enjoy books with a touch of magic. Bernard Malumud, Isaac Bashevis Singer, Chaim Potok all have elements of this aspect in their writing. I recently discovered an Alberta Ismaili writer, whose book of short stories, Baby Khaki's Wings, left me feeling a quiet peace. My favorite author, though, when I want to read about happiness is Laurie Colwin. I highly recommend all her books but two, in particular, stick out for me. Happy All the Time and Shine on Bright and Dangerous Objects.

So, friends, help me out. I need some recommendations for happy books. They could be classics that I have never read, classics that I should re-read or new titles that I have not yet found. It will be fun to share the books that make us happy.

New Year's Yoga

2008-01-07T19:02:00.000-07:00

I went to yoga class today at 3:30 in the afternoon. It was packed. I recall when I first started going to mid-afternoon yoga several years ago, I wondered, "who are these people? why aren't they at work?" I could not imagine a lifestyle that provided flexibility enough to go to yoga during the workday. (I really was tethered to my office, laptop, and cellphone in those days and I now shudder and recoil at the recollection). I don't know who the people were at class today but good for them for coming. Over the years, I have made friends with many of the afternoon regulars and they work, just like me. They are actors, nurses, pharmaceutical sales reps, teachers, restaurant owners, and entrepreneurs.

If they are like me, the class was one of letting loose the emotions of the holidays. I noticed as I lay on my mat waiting for class to begin that my neck felt warm and flushed. I stood and the redness was apparent. It was as if my body were signalling that it was time for me to get reconnected top to bottom. Two of the instructors were taking the class rather than guiding it, and they loosened the atmosphere by giggling and pointing to their male friend who was wearing a Christmas bow on his headband. But soon, their focus turned to yoga.

Post-New Year's yoga classes are infamous for "drama". People are caught up in the aftermath of their family visits, functional or dysfunctional. People have often overeaten or overspent. People are overwrought. Today's class was not horrible for drama but there was some. Loud, pained breathing could be heard. Lots of people took breaks and lay down on their mats. For someone as self-conscious as I am, I maintained my composure, working steadily at each pose. For the second class in a row, my hamstrings loosened up enough to allow me to bring my leg parallel to the floor in Standing Head to Knee Pose. I noticed a similar ease in Standing Separate Leg Stretching Pose. Physically, there is no reason why these poses should suddenly have become easier. I have been going to yoga less and skiing a lot (which tightens hamstrings).

I suspect the reason that the poses are becoming easier has to do with my state of mind. Several years ago, I asked an instructor about these poses and she described them as poses in which you surrender. No wonder I found them hard. I am a warrior. I will not surrender. Yet, I am realizing that hard as I may fight, I am not in control. There are forces larger and wiser. Without even realizing it, my struggles this holiday season may have taught me the value of surrender. Relax, let things be easy and they are. I am loosening my control. Hamstrings and heartstrings, both. I am ready to let things be. (And now, cue the Beatles).

Wind and visibility

2008-01-06T17:08:00.000-07:00

I spent the past two days skiing in the mountains. Again, I am reminded of the lessons of nature and how varied our human response is. Snow had fallen in the mountains mid-week and skiers entered the gondola from the base of the village expecting great conditions. What they got - great snow - but also high winds and limited visibility. In the lodge as I was putting on my boots, I ran into an aquaintance who lives in a nearby mountain community. "Hey Barry, how's it going?" I asked. "It's @$#%& out there", he replied. "High winds and no visibility. It's brutal. I'm going home."

My daughter and I headed out. We have a routine at this ski area as we do at most. Warm up runs and then on to more challenging terrain. The groomed runs that we use to warm up our ski legs are among the most exposed on the mountain. The temperature was fine, just a few degrees below freezing, almost balmy for Alberta in January, but the wind was strong. As I felt it bite into my face, I used a tactic that sometimes works. I thought of dermabrasion and how roughing up skin with a light peel actually benefits my complexion. It didn't really help. Dermabrasion by wind stings a bit, but the distraction of visualizing something unrelated to skiing or wind, did make me smile. My daughter and I slid off the chair lift and agreed that we would decide what to do after we had skied the first pitch. The snow was glorious and I skied fast for my first run. We stopped and looked uphill to the continental divide. The wind was thrusting the new snow into swirls and grey snow clouds were moving in. We decided to go ski on terrain more protected from the wind. There was less vertical to ski but it would be warmer.

I enjoyed my day skiing. The two highest chairs did stop operating for a few hours because of the wind, but my choice of terrain was unaffected by the wind. The snow was great and rather than working on my carving, I worked on my mogul skiing. The sun emerged briefly for an hour and then snow squalls began in earnest. After every ride on the chair, I would shake off the white covering from my shoulders and legs. The visibility didn't matter. One of my goals was to stop checking out every bump and planning my line; instead I wanted to just ski it as it happened. Ski by feeling rather than seeing. The results were good. I had a lot of fun and pushed myself to turn in places I ordinarily wouldn't. There was the one mishap when I turned too close to a bamboo pole marking a rock and ending up sitting on the rock but other than that, I stayed on my feet. I felt a great deal of satisfaction.

The next day, my daughter and I went to another ski area in the same mountain park. It is not as large as the one we had visited the day before and attracts a different clientele. We had skied for about two hours and were about to head in for coffee when I heard my name. Two friends who live in the nearby town had called out. I had spoken to them the night before and they were planning to ski the larger resort. "What are you doing here?", I asked. " The wind was high and visibility was bad. We took one run down the Divide and decided to come here instead". Essentially, they taken a twenty minute car ride, a twenty minute gondola trip, a fifteen minute chair, skiied for about three minutes, taken another chair for ten minutes and skied for fifteen minutes before downloading into the gondola for a half hour trip to the other ski area. The skiing was fine at the smaller area but the snow was not nearly as good.

So, three sets of keen skiers all dealing with wind and visibility in different ways. Expectations clearly played a role in our varied reactions. My daughter and I were the only non-locals. We had invested more time and energy into getting to the ski hill than the others. The lesson to me is one of allowing and going with the flow. The conditions weren't conducive to carving on groomed runs so we adapted and had fun. The other set of friends chose an alternative adaptation by not worrying about sunk time but instead going to a ski area where the conditions would allow them to ski the way they wanted. And the third...well...he's like the little piggy who went whee, whee,whee, all the way home.

