Surprises on the Beach

love builds up the broken wall and straightens the crooked path.love keeps the stars in the firmament and imposes rhythm on the ocean tides each of us is created of it and i suspect each of us was created for it”-- Dr. Maya Angelou

I feel incredibly blessed to have lived at the beach in coastal Maine for the past 19 years. Despite the fact that I spent summers here in Maine growing up, I never thought I'd be a year 'round resident as an adult. I can remember playing on Maine's rocky coast with my cousins from the moment the sun would come up each morning, until long after it had set in the evening. The three of us would play never ending games of tag, we'd build forts using drift wood, we would have contests to see who could find the most sea glass and we would play endless games of "pretend". The beach would be a castle, being attacked by a dragon one moment, and a campground for pirates the next. It would transform into a house, a ship and an airplane within our imaginary world. Maine beaches are, for the most part, not like beaches most people imagine....they're craggy inlets bearing thousands of stones, with tidal pools holding their own miniature ecosystems. They aren't the same sand beaches one would see in California, Florida or Hawaii. They're more rugged, more austere and more remote. They're romantic, ever changing and full of surprises. My own children have found sea whelks, crabs, mussels, clams, rocks from every possible classification, and even bits of Maine life...a lobster buoy that floated away from its mooring, a perfectly polished mother of pearl shell, a bit of old shard pottery. They've watched the progress of a small hermit crab moving out of one shell and into another. The Maine beaches are always filled with the unexpected.

Our neighborhood is fairly new one, by New England standards. Once part of a much larger estate, the lots were subdivided and the ring surrounding our private cove was build slowly over a thirty year period. None of the houses are similar to one another, and each one has its own flavor and style. Over time, the houses have often changed hands and become summer homes for people who want to escape the humidity in Boston, Philadelphia and New York. It's not a 'tight' neighborhood in which everyone knows one another well. People tend to come and go with the seasons and have specific agendas for their homes and their own priorities. As a result, many of us simply aren't familiar with our neighbors. As the only house that currently has children on the street, I have often felt the need to 'shush' my kids when they've played outside, trying to respect the privacy of our retired neighbors. It hasn't always been easy to keep street hockey balls, and various toys, from sailing over the fence line into another yard. I have had to apologize for pink trees, due to my son's paint ball gun. It has been a constant challenge to find the balance between neighborhood peace and allowing my kids to 'be kids'.

The one aspect of neighborhood life in our cove that we all share is a mutual passion for our beach. We all enjoy it, and as it's so often deserted, we tend to feel very protective of our little slice of Maine heaven. Because I walk my dogs on the beach almost every day, I have come to know every boulder, every inlet, every landmark stone and every crevice quite well. I even have come to know where the best rocks for stepping on happen to be, so I don't twist my ankle as I walk. About a year ago, one large boulder, near the edge of the beach began to have mysterious designs on it that changed every few days. One day there might be a heart, created using bits of seaweed and drift wood. The next time I checked, I might have seen "Thanks" designed using mussel shells and tiny pebbles. Using materials found on our beach, I have spied the words "Faith", "Joy", "Hope", "Care" and simply a jolly "Hi!". Now, as I traverse my neighborhood on my daily dog walk, I smile more broadly at each of my neighbors. I can't help but wonder who the artistic communicator is with every "Good morning" I say. Is it the woman whose extraordinary garden has been photographed for many magazines? Is it the cranky gentleman who never smiles or says "hello" back...does he hide a secret soft side? Could it possibly be the elegant, but elderly, southern belle, who takes her constitutional strolls in heels and pearls daily? Since the words of blessing and greeting have begun appearing on the boulder at the beach edge, I've looked at my neighbors in an entirely new light. It has made me more patient, more understanding and more tolerant. I can't help but be fascinated by my speculation. It makes me think more gently of the neighbors who might complain about our dog getting out or our kids laughing outside at the bonfire at 10 PM. I can't help but speculate if the gruff exterior of one of these people hides the soul of a poet.

