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.

Lost

"Not until we are lost do we begin to understand ourselves." - Henry David Thoreau

Not long ago, I wrote a piece about my favorite college professor, Dr. Lichtenstein. In "Lessons in Writing and Living" , I explored my memories of an extraordinary teacher, who had a profound effect on my life. Alice Lichtenstein taught me to be the writer I hope I'm still growing into becoming. Additionally, she inspired me with life lessons, to continually look forward while remaining grounded in the present moment, and to always listen to my voice, as a woman and as a writer. Serendipity has had an amazing role in my life this past week. Not only was I able to rediscover Dr. Lichtenstein through her newest novel, but as I read it, I found that I heard her voice speaking to me just as clearly as she had in the classroom at both Wheaton College and Boston University. It's not often that a writer can achieve a highly complex, fascinating and profoundly moving work. It's even more complicated to remain true to one's inner voice, one's philosophy and one's belief system while writing fiction. Dr. Lichtenstein has done just that with "Lost: A Novel".

The novel's plot is the search for a college professor's elderly husband, who wandered off, lost in his dementia. Hindering the search is inclement upstate New York winter weather, and being surrounding by heavily wooded areas. Masterfully interwoven with the search process, the protagonist, Dr. Susan Hunsinger, are the lives the search and rescue coordinator, Jeff Herdman, as well as Corey, a troubled preteen boy whose path crosses the lives of Susan, her husband, Christopher and Jeff. The narrative is intense, the prose brave. What begins as the search for the lost Christopher Hunsinger translates to a much larger picture; each one of the characters is lost, but the elder Hunsinger's journey is the literal one that can be measured, documented and resolved. For the rest of the characters, not only the main ones, but each one dancing on the periphery of the story, must find his, or her, own path in the world. As the novel reaches its bitter, poignant and palpable conclusion, the reader is left learning how lost each of the characters truly has been. Each one may not have been navigating the frigid forest, but may have been floundering in relationships, guilt, uncertainty and each one may not have seen the light beckoning them forward...towards a place of warmth, understanding and answers.

Hearing Dr. Lichtenstein's voice in her work challenged me in many ways. I began to ask myself the hard questions; "How am I lost?", "What am I missing?", "What do I truly need?" and most importantly, "What am I wandering towards?". At every junction in our lives, we find ourselves in places, in situations and in circumstances we never envisioned. Some of these aimless wanderings turn out to be exceptionally fortuitous. Others tend to sneak up on us. I may think I know where I am, where I'm going and what my intentions are, and may still flounder about, lacking even the most rudimentary clue as to where I'm meant to be. I feel as if I've set out on one journey, map in hand, directions well written and necessary supplies packed. Yet, when I arrive at my destination, I realize that I was heading the wrong way the entire time...and certainly had brought the wrong provisions. I tend to stumble through life, absolutely confident in my steps, until I discover I've managed to bungle the very trip itself. It's both humbling and troubling.

Yet, without realizing that I'm off course, there isn't any way to make course corrections. My GPS (or built in navigation system) in my car has changed my life. Born with a severe handicap of inability to properly read maps or follow directions based on anything other than landmarks, driving has always been an adventure for me. My GPS now tells me how to get where I'm going. However, if I take a detour, it corrects my course based on side trip I've made. Instead of asking me to backtrack and go back the way I came, my mechanical voiced co-pilot lets me know the 'new way' of finding my destination. I love her. I do yell at her, when I'm alone in the car, when she tells me to make U-turns (legally, of course), but overall, she's been a great asset to my many trips around New England...and even cross country, between Arizona and Maine. I realize how much easier my life would be if I had a GPS to guide me through my decision making processes. How helpful it would feel to know that there's a machine that has my back, who is going to politely correct me when I go off course, and who only has my safe and timely arrival as her mission!

Since none of us come with Tom-Toms or Garmins built into our psyche, the best we can do, when we realize how woefully lost we are, is to stop right where we are. If we're physically lost in the woods, rescue workers always say to stay put initially. We may have had a nagging suspicion that the direction we're heading in life is leading to a dead end. We may also begin to get that gut level feeling that we're just not doing the right thing. Rather than race further down the wrong path, we need to come to a complete stop. We need to evaluate where we are, what we're doing and most of all, what we want to be doing. We need to talk with our family and friends and, without overloading them with drama, get their impressions. Those who know us, and love us, are best qualified to act as our navigation system, when we are sure we've gone too far into the woods. Listen with an open heart and an open mind. Pray. Journal. Try new experiences. And, then, when you're ready, set that new course, knowing that you're on track once again.