Chords

2008-01-03T09:12:00.000-07:00

The holidays are almost over. One of my daughters is heading back to her university today; the other leaves on Monday. I found that my emotions over the past weeks were complex and many-layered. Certainly,I felt more sadness and frustration than I have in a long time. The events of the month were not the cause of some of my unhappy emotions; my thoughts were. Even as I struggled to re-frame my thoughts, I was aware of many moments in which I experienced joy, gratitude or peace. One of the things that I am learning is that I can hold several emotions within me at the same time and they all do reflect aspects of what I am feeling. I can be frustrated and then look up at the sky and be in awe. I can be sad and then hear a carol and feel child-like. Maturity is not being on a even keel all the time. Maturity is not holding a single note. Maturity is a complex symphony of emotions with a broad range. Depth,breadth, and the ability to recognize when a single pure note is needed or when a chord is required are all part of my life's song. So, even though, I struggled with minor chords over Christmas, I still felt joy and caroled and cavorted. Here are some of those moments:

Looking up at the sky on New Year's Eve
Having a Christmas story read aloud to me
Cooking Christmas dinner and timing it so everything came to the table hot
Hearing one of my daughters exclaim "I like Christmas lights"
Listening to the piano player at Jasper Park Lodge play Vince Guaraldi's A Charlie Brown Christmas

Getting to a hotel room and finding a murphy bed
Stuffing stockings and opening mine
Seeing others' joy in the gifts that I gave
Finding pictures in the foam of a latte
Being with loved ones, especially on the 23,24,25th

Splitting firewood
Gazing at the little tree with ornaments made by my children over 20 years ago
Chasing a friend down a hill with skis on

Reflecting on the meaning of Christmas alone in my room
Drinking a perfect cup of tea
Lying in savasana at the end of yoga class and hearing the instructor say "choose love, not fear"

Choose love, not fear. A good mantra for the New Year.

Namaste,

Ginny

Itchy healed wounds

2007-12-29T09:41:00.000-07:00

I am trying to be honest with myself. It is hard. I know that something is bothering me and, while I can identify potential reasons, none of them feel true. What I know is that I do not feel like the same happy hopeful person that I did a few weeks ago. I know that my temper is short and that I am jealous for no good reason (is there ever a good reason?). I know that whatever is bothering me will pass, but I want this time to hurry up and go by, and I want to get on to the good stuff. Another problem is, that when I feel this way, I anticipate stress and problems. I am dreading the first week in January when I have to reschedule meetings and juggle commitments. I could understand the dread if I were enjoying myself today but I'm not. I have fallen into old patterns, and am not living in the present. I am living in my head.

I am living in my head and my thoughts are what are causing me pain. My thoughts are not real. Yet ironically, just before I wrote that sentence, I was thinking of writing that I am being real - real in the sense of not perfect, real in the sense of experiencing unhappiness, real in the sense of having past wounds heal but itch from time to time. Both are true. I am being real and I am living in my head. And, having written what I have just written, I realize that what is bothering me are my past wounds. They are itching quite badly. So what is the cure? Moisturizer.

Moisturizer is what I would apply to my skin if it were itchy. What is the pychic equivalent? Tears. I have been applying tears. I noticed walking the dog yesterday that my eyes were tearing up. I held back tears when talking to a friend. I forced tears into anger earlier in the day, and last night in the darkness, I finally let go and cried hard. This morning I have cried softly. And now that I realize that I was being a hard, brittle sponge and that salt water through tears and sweat is the cure, I have softened again and am pliable and strong. It is strange how a realization, how a thought (but a different thought) can change how I feel. I feel better now.

Our inner children

2007-12-27T15:04:00.000-07:00

No matter how old we get, our inner child is visible. For example, I teach fourth year undergraduate business classes, and most of the students are in their 20's. Some are older; very few are younger. Yet, when these students write a test, I see their kindergarten selves. Some lean sideways on the desk, head on elbow, writing with great concentration. Others daydream. They look left, they look right, they look at their nails. One girl shuts out the world, putting in earplugs and wearing a big bucket hat. And most, just look young and beautiful.

I see my own inner child when I snowplow. I have skied since I was young and my hands cock up as if directing my feet when I do wedge turns. When I teach young children to ski, I see the same phenomenon. Their shoulders and arms try to orchestrate the movement of the legs. I saw my mother's inner child when I said good-bye to her a few weeks before her death. She was lying peacefully on her bed and I looked at her and did not see pale, jaundiced skin covered in wrinkles but babysoft skin and innocence.

Our inner children are all beautiful. They are who we are. Our children represent potential, hope, and the future. As I grow older, I see wrinkles forming on my face and I witness my own reactions, often not based on what just happened, but on what happened years ago when I was just a child. This is one reason why being in the present is so vital to my well-being. I have learned to be kind to my inner child and am glad that she is still there, not grown up. She is able to see the wonder of life and feel the sadness that life also brings. As I grow older, I see another part of me developing, a wiser older woman, but there is still that child-like part of me that loves kindergarten, that cocks her wrists as she snowplows and cries easily in both joy and grief.

I started this blog entry before Christmas and today, two days after, my sympathies are with the family and close friends of a young man. A 25 year old ski instructor, blessed with one of the best smiles in the world and a passion for skiing, died after hitting a tree while skiing a powder run on a mountain resort that had just opened. I find that I am recalling moments with him, and in every moment, it is his smile that I see. It was infectious and joyous and the light of his smile will shine onward.

Namaste,
Ginny

Peace on Earth

2007-12-24T12:52:00.000-07:00

The stars shine with love
The snow whispers quiet
We all smile in the same language
Peace on earth

Old patterns

2007-12-15T19:53:00.000-07:00

When I am stressed, I fall into old patterns. I have witnessed myself doing this at least three times this week. The first time that I saw myself falling into old ways was on Thursday afternoon when I came home to 37 e-mails and 7 urgent phone messages. The reason for so many messages is that I had worried the night before, solved a problem when I came awake at 4:00 am, and tried to get the solution documented and e-mailed off to the right people before I headed outon my day at 7:30 am. Whether it was lack of sleep, stress, or the combination, that's where things began to go awry.

I changed the spreadsheet, composed the e-mail and sent it off...or so I thought. Turns out, that I had forgotten to attach the spreadsheet. It also turns out that I left my cellphone on in the pcocket of the coat I had worn the previous day, so all the calls letting me know that I had not attached the spreadsheet rang and rang in the closet. Guilt ravaged me (a slight overstatement, but not much) when I came home and realized what had happened. Guilt triggers stress so I was soon swearing (yes, I actually did swear at my computer) as I tried to attach and re-send the message. As happens, when I am stressed, I make mistakes so it took me much longer than it should have to get the spreadsheet ready and e-mailed. Murphy's Law then took over, and the e-mail server decided to take a coffee break and wait 40 minutes before delivering my e-mail.