Yesterday, on Father's Day, I was missing my own father deeply. Though he passed away in 1998, I feel his presence with me. The feeling of mourning hasn't gone away. It's only been channeled into a way that I have learned to live with. It was because of my father, and his own love of Maine, that our family began summering here. Later, despite living in my mother's and my home state of California, we would continue to come to Maine as much as we possibly could. In all fairness, Mom and I weren't thrilled initially, but over time, we began to love Maine for all its beauty and solitude. When my father retired and my parents moved to Maine full time, it was natural for my husband and me to want to settle here too. In the years before my father's death, we had wonderful memories together, as he taught my own children about the magic of the Maine coast. As I was missing him yesterday, I took my German Shepherd for a stroll along the cove he loved so much. I sat down, and letting Mackenzie play in the waves, I looked out over the bay towards the islands we used to visit every summer. I felt closer to my dad that I had in a long time. With every breath in of the salty air, I could feel his spirit merge with my own. And yet, this being Maine, the sky grew black in a matter of moments and the rumble of distant thunder came rolling in over the mountains. I knew it was time to head back up to my house.

But, as I walked past the 'Message Boulder', I realized that it was blank for the first time in weeks. Without a thought of the impending storm, I methodically gathered my materials. Using a bit of crab shell, broken mussels and periwinkles, finding pebbles in an array of colors, as well as some pieces of driftwood and sea glass, I wrote I LOVE YOU DAD on the stone. The raindrops were just beginning to fall I finished up. Snapping the leash back on my dog, she and I raced up the path and down the street to the sanctuary of our house, myself laughing the whole way, and Mackenzie giving her excited Shepherd "Yip".

I can't help but wonder if my father could see my message to him...and if my imaginative word writing neighbor will appreciate my contribution. I can only hope so on both counts.

Renewal

We need quiet to examine our lives openly and honestly.....spending quiet time alone gives your mind the opportunity to renew itself and create order. ~ Susan Taylor

As many of you have gathered, I've been on a break from blogging for a short time. With a great deal going on in my family's life right now, I realized I needed to step back and focus on life as it's happening, rather than writing about it. I will be back before long with, I hope, a renewed spirit, invigorated energy and original thoughts for the summer. As I gain inspiration, I hope that I'll be able to pass those ideas along and generate some joyfulness in the lives of Preppy Yogini readers. Additionally, I hope to come back with an enriched sense of creative energy. So...how do I hope to gain all of this renewed vivacity? By living in the moment with my family, by continuing to put my heart into my Yoga classes and by reading wonderful books. I remember, with great delight, my summer reading lists that would come out at the end of each school year. I looked forward to them as being books to read on the beach, in the hammock or at camp. Each book seemed to draw me a little more deeply into the magic of summer.

I have been reading quite a few novels recently that have been designated as "Young Adult" books. I'm not sure how each one has crossed my path, but as I read, I have found that these stories are brilliant for readers of all ages. I find it unfortunate that bookstores and libraries need to label them for teens because this list I will share below contains, what I believe, is wonderful writing and amazing storytelling. So...instead of just browsing in the regular fiction section, take a glimpse at the Young Adult novels....in both the classics and bestsellers. You may find that your next source of inspiration...or even just a deeply moving read...comes from this area. I have put this list together to help animate and encourage you to move out of your literary comfort zone. My only advice is not to label these novels in your mind...but read them with the open heart of youth. I hope you enjoy!

Young Adult Books for all ages:

The Book Thief by Marcus Zusak

Reality Check by Peter Abrahams

Beautiful Creatures by Kami Garcia and Margaret Stohl

Shiver by Maggie Stiefvater

If I Stay by Gayle Forman

North of Beautiful by Justina Chen Headly

The Coffin Quilt by Ann Rinaldi

The Summer of Naked Swimming Parties by Jessica Anya Blau

Maggie's Story by Dandi Daley Mackall

Neverwhere by Neil Gaiman

Sweetness in the Belly by Camilla Gibb

Before I Die by Jenny Downham

Wintergirls by Laurie Halse Anderson

Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neal Hurston

The Awakening by Kate Chopin

A Separate Peace by John Knowles

The Chronicles of Narnia by C.S. Lewis

So....curl with one of these great books and enjoy your summer reading list.

