A view of the world

Yesterday, I wondered whether, if I moved to the mountains, I would take the views for granted. I suspected that my answer was no. Today, it was confirmed. Some friends who live in the mountains sent me pictures of the first snowfall. They were not taking the view for granted. They took pictures and wanted to share the beauty with others. Each day is new and each day brings something unique to learn, see, hear or experience. Gratitude for these small daily pleasures is what keeps magnificence fresh. I have made a practice of reciting at least a few things that I am grateful for on a daily basis. Often, I do this in savasana at yoga. Sometimes, I do it during the day, especially when I am stuck in traffic, and sometimes I do it at night.

A few years ago, I made list of things that I love. When I think daily of what has been pleasurable for me, I do not turn to this list. I choose what is true for that particular day. On Tuesday of this week, there was a full moon. I looked out at it throughout the night and then later, I learned that the full moon in September is a harvest holiday in Korea, similar to Thanksgiving in Canada or the United States. This, and other things, made Tuesday special. Today, I was bouldering at the gym and watched a birthday party of young children. Some climbed naturally, using their free leg to flag and provide balance. Others were fine until they got to the top of the wall and then -oops- "how do I get down?" The staff were good at telling them how to position their feet in order to be lowered comfortably. I smiled as I watched.

A holiday in Korea and kids climbing are not enduring pleasures for me, but they made me appreciate the day and smile. The list of things that I love is enduring and comprised of small moments such as the smell of peppers sauteeing, afternoon sunlight on my back, the sounds of water - trickling, splashing, running, thundering, being alone in the car with good music playing, and the smell of trees. And, yes, skiing, looking at mountains, and catching a wave are on the original list. I have added to it over the years and looking at the list just now made me realize how far I have come in turning my fears into fun. My list just gets longer and longer.

Seeing the world in colour

One of my fears is that, if I move to the mountains , I will stop seeing their magnificence and ever changing character. I've asked people who live in the mountains "Do you take the view for granted?" and I get back mixed answers. Some do; some don't.

A few minutes ago I looked out the window to my backyard. On this late September morning, the colours are brilliant. The sun caresses the red leaves of my only maple tree into a lustrous shine. The golds of perennials and trees vary in hue, from pale amber to dark bronze. The green grass, the silvery sage of my Russian Olive, the blue grey textures of spruce and other forest colours set the varied warm colours of the oaks, ashes, dogwoods into contrast. I've looked out on this backyard for over twenty years. If I can still see its beauty and changes, why would I fear that I wouldn't do the same in the mountains?

I suspect that I have nothing to fear. My fear is rooted in the time when I was stuck and frozen. A common literary and cinematic device is to film or describe the world as shades of grey, without colour, and when the protagonist makes a life changing decision or gains insight, colour enters the story or film. When a person is feeling grey or flat, the world does not look bright. Breakthrough moments of insight are associated with the light - "seeing the light', "light bulb moments". Even when it is dark and we are dark, we have that spark inside ourselves that provides illumination, insight and light. The world is not monochromatic. There is pleasure and pain, fear and fun. The contrasts are necessary and the world is meant to be seen in colour. I see the world in colour and I see the changing fall colours. That is true and will be true, wherever I am.

Catching and riding a wave

The other night as I was drifting to sleep, I thought about catching and riding waves. I grew up by the ocean, and catching and riding waves is second nature to me. I began to think what it would be like to learn for the first time how to catch and ride a wave.

The first step is to enter the ocean. There are basically two ways - run through the surf and dive in immediately, or wade until just your head is above the water and slowly dunk. People who are comfortable with the ocean generally choose the first way. They just dive in, without regard to the water temperature, lacking knowledge of where the footing may drop off or become rocky, confident that they will skim through the water, stand, and be safe.

To others, just diving in is difficult. Gradual immersion, slowly testing the temperature, the current, and the footing (even checking for seaweed or - eek - jellyfish), is easier for people when the particular ocean spot is new or they are unfamiliar with the sea. This is probably the way a person intending to catch and ride a wave for the first time would enter.

Once in the ocean, and wet top to bottom, the next step is to gauge the waves and get a sense of where they begin to build, crest and then break. This takes experience so the first timer will need to watch carefully. Waves also come in series and I have tried to discern a pattern in which wave will break most evenly. There is no pattern. So, a person wanting to catch a wave must stand and watch, and stand and watch, but eventually commitment is necessary. To catch a wave, you decide "the next one is it". You move to where you think the wave will start to break and then watch as it begins to crest. At this point, you are looking out to the horizon over the sea. When the wave crests, you turn and swim hard until you feel that your power is no longer needed. Your arms then stay forward pointed like a steeple over your head and the wave propels you forward. Effort at this point is wasted; you are in the wave. Soon, you will sense the power fading and the closeness of the sand. At this point, I turn onto my back, riding the last glide and then get up. Whether I turn to my back or stay on my stomach, the wave has dissipated and I stand up and shake the sand out of my bathing suit.

