Inspiration and Travel

"The world is a book, and those who don't travel only read one page." ~ St. Augustine

In the next six weeks, I am going to be traveling to 5 different states. My schedule is daunting and each destination will require a high level of energy from me. I am going to moving my teenagers into two different (and new) spaces 1800 miles apart from one another. I'm going to visit with dear friends and family. I'm going have the chance to visit many new places to which I've never traveled before. I will have a tight schedule, and each piece of the itinerary is going to have to line up perfectly in order for me to accomplish each key mission. At the same time, I don't want to visit each of these unfamiliar destinations with my head buried in a day planner. My hope is to a bang up job for the crucial reasons I'm in each place, but I also have faith that I'll have enough time, each in every location, for wonder, for daydreaming, for unplanned exploration and for discovery.

My first mission will be going to Florida to help find my son an apartment, to furnish it and to get him ready to move in later in August. Because I'm from the west coast, my family tends to go west on our vacations, rather than south from New England. Florida is a completely new expedition for us, and I'm incredibly proud of my son for forging off on his own in this way. In moving to Florida from Maine, Joshua is being quite intrepid....he is moving away from everything that's familiar and comforting. Because of his move, I get the pleasure in learning about a new place along with him. My hope is that we'll get to know the area extremely well. I don't want to just walk into national chain stores. Rather, I want to discover the offbeat places, the ones that locals know about, as we set up his new home. We can remain within our comfort zone, or we can expand upon it, and hopefully, achieve something beyond our limitations. Having the chance to set up a place to live for Josh will be the most important piece of this trip. However, I'm also excited about the chance to meet new people, eat in new restaurants, learn about a part of our nation with which I'm completely unfamiliar and to practice patience when things will, inevitably, not go as planned.

After Florida, my daughter and I are traveling to Del Mar, California, where we'll spend a week on the beach with family and friends. Although I was born in San Francisco, and spent much of my growing up life in Santa Barbara, I've never been to Del Mar. I've seen pictures. I've heard wonderful stories. I've seen scenic locations in movies. But, I've never actually been there myself. It has been too many years since my toes wriggled in the Pacific Ocean. It's been an eternity since I've had nothing to do but lie on a beach and soak up the sun. As much of an art lover as I am, it's felt like centuries since I've been immersed in an artists' community. I have missed eating fresh avocados, tasting perfect Mahi-Mahi and picking lemons right from the tree. I look forward to exploring every one of my senses in this enchanting, radiant Shangri-La.

Finally, after returning to the Northeast, I'll bring my daughter back to her beautiful prep school in western Massachusetts. After visiting family in New Hampshire, we'll move through our routine of setting up Caroline's room in record time. Despite our prodigious efforts and efficiency, there is something bittersweet about moving her into her dorm room each year. We have our systems down to a science now, and we pack our car in reverse order of how we plan on unloading. We know just what to bring in first, and can quickly create order from chaos. At the same time, with every poster I hang on the wall, or with each sweater I fold, I realize that my little girl is that much more independent from me. I am thrilled with her success and determination, and I feel blessed that her school is a perfect match. And yet, as I unpack the car, I'm letting go of her, item by item. Still, I have been fortunate to learn the area around her school very well. I have restaurants that I just love returning to, and people I enjoy seeing when I'm there. I feel a sense of loving community in a place that doesn't even 'belong' to me. It's always a joy to return, to see familiar faces and to feel at home in a place that is wonderfully welcoming.

Lucius Annaeus Seneca, the great Roman philosopher and dramatist, wrote "Travel and change of place new vigor to the mind." I have resolved to see the next month as a way to accomplish that idea. I hope to re-energize my spirit, to broaden my perspective and to find myself richly renewed in each unfamiliar place. I hope that I can discover something wonderful about every destination, and I hope that I will find myself enlightened by new locales. Ray Bradbury wrote, "Half the fun of the travel is the aesthetic of lostness." While I'd prefer not to get completely lost, I am excited about finding that tingly feeling of not being completely on the map all the time. I hope to accomplish my set tasks, to learn some new skills, and above all, to enjoy this lengthy amount of time out of my routine.

Beyond that, I'm open to new possibilities. I just hope I don't lose my luggage in the process.

