In building a foundation, patience is a virtue

Today I had my very first class as part of an intermediate yoga program I am beginning this fall. I have started my intermediate program after doing beginner yoga for the last 2.5 years. One of the interesting things about yoga is that it is a practice which cannot be rushed. There are no shortcuts, no ways to cheat, no corners to cut. It’s all about focus, and patience.

Take this simple leg reach from table position:

Simple enough, right? But there are many things you must pay attention to. Is your pelvis straight and aligned with your body? Is your leg parallel to the wall? How is your foot pointed? Is your hip sticking out? Is your lower spine curved? Your upper spine? Is your breastbone sticking out out? What’s your abdomen doing? Which direction are you looking at? What is your neck doing? Are you tensing your shoulders or jaw? Is your weight equally distributed? Oh, and are you breathing?

It requires attention throughout the body and to do that requires concentration, and, as I mentioned, patience. It’s one of the reasons, I believe, many people avoid yoga. Because concentration on things as minute as the breath seem too simple; it’s frightening in its simplicity. We like to rush ahead, to achieve, to succeed, to accomplish, to get er done. But taking the time to focus on all of these components of the body gives way to a strong pose. And the process of awareness gives way to an everyday practice of mindfulness, within the self, and within the world.

I’ve re-watched some episodes of Till Debt Do Us Part lately (so what else is new) and was struck by the urgency with which the young couples in the show raced ahead to collect all the trimmings of adult life. Great car. Perfect house. Marriage. Baby, another baby, and then the next big step: home renovations. It seems like lightening speed to me, and yet, looking around at what many of my peers have - homes, marriages, kids - I seem to be the one falling behind.

Sometimes property ownership seems like a necessary rite of passage for being a grown-up, but at 30 years old, I am nowhere near that goal. I go back in forth in my mind as to how I could manage to afford to buy a place but no matter what scenario I concoct, it wouldn’t work. It would, for example, mean becoming house poor, spending so much of my income on housing that I would have very little left over to use for travel or new clothes or concerts, or just about anything fun. I would wipe out all of my savings (every last penny), be in debt up to my eyeballs, and would sacrifice all this just to get into a tiny condo in an okay-but-not-great part of town with electric heating and linoleum flooring. No, in order to buy a home  - any kind of home - in this market, I would need either a partner, or a much better paying job.  Since I have little control over the former and I refuse to leave a job I love for the sake of home ownership (at least for now,) I have to exercise - there’s that word again - patience.

I have to take some pride in what I’ve accomplished for myself in the last couple of years and also take pleasure in what I have in my life today that is really great. I don’t want to charge ahead so fast that I kick out this solid foundation I’ve built for myself for the sake of getting somewhere sooner. I will have my dream of home ownership realized someday, and in the meantime, I have a pretty nice life to enjoy.

Runners know this: If you push too hard, too fast, if you don’t take breaks, you get injured and you sit out for months and get behind. And rock-climbers know this too; being a good climber means knowing that perfect place between effort and relaxation, between reaching beyond your grasp but within your limits. A couple I know always push themselves too hard, too fast on the wall. They spend, literally, hours on routes that are completely beyond their ability. They forget about style, and grace, and balance, and become so eager to scale something with a big number, that they get stuck, risk injury, and waste their time.

Pushing too hard too fast doesn’t yield results. Building a foundation - focusing on the breathe, learning to run, taking breaks, gradually finding climbs to suit your ability and push yourself ever so slightly; this is what yields results. It’s a great lesson for life - for relationships, for health, for financial stability, and for just about any goal you have your heart set on.

Slow and steady might not win the race every time, but it will get you there when you’re good and ready. Like going back to the breath, when we find ourselves in situations hoping and wishing for more, to get somewhere faster, to have it all, we have to go back to where we are, now, and just have patience.

The pursuit of happiness

Many, if not all of us, pursue happiness. But how is happiness discovered? One line of thought is that happiness is created; you go out and actively create the life of your dreams, at which you will be met with happiness as your reward. An other, perhaps less popular, belief is that we need to learn to be content and satisfied with what we have, at which point happiness will find us. Over the past one or two years, however, I have been exploring the possibility that perhaps joy already exists within our world, and is just waiting to be unveiled. Perhaps happiness is really about attention to what surrounds us.  I wonder, if we surround ourselves with things we love and feel passionate about, will we necessarily be happy? We will necessarily feel fulfilled? We can provide ourselves with an abundance of opportunities, people, and gifts, but what if we achieve everything we want and still are left feeling empty?