I knew all the feelings that I experienced as I tried to remedy the situation. I recognized that I was stressing. I felt the same way that I used to. I even got the same old stomach ache. So, why didn't I take action to disrupt the old patterns? I think I enjoyed the familiarity and the adrenalin. I think I also enjoyed having an excuse to be angry at myself, at others, at the situation. I was already stressed before I forgot the attachment and the phone so this allowed me to go to the old feelings.

These old patterns seem to arise more in the holiday season than at other times of the year. The other two situations in which I observed myself behaving in ways that reflect old beliefs were replicas of Christmases past. "Plus ca change, plus ca meme" - Not necessarily true, but the way I behaved. I know that I am not alone in reverting to old behaviors. I also know that I should be gentle with myself. What I find most interesting, however, is that these patterns are so hard to break. Even the language I've used as I've written tonight reflects old beliefs. I wrote "I think" a lot. I wrote that "I tried to...". I know that change is a cycle and that each time I revisit a past belief or pain, there is a more healing and growth. So, I am trying to look at my patterns as an opportunity to grow, to make that leap from fear into fun. I love the Christmas season, but there is some fear involved. There is also some fun and everything between. And that is life. And it's a wonderful life.

It's here - that crazy Christmas season

2007-12-14T08:15:00.000-07:00

It's here -that crazy Christmas season. I thought I would manage this year to experience a quiet joyful lead-up to Christmas, then a few days of skiing with my family and then a peaceful Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. I was wrong. I am ill with the seasonal affliction of too much. I have too much work. There is a contract signing and press release for a project I've been working on, with people flying in from overseas. I have a final exam to give and then grade on the same day as the press conference. I have friends coming in to town, wanting to have dinner. I have a full house and I need to clean and cook (which can be fun, but only when there is time). I still have some gifts to buy and wrap. And, there are friends that I want to see who are equally busy and I worry that we won't manage to see one another until the second week of January. And I haven' t even mentioned that I want to go skiing, climbing, and to yoga and can't find time.

So, in this hodge-podge of things, what must really happen? I must breathe everyday. The good thing is taking breaths does come naturally. Taking deep breaths doesn't, but at least I am aware that I should allow my lungs to do their work . I must sleep. That will happen. What I can't control is whether I wake up at 4:00 am with my brain churning. What I can control is how I react if I wake. Let it be. The days will pass and Christmas will come and I will be ready. I may not have the cleanest house ( I never have). I will have the exams graded ( I always do). The trees will be decorated. Lights may or may not be up outside. I will see the people I really want to, and I will be gentle with myself as I make choices, to see or not to see, to do or not to do. What I want most for Christmas is to be present with those who I love.

Namaste,
Ginny

Winter night walking

2007-12-11T19:07:00.000-07:00

I've been walking my dog, Bode, at night for the past two weeks. Edmonton, where I live, is quite far north and it is dark early in the winter. I've been walking him early in the morning and then again late (for me) at night. Both times are peaceful but the energy of the neighborhood is quite different at 6:30 am than at 9:30 pm.

In the morning, there is activity. People are shoveling their walks and drives. Cars are backing out of driveways and heading out of the neighborhood, almost on automatic pilot. Lights are turning on in houses. It is still quiet but there is a humming. It is the start of day.

In the night, I am almost always the only one out. Last night, there was couple walking a large dog. Bode and he strained toward one another, but then the owners turned a corner, and Bode quickly forgot his interest in the other dog. There is a park in the middle of the neighborhood and when I go past or into it, the lyrics of "Good King Wenceslas" come to mind:

Good King Wenceslas looked out

On the feast of Stephen

When the snow lay round about

Deep and crisp and even

Brightly shone the moon that night

Though the frost was cruel...

The line from "The Night Before Christmas" also seems apt..."the moon on the breast of the new fallen snow gave the lustre of midday to the objects below". When I am walking Bode and turn into the park, it is as if I have stepped back in time, back to simpler times, when snow fell and winter was harsh, but when the light of the moon and the stars provided guidance enough. I feel at peace in the park. There are evergreens silhouetted against the cerulean sky. The prints that Bode and I left from the previous nights are still visible. The shape of the moon varies from night to night. One night, it seemed the smallest sliver possible. I like seeing the changes in the night sky and I feel its importance in myth, history and our collective consciousness. Winter night walking gives me joy.

Feelings (aka aches and pains)

2007-12-10T18:04:00.000-07:00

Over the past couple of days, I have spoken to a number of friends about their aches and pains. One friend has a sore back. Another has damaged knees. A third was complaining about her shoulder; another about hips. As for me, my toes are sore again.

Warning - some people find the following story makes them cringe...so if graphic description of toe pain makes you want to turn the other way, go turn the other way and resume reading after the following two paragraphs.

I know myself best so I'll start by exploring my sore toes. I honestly can't remember the first time that I noticed that I had sore toes. I do know that I was still a teenager because I remember driving home from a New Jersey ski resort (Great Gorge) without my shoes on because my toes were frozen. A few years ago, I injured my big toenails so badly and the pain was so intense that the podiatrist removed them so that I would be in less pain and new nails could grow back unencumbered. I limped around the house for two days with my big toes swaddled in blue gauze, and then pushed my sore toes back into ski boots and headed to the mountains. I didn't realize that blood warms areas in need of healing so, despite the minus 18 degree temperatures at Lake Louise, my toes sweated and then (expectedly) froze. Frostbite resulted and I dealt with tiny bits of blackened skin as well as my lack of toenails for the rest of the season.

Apparently, nails take eighteen months to fully grow back so the next season my freshly grown toenails went back into my boots. They were fine until I went mogul skiing, and even though I have a good boot fit with little fore/aft movement of my foot within the shell, I banged up and bruised my toenails again. This is a common skier ailment. I went mogul skiing yesterday and my toes are sore again, with a bruise developing on my right big toenail.

Sensitive readers can resume here.