New Challenges

It's faith in something and enthusiasm for something that makes a life worth living. --Oliver Wendell Holmes

Two days I began my journey into a simplified life. I read Benjamin Franklin's words, "Be sober and temperate, and you will be healthy." I looked up the definition of "temperate", and was intrigued by the old fashioned ring to the expression. The sound stirred up thoughts of prohibition, and yet still evoked the peaceful sense of a controlled, orderly way to live. Webster's dictionary defines temperate in this way: "marked by moderation, keeping or held within limits : not extreme or excessive". I have to admit, I was smitten with the concept. For years, perhaps even for most of my life, I have felt a desperate need to be on top of every area in my life. I've felt the need to dress in the latest style, to have my hair a specific way and a pathological desire to fit into the popular cultural landscape. While I'd always hoped to be accepted and liked on my merits, the fact remained that, deep down inside, I was a glutton for keeping up with the "Joneses". No one made me feel this way. I easily slid down the Slope of Consumption and happily made purchases on the way.

I've always loved to shop. Shopping, for me, was a Power Sport. In my husband's mind, shopping was a mission. He saw the needed item as an objective, the store as territory to traverse and the strategy involving speed and accuracy. On the other hand, I found shopping to be relaxing, even restorative. I could be upset by bad news, have worries over health or even just feel garden variety stress, and the first place I'd want to go would be to the mall. Somewhere between Banana Republic and French Connection, I'd find myself able to breathe again. Those purchases in hand felt like magic, soothing balms to my weary soul. I'd get an uplifting, soaring spirit from every credit card swipe. I'd buy clothes, jewelry, handbags, shoes, perfume and home decor. I'd feel blissfully dynamic on my way out to my car.

Yet, the opening of my trunk would begin to kill the rush of positive energy. Starting the drive home would already begin to leave me disappointed...and more than just a little embarrassed at my own greedy behavior. By the time I'd carry parcels in, I'd wonder what came over me. I felt ashamed at my own inability to find joy in other ways.

While I never got to the point of many women, who lose their homes and careers due to shopping addictions, I will say that I am not happy with myself about my views on shopping. I am completely rational, well educated and responsible. Therefore, it shouldn't take a new pair of suede boots, no matter how soft, to make me feel better about myself. I don't hoard and regularly give a great deal to the charity shops. But, I also realize that my sense of self-worth is too intrinsically tied to material gain to be healthy. So, I'm giving it up. All of it. No more recreational jaunts to the Gap. No more open catalogs surrounding me in bed. No more Internet browsing of fabulous sites. No more putting unneeded items on a worshipped pedestal.

Two ideas came my way this past year and inspired me to take on a Year of Temperate Living. The first was reading "The Year of Living Biblically" by A.J. Jacobs. In this well written, clever, witty and touching journal, the author explores his roots by living according to even the most remote and obscure biblical principles. I devoured this book, mainly because I was deeply impressed at the level of commitment that these drastic measures entailed. I also noticed the profound impact that taking a year to gain perspective on life's greater meanings had on the writer. Although A.J. Jacobs never intended to go further past his year, he did find that the life changes he made were far reaching and powerful.

The other life impacting movement that caught my attention was theOctober Dress Project. This fascinating project took on many forms, took on different names, and created a frenzy of interest all over the Internet. Many women, like myself, found frustration in trying to be stylish....the frustration came financially, personally and even ethically. How can we continue to become voracious consumers and not become bankrupt...emotionally and pecuniary? I read account after account of the rich meaning women gained from this experience, including my friend, Alexandra's. I became enamored of trying it myself. Yet, when it came down to my own attempt at this project, I became way too caught up in the shopping aspect...the hunt for the Perfect Dress. I realized that, for me, this wasn't a healthy challenge.

And so, it begins: I'm laying down the challenge for myself. I'm not going to buy anything I don't need. I have already defined need vs. want in my own heart and life. I do not need clothes, shoes or accessories. I don't need to buy books, movies or entertainment features, as all of these can come from the library. I need food, health care, the love of my family and friends and nothing more.

Will it work? I hope so. I'm also hoping to learn some lessons about my own sense of strength along the way. I know that this will not be easy for me. But, I think I owe it to myself to try.

I will continue to write "The Preppy Yogini", but I hope you will join me in my new venture: The Year of Temperate Living.

