Be Still

“For after all, the best thing one can do when it is raining, is let it rain.”

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

As I tried to rest in a yoga pose this morning, I noticed just how unprepared I was to just simply be and breathe. I was a drum with muscles tense and tight. My mind was cluttered and racing. My body was fidgety and uncomfortable. My breath was shallow and erratic. Thoughts were hammering my consciousness with judgment and frustration.

Why can’t I just be still?

And then it occurred to me that the moment was there before me for the very purpose I was fighting against. I needed to notice it all—my muscles, my mind, my body, my breath, my thoughts. It wasn’t a bad yoga moment . . . it was a perfect yoga moment if I just let it be-- free of judgment, full of awareness.

I learned in that moment that yoga is like science. Scientists approach their study with hypotheses and then proceed down a path equipped with some prior knowledge, but the outcome is unknown… the process is a flow, with no guarantee of how it will unfold.

At one time our predecessors believed—science proved—the world was flat. And then it wasn’t flat, it was round—because science again proved it to be so. Science never ends. The study never ends.

My frustration in that yoga class was my greatest teacher. I need not be frustrated with the process. I need to rest in it. Be still in it. Accept it for all that it is and brings forth. Notice the tension. Notice the breath. Notice the thoughts. Notice the feelings. And then simply be a spectator with no attachment to any of it. I slowly began to quiet my mind, focus on my thoughts and then let them go. I began to accept each muscle in my body – the aches, the tension—and flood those spaces with a healing breath. I listened to my heartbeat and smiled at the work it was doing for my body. I relaxed into the meditative pose. In that time I felt the circularity of it all and I was the epicenter: quiet, calm, still.

"In your light I learn how to love." ~ Rumi

My daughter is the teacher, and I her student.

Gratitude

Breathing in
Breathing out
Leaves welcoming
This exhale

A gift exchange unto their 
Fiery reds, golden yellows, burnt orange

A final show before 
Relinquishing
Their
Brilliant colors
To 
A
Falling
Death

While dormant
New 
Life

Waits

To emerge.

"Beginnings are always messy." – John Galsworthy

Going from words floating around in my head to putting them out in the world is the greatest distance I can travel at times. In between the two points, I have to wander over a lot of rocky terrain fraught with stubbornness, fear, and self-doubt. I frequently get stuck in this familiar, stagnant, never beginning, frustrating and quite sucky mode because I am

w a i t i n g…

 Waiting for inspiration, for the sun to rise or set, for the babies to nap, for my food to digest, for the perfect time on the perfect day with the perfect light in the perfect chair, in the perfect space, in the most perfect moment.

"So many fail because they don't get started- they don't go. They don't overcome inertia. They don't begin." -- W. Clement Stone

It is all total crap. All of these self-imposed requirements are put in place to roadblock my way to beginning-- to actually starting and putting momentum behind my dreams and aspirations. And I am completely responsible for putting all of these ridiculous contingencies on the doing, favoring just hanging out with the thinking. I am getting in my own way and it is all because beginning is the one thing that separates the known from the unknown.

"What we call the beginning is often the end. And to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from." -- T.S. Elliot 

Beginning does not require anything other than starting. It doesn’t require the perfect anything… no moment is going to rise up and push me into action. I don’t have to have just the right space, or time, or feeling. I just have to end staying in the familiar and begin roaming around in the unfamiliar.

"Who has begun has half done. Have the courage to be wise. Begin!" –HORACE, Epistles

I must get comfortable feeling the edge and tiptoeing over it. I hope to, at some point, always meet that edge with my head thrown back in sheer delight and a flying leap.

"A beginning is the time for taking the most delicate care that the balances are correct." - Frank Herbert, Dune

Writing is not just talent . . . It is practice and experience-- habit actually. I must create the habit of ALWAYS dumping my brain out. I constantly have words and thoughts, ideas and stories, camping out in my grey matter like squatters. Eviction notices must be given. These words do not hang out forever; they evaporate faster than I can even put pen to paper at times. When I act on it or even force it instead of waiting to be inspired, I realize quickly that the words do come. They are already there full and meaty waiting to be plucked and placed. These words form and take shape, exploding before me in a way that surprises me every single time I simply begin.

"The loftiest towers rise from the ground." - CHINESE PROVERB

“Earth and sky, woods and fields, lakes and rivers, the mountain and the sea, are excellent schoolmasters, and teach some of us more than we can ever learn from books.”