So, are my sore toes telling me anything other than to not ski moguls (which I love doing and won't stop)? Yes, they are telling me they are cold. I know my toes well and while a bit of numbness is good, there is a point at which I know to go warm them up. Are my toes telling me anything else? Yes, they are telling me when I am trying too hard. They curl up and strain to the top of the boot. This is a signal to relax. Do my toes hurt when they are not in ski boots? Again, the answer is yes. I notice my toes in two places - at the yoga studio and when I am trying to sleep. I suspect that my toes signal to me that I need to relax and fully ground myself. This is definitely what I feel in the yoga studio and I can physically look at my toes, see how I am standing, and relax my muscles and my mind. In bed, I use a prop to feel grounded. I put a pillow over my feet and the weight helps with warmth and feeling connected.

Toes are an extremity. Sometimes, when my toes are cold, it means that I am pulling myself within to stay warm. This is a physiological response to extreme weather. When that happens, I need to warm my toes. Sometimes, when my toes are cold, it means that I am uncomfortable in a situation - the weather could be warm - and I am pulling myself within to stay safe. I am retracting to my core. It is a physiological response to emotional weather. When that happens, I need to check in with myself and see why I am curling in. Sometimes, just noticing is the fix. Sometimes, I discover that I need a different response, perhaps to speak up or to move away.

The point is that our bodies are part of our internal compasses. When something doesn't feel right, when a toe or an elbow or a nose is sending a message, we need to stop and check. My friend with the sore back said she stomped around like an angry pirate dragging a limp foot for days before she realized that, in addition to her trips to the emergency room and medication, she needed to stop doing and just rest. My friend with the sore shoulder did injure it several years ago but she also carries life weight (that kind that weighs nothing on a scale but tons in our spirit) on her shoulders.

Charles Dickens evoked this life weight in 1843 when he described the ghost of Jacob Marley, Scrooge's business partner, with his heavy chain of money boxes and ledgers wound round him. Dickens' A Christmas Carol contains many messages are that relevant not just to winter but to all seasons. Like Marley, we carry our daily business with us. Unlike Marley, we can become conscious of its weight and take actions to lessen our bodily burden while we are still in our mortal coil and able to the experience the joys of life. Joy is weightless. So, check your body compass regularly and see how you feel.

Scared to be Wild

2007-12-06T16:12:00.001-07:00

I am a domesticated creature, otherwise known as super erudio urbanus mulier. I'm not even sure that I was born wild. My parents told a story about the first time I met Santa Claus. Apparently, I was dressed in red velvet and approached him shyly. When I reached his knee, I didn't clamber up but curtsied. My parents were proud. I went to interviews for boarding school when I was still just a pre-teen, a seventh grader. I actually wore short white gloves to the interview at the school where my mother had gone (to my credit, I ditched them in subsequent interviews at different schools). If I had a wild streak, my personality and upbringing sublimated it early.

When I first thought of being wild, I thought of Hunter Thompson or Janis Joplin, frenzied and unkempt. Dark glasses, hiding eyes. I've thought for days now about wildness and last night I realized that I am being unfair to "wild things". There are many aspects of wildness and that is what appeals to me so much about nature. Nature is wildness; it is not tamed, domesticated or cultivated. Nature can be gentle providing the rain for crops, flowers and trees to thrive. Nature can be brutal, storming hail on fragile summer stalks. Nature can be extravagant, creating lush jungle forests or nature can be stark with limned dark mountainside. These contrasts are the wildness of nature. The wildness is not just the hard negative. It is the softness as well.

If I am scared to be wild (and I am), then I am denying part of life, for life is contrast. Carpe diem: carpe nocem. Pain:pleasure. Dark:light. To be fully alive, we need to explore all aspects both hard and easy. I have muffled my voice for many years, modulating it and my choice of words like a lady. Perhaps it is time for me to swear like a stevedore (although I really still can't picture myself doing it). It is time however for me to be vehement when the situation warrants. I am too tactful, too diplomatic and my point can be missed. A wild animal protecting her young is not tactful. She is strong and direct. I can relate to that example. I can also imagine the gentleness of animals and the fierceness. Neither is good or bad; they just are. Wildness is not frenzied and unkempt. Wildness is acting true to yourself, your instincts, your essential self. Sometimes what attracts you is what you need, what is missing from your life. I am drawn to the outdoors and its wild nature. I am seeking what I miss and am finding who I am.

More on being at home

2007-12-06T11:58:00.000-07:00

I was reflecting on my entry from yesterday, and something seemed missing. I think I know what I missed. Physical place does have a role in being at home, but you can't be at home in that place without being yourself. This is kind of like "all rectangles are squares but not all squares are rectangles".

For example, certain places have an energy that attracts me. Lake Louise is one of those places. I have had three of the most magical experiences of my life there, skating on the lake, climbing on the cliffs at its back, and skiing on the mountain. The Rocky Mountains are vast, but Lake Louise and its surrounding peaks have a special pull for me. The pull is spiritual. I feel like my soul opens up and I can really see the power, strength, gentleness and fragility of nature and life. But for this to happen, I must be at home with who I am. I use other words to describe being at home - centred and grounded are two. If I am not centered, then I am closed to feeling and seeing the true mountains and lake. In the years when I was stuck closed without realizing it, I would say that I loved the mountains but when I got there didn't enjoy the experience. I was cold. I had the wrong clothes. It was raining. I was out of shape. I always had a reason not to open up and see the magnificence. And so, this is what I mean by saying that you have to be at home in yourself to be at home in one of the places that feels so right.

Even when I was stuck closed (which sometimes I also call being frozen), I sought out places to relax and just be. My bath was one of those places. It has windows on three sides so that light and nature shine in. I added to the wattage with candles. I would often put soothing music on and pour aromatic bergomot oil into the tub. I would let the water wash over me and I felt cleansed of all the beliefs that kept me from being me, and for a brief time, I thawed amidst the water and steam. I was at home, literally and figuratively.

Now, that I carry my home within me, I open to the special energy of places much more easily. I am at home in the yoga studio. I am at home in the climbing gym. I am at home at the ski hill (...and a couple of years ago I realized why this particular ski hill attracted me. It is on the banks of the North Saskatchewan river and, despite the distance between Alberta and New Jersey, it reminds me of the beauty of the hills beside the Navesink and Shrewsbury rivers where I grew up). I am at home at home. I feel my soul open when I visit the ocean. I feel my soul open when I with certain friends and family. And, when my soul opens, the world is an incredible place full of paradox and beauty.

The Road Home

2007-12-05T16:52:00.000-07:00

Recently, a friend e-mailed me a question:" I’m sitting here looking out my window at the family across the street and it started me thinking about something. Knowing that you are in the same position, I was wondering your thoughts. How did/do you feel about being in a city where you had/have no family or friends who know your history?"