The Search for Self

Men go abroad to wonder at the heights of mountains, at the huge waves of the sea, at the long courses of the rivers, at the vast compass of the ocean, at the circular motions of the stars, and they pass by themselves without wondering. ~St. Augustine

Every so often, I come across a book that I love so much, I want to buy a copy and give it to everyone I know and love. This is most certainly the case with "The Girl from Foreign" by Sadia Shepard. This memoir is going to be my go-to gift for people I care about. From my mother to my closest friends to my daughter, I hope to share this journey with with all. Author Sadia Shepard grew up, as many people I know did, in the Boston suburbs. However, her mother grew up Muslim in Pakistan, having emigrated there from India during the Partition, when India and Pakistan divided into two countries. Shepard's father is Episcopalian and from Colorado. Her most treasured relative is her grandmother, Rahat Siddiq...who was born Rachel Jacobs into Bombay's Bene Israel community. Unknown to me, as well as to many other people, India has had a strong Jewish history, its Bene Israel members believe themselves to be one of the lost tribes of Israel. They trace their history back to a shipwreck on the Konkan coast more than 2000 years ago. Shepard grows with three traditions: Christian, Muslim and Jewish. Her promise to her grandmother, funded by a Fulbright scholarship, takes her to India to discover her Jewish roots. What she finds both surprises and confuses her; that of a people she has known very little about. In them, she finds a missing part of herself.

Like many of us, Sadia Shepard feels torn between several traditions. During her time in India and Pakistan, Shepard experiences the characterization of people who know their own boundaries. As a woman with multiple points of heritage, she attempts to discover her own boundaries...where she begins and where she ends. She is continually encouraged to pick one tradition and to find the niche in which she fits. As an American, the Indians she meets automatically assume she is in their country to visit an Ashram or to go on a yoga retreat. As a woman making contact with the Jewish community, she's assumed to be a practicing Jew. Shepard's Muslim relatives always believe she is looking for a Pakistani husband. Others assume she must be Christian because of her last name. Shepard's seeking voyage takes her not only to places all over southern Asia to discover her own roots, as well as the roots of the Bene Israel community, but it also becomes a journey within...as she tries to find out who she truly is. As she writes, "I never really felt at home in one place or the other, and yet I'm both American and Pakistani; Muslim and other." Shepard finds herself to be welcomed by all of these communities of which she is a part, and yet, feels unbearably different from each of them.

How often do we all feel this way? How many times have we felt both at home, in our own skins, and yet separate and different from those around us? What makes us feel at home in one

community, and what makes us feel contradictory? These feelings may not even have to do with religion or the cultural backgrounds of our ancestors. We may feel complex and conflicting emotions surrounding our political leanings, our life choices or the decisions we had made. We may see our lives as separate and "other" from those around us, leaving us with a sense of not really 'belonging'. What do we need to do to find that recognition and conscious awareness of fitting in?

As human beings, we all want to find a way to fit in. In middle school, many of us insisted on wearing our hair a certain way, wearing specific clothes or wanting particular, desirable after-school activities. We wanted to be indistinguishable from those around us. As we grow up, we continue to search for meaningful connections with our peers, but we may be less likely to change who we are to find do so. We hope to find our special avocation, by reaching out to those with common interests, common beliefs and common goals. We join book groups, churches, clubs and political parties. We volunteer for worthwhile organizations. We attempt to make sense of our own presence in the world by connecting with others. This might well bring us full circle to lead us back to the roots of our childhood. Or, it may well take us in a completely new direction...to find meaningful bonds outside of a life may find lacking. Like Sadia Shepard, this search may lead us on a physical journey, to visit the native places of our ancestors. Or, these travels might spur us on to discover like minded people in other parts of the country. We feel a dramatic pull towards being with people who resemble us or may believe in similar ideals. Instead of changing who we are in order to fit in, we may try to discern where we can go, to find people with whom we find harmonious traits.

What if we haven't a clue about to who we are, before we begin the search? We begin by trying new things, by rediscovering the traditions of our childhood and by investigating the world around us. We can start reading books written by people who come from backgrounds similar

to our own, as well as those who come from vastly different traditions. We can take classes involving new experiences, as well as talking to family members about the activities we did in the past. We can blend the excitement of learning a new skill, folded in with recipes from our youth. We can look through photo albums, remembering the places we went and things we liked to do when we were young. We can share those very spots and traditions with our children, with our friends and with our spouses. We can cook them the foods we loved when we were younger, and share the memories we have with them. In sharing what we already know about ourselves, we may find that we discover hidden truths, hidden meanings and hidden experiences we can only recapture by experiencing them with others...especially those who care about us. In the process, new insights will find us. When these shared experiences lead to questions and conversations, we will be discover entire parts within us that have laid dormant and buried.