The Weaver: a Yoga Meditation

We each have our own lives to pursue, our own kind of dream to be weaving. ~ Louisa May Alcott

Each of the yoga classes I teach forms a pattern. My students are comfortable with a small amount of variation in our routine. Overall, however, each class remains steadfast in its comforting, comfortable routine. We begin by centering ourselves with the breath, quieting body and mind. We move through a series of Asanas (poses) to increase strength, flexibility and overall fitness. At the close of each class, we end with a time of visualization, restoration and relaxation. For the next blog posts in the coming weeks, I'd like to share a few of my favorite visualization exercises. These have come to mean a great deal to my students...and I hope you will find these offerings to be helpful, restful and inspiring. Some of these are variations of stories I've learned from other teachers. But, many are of my own creation....simply born from ideas that sprung up during class. The story below is my own.

The Weaver

Envision walking along an ocean path until you come to a beautiful cottage. It's everything you could have dreamed of....the perfect white fence, the rosemary growing by the garden gate, and the beautiful view of the sea. There are lilacs and beach roses growing on bushes on either side of the cottage. As you inhale, you can smell the flowers, the salty air, the herbs and the sunshine. You can hear the birds calling overhead...seagulls and sandpipers and robins. The cottage door is open, and you let yourself into a bright open space. The wide pine boards on the floor glisten with a loving patina. The morning light is illuminating a sparse, but welcoming, room. The dried herbs hanging in the beams overhead are homey. The piece of furniture that dominates the room is a large wooden loom. It's clearly been in use for many years, and the tapestries hanging around the small room are testaments to its usefulness. You see the weaver seated a small bench, moving the shuttle back and forth with effortless movements. Her hands are in fluid motion and you never notice her changing yarn colors, even as variation shades appear on her work before you. You sit down next to her. You admire her work, while being truly amazed at both her swiftness and her perfection of skill. She indicates skeins of threads to be handed to her, and you approve of the lovely array of colors hanging on the wall.

As you watch the tapestry's images begin to unfold under the weaver's capable hands, you realize that this isn't a simple design. You see a portrait of yourself begin to emerge from the interwoven threads. However, this isn't a snapshot created by a camera. Rather, it's unfolding as a likeness of you....the essential, authentic, internal you. It's a portrait of the 'you' that you truly are inside. It captures your dreams, your hopes, your deepest wishes. The tapestry continues to expand showing you the 'you' you knew you could always be, the 'you' you wish to become, the 'you' that is beautiful, talented, confident and filled with promise. You remain mesmerized by the weaver's deftness with her shuttle, and her hands become the source of your gaze, as you watch, captivated by her ability to see within you...and to make that vision a reality in the tapestry.

And yet, you begin to notice that the hands creating the piece of weaving on the loom are your own hands. The image you have created is your own image. You realize that you have arrived at your own cottage, designed by you, to weave your own self-portrait.

Never forget that you are the weaver of your own destiny.

A series of moments...

Motherhood has a very humanizing effect. Everything gets reduced to essentials. ~Meryl Streep

From the moment I held my first baby doll, I knew I wanted to be a mother...and not just a mother: a "Mommy". I couldn't wait to have my own children. I wanted to push a baby carriage. I wanted to help make macaroni necklaces, push around Matchbox cars and cut out Play-doh with 'tools'. I wanted to read to stories to tiny people sitting in my lap. I wanted to be a 'room mother' for their classrooms, a Brownie Troop leader and a healer of scraped knees. I wanted to be the cookie baking mommy in the neighborhood. I wanted to be guardian angel, advocate, time keeper, feeder of tummies and bestower of hugs. I wanted to make sure that all would be right in my children's worlds. I saw our lives as a consistently unfolding series of moments, interwoven and unbreakable.

Yet, what I failed to realize is that the moments that weren't perfectly in keeping with my ideal vision are the ones that have made the most unanticipated impact on my life. I've learned to be grateful for the non-Hallmark moments. These less than stellar times of motherhood have taught me that being a mother is far more than just 'looking' the part. It has made me immeasurably thankful for the journey we've taken together. I have fallen short and failed so many times. But each experience has taught me not to be the mother of my dreams, but the real mother my children have needed in each stage of their lives:

• I'm thankful for the sleepless nights when I had a two-year-old and a newborn. Those were the days I questioned my sanity, my ability to parent and my very sense of reason. Every moment I was up with my toddler or baby gave me extra time to cherish the tiny sizes they were...and to understand they would never be this small again. I realize that, as sleep deprived as I was, my senses were heightened to their needs and I am overwhelmed that I was able to sneak in extra time of babyhood with them...even if it came at 2 AM.
• I'm thankful for quiet days spent curled up with both kids and reading aloud on the couch to them. I realize that I could have been cleaning my house, paying bills or doing something special for myself. However, watching their faces as the "The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe" came alive within their imaginations was priceless. I'm thankful that, as exhausted as I was, hearing them say "One more chapter, Mama...PLEASE" with those two sets of big brown eyes melted my heart against any selfishness I may have felt.
• I'm thankful to have been an enthusiastic, if completely sports-illiterate, spectator at countless Little League games, gymnastics lessons, tennis matches, 5 am hockey practices and soccer tournaments. I'm thankful that I learned to keep extra blankets, Deep Woods Off, water bottles, snacks, first aid kits and camp chairs in the back of my car. Win or lose, close game or blow out, I'm honored to have been able to share in both victory and defeat with them. Dairy Queen to celebrate, or to comfort, will always be source of a laughter for me.
• I'm thankful to be the one my children came to for their broken hearts. I cried with them. I hugged them. I was there to try to give a mother's heart during those first experiences with dating. I wish I could have taken their pain onto myself. But, I feel blessed to have earned my children's trust enough for them to share with me.
• I'm thankful for the times my children said "You're the meanest Mom in the whole world" because it meant I'm not a pushover. I'm also thankful when they tell me they love me because I know those words aren't hollow, but truly meant. I'm thankful that I've had to say "Clean your room!", "Home by midnight!", "Finish the old milk before starting the new!" and "Be nice to your sister!" because it meant that I was able to actively parent my children.
• I'm thankful for our long car trips...even when I had to say "Nobody touch anyone ever again!" in response to "I'm not touching you!" taunts from the backseat. In between the construction of the Berlin Wall between them, I'm thankful for our wonderful conversations, our dancing and singing and our road trip games as we traveled. I'm thankful for both Josh and Caroline's 'adventurous' attitudes when we flew to new places, and their willingness to try new foods everywhere we went. I'm so proud of what good travelers they both are now.

Despite how much I wanted to be an ideal mother and to teach my children everything I could about the world around them, I'm exceptionally thankful not for the lessons I imparted, but for those I learned. My children have enlightened me in more ways than I can count. Motherhood is nothing like I imagined. It's far richer.

Prayer

“In prayer it is better to have a heart without words than words without a heart.” ~ Mahatma Ghandi

Today, May 6th, 2010, is this year's National Day of Prayer. This beautiful idea of collective harmony, thoughtful introspection and united intent has become a hot button political issue. The current administration feels strongly in the separation of Church and State and will not condone public prayer at the White House. The far right Evangelic movement believes this separation is detrimental to our very salvation. But for the multitudes of us whose beliefs lie in the middle area, it's a day of confusion. If we're not practicing this on a national level, does it still 'count'? If we're not praying within a the confines of a mega-church, or by the rule book of one particular brand of faith, are we not 'invited' to pray also? If I take part in the National Day of Prayer (or choose not to participate), am I buying into one particular political belief system?

Webster's Dictionary defines prayer as: "An address to the Divine in word or thought". An alternate definition is given as "an earnest wish or request." Personally, I'm completely in agreement with the first definition. Regardless of one's religious leanings, time spent quietly in contemplation and conversation with God is a form of prayer. We do not need to speak. We do not need to recite formulaic systems to 'get prayer done right', although those very same formulas may be exceedingly helpful in bringing our hearts and minds to the "right place"...as a jumping off point for personal prayer to commence. As an Episcopalian, I find enormous comfort in the Book of Common Prayer. I find the Daily Office to be helpful, restorative and calming of my emotions. It's a powerful feeling to know that I can walk into any Anglican church, anywhere in the world, and find the service to be the same...with the same litany, the same ideas and the same cadence. Yet, I've found prayers that speak to my heart from a variety of traditions; Buddhist, Native American, Jewish and those of some Catholic saints. Are these prayers, written in a tradition different than my own but still magnificent, less efficacious?

My enormous discomfort comes when people try to push their prayer beliefs onto my own personal faith. On one hand, there are those who think I'm a fool for wasting my time and energy in prayer. They believe I can better use my talents and gifts to better the world around me using my own sense of empowerment. These people feel that prayer is, at best, a red herring and, at worst, sheer stupidity and counter to intellectual prowess. On the other hand, there are people who believe that my teaching Yoga means I am not 'really' a Christian. Additionally, these folks believe that even the hint of another tradition, no matter how exquisitely written or composed, is inherently evil...that no beauty can come from a wisdom that is not their own. The concept of personal prayer is so frayed at both edges that the entire concept unravels in an ugly, discordant manner.