Her question got me thinking. What is home? Is it where you grew up? Is it a physical place? Is it where your mail is delivered? Is it like "Cheers-Where everyone knows your name?"...or is home something else?

I was once asked to describe the rooms in my house and I wrote:

The sun and sky on the walls
Windows that show the yard
Paintings of nature and animals
with magic, bookcase in the living room
Cookbooks lining kitchen cupboards
Soothing bedroom and bath

This describes the place that I call home but it is not my home. My home is within me. It is who I am when I am fully engaged. It is who I am when I am happy. It is who I am when I am sad. Homing is coming back to myself, back to my intuition. It is who I am.

My history has shaped me. It has contributed to who I am, but I define myself and continue to shape my own beliefs. The past is largely irrelevant, especially in terms of home, especially in terms of going home in the holiday season. College students, young professionals, recently married couples are not returning home when they take trains, planes and cabs to the places they grew up. Thomas Wolfe's famous American novel "You Can't Go Home Again" relentlessly and eloquently drives home the point that nothing stays the same. So, even I as change and grow, I am still me and my home is within. Aristophanes said "A man's home is wherever he prospers". And so I am on a continual road home because I prosper when I am most myself.

Namaste,
Ginny

Taking time

2007-12-04T13:09:00.000-07:00

This is the longest interval I've gone without blogging other than when I have been out of town. There are a couple of reasons. For the first few days, no topic came to mind. Then, I became really busy. And, even today, I am not sure what direction this entry will end up taking. Time will tell.

I have a lot going on that is positive. I came home from teaching skiing on Friday to find some urgent work-related messages (I'm managing a project in two countries with three organizations that operate very differently). I sat down at my computer and responded before I had even taken off my ski clothes. After dealing with the situation and working through the guilt that I put on myself for not being available earlier in the day, I decided I needed some time to myself. I put on my pajamas, added a down vest for extra warmth, ...oh it was so comfy...and prepared for a quiet evening at home. A friend, who I seldom see because she works hard at the business she owns, called and asked me to join some other friends for coffee. I went even though I knew that I would miss my own quiet time.

Saturday was similar. I had a list of tasks each of which I enjoy, but cumulatively made me feel stressed as I hurried to complete the list. Most of the things on my list related to Christmas preparations and I do them because they have meaning to me. For example, I like to make wreaths. Generally, I linger over the scent of the fresh boughs and am particular as I choose and tie the ribbon as a final accent. This year, I am satisfied with the look of my wreath but because I hurried, I did not enjoy its creation.

Sunday was different. I was at the ski hill but in a new capacity. I led my first session training other ski instructors. I wasn't nervous (except a bit of apprehension about how my toes would deal with the minus 18 Celsius temperatures). I was confident as I explained the importance of keeping the groups of students moving on a cold day to the other instructors. I was confident as we started with one skill and built on it through the session. I learned that my voice doesn't carry outside as loudly as I need it to. I learned that, even training other instructors, they each have different needs. While I knew this in terms of their physical skiing skills, what this first session reinforced for me, is that each also have varying pyschological needs that need to be addressed. Later, in the day, I also worked with other instructors in customizing their lessons to their clients - whether that meant splitting the class in two, bringing cold children inside to warm up or helping parents understand what their children learned in lesson.

That night, I was reflecting on how busy I am and thought of a section in "Finding Your Own North Star" by Martha Beck in which she describes some of what happens when you are finding what you are meant to do. The first step is to "work like a dog". Yes, that is how I've been feeling. I've been working non-stop. I often think to myself, "Life is good when there are so many things that you want to do that you can't find the time to do them".

On to Monday, which should have been a joyful day. Six of us were scheduled to ski with one of most accomplished ski instructors in Canada. I was looking forward to learning from him. It was cold again yesterday and the school groups cancelled. The lion's share of skiers and riders on a weekday are school groups; the general public comprises a very small percentage. There was tension as different functional factions negotiated as to when lifts would open. The ski hill did open, but late, and the snow making was left on. This reduced the enjoyment for all but also created a safety hazard. The visibility was so reduced that I struggled to see the lift towers. I can't imagine how customers less familiar with the terrain felt. The snow making did stop after lunch but, as someone with a strong customer focus, I felt disappointed in the decision making I witnessed. I did enjoy skiing and learning but my overall energy felt tainted by what I had seen.

I came home and was very tired. I wanted to crawl into bed by 7:00. Instead, I was working on my international project and, again feeling guilty. I just wanted to cry and didn't know why. Tears did come and they flowed until my dog, Bode, came and licked them away. I cried again an hour later and they stopped when I got a phone call from a friend. I went to bed shortly afterwards, thinking I don't know why I want to cry, maybe I'm just over-tired.

The alarm went off and Great Big Sea was playing, then Joni Mitchell. I thought this augured well for the day. I went off in my car to teach the last class of the term at the University and tears came again. But I was alone in my car, and apparently, everything that was jumbling about in my mind sorted itself out. I decided what I need to do to stop feeling guilty about my work; I developed a plan to challenge myself on my skiing, and I came to the realization that a half-formed hope that I harboured really isn't part of my path to my North Star and that I need to let go. I also decided that, while almost everything I am doing, is positive, I want to start prioritizing and really focus on the activities that bring the most joy. Being a plus one in terms of happiness doesn't bring me as much joy as something that is plus 10. So, even though a few years ago a plus one activity would have been great, now I need to prioritize it lower than I used to. I am grateful that I do have so many things in my life that rate high on the joy scale and I want to make time to do and fully experience the ones that generate the greatest happiness for me rather than do everything.

And guess what? I came home from teaching and time opened up over the next few days. I suddenly do not feel overworked and feel that I have time to savour what I love.

Namaste,
Ginny

Follow the happy feeling

2007-11-29T12:16:00.000-07:00

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?

Being happy in the world

2007-11-27T14:03:00.000-07:00

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.

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.

The beginning of a wild journey

2007-11-24T19:15:00.000-07:00

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.

Connections

2007-11-22T19:24:00.000-07:00

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.

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...

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".

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.

Thanksgiving

2007-11-20T15:08:00.000-07:00

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

Looking Forward

2007-11-18T12:58:00.000-07:00

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

Letting loose on Wiwaxy

2007-11-17T19:22:00.000-07:00

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.