C.S Lewis wrote,"Friendship is born at the moment when one person says to another: 'What! You too? I thought I was the only one!". As we find ourselves on the journey of self-discovery, we may just find kindred spirits....people with whom we share a great deal of ourselves. What we may also uncover are the keys to unlocking our sense of belonging...but we will all find that, until we are truly comfortable with who we are now, with where we have been and with where we are going, those keys will be harder to discover. When we reach the point of comfort within ourselves, we may just find that we do belong in many different places...and we can feel equally comfortable in each one.

And, we may also discover, that the journey is a lot more fun when we include others.

New Beginnings

You can teach a student a lesson for a day; but if you can teach him to learn by creating curiosity, he will continue the learning process as long as he lives. ~Clay P. Bedford


There is something about the first day of school that feels like a holiday! The new backpacks, new lunchboxes, new notebooks, new back to school outfit, and new teachers in a new grade are all cause for anticipation and celebration. The excitement of being a year older, a year wiser and a year more prepared, mix in with the feelings of the sense of freshness to the school year ahead. There is an essence of anything being possible, when you start a new school year. I remember coming back to school, after summers away, and seeing how my classmates had reinvented their styles over the summer, or had grown a foot in height or had become far more (or less) serious about their schoolwork. I also recall being the new kid at school, far too many times, and having butterlies in my stomach the size of pterodactyls, wondering if I'd be accepted by the 'ruling establishment'. With that sense of excited expectation also comes that sense of dreaded horrors that just might lie in wait; a bitter teacher, a vicious clique or a principal hell bent on 'sending a message'. There is the wonder of a new school year, but there is also the fear of the unknown dangers, both academic and social, that lie ahead.


I have been both fortunate, and deeply unfortunate, in my teachers over the years. I have had those teachers who inspired me to be the woman I was destined to become. These men and women encouraged me in my strengths, and helped me to shore up my weaknesses. Unfortunately, I also had those who ruled their classrooms like Himler ruled the SS. These teachers accused students of being unprepared, insisted on catching us off guard and wanted to entrap us with adding material on tests not included in class or regular readings. They did, however, inform their "favorite" students of these surprise elements. These teachers inspired a lack of trust amongst the children in the classroom, as well as damaging a great deal of my self-esteem that took years to overcome. The fascinating point to me, now, is how dramatically the despicable teachers affected me, and seemed to have longer lasting effects than the good teachers did. Even during my yoga teacher training, I had a bizarre mixture of beautifully giving, methodical, intentional instructors and nasty, self-absorbed ones. It amazed me that anyone teaching yoga would be not only hurtfully critical, but downright mean. Why is that? Why do we still bear the scars of poor teaching more than we appreciate the inspiration of good teaching?



Having been on both sides of this issue, as a classroom teacher, a Director of Education, and now a yoga instructor, I can fully understand the demands placed on teachers, as well as the uncertainties faced by students. One of the wonderful aspects to working in yoga is the concept of being a lifelong learner. The classes I teach each week are not my only classes. I also take class, as a student, at least once a week, from a master teacher. I see my job as a teacher as that of individual facilitator. I do have lessons to teach that I have prepared for the entire class. But, I also see that I need to learn from my students; I need to learn what their needs are, how I can best assist them and how I can become a better teacher for their understanding. As a student myself, I appreciate that I do not "know it all". No matter how long I have been studying, there are always new ideas, new steps, and even new beginnings. My job, as a student, is to listen, to ask questions, to try and to keep coming back for more instruction. Teaching and learning are not as different as many people believe. The best teachers are those who continue to strive for inspiration in their own lives, and that the best students are those who are willing to ask questions to help their own learning process.

As my own children begin their senior and sophomore years in high school, it's my goal to be their advocate in the learning process. They are now old enough to be empowered in their educational experience, and yet, there are times they may both need a cheerleader, an interceder or an impartial view on a subject. I hope to instill in them a desire to learn...and a method of achieving that, even from teachers with whom they may not connect. I want to teach them the balance between school work and real life educations. I also want to show them that, even at my vast age, I never stop engaging in the learning process. The first day of school can be a tremendous boost to overcoming bad habits or to help begin positive traits. As for our family, it's my hope that each one of us can keep that first day excitement alive until June.

I just wish they would let me dress them in matching outfits to take their picture. Some life experiences are just outgrown.

Running...sort of..

