Itchy healed wounds

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

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

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

Old patterns

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

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

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)

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

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

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

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

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