To-do lists

2007-11-12T19:09:00.000-07:00

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

Bouldering Problems

2007-11-09T15:05:00.000-07:00

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.

Snow Bright

2007-11-05T20:15:00.000-07:00

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.

Climbing trees in Zermatt

2007-11-04T20:36:00.000-07:00

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.

Showing my feelings

2007-11-04T14:36:00.000-07:00

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.

Subtle Balance

2007-11-01T15:39:00.000-06:00

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.

Human Endeavors

2007-10-30T15:29:00.001-06:00

While I was in Zermatt,I was repeatedly reminded of the scale of human endeavor through history. Like many, I have forgotten much of what I learned in school. When I saw the Alps, fragments of school learning came back to me. In particular, I recalled that Hannibal had crossed the Alps on an elephant. As an eighth grader, I simply memorized the fact and didn't consider its implications. Two weeks ago, when I first thought of Hannibal and the distances and terrain that an elephant would have had to travel, I was astounded by the implications. What vision could have foreseen that the steady lumbering gait of an elephant could provide footing in the mountains? How were the animals fed? What other logistics were involved? I struggle to imagine elephants crossing the Alps now in 2007 when helicopters ferry goods from base to peak. How could elephants and an army have crossed the Alps roughly 200 years B.C. during the Second Punic War?

Historians still debate Hannibal's actual route across the Pyrenees and Alps. It seems clear, however, that the elephants originated in North Africa and the army is speculated to have included 38,000 infantry, 8,000 cavalry and 37 war elephants. No wonder Hannibal is attributed with the famous quote " We will either find a way or make one."

I visited the Matterhorn museum in Zermatt, expecting to learn more about the 20th century climbers who scaled its peak. I did learn about them but I also learned that in 1985, the glacier released the remains of an armed man dating back to the 16th century. Even with modern footwear and oxygen canisters, the glaciers and peaks near the Matterhorn are treacherous. Yet, 500 years ago men sought to traverse the mountain peaks. Their legacy was captured in glacial ice and now their iron weapons remain.

A display featured pictures of a more modern man. Ulrich Inderbiner qualified as a mountain guide at the age of 25 and actively worked until he was 95. He stood on the peak of the Matterhorn more than 370 times between 1925 and 1995. He died at the age of 104. He wrote: "I live how I climb a mountain, my walk and rhythm is slow and deliberate, steady and determined".

What amazing things we humans can achieve.

"To be more human"

2007-10-29T14:10:00.000-06:00

I'm back from skiing in Zermatt. I love mountains and have traveled through many North American ranges. I've been in the Canadian Rockies, the American Rockies, the Sierra Nevada, the Appalachians, the Alleghenies, and even the Ozarks. The Rockies are magnificent. When I drive into one of the National Parks in Alberta (Jasper, Banff, Lake Louise, Waterton or Yoho), I am transported from my everyday life into a more meaningful connection to nature. I feel close to the heavens in these mountains. There is a spirit and strength in the mountains which inspires me. I was curious to see how I felt in the Swiss Alps.

My first impression of the Matterhorn and the narrow valley in which Zermatt nestles was conditioned by childhood reading and Disney. The Matterhorn is iconic. Anyone who has visited Disneyworld or Disneyland knows what it looks like, and the Alps were as I envisaged as a child. My first impression was shattered once I rode the tram and gondolas to the top of Matterhorn Glacier Paradise. At 3883 meters, I was the highest I've ever been on earth. To my right, were some climbers roped together walking over the glacier. As a skier, I walked through a tunnel, put on my boots and skis, and emerged onto a glacier populated by many nations. We were Swiss, French, Canadian, Russian, Moldavian, Italian, Japanese, Norwegian, Swedish, Dutch all united in a passion for skiing. At the end of the first day, I took an elevator through the mountain to a lookout and climbed steps to go even higher.

I felt like I was above the heavens. I was definitely above the cloud cover and as I looked around, I felt infinitesmal. I was just a speck in vast and complicated mountainscape. There was a crucifix on the lookout with words in French, German and English. The translations were not identical but the English words were " To be more human". If being more human means feeling vulnerable while striving forward, feeling small while appreciating nature and God's grandeur, feeling grateful to be alive then I took a small step that day to being more human. But, I may not have understood at all what it means to be more human. All I know is that this was the first of many times during my two weeks in Zermatt, when tears came to my eyes, words failed me, and I felt overwhelmed by the beauty of life, the power of the mountains, and the courage of those who live and die in them.

Peace,
Ginny

Gone Skiing

2007-10-10T17:19:00.000-06:00

I'm putting up the "Gone Skiing" sign on my blog. I'm leaving tomorrow for Switzerland and will be skiing for two weeks. I plan on unplugging so I don't expect to post a new entry until my return.

I am so excited about this ski trip. I love the feel of the wind against my face, the smell of the evergreens as I ride the chairlift, the quiet hush of snow falling. I love the little quiver of adrenalin that I feel before launching onto a hard run and the satisfaction when I’ve done it. I love the freedom of movement. I love the sense of being close to out of control but in control when I ski moguls (Oh, no, oh no, oh no… oh I’ve done it!) I love laughing when I’ve fallen in the snow and am wiping the wet stuff off everywhere. I love looking at the mountain cirques and the sky and clouds. I even like it when my toes freeze just enough that they no longer hurt. So, one of the reasons that I'm excited is that I just plain love to ski.

Another reason is that I will be skiing in Switzerland. Ever since I read Heidi as a child, I've been fascinated by Switzerland and the Alps. I love mountains, and Zermatt, where I'm going, is at the foot of the Matterhorn. To make Zermatt even better, there are no cars in town. You take the rail there and then walk, bike or ski (depending on the season). Since Zermatt is at altitude, there is year-round glacier skiing. In October, snow will be falling at the higher altitudes while warm autumn afternoons are still a possibility in town. By going to Switzerland to ski, I am fulfilling a childhood dream.

And, I am excited because I am pursuing another goal - to take my Canadian Ski Instructor Level 3 course and exams (which is an internationally recognized standard). I had planned to take the course last year but wasn't able to finish.

Last winter, I was teaching two university courses and teaching skiing in between classes , and didn’t feel right asking for time off to ski for week so I arranged my year to take the Level 3 course after classes had finished in April. In March, my mother, whose physical condition was never good and had worsened over the past two years, got significantly worse. I initially planned to go see her in the interval between classes ending and my Level 3 course starting, but my brother convinced me it was urgent.. Travel from Edmonton to Florida takes a full day so I went to see her in the first weekend in April, cancelling class on Friday. She was under hospice care but seemed to have several months left to my eye. She was confused sometimes and needed a cane or walker but she dressed for dinner and we went out. My daughters went to see her the following week and she went to the beach club with them on April 5.