I think that many opportunities to feel joy are missed in life. What happens if you lie next to your partner on a rainy day and ignore the shape of their body, the sound of their breath or the pattern of the rain falling on the window? What happens if you prepare delicious meals for yourself but ignore their taste and drown the sensation in the noise of the television or the chatter in the mind? What happens if you rush into your car and into work each morning without pausing to smell the air and notice that the clouds have parted just so to let in a rare ray of sunshine in an otherwise grey day? Gifts are given to us on a daily basis, as are opportunities to delight in sound, sight and sensation, and too often, we miss it because we haven’t the patience or discipline to pay attention.

In a yoga retreat, a fellow participant said something during a dharma talk about contentment that always stuck with me. She said that it’s partly about “knowing when you’re content.” We need adequate time and space - thoughtful space - to reflect and say, “this is a great moment.” Without that freedom of headspace to acknowledge beauty when it makes it appearance, or to celebrate joy when it comes fleeting into our hearts, we might never find happiness.

As I pack my life with greater and greater goals, I want to leave enough space to re-unite with these gifts. To permit enough time in my day to pause and look out the window, or to silence myself long enough to notice the beautiful simplicity in the hum of the washing machine, a beautiful quilt on the bed, a kitten bunking down upon said quilt to prepare herself for an evening snooze.

I’ve often blogged about simple pleasures and readers have often chimed in, freely celebrating the humble but satisfactory joys in their life. But I think it goes beyond the ability to enjoy frugal luxuries. It’s about actually deepening an awareness and appreciation for what life already is. It’s about giving yourself the freedom to acknowledge that you might already be happy.

Kitten in slow motion

A friend of mine shared this video on facebook a couple of days ago and it really touched me. To some people it might just be a cute video; others might be interested in the technology that was used to create it. But for me, I found myself to be quite moved.

Within the two minutes of that short video, here’s what I noticed:

• How extraordinary a simple moment like playing with a kitten in the garden can appear, when given attention
• The slow-motion effect is a lot like being mindful - giving focus to one activity at a time, paying attention to the special qualities of the event, such as the kitten’s movements, the spectacular nature of its body, the joyous nature of the event
• Play is natural state of being. We should make more time for it
• How joyful the kitten is, in its natural state of play
• How beautiful many other moments are in our life, just like this one - beautiful in their simplicity, innocence and naturalness
• I busy I am.  I have not been making time for mindful attention to simple activities that I love - such as playing with Butternut, cooking, hiking, photography, and just being. And I miss it.

Breathing in little moments

Last Friday I had sushi with my dad while in Toronto. We ate while sitting next to another father-daughter pair.  The daughter looked to be about 8 or 9 years old. I could overhear most of their conversation, some of which had to do with making weekend plans together. “We could make a pizza together,” the dad suggested, and explained how they could together prepare a pizza and choose the toppings. He spent some time coming up with various ideas that might be fun ways for them to spend time together. I was touched to see a dad spend his Friday night with his young daughter, enjoying some sushi and thinking earnestly about other activities that might be fun for his daughter.

In my field of work there is a lot of sadness and a lot of awareness and attention on human rights abuses and struggles - sociologically, legally, politically and personally. A great deal of my time is spent thinking about how I can address and work to overcome these challenges in small ways. So it is very good, but often involves an energy that is borne from a sense of injustice, involving anger or indignation.  Even those who don’t work in such a field can probably understand; most of us spend a lot of our time focusing on problems.

That’s why, when I see something beautiful, something touching, I breathe it in. I savour it. Seeing human kindness is one of the things that touches me the most. Whatever challenges that little girl has in her life, she will remember Friday night sushi dinners with her dad, making pizzas together and other weekend activities. She will have grown up with a dad who wanted to spend time with her. Those little moments will probably provide retrospective joy when she is an adult.

It’s so important that we capture and relish small moments of beauty and compassion in our lives. It’s what makes life so rich.