As easy as it would be simply give up on prayer, acknowledging that no matter what I do, I'll be wrong, I find myself drawn even more to having a heart for a strong prayer life. At the end of the day, it doesn't matter what the news programs have to say about both extremes. It is not important who tells me I'm absolutely wrong. Being affirmed as being 'in the right' is just as meaningless. The fact is, no amount of corporate opinion carries weight. Prayer is personal. It is, as Webster's defines, "An address to the Divine in word or thought". Prayer is my own quiet connection to God. It's not a marketing list or a wish list for Santa Claus. It's not a time to make deals (as in "God, if you let me pass this test, I will always be a good person..."). It's not a catalogue of set words that must be said in a specific order, or it's "wrong". Prayer is really nobody's business but your own. It's a time of solemnity, entreaty, supplication, gratitude, compassion, kindness and communion. It's a connection between our own meager, fallible selves and an infinitely loving and patient God. Prayer can give us strength, temper our misunderstandings, fill us with renewed energy for our tasks and remind us to be humble when we fill with pride. Prayer is distinctive and direct for each person. Prayer is what the individual believes she needs most...and what she needs most to give.

So, if prayer is so private, why a National Day of Prayer? What's so important about it? In my own heart, this holiday shouldn't be about political agendas, but a simple reminder that we share a planet, that we want, as a group, what's best for everyone and that we hope for the unparalleled point of unity to come into each of our lives. It's a chance to have a moment to trust in a unified consciousness that's greater than each of us individually. It's a moment to join together in thankfulness, respect and hope.

What is my own prayer for today? That I will be a better listener...that my own prayers will not include a list of grievances, wrongs, wish list items or rambling diatribes about myself. Rather, I hope to find that small, quiet place in my heart and mind not to speak but to hear and pay attention more closely.

No apologies and no regrets...or not.

Accept everything about yourself - I mean everything, You are you and that is the beginning and the end - no apologies, no regrets. -- Henry Kissinger

It's very common to read magazine articles, watch television programs, discover inspirational books and listen to self-improvement gurus discuss the concept of living with 'no apologies and no regrets'. We're implored to accept ourselves for whom we are and to avoid making any offering of remorse for our lives. We hear the virtues of being 'true to ourselves' and not compromising anything in which we believe. We're asked to not self-censor or to be self-critical in any way. We are to love ourselves, just where are at this very moment, and unapologetically find delight in living authentically. I agree with some of this...up to a point. I do believe that it's important to find the path in which our "own selves can be true" (with my apologies to both Polonius and the Bard for my twist of words.). However, I believe that living fully without apologies or regrets can ultimately be harmful to us and to those about whom we care.

As a yoga instructor, part of my job is helping my students to unlock their hidden potential. For many, the lives they've led up until now have been for other people. The demands that parents, spouses, teachers, employers and even children, have placed upon these students have left their emotional well dry. They feel downtrodden and don't really know how to pick themselves up. They have long since suppressed their own dreams and desires, in favor of living for others. They have fit in with what they were expected to do, rather than where their passions lie. Watching these students blossom is one of the most extraordinary experiences I've had in my life. Fostering another human being to grow in confidence and in awareness is a humbling experience for me. I feel honored to be in a position to assist, in a meager way, the knitting together of a student's idea of self. Being in a position to aid in this has been a true blessing in my life. I've seen women, with a lifetime of negative body image, begin to feel comfortable in their skin for the first time in their lives. I've seen men who had never taken time away from sports and their work to slow down. I've seen teens, still gangly and awkward, find a measure of contentment and peacefulness. It's been, without question, a job for which I feel great appreciation.

And yet, living a life completely free of both regret and apology can be 'too much of a good thing'. One reason I feel terribly uncomfortable with the policy of 'no apologies, no regrets' is that this sentiment can lead us too far in the opposite direction; towards that of selfishness, apathy and indifference. If we live our lives so completely focused on our own centeredness and in our own personal manner, where does that leave other people? Can we live a life without acknowledgement and atonement, and still remain kind and just? Is it possible to be fully aware of our own innate value, while refraining from trampling on the values of others? This quandary isn't new. St. Clement of Alexandria wrote, "It seems the greatest of all disciplines is to know oneself; for when a man knows himself he knows God" in the first century A.D. But can we know ourselves, and tap into the divine, if we're exclusively focused on our own desires?