Lessons learned from catching and riding a wave:

• You have to get into the water - run, wade, swim, but get in
• Observe the environment and see what is going on
• Commit - at some point, you need to turn and allow the wave to catch you
• Relax and enjoy the ride
• Life leaves its mark - there's always some sand in your bathing suit.

My dog's story

One Saturday last January, a ski instructor where I teach saw two black bundles of fur abandoned beside a country road a few kilometres away from the ski area. Two young Rottweiler mixed puppies were shivering in the cold. The instructor picked them up and continued his drive to the ski hill where the puppies were greeted by a horde of pet-loving skiers, boarders, and lifties. The puppies were quickly adopted.

I do not generally teach skiing on the weekends so I learned about the puppies on Monday. My reaction was "I'm glad that I wasn't there. I'm sure that I would have loved the puppies and wanted one, even though a Rottweiler mix seems too fierce and big for me." My family's dog had passed away two years earlier and I was adamant that I enjoyed the freedom of not having a pet, of being able to pick up and go to the mountains without booking a kennel or finding a hotel that takes pets.

A week later, I was at home late in the afternoon when I received a call from one of the ski school supervisors, "When are you next coming in?" I answered, "I'll be there in about an hour. I'm coming back to pick up my daughter". The supervisor's response was a cryptic, "Good, I'll see you then."

I arrived at the ski area and in the office was another puppy. This one had also been abandoned but near a school in a rough area. One of the teachers had found him cowering as children threw stones at him. The teacher (who is also a ski instructor) thought of how easily the puppies were adopted the previous week, wrapped this puppy in a jacket, and drove to the ski hill. The puppy looked ragged and gaunt, appearing to have lived on his own for weeks. His coat was greasy to touch, his tail hung down, but he had a beautiful face and expressive sad eyes.

The community of instructors at this particular area seems to have an affinity for abandoned and abused animals. The Snow School Director takes injured race horses, stables them, rehabilitates them and loves them. Another of the instructors has a Husky with piercing blue eyes who was abused as a puppy. It was to him that I turned and asked questions about caring for a special dog. Tyson held him and calmed him and passed the puppy to me. There was no decision. I had known from the moment I walked in, that even though I was the last to hold the pup, he was going to come home with me.

I named him Bode, after a talented but undisciplined ski racer. I have since talked to other skiers who own dogs named after ski racers - Grandi, Killy, Tomba - but my dog's name may be influencing his personality. He is cheerful, affectionate, full of life, powerful, nippy, playful and ADD...and it is not me saying that. The professional trainer that teaches me how to train him has said that. As with people, I try not to think of his past and focus just on how he is today. Today he is calm and obedient. Who knows what tomorrow will bring? but Bode and I will greet the day together.

Opening heartstrings and hamstrings

I have been doing yoga regularly for several years and have seen many changes in my mind, body and spirit during this time. When I first began yoga, I recall feeling some energy around my ankles and feet that was new. I related the feeling to the fact that, when I was an infant and toddler, I had devices attached to my legs to correct congenital hip dislocation. Imagined or not, I felt like I had not been able to kick my legs freely enough during that time, and I was freeing myself now to move independently.

As my yoga progressed, I felt myself soften in other ways. I have always had a fairly flexible back and was frustrated when I couldn't move into full camel pose by reaching my hands down to my feet. I would lean back and waves of emotion would sweep over me and I would feel fear and panic and lie down.

The fears that I felt as I leaned back with my heart facing upward and open had nothing to do with the moment. They were past and future fears. By learning to be in the moment, I learned to open my heart and experience feelings in a new way.

I caused a car accident a few years ago by speeding (aided by adrenalin from finishing a basketball game and a thumping Bruce Springsteen anthem on the car stereo) and missing a yield sign. No one was hurt but both cars were a mess. Their car was written off and mine nearly was. I worried and beat myself up figuratively for days. I went to a yoga class, and went through the series of postures. Camel pose is near the end and I tried the posture as usual. I had never gotten into the full backbend but I did that day and discovered that underneath all the worry was gratitude to God that no one had been hurt. I was thankful. It was a very unexpected emotion. So now, I welcome the camel pose because if I do it, I may gain insight past my thinking and into my feeling.