I was hopeful, then, that she would last past my course. On Friday April 13, I left the house to pick up another instructor who was taking the course which began on Monday April 16. As I was driving to his house, I received a call from my brother who was on holiday in Florida about two hours south of where my mother lived. He told me that the nurses didn’t expect Mom to survive the weekend.

I skied that weekend and was in constant touch by cell phone. I spoke to my mother on Saturday morning before she fell into a coma. I talked regularly with my brother who had driven up to be with her. He returned to his family on Sunday morning. I headed off to the course on Monday planning to take things one day at a time. We had just started the indoor portion, when my phone rang. My mother had developed a fever and had worsened again. I skied that day, glad to be at Lake Louise, glad to be with others who love life. That Monday night my mother died. My brother said that the funeral would be on Friday and that the family would be arriving in her town on Wednesday.

I told the ski instructor that I was sharing a condo with and no one else on the course. We had driven from Edmonton to Lake Louise in my car, so he arranged for his wife to meet us halfway on Tuesday night so he could have his car and then I would drive his wife back to Edmonton in my car. I participated in the course on Tuesday but my thoughts kept going to my mother. I cried for her when I was alone on a poma tow called “Top of the World” which takes you to the peak of Lake Louise Ski Resort. The view from the top is panoramic and world famous but the tow ride is a bit desolate.

That afternoon, when the course conductor had completed his wind–up, I told my classmates that I would not be able to continue the course with them, that my mother had died and I needed to go. They understood and were supportive and said kind words. I drove home back to Edmonton, caught flights to Florida and joined my family at the funeral. Shortly afterwards, I went back to Florida for a third time to clean out her apartment. Obviously, I was grieving my mother but I also felt the loss of the opportunity to take the Level 3 course.

I was home for two days after cleaning out her apartment when I received an e-mail from the Canadian Ski Instructors Alliance. They were planning a trip to Switzerland to ski in October. It was perfect. One of the things that I have learned through life coaching is that when you experience a loss, you mourn or try to replace what is gone. I mourned my mother but this trip is an opportunity, to not only replace the loss of the course, but, to better it. I have always wanted to ski in Switzerland and the Level 3 course and exams are being given. And so, I am going to Switzerland to ski and there is no doubt that my skiing will be more free, less burdened than it was last April. 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. I am happy and grateful for this opportunity. And I'll share my feelings with you when I am back.

Namaste,
Ginny

Musings on musings

2007-10-09T12:27:00.000-06:00

I have lots of thoughts today and they seem unrelated, so I'll see what I type as I type.

Musing One
I said yesterday that I want to climb a tree again. I really do. I also said yesterday, that when I was in that tree, I would shout out like Mortimer "clang,clang, rattle- bittle-bing-bang, I'm going to make my noise all day". I really do wish that were true but it isn't. I am an inhibited, shy sort and shouting out isn't something that I do often or do well. I will probably be self conscious enough being up in a tree that the best I'll do is whisper the phrase, but who knows? If the sun is bright, I might speak, shout, whisper, or be silent. I will be happy to be in a tree.

Musing Two
One of my daughters told me yesterday that she has never climbed a tree. That makes me feel very sad. But, when I reflect, it also makes me happy. Think of the new found joy she will experience when she climbs her first tree at the ripe old age of twenty-something.

Musing Three
My dog, Bode, has learned to open the cupboard door to where I keep the garbage. I spent a large part of yesterday and most of the hour that I have been home today, saying "Uh, Uh - No!" and turning my back for an instant to find leftover lasagne on the floor, or a chewed up milk carton, or a broken egg shredded, or slimy lettuce bits. I'm glad that he is learning (just not what he his learning) but I wonder what I am supposed to be learning from this?

Musing Four
Sharing what worries you can make other people laugh. Last week I booked my own flights to Switzerland. Travelocity very clearly stated that I would need to transfer from Heathrow to London City Airport and the transfer didn't cause me to bat an eye as I chose my flights. Once I confirmed my flights, worry set in and to assuage it, I decided to investigate. I googled London City Airport and discovered that it takes between 60 and 90 minutes to get there from Heathrow. No problem, I have 4 1/2 hours between flights. I also learned that London City Airport largely serves the financial district in short hop European flights. A new worry set in. I would be carrying skis, a big duffle bag, and a backpack. Not exactly what the blue pinstripe financial set brings as luggage. Would my skis fit on the plane? Would the check in personnel have the facilities to deal with my duffle bag? So, I called Swiss Air and asked the agent if the plane could handle my skis? I could hear her almost muffle her giggle, but then she couldn't help it, she had to laugh. Of course Swiss Air allows skis on its planes. At least, I asked and now I have one less worry and know that I made at least one person laugh that day.

Climbing trees

2007-10-08T15:00:00.001-06:00

At 62, Robert Munsch still climbs trees. This makes me happy. Why? Because anybody who climbs trees knows how to play and I care about playing, and anybody who climbs trees past the age of 12 has retained a sense of child, a sense of their essential self. Plus, Robert Munsch is one of my favorite children's authors, having written I'll Love You Forever, The Paperbag Princess, Thomas' Snowsuit, Mortimer, and many others. So, it is good to know that someone I admire in one respect, I can admire in another respect (and I believe the two are related).

I read that Robert Munsch still climbs trees in an article in The Globe and Mail. The article also states that he likes to cycle and walk his dogs. He says "The good thing is, I have to walk the dogs every day. Once I'm out there I do the rest of the stuff. I've been climbing trees since I was a little kid. I just never stopped. Climbing trees is like climbing mountains, except it's less expensive and they're closer."

Which got me thinking about climbing trees and climbing other things. As a child, I loved to climb trees. We didn't just climb; we made up games about climbing. One of the trees that we climbed tilted precariously toward the south, its trunk was void of branches and there was a crack from the ground to where the branches finally spread. We would time each other as we put our hands in the loamy crack, brace our feet against the tree and scamper up to the branches. Another game could only be played in the spring when the crab apple blossoms were in full bloom. The game was to nestle and hide into a spot entirely covered in the fragrant white blossoms. There would be five or six of us at once in the tree. One person would not climb but would stand a distance from the tree and try to spot us. The last one spotted won.