Opening to pain, aliveness

Tonight I read a friend’s blog post where he considered how falling in love, and losing love, can be part of a true life’s adventure. At the risk of misquoting him, I would say that falling in love, and experiencing loss, is about committing to life, and I commented on his post, adding that, “loss is an escapable part of being human; it is also part of the wildness and beauty of life lived with depth, commitment and grace.” It made me think about that idea, of committing to life. Committing to live deeply and openly.  I re-read my own post on loss, which was really about rethinking abundance, written after my trip to Newfoundland - still one of my favourite posts. It hints at coming to terms with the fact that being human means experiencing pain, loneliness, disappointment.  Since that time I have become acquainted with other kinds of loss, trauma, and pain. I’ve gotten to know it better, not just through my own experiences but the experiences of others.  As I’ve written about before, I am grateful and humbled by those willing to open up to me with their pain.

The last year or two of this blog has been set on a mindful theme.  But lately I have blogged less on mindfulness - actually, less in general. It’s because my mind and my energy has been directed at so many new adventures and activities that I have drifted away from mindfulness and become back in the habit of thinking, planning, worrying and problem-solving. Last night I went to a yoga class and slowly remembered - life is in the details, too.  Richness is found in the moments of openness.  And it can be found in pain.  I thought about how open I felt, how attuned to life, after the break-up, when I slowly built my life back after falling apart.  I felt drowned in sadness, and nothing felt stable or sensible.  But there it was, life, opening slowly, just being.  There was an awareness of my own aliveness.

Remember in Saver Queen facts when I said I watched as a man breathed his last breaths?  It’s odd, but during that time in my life, in my early 20s, when I first got to see death, it was as beautiful as it was painful.  I was awake and open and alive, full of attention to the suffering of others. Being awake to another person’s pain doesn’t have to shut us down. It can open us. It can engage us in a universal experience, relate us to other human beings, and bring us present to our own humanness - our own vulnerability.  Our life and happiness is precarious, which makes it tender.

Pain, loss, how desperate it feels. But, how rich. Being open to our pain, and opening to the pain of others, is all part of the commitment we give to life.

An explorer in the world

I haven’t been blogging recently, partly because I’ve been suffering from a bit of writer’s block, and partly because I’ve been busy - not just too busy to blog, but also too busy to do many of the traditional frugal activities that I frequently blog about. But the busyness has been good. I’ve been busy at work, but with a variety of interesting activities - giving and attending skills building workshops and trainings, preparing for conferences, organizing a staff retreat, finishing up a social marketing campaign. And in my spare time, I’ve been out having dinners and discussions with friends, attending lectures and community workshops and spending time with family.  I’ve taken some steps towards completing my annual fun goals list. I’ve started climbing again, I went to see a band play that had a big cult following around here but was completely new to me, and I’ve started planning my Hawaii trip. I also have some tentative plans shaping up for New Years which might include several of my “outdoorsy” goals. And I’ve been participating in activities that aren’t on the list, but which would certainly qualify as new and interesting.  When I think back to how difficult my last year was, I recognize now that I’m feeling back in the game, that is the game of enjoying life and feeling alive again.

I don’t often write about my job, but I want to write about it tonight. I work for an AIDS Service Organization, running a program for HIV positive people that provides skills to improve overall health, foster community engagement and facilitate involvement in HIV prevention efforts. I’ve learned so much from the participants in this program.  As a former social researcher, with an educational background in social justice, I really thought I knew the world, but I didn’t. I can’t believe how much I feel awakened by learning about other peoples’ perspectives and life experiences. What it’s like to live with HIV, and the variety of experiences within that category. What it’s like to live with stigma. What it’s like to have an addiction. What it’s like to lose your children. What it’s like to live on the streets. What it’s like to be gay. What it’s like to live with homophobia. What it’s like to be discriminated against at the hospital, or at work, or by the government, or by your family, or by all of the above. Broadening my depth and breadth of knowing the world has been such a fulfilling experience.  It’s a real awakening, and I’m grateful to the people who have shared their experiences with me. I always wanted to work in this field because I thought it would help me make a difference. But I think it’s made me a better person.