I still do sometimes struggle to get into the full position. Some days I feel fear again and, then I observe the fear and realize that I am in a yoga studio and am kneeling with my head and throat moving toward the back of the room, and I am then able to continue into the pose. When I struggle, it has very little to do with my body and a lot to do with my mind.

My hamstrings are a different matter. They are tight and, until recently, haven't seemed to loosen much in the years that I have practiced. I have been letting go of fear for several years. Sometimes, it peels off like the layers of an onion. Sometimes, it comes off like a knife slicing the onion into quarters. Over the past few months, fear for me has been abating in large chunks. Somewhere I read that having tight hamstrings is associated with fear. Our hamstrings are tight because we are poised to take flight. We are always ready to move. My hamstrings are finally beginning to loosen, and it is good to feel strong and soft, powerful and vulnerable at the same time. I am learning to differentiate when I need to respond to fear and when I need to just be.

Namaste,
Ginny

Trying

I've often been called tenacious and I am proud that I am one of those people who keeps trying and doesn't give up. For many years, I used mountain climbing as inspiration. Climbing a mountain is difficult. Setbacks are to be expected, but the rewards when you reach the summit are very satisfying, and then with the learnings obtained from that climb, you start on a new one. Tenacity when climbing a mountain or reaching for a challenge is useful.

Trying is different. It is not the same as tenacity. If I say that I will try something, I imply that I am not fully confident that I will achieve it. Even the "old college try" implies a wild and desperate attempt to make a play. A dictionary definition of trying states: "causing strain, hardship, or distress".

Recently, I’ve learned that, while I really truly enjoy challenge, I sometimes make things more difficult than they need be and that easy is not a cop out. Ease of movement and expression is a reflection of joy. In yoga, I've been trying to touch my forehead to the ground in a certain pose. I've been told that I'm close, which makes me want it even more and try even harder. The result is the opposite of what I want. I stiffen up and my head is even farther from the ground. Easing up and allowing my body to relax is the key in this pose. Easier to say than do, but trying certainly doesn't work. It causes strain.

And what about tenacity? A dictionary definition states: "the quality of being determined to do or achieve something, firmness of purpose". A synonym is courage. The difference between trying and tenacity is then in intent and resilience. Trying lacks firmness of purpose and mind while tenacity implies the mental and moral strength to persist in meeting strain or difficulty with resilience. Sounds good to me. I will try to be even more tenacious. No... I will become even more tenacious and eventually with intent and resilience I will touch my forehead to the ground in dandayamana-bibhaktapada- paschimotthanasana.

Vitae Discae

I've been thinking a lot about learning over the past weeks and days. Last month, I said to someone that I wanted to continuously improve; their response was that improvement implied that I didn't view myself as already good enough. What if I had said that I wanted to continuously learn? I think her reaction would have been different. "Vitae Discae" - learn for life. Isn't that a value that is consistent with a vital and changing life?

So, "vitae discae" it is. I want to learn for life. Hence, my preoccupation with learning. Do I learn something new each day? The answer is usually yes, but as I reflected on the sources of my learning I realized something new. Ordinarily, I would say that I learn from newspapers (I subscribe to three), books (my children didn't need to go to the library in high school; they just went down to the basement and found one of the classics that I have held onto), and the Internet. I learn from my own experience. But, the new realization is that conversation is the greatest source of learning for me because when I am in a dialogue with another person, I'm not in control of what I read or access, think or feel. The conversation must be of interest to both of us. And what interests me is whatever the other person is interested in.

This summer I had a three hour long conversation with a southern U.S. lawyer who is a Vietnam vet. He came out of that experience wanting to understand the war not only from his perspective but that of others. He has amassed tens of thousands of books and movies about the Vietnam war. He told me that he does not have a television set but that his walls are lined with bookcases and even so, books are piled everywhere on the floor. When the conversation started, I could name three books and four movies about the Vietnam war. By the end of the conversation, I had taken out a pen and listed ten new titles that I wanted to read.

I had another long conversation about motorcycles and track testing with a young man . We were driving from Edmonton to the mountains to go rock climbing and he was in the passenger seat next to me with a British motorcycle magazine. He read me excerpts. I asked questions. He described his goals in terms of his riding his bike. He also described his fears. The time flew by and soon our drive had ended.

Neither war or motorcycles is a topic I would have sought out. Those conversations serendipitously arrived and I learned a lot. So, yes, I will continue to seek out books about herbs and gardening. I will read biographies of people who I respect. I will read history and science, but the learning that is unexpected, the learning that comes from passionate people is the learning I most treasure. I like learning what I didn't intend.