For no apparent reason

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.