Despite the fact that I'm a Yoga instructor for my work, I am not an athlete. If anything, I'm the anti-athlete. I lack the basic coordination to put one foot in front of the other in the most routine of manners. I fall easily, usually tripping over objects invisible to everyone but me. On my first date with my husband, I even tripped down a flight of stairs. I'm positive he had no idea the level of klutziness he was getting himself into for the rest of his life. Yoga has been an incredible blessing for me, not only because it has given me a sense of where my heart is, and what it can accomplish, but also a deep appreciation of body awareness. I still have a hard time navigating terrain that's anything more challenging than a manicured path, but at least I'm aware of body positioning in a way I'd never experienced previously.

However, after my serious illness in October 2007, in which both of my lungs collapsed and my heart filled with fluid, I found I had to explore new ways to improve my lung strength. My yoga practice was instrumental in my recovery, and I'm profoundly grateful for that. Still, I needed to regain lung capacity that I'd lost. Walking was not strenuous enough, and so, for the first time in my life, I've begun running. I have to admit that it's been an illuminating experience for me. In the past, I'd watch runners jog by and think, "Aren't they amazing?". This was usually followed by the sentiment of "Thank goodness that's not me", as I'd think about a glass of Pinot Grigio and a big piece of sourdough bread. I had never been a runner and never wanted to be a runner. But, in order to regain my ability to breathe properly I had to become that which I'd disparaged.

I've learned two things about running: 1) That it's not an easy as it looks, and 2) That it's not as hard as it looks. These opposing sentiments probably make complete sense to an experienced runner. When I began running, I started off running, unintentionally, just like Phoebe, from "Friends", in that infamous episode in which she runs just like a wild five year old on a playground. I'll never forget her words of “I run like I did when I was a kid because that’s the only way it’s fun. Didn’t you ever run so fast that you thought your legs were going to fall off?”. While it wasn't pretty, it was the only way to get me moving, initially. I had to let go of all preconceived notions I'd had about what runners looked like, or I'd never begin my laps around the track. I had to let go of thinking of running as hard work, and just begin to think of it as 'fun' in a kindergarten sort of way. My teenage daughter made running playlists for me and I would sing along to the Black Eyed Peas while running with wild abandon. My lungs ached almost immediately. Yet, the joy of moving and being ridiculous, singing "My Humps", as I jogged, helped me to get over me self-consciousness, as well as my initial, painful lung expansion.

After weeks of this, my husband, a long time runner, became concerned about my pulling muscles....and I'm sure, about what the rest of our town probably thought of my 'style'. He helped me correct my running step, stride by stride. I learned to run heel-toe, rather than on top of my toes the whole time. This helped me to run further, and also got rid of those pesky shin splints. I had to learn the scientific mechanics of running properly. This was much harder than I'd anticipated for a motion that should be 'natural'. I broke down every centimeter of movement to maximize my stride, to minimize injury and to continue to grow in my goal of increasing lung capacity. I began timing myself to push further. After all, if I can run for longer periods, then I can strengthen my lungs further. I learned to self-analyze my running motion and to be aware of each step.

At this point, my old hostility towards running returned. I began to resent it. It seemed to be too harsh, too analytical and too limiting. I began feeling envious of those runners who seemed so effortless and, yet powerful, with every stride. I had evil daydreams of tripping the perfect, sweatless runners as they passed me. I realized that once my critical nature set in, it was only a matter of time before I quit altogether. So, I've found a happy medium. I still sing hip hop songs to myself (most of the time) when I run, but I am not quite as worried about how far I go or how long. As long as I feel my lungs working, and my legs cooperating, I realized that I was doing just fine. I began to take time to just be in the moment and let go of the 'hard' part, while still taking a bit more seriously the 'easy part'.

What is it in your own life that represents something you would rather not do? Is there a challenge you are facing that could be made better by starting something new? If so, think about beginning as simply as possible. You don't need to be perfect: at cooking, at learning a computer skill or at starting a new activity. Keep all of your focus exclusively on enjoying the chaos of beginnings. Treat your new project as a kindergartner would: with reckless abandon and joy. If you make a mess? Who cares? Just get into your new adventure with the spirit of childhood to motivate you forward.

Once you have become comfortable in your new "place", there will always be time to add in finishing skills, if you choose. You can learn to tweak your new project and improve it slowly. But, trying to begin 'perfectly' in almost medium is a set up for failure. You need to ignite the fun before you can fine tune the mechanics.

And, if your neighbors stare? Let them. Give them something to think about when they're busy *not* starting a new endeavor. And smile!