What could we want more than just to know our world? I want to be an explorer in life. That’s why I studied Sociology, because I found the world around me fascinating. Its quirks and strangeness intrigued me and I found the eccentricities of every day social life endearing. I adored the mysteries and curiosities of social life and wished to know it better.  How lucky I am, then, that in the past year of this work, I have learned so very, very much.

So this is a note to say, unequivocally, that life is not about the acquisition of stuff. It is not even about the acquisition of knowledge. It is about exploration, adventure, understanding. It is about learning, growing, being touched by other people, discovering a richness to life, learning about compassion.  At this moment, I don’t care if my world view is different from the mainstream. I don’t care if I haven’t passed the milestones of marriage, children, home ownership, or a corporate ladder.  I’m learning about the world, the people in it, and what it means to be human.  What could be better than that?

My simple life: an update on the move

What I gave up: a view of green. But I'm finding other ways to appreciate nature around me.

“There’s something good everywhere you go.” That’s what my grandfather told me when I expressed anxiety about leaving my hometown to go to university. That has always stuck with me. It’s very true, because no matter where we  live, there is always something good to be found. Sometimes in unexpected ways and in unexpected places.

My move went well, and now I’m finally getting settled in to my new place.  I was very scared to move, partly because I was giving up so much - to name a few, I was downsizing from a large two bedroom to a small one bedroom, switching from underground to outdoor parking, and moving further away from, well, just about everything - downtown, work, yoga.  And I was trading in my beautiful balcony for a much smaller, less scenic view.  There were also sentimental reasons that made it difficult to leave.  It was where I had lived with my former partner, and walking away meant officially closing the door to my past.But I was also sad to give up the apartment because it was the place where I had become re-acquainted with myself. I was crushed after the break-up, and I put myself back together in that apartment. For a year I lived alone. I found work, found new friends, found a new sport, and found myself again. I rediscovered my independence, and found peace in simplicity and in solitude.

And so, I was afraid to give up this space where so much had happened. But I felt inspired by my readers’ comments, especially the one that said, “You will create peace in your new apartment. You are peace.” It reminded me of a quote by Robert Fulghum:

Peace is not something you wish for;

it’s something you make,

something you do,

something you are,

something you give away.

I wish to give away peace, to inspire, respect and honour other people, including myself. And moving to this new place helps me to accomplish this. I’ve found a place that is affordable but is also comfortable, which makes it sustainable, and that allows me to do the work I love to do.

My new place is simple, modern, clean, and it is me.  It has big windows and a big bathtub. And it is filled only with what I truly love. I got rid of everything I didn’t need or that didn’t make me feel good.  I donated my television sets so I am officially TV free. I donated most of the cheap, mass produced Ikea furniture that my ex left behind.  I donated a lot of things that had negative associations from my past, or even things that just pulled on my heart strings too much. I kept only what I really value, what I love, and what brings me joy or adds something to my life.

Walking into my new apartment, it feels cozy and it feels like me.  To some, it might look like failure. I don’t have a lot of expensive stuff to show off. But to many, I think, this lifestyle would be enviable. Not bogged down with extra “stuff”. Not a slave to my posessions or to my self image. Clear on what I love, and what is important to me.  I have my antiques and vintage finds, my own art, my plants and herbs, some high quality furniture, and my most important asset, Butternut. (Home, afterall, is where the cat is.)

Sometimes I compare myself to other people and I wonder if I’ve failed myself, if I haven’t raised expectations of myself high enough. But I guess my inner desire is just too strong to be ignored, the desire to live simply, to live modestly, to live meaningfully and mindfully.  I guess I don’t even need to question it; this life feels right to me. It gives me peace.

Moving on

I took the above photo at a yoga & meditation retreat I attended recently. Actually, it was the same retreat I attended last year. Long-term readers will remember what was going on in my life right around that time. There’s been many changes in my life over the last year. This was an opportunity for me to not only feel more mindful and present, but to engage in a little self-reflection.

The gardens had wild rose bushes as you can see above. Wild roses are my favourite. I first discovered them on a hike in Newfoundland:

Wild Rose in Tickle Cove, Newfoundland

At the retreat, our instructor had written out little affirmations that we could pick from an envelope; they were statements that we could reflect on during our practice.  I picked one that said, “now is the perfect time to let go.”