We can't always prevent ourselves from losing our way. Sometimes getting lost is part of the journey itself, even if we can't see the lessons immediately. What we can do, however, is to allow ourselves to be found.

Slowing Life Down...

Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop to look around once in a while you could miss it. ~From the movie Ferris Bueller's Day Off

A far too common theme, among people in the western world, is how quickly life appears to move. In the blink of an eye, we move on from high school, race through college, twirl through young adulthood, blur our way through parenthood and find ourselves in middle age, dazed at how half a lifetime could have transpired. There are days in which I feel as if I fell asleep a carefree college student, and woke up with wrinkles. An entire existence has continued while I've been busy loading the dishwasher, taking the dogs to the vet, attending Parent-Teacher conferences and folding laundry. Great works of art have been created, new scientific theories have been proven true and astonishing events in history have all manifested, while I've raced from one school pick to the next, dropped off one child at ballet and the other at hockey and cooked an everlasting number of dinners. When I have spoken with my friends, I know that I'm not alone. This sense of almost dream-like frantic movement is the cultural norm. We all want to slow down to appreciate the little things in life more, but we can't, because we're late for a Little League board meeting.

And yet, there are constantly images and ideas being thrown at us about how to be even more productive with our time. As if life isn't darting away rapidly already, we are told to "Multi-task" more efficiently and to employ strategic "time management" philosophies. Books with titles like "101 Ways to Make Every Second Count", "The Successful Time Manager" and "Measuring Time, Improving Performance" are everywhere. Articles on the topic are in all types of periodicals; from "Parenting" to the Wall Street Journal. Classes abound at community colleges on Time Management, aimed at students of all ages. Though each one has good ideas about not wasting time, I find the plethora of information about time management to be overwhelming...and if I'm being completely honest, going through all of them would be a colossal time waster. While I'm certain that I could pack even more onto the house of cards I call my schedule, the question is, do I really want to? Will I enjoy life more, if I'm finally able to fit in learning Russian, redecorating my house in Feng Shui principles and taking watercolor painting classes?

I have enormous respect for people that really can do it all. They seem to juggle parenting, marriage, fascinating career, exceptional volunteer work, time for self-improvement, fitness, housework and travel. It leaves me feeling embarrassed about how little I'm able to manage. But, rather than try to add more to my 'load', I've made a conscious decision to add less. Why? As much as I'd love to be, I seem to spread myself too thin when I take on too many projects. As worthwhile and as important as these might seem to be, I find that just adding that one extra ball to my juggling hands, can lead to my dropping the entire contingent. So, instead of judging myself harshly about what I have not been able to do, I am making a choice to give all of my focus and attention on each moment as it comes. Some people have the enviable gift of being able to intentionally focus on a huge variety of projects all at once. Others can only manage one or two. I believe that we need to look inside ourselves, find out where we can best spend our energies, and then give those items the attention they deserve by not looking too far ahead to the next bit to be ticked off our to-do list. By slowing down our thoughts, by focusing on each piece of our day, by breathing deeply in the moment, we can appreciate each one as it comes...rather than let it whip past us in a hurricane.

Buddhist monk, poet, teacher and philosopher Thich Nhat Hanh wrote, "By being aware of your actions, you can enjoy your life while you make tea, or while you wash the dishes. All of this means that you can stop running after things which you think will make you happy. By being aware of what you already have–and of the beauty that surrounds you–you can be happy right here, right now." I find this attitude to be refreshing and inspiring. Dr. Hanh isn't exhorting us to give up the life that we have to move into seclusion. Nor, is he instilling the need to scale back. He's simply reminding us to appreciate the life we've been given. Whether we're folding laundry, cheering on our kids at a tennis match or offering input in a conference, we have the ability to slow down. We can create a quiet inner sense of peace, regardless of what we're doing. How do we do this? By just realizing that moments are here. They are present. They are now. They can be appreciated.

None of this is new or ground breaking. Mindful living doesn't mean doing "without". It simply is a method of allowing our focus to shift from "out" to "in". It won't turn back the hands of time. It will not keep the calendar from moving ahead to the next month. But it will give us a tool that, unlike the books designed to teach us to cram even more into our lives, has the intention of helping us appreciate the uniqueness of our day to day existence. When we feel that gratitude...by simply living in the 'now', instead of checking our watches every five minutes....we can make every moment count. At the very least, we have the ability to enjoy the gift of the time we have.

So, breathe. Close your eyes. Open them. Take in your surroundings. Find the beauty in this specific moment. And, know you are here right now...use that time to cherish the important things.