I recall once when we were playing this game, my brother climbed high into the tree and couldn't (wouldn't?) climb down. I think it was just the two of us playing that day, and as his older sister, I walked away in disgust, sure that as soon as I turned my back, he would climb down. He didn't and started to yell, "Help, help". I ignored his cries. I was embarassed a few minutes later when a fire truck pulled up and firemen helped him out of the tree. We lived by a river and his cries for help carried. A well-meaning neighbor heard the cries, thought someone was drowning in the river, and called emergency services. I was even more mortified a day later when a newspaper article appeared with the headline "What goes up, must come down". I remember this so vividly probably because I felt guilty and embarrassed but I've never thought to ask my brother what his memory of this incident is like.

I miss climbing trees. The trees in Alberta are not suited to climbing the way they are in other places. I haven't seen a child in a tree in a long time. Reminiscing about climbing trees has inspired me to a new goal. The next time I see a climb-able tree, I will climb it. It will be fun looking out at trees to determine a suitable one and it will be fun seeing where I next am when I finally climb a tree again. And when I'm in that tree, I will think of Robert Munsch and Mortimer, one of the characters he created, and will shout out like Mortimer would. "Clang, clang, rattle-bittle-bing-bang, I'm going to make my noise all day".

A grook

2007-10-06T21:22:00.000-06:00

I've been getting interesting reactions to my blog from family and friends. Some see it as a way of staying connected to me, even though we are many miles apart. Some see it as a way of getting to know me better and some see it as proof that I'm "losing my mind". After all, I write about the difficulty of feeling what I am feeling. And so, I dedicate this grook written by Piet Hein over 30 years ago to those who don't get how hard it is to really feel:

We are taught to live,
we are
taught to feel.
We are taught to conform and conceal.

We are taught so well
what we
ought to feel
that we cannot feel what we feel.

P.S. Once you start really feeling, you feel quite easily. It is getting past what we are taught so well that is challenging. And calling the poem a grook isn't a sign that I am losing my mind. A grook is from the danish "gruk' , a short aphoristic poem. The term was invented by the Danish poet, mathematician, and scientist, Piet Hein. As an additional piece of trivia, Piet Hein also invented games like Hex, Tangloids, TacTix and the Soma Cube.

Walking the dog

2007-10-06T17:59:00.000-06:00

My dog needs to be walked every day. He is energetic and likes to chew, so without a daily walk, I run the risk of seeing something I care about being shaken and bitten. I was busy this week and it was a challenge to carve out the time to take him for a walk. I managed every day to get him out on one or the other of the circuits around the house, but, for me, the walk was something to check off on my to-do list.

Strange as it sounds, I think Bode knew this. We were both business-like on those walks, striding purposefully and not sniffing the grass (one of his favourite things to do, not mine). Today I had time and Bode seemed to bide his as well. We woke in the morning and sat at the top of the stairs. I petted him and talked to him. We went downstairs. He ate and I ate. I let him into the backyard and he was scratching to get back in within minutes. I read the newspapers and talked on the phone while he found patches of sunlight to lie in. I went rock climbing and he napped.

When I came home from climbing, I expected Bode to be full of energy and bounding through the house. He was calm and just followed wherever I went. I did a few household chores with the plan to take Bode on a long walk once done. As I neared the end of my tasks, Bode began to demonstrate his anxiousness for his walk. He looked longingly at the window. If I walked toward the closet, he would jump, hoping that I was heading toward his leash.

Soon enough, we went for a walk. I took a path I never have before. October light streamed through the trees, the leaves on the ground were redolent with the smell of fall, and we crunched our way through the river valley. I felt peaceful and composed - a far cry from the jittery self I was just a few days earlier. I felt happy, and as I walked, I noticed small tears at the sides of my eyes. I've noticed this before when I walk the dog and usually attribute the tears to the wind. But, there was no wind today. I believe they were tears of joy. And I felt joy because I had time to reflect while I was walking the dog. Those moments of just being with myself were enough and I am glad that Bode needs to be walked everyday. The walks are just as much for me as they are for him.

A roller coaster day

2007-10-04T19:18:00.000-06:00

Yesterday was a roller coaster of a day. My stomach sank and I was down when I realized that my flights to Switzerland were not booked. I was rattled (it was a shaky old roller coaster) when I was booking my flights. I actually made reservations to the wrong city. I plummeted downward again when I realized my mistake but started a slow ascent once I got a refund and the correct tickets issued.

There were two high points and another low. One peak , when I realized how in-depth and customized to me, my ski training in Switzerland will be, and a second , in the evening when I successfully completed two routes in the rock gym that had stymied me for months. I hit another trough when I came home and discovered an incident with my car. I was glad to get off the roller coaster and into bed.

Today I am reflecting on how I felt during that ride. I am recalling, not my emotions, but the actual sensations I experienced in my body. When I got the news about my flights not being booked, stress flooded me. My jaw clenched and my stomach tightened. I was poised to fight. I was aware of those feelings and took conscious action to release them. I thought I had shaken the fear and stress out of my body but I now believe that I was faking it.

I'm good at faking that I'm okay. For years, whenever I felt overwhelmed, anxious, or on an emotional roller coaster, my response was to mask my feelings and carry on. That's what I did yesterday. I know this because I am no longer frozen and I do recall what I felt. When I made my mistake booking flights, my core felt jittery almost as if it were breaking apart. I didn't like the feeling and rushed, wanting to get the problem solved. The jittery feeling should have been a cue to slow down, not speed up, but I ignored it. I wasn't centered and I believe the mistake I made is related to the disconnection between my mind and my body.

"Pull yourself together" is a phrase used, usually somewhat cold-heartedly, when someone is emotional. I know that I can pull myself together, connect my mind and body through vigorous physical activity. I was anticipating that going to the rock climbing gym would be a good end to the day. I had fun, but the gym was especially stimulating last night. I was with friends, there was good music playing, groups of teens practising for a competition, and a pervasive high energy. While I was at the gym, my energy built instead of releasing. I had that jittery coffee-high feeling again.

I didn't pull myself together at the gym. So, yesterday was a day in which some of the tools I use to keep myself present and centred didn't work as well as usual. I expected them to work and with 20/20 hindsight realize that I wasn't being completely honest with myself. Lesson learned:don't just rely on the tool or tactic (eg. breathing or exercise), check for the outcome. Aaaagh - that sounds too business-like. Lesson learned: be honest with yourself and don't be hard on yourself.

Namaste