This weekend, I am letting go.  I’m packing. In a couple of weeks, I will literally be moving on. I’m not changing cities, but I am changing apartments. My current apartment is beautiful, but housing costs take up 65% of my income (every time I think about that I hear a line from TTDUP ring in my head: “No one can afford to spend 65% of their income on housing!” My new apartment lacks the luxuries of my current place, but will give me a little more financial breathing room. It will also be a change - a good change - as it’s an opportunity to say goodbye to some of the ghosts of my past. It will be a new space, and all my own.

Packing is not easy. You discover things you had long forgotten about - old photos, to-do lists, letters, trinkets, and they are all loaded with memories. In studying an object that you see every day, contemplating what to do with it, you realize that something you long considered benign is actually heavy with meaning. Packing is like lifting up a log in the forrest - you see all little insects crawling around underneath it that have long gone unnoticed.

As I write this, I sit comfortably on my loveseat, which faces the balcony.  It is close enough to see the water droplets hanging on the balcony railing. The view is all green - green trees for miles. On my balcony I’m growing herbs. Butternut watches the plants shake in the wind. I can hear the birds singing proudly. Their joyful songs dwarf any lingering traffic noise. My apartment is a perfect retreat. I hope that in my new place I can recreate the same kind of peace.

On the Bruce

I hope that all of my Canadian readers enjoyed a relaxing long weekend. I spent a good portion of my weekend in one of my favourite places in the whole world: the Bruce trail. I live too far away for a weekend jaunt up to its prime region (the Georgian Bay escarpment) but I did two day trips on the trail in the Halton Hills area instead.

Day one was especially wonderful. I went with my dad. We hiked for 5 hours, and only ran in to one person - an older gentleman who was doing some geocaching along with his friendly canine companion. The day was wet and rainy, which turned out to be perfect; it kept the temperature cool, and we got to enjoy sensory treats like smelling that fresh “rain” smell and listening to the rain drops land gently on the leafy canopy above us.  My second hike was with friends; we went to a more popular spot and bounced back and forth between the Bruce trail and side trails.  This route was easier and took us about 4 hours to complete.

On our hike today we passed a small boy who was with his Mom and Dad. The boy was looking at a caterpillar. The Dad asked the son, “what do you think it’s going to turn into? What do you think that caterpillar is going to become?” My heart melted. I love seeing children outdoors, learning about nature, learning to respect small creatures, learning to treat the world with gentleness.

Whenever I take time to go on a hike or spend time in nature, I’m always humbled by how much there is to see and how much there is to learn.  We Canadians (and Americans) are lucky enough to live in countries with huge, vaulting vastness. The Bruce trail alone is 700 km long.  If solitude is what you’re looking for, you can find it. If you crave self-reflection, the trail provides a perfect opportunity to get reacquainted with yourself.  If you are seeking curiosities or enjoy discovering new worlds, all it takes is a little patience to reveal the magnificent, private world of insects and plants, not to mention birds and other wildlife.

Furthermore, hiking is such a great form of exercise. It’s load-bearing, which means that it’s good for your bones, but it’s fun; no need to stare into space or into a TV blaring the news while jogging on a treadmill at the gym. Hiking creates opportunities for you to stay mentally engaged while strengthening your muscles and getting a good cardio-vascular workout.

What occurs to me is that everything I wrote above is free, save for a little gas in the car and good footwear. Pack a homemade lunch and you’re off.  The Bruce trail parking lots are all free. If you go to a conservation area you can expect to pay a bit more - usually between $4 and $6 a person - still not excessive.

When we get in touch with nature, we can gain a little perspective.  Like stargazing, hiking is a humbling activity; you realize that you are merely one creature out of millions, a tiny speck within massive eco-systems, full of life and mystery.  Suddenly our own problems don’t seem so significant.  It is peaceful, refreshing, enlivening. Most of us crave stress-relief. We crave peace. We seek relief through entertainment, through distractions, through malls, movie theatres, casinos and bars.  We take expensive vacations. We buy stuff. And yet there is so much at our fingertips, for free. So much that nourishes us. Right here, waiting for us.