~ John Lubbock
 

THE CLIMB

I fee like I am living 7 different lives at times, one with each of my 5 children, one for myself, and one with my fiancé.  At any given moment, I am juggling attempts to be who each of the loves in my life needs me to be. It takes a lot of energy and resolve, trial and error, tears, self-sacrifice, and quelling my emotions of guilt and inadequacy. Just as most truly enriching experiences in life, mothering also comes beautifully packaged with great reward, satisfaction, growth, a deep understanding of compassion, grace, love . . . and a profound ability to MULTITASK!

Recently my family has seen a seemingly insurmountable season of stress-- a result of lots of change. We just relocated across the country from sunny, humid Florida to dry but incredibly beautiful Utah. In addition to acclimating to the climate and topography, we each have had our own internal battles adjusting to a new community and culture. It is hard enough for adults to weather these changes and make this transition successfully, but uprooting my children (ages 12 to 1) from the familiar to the unknown has proven to be a difficult process.

Two of my daughters, Megan- 11, and Abigail- 7, have a biological father in Florida. They have the extra piece of adjusting to a long distance relationship with him. Add to that a crazy move riddled with mishaps, living out of suitcases, a home remodel, and a new school with all new friends, and it is reasonable to say their world was rocked.

Noticing their struggles and inability to process all that was happening, I became keenly aware of their need for a little extra love, attention, and help. I began to search for a way to model how to weather the storms of life.

We put on our hiking shoes.

Thankfully living in Utah affords us with an amazing natural setting with many options for getting outside and exploring incredible terrain. One such opportunity rests conveniently 100 yards from our front door. This relatively easy hike winds up to just under 5,500 feet on a peak that boasts amazing vistas of the entire city, mountains, and the Great Salt Lake.

We set off up the hill to the entrance of the hike. Along the paved upward climb, Abi began to huff and puff. Despite my own doubts, however, she pushed ahead. I began to witness their transition from an anxious hesitation and uneasiness to fortitude and excitement.

At the entrance, I paused to look them in their wide, beautiful blue eyes to tell them all about what was to come-- the challenges, how best to tread along the path, and where to avoid stepping. I told them I loved them and that I was proud of them no matter if we made it to the top or if we turned around half way. They were already walking ahead of me in their zeal as my words trailed off.

There were moments when one or both needed to catch a breath or sit down. I encouraged them to pause but then keep going; explaining that sitting down would only make getting up more difficult. Thankfully, they listened. We meandered up easily at times, and slowly in others. We took small breaks to look out at the incredible views and to reflect on where we were and how far we had come. At each break, with their flushed cheeks, they smiled and became even more determined.

The thought of turning around at the halfway point vanished. Reaching the pinnacle became a real possibility.

As we breathlessly came up to the final ascent, I paused long enough to memorize their faces, taste the air and feel its coolness on my skin, to look all around me and consume the sights and sounds, and finally to see their elation as they realized how close they were to the top.

We took our final steps and there we were standing at 5, 416 feet above the earth. I will always remember their joy, innocent giggles, and disbelief. Holding hands, we soaked it all in, looking out past our new city, our new home, to the glorious mountains and beyond.

And then I had to break it to them. This was not the end. We still had to go back down. I looked them in the eye and saw their confusion. Their innocent expressions in direct protest . . . “But Mom, we did it! We’ve arrived!” and then their quizzical furrowed brows whispered, “There’s more? Going down is the easy part, right?”

I explained that just as in life, we never fully arrive. There is never a finish line. As long as we live, we will discover that new challenges await us as soon as we meet the last. That is life. That is what it means to live— to continually face the challenges ahead and learn from them, grow from them, evolve into who we want to be with the refinement of each one. We must pause and reflect frequently about where we’ve been, how far we’ve come and where we’re headed. We must be prepared to take the ups with the downs, the good with the bad, the highs with the lows, and see each as necessary to the other.

We carefully made our way back to the same place we began . . . different than when we started. We were armed with an experience that will forever be part of our hearts and souls— we were knowledgeable of and wise to the steps up and down that peak. My girls left equipped with a new confidence, not just in hiking, but also in life. They saw themselves now as overcomers, as capable, strong and more secure. They accomplished much that morning, not the least of which was a new outlook on who they are in the world and how able they are to weather life’s challenges.