Despite how chic the buzz terms of inner discovery and remaining firm in one's own beliefs may be, I can't help but wonder whom we must override to do just that. If we live a life without apology, are we likely to hurt someone else in the process? I don't see that it's possible to avoid bruising relationships, even with the best of intentions. If we go further down this path of authenticity, we're certain to be in a position of confrontation. Does this mean we need to subdue our inner light to avoid ire in others? No. We should not suppress our true selves. However, a truly developed to enlightened soul will not seek out to subjugate another person, nor will she intentionally bring harm. We can rest in our self-confidence, and still accept responsibility for our actions. We can refrain from putting down the views of others and learn tact. We can treat those with whom we disagree with respect. We can be patient with those who are impatient. Most of all, when we have wronged another person, intentionally or not, we have the further responsibility to apologize. Apologizing is actually far more difficult than excusing oneself. It takes a voluminous amount of humility to accept one's own error and to say "Mea culpa" to someone. The fear of rejection, the embarrassment of error and the admission of guilt are terrifying. It's actually much easier to say "I don't apologize for my actions" than it is to admit them as wrong. This doesn't mean we should compromise a precious belief. But, it does mean that we need to integrate a part of prodigious humility into our lives. "Knowing ourselves" doesn't just mean being aware. It is more than that. It means striving for improvement of mind, body and spirit. It's very difficult to do this if we can't admit when we happen to be wrong.

Additionally, living our lives without any regrets is foolhardy. Regrets are healthy. Regrets are needed. If we didn't regret our mistakes we would never grow beyond them. Regretting one's actions can actually be a pivotal turning point for many. If we live our lives, blindly forgetting everything we've ever done, then we have no ability to take a step back, examine what we've done well, what we've done poorly, and moving forward in the proper direction. I have women friends who have regretted the marriage they've made. They mourn the loss of their youth and the time wasted. I know men who regret leaving a job they loved for a more lucrative (but less fulfilling) career. I think we have to be careful to live our lives in an examined manner; to see where we've made mistakes with our choices, and then to create a new, empowered beginning for ourselves. Should we forget our mistakes? Not at all! If we dismiss places in which we've gone astray, we are doomed to return to those places again and again. Regretting our lives to the banishment of future possibilities is unhealthy. But choosing to think about these regrets as lessons can actually be both liberating and powerful.

e.e. cummings wrote, "it takes courage to grow up and become who you really are." Some people believe that this sentiment echoes that of Dr. Henry Kissinger's words, at the beginning of this piece. I respectfully disagree to draw the parallel. It's my personal, and humble opinion, that we can be fully aware, fully cognizant and fully enlightened people, living a life "in the direction of our choice", while still maintaining a sense of kindness, understanding, responsibility and generosity towards others. We can make the choice to live in the moment, who we are right now and still respect the feelings of those we love. We can decide to work towards intellectual growth while still acknowledging our faults, making amends and learning from our past blunders. It's a tight rope. It's a delicate balancing act. It's not easy. But, I believe that, if we do apologize, and we do choose to examine our regrets, we have a much better choice of growing into those people we truly are.

Fear and Effort vs. Laziness

"Laziness may appear attractive, but work gives satisfaction.”

~ Anne Frank

I have to admit that, despite being a yoga instructor I'm an incredibly lazy person. My favorite place in the world is my favorite chair...with matching foot stool...in the sunny corner of my living room. If left to my own daydream, I'd be content to read stacks of books (that would be miraculously delivered to my doorstep, free of charge) and have a self-refilling tea maker right next to me. As I'd read, I'd get so lost in my fictional world, that I wouldn't need to get up to do even the most rudimentary tasks. I envision just paying bills from my laptop (conveniently plugged in next to me), having meals delivered and having my dogs walk on a treadmill twice a day. While this may sound like the epitome of boredom to some, it happens to be a secret wish of mine to read, to sip Earl Gray, and never be disturbed. However, despite the tantalizing possibilities of Kindle readers allowing me to download books immediately, and the fact that I do have a dog door to let my animals out, I do realize that important parts of life exist outside my 'cozy spot'. During the time that I'm content to huddle under my favorite fleece throw and meander, in the literary sense, for days on end, the world continues to have importance outside my home.