Are you a lover of the Bruce trail? Do you love to hike? Where do you like to go to spend time in nature?

Finding peace at home

Have you ever been tempted by a gorgeous photo of a dream vacation spot? The pictures usually include a woman with a gorgeous body, lying in a hammock over turquoise waters with a drink by her side. Her facial expression epitomizes relaxation. It’s instinctive to immediately think, “I want to feel like that, too. I want to go on vacation.” We want the feelings that are being emitted from the advert - serenity, peace, total mind and body relaxation.

Have you ever actually taken one of these trips only to feel as though something was missing?  Have you actually been surrounded by a gorgeous setting - a beautiful beach, a sunset, a luxurious hotel or a quaint bed and breakfast, only to feel as though you can’t quite grasp that total peace of mind you thought would automatically accompany this change of setting?

Although we are naturally affected by our physical surroundings, I think that it takes more than a change of scenery to achieve a sense of inner peace, even briefly.  It take practice, the practice of mindfulness. This is actually good news because it means we can grab that feeling displayed in the advert, hang on to it and revisit it multiple times a day.

Lately I’ve been in awe of the natural beauty outside my window. Thanks to plenty of rain, the trees outside my high-rise apartment window are in full-bloom. It’s quite magnificent. I open up my blinds, and I have a full view of green.  I’m only going to be living in this apartment for a couple more months, and I’m taking full advantage of the view now, while I can.  And I find, with some surprise, that it is exceptionally easy for me to enjoy it fully and meaningfully, in solitude.  I find myself, some evenings, just sitting in my chair, which is pointed at the balcony, watching the colours of the sky change. When I get home from work, the trees look yellow with the bright light that prefaces dusk. The sky is a bright cheerful blue. And then it changes, into white, then into a deep blue, then into an even deeper, cobalt blue. I see many gradations of colour until ultimately the sky becomes black and I can’t identify any more colours.

I’ve been paying attention to smells more as well. This weekend the weather was humid and in the mornings, I enjoyed the smell of the air just before it rained. You know, that luscious, scented air that, I think, gives way to positive memories. (At least it gives way to positive memories for me, of working on the farm, of summers long gone.)  This morning I took a breath and smelled at once that fresh, morning, pre-rain smell, which then tapered into the scent of freshly brewing coffee.  I caught both smells in an instant; it lasted less than a second, but it was wonderful.

At night, new sounds and smells. After chirping all day long, the sympohny of birds outside my window quiet down and their song is replace by… something. A humming noise.  It sounds like tree frogs, but that can’t be it.  And it’s much too early for crickets. So I’m not sure who is making the sound, but there is a peaceful little noise, probably made by some other insect. Just sitting and listening to it, and feeling the breeze flow in through my open window, is the perfect peaceful moment before bed.

Tonight, I finally ate a meal in silence. My mind was not completely quiet, but I was free of distractions such as television, books, or computers. Just me, and the meal I prepared for myself. For some reason, it felt less lonely to eat alone tonight. I looked outside my window while I ate, and then gazed at my little companion, Butternut, who slept in the easy chair beside the table, her pink nose looking especially cute and bright as it nestled up against her clean, white paws.

The past week I’ve realized that even within the context of my life today - which is very good, but far from “perfect” or easy - that these moments deliver that sense of ease, that sense of perfection, that the adverts proclaim to deliver in exchange for hundreds or thousands of dollars.

These moments are here for everyone to enjoy. I’m finally articulating what I really wanted this blog to be about all along. I want to participate fully in life, finding peace and true joy in life itself, not pursuing empty goals, meaningless distractions. We spend money on expensive trips and vacations, when so much can be found right here, right now, today, in this very moment.  I adore traveling and I love vacations as much as the next person, but we so often forget that what we are seeking is really available to us at anytime, anywhere. And it doesn’t cost a penny; it only costs our attention, our willingness to be attentive.  This requires some risk-taking and some discipline, but it is so very rewarding.

What’s next? I’d like to practice this more. Making time to enjoy the views, to pay attention to smells, to practice eating in silence and distraction-free.

Have you been enjoying any practices of mindfulness lately? Do you find it helps to satisfy your goals of frugal, simple abundance?