But, where does one find the motivation to get up and try new things, to put oneself "out there" to be hurt, ridiculed or just to fail? Our lives feel so peaceful when we remain in our comfort zones...whether these are literal places, like my comfortable corner, or metaphorical ones; such as situations we'd prefer not to tackle. I had a long conversation with my daughter, Caroline, this weekend about trying new things. Despite being a bit of a daredevil now, Caroline used to have legitimate fears about trying a new activity if she felt she might fail. Whether it was beginning on a new piece of gymnastics equipment or getting up in front of church to sing a solo, her fear of failure was palpable. Over the years, she learned to ask herself what she was afraid of. She came to the conclusion that her fear was less about complete failure than it was of her terror at not being the best at any skill. A competitive person since her toddler days, Caroline was accustomed to finding success at most things she put her mind to; from learning to read as a 3 year old to skiing Black Diamond slopes by age 6, she knew what her strengths were and she was uncomfortable stepping out of them. I asked her if she felt that her Dad and I had put pressure on her to be 'the best'. Caroline answered that her pressure level is intense...and internal. So, it was with great humility that she picked up a new sport a year ago: tennis. Although Caroline had competed at gymnastics, soccer, skiing, ice hockey, softball and sailing, tennis was completely new to her. Other than a few lessons when she was 7, tennis wasn't her area of expertise, and Caroline knew that she'd be one of the few girls trying out for the tennis team who had never played before. She's still learning the game, the important skills and the timing. But, I have to admire her: despite her highly ambitious nature, Caroline's learned to move out of her comfort zone...to have gotten out of her metaphorical sunny spot by the window...to dive into a completely untapped dexterity. She's not the best. It's not an easy place for her to be intellectually. But, she was willing to put forth the effort to gain a new talent. Caroline is a natural athlete, but it still takes a great deal of moxie to be completely untrained to step out onto the courts each time.

I have to admit that I admire Caroline's chutzpah greatly. All the time I spend closeted in my imaginary world of reading, I am not allowing myself the opportunity to expand upon my 'real life' knowledge or experience. I have to ask myself a tough question: am I actually lazy or do I just lack the drive to make an effort to try new things? It's a hard query. Would I rather think of myself as slothful and apathetic rather than scared and cowardly? I look at opportunities I've had and missed. I wonder about the "road not taken." I've justified each of these side-stepped junctures as 'not being right'. But, how will I ever know if I don't just pick myself out of my chair, put on my 'big girl shoes' and give something new a whirl?

One chance I didn't let slip by was learning to ski. I have to admit, I was scared out of my wits. My husband is an accomplished skier, and our children began ski school at very young ages. I would have remained firm in my happy place at the Lodge, content to remain the designated mitten holder and hot chocolate maker had it not been for my friend, Debra. Because she didn't ski also, she spent the down time with me, in our cozy sweats, as we attempted to learn to knit (another skill I have yet to master). However, Debra had the determination to sign us up for grown up ski school. At age 36, I was sure I'd never even be able to stand up, let alone barrel down a mountain. After a couple of days of complete hissy fit tears and a great deal of drama, we learned how to navigate the basic slopes. Had it not been for my friend, I'd still be making a mess of dreadfully ugly knitted scarves in the rented condo. Yet, she gave me the motivation to dive, literally, over my fear of skiing. I may still ski with the baby class. I might even be passed by a toddler with a pacifier in his mouth. But, I can happily say that I do know how to ski...when, for decades, I was content to sit in the warmth of the lodge, allowing this opportunity to pass me by.

I have set a great many goals for myself only to have them remain shelf-bound. I'd love to learn to paint, but am afraid my work will be ugly and amateurish. I'd like to learn to sew but am terrified my designs will resemble a 4th grade home economics disaster. I'd even love to sky dive....and I don't even think it's necessary to relay my apprehension over that one. Most of all, I'd love to write a book, but am scared it will be laughed at so hard, by prospective publishers, tears will come out of their eyes. I think it's time I adopted more of my daughter's pizazz and allowed myself to "close my eyes and leap", as the song in "Wicked" implores.

I hope you'll try "Defying gravity" in some area of your life, too.