i defining i: health

Showing posts with label health. Show all posts

December 3, 2015

pause (v.)

[Disclaimer: Not for the faint of heart. This one's really all over the place...]

If I’ve learned anything from not working for a month (for the first time in five years....) is that time moves much more slowly when unemployed - and that working, whether you love it or not, speeds things up. The fact that it took me a pause from work, the not doing of anything to ponder what exactly it is that I am doing, made me look this one up. Interestingly enough, the verb itself "to pause" came from the noun:

pause (v.) mid-15c., from pause (n.) and from Middle French pauser, from Late Latin pausare "to halt, cease, pause," ultimately from Late Latin pausa.

The experience of a hiatus encourages reflection and inspired in me more effort to continue pausing and reflecting, even while incredibly busied with adapting to a new life here in London.

hiatus (n.) 1560s, "break or opening" in a material object, from Latin hiare, "to gape, stand open," from PIE root *ghai- "to yawn, gape. "Sense of "gap or interruption in events, etc."

All of this thinking has come at a time when I spend quite a bit of time talking to people here about their work. While I'm navigating my job search and making contacts, I'm balancing it with enjoying the time I have to not have to be anywhere; but I know that finding work is essential, and on more days than you'd think, I envy those who have somewhere to be (especially with work Christmas party season on the horizon). But, I also hear many Londoners complain about “working long hours” a lot. On this subject, I’ll wax poetic for a bit. (Oh yes, I am in a position to speak about employment in a city I just moved to and am not working in yet...)

People everywhere complain a lot about work - particularly those working in environments and structures they don’t agree with. Walking through the financial core of London the other day made me reflect on some tragedy of the human condition - our urge to climb, to have, to get elsewhere only to find that ‘the top of the world’ isn’t really the top. It may be more about depth, I think.

The only way to combat the pity I feel for those who overwork themselves, often to the detriment of their health (we hear the Wall Street stories and suicide rates in corporate climbing...) is to think their work is their choice. But I do also wonder how voluntary it is. From afar, it may appear like a glass cage, a cubicle trap; but from the inside, you adapt. We are creatures of habit after all. And creatures of survival.

These characteristics coupled can quickly turn one small decision into a big life change. Days turn into long hard hours, which can quickly turn into a long hard life. And the way to keep that from happening is gaping things open a bit and becoming more reflective - pausing, even if for a moment, to become more mindful.

Judging from conversations with new friends here when speaking about their work and office cultures, I wonder about that; I wonder how many people reflect on what they are spending their long hours (or any hours) doing and what it’s all really for; what it’s really worth. Do all the rules make sense (must a lunch hour be only between 12-1?…How much do grandfathered-in policies actually improve productivity? What is my paycheque going towards? - and I won’t get into politics of where our taxes go here.)

Do we pose the questions necessary to derive meaning from the things we think we want and have to work for? Or do we avoid it because we fear it will unravel the puzzle and start asking us about our needs?

puzzle (v.) 1590s, pusle "bewilder, confound," possibly frequentative of pose (v.) from Old French poser "put, place, propose," a term in debating, from Late Latin pausare "to halt, rest, cease, pause."

I am no expert in the psychology of the workplace, but I have read research on how happiness is the ultimate motivator. The bottom line is that happiness boost the bottom line, which regardless of how we actually feel about the systems in place, if we can find joy in our work somehow, it's a win-win for everyone.

(I'm making assumptions here and know I come from a place of privilege; it's a luxury in a way to be able to pause and appreciate one's work relative to the rest of the world. Not all work can be a easily enjoyed, but I do think it can be done with integrity and this increases its value and one's appreciation of it.)

For those of us in the same corner from which I speak, those of us privileged with opportunity and more choices than most, why do many of us still complain?

Don’t be mistaken in thinking I have qualms about working hard. Contributing to the activity of culture and society is important in our self-establishment in the world. Work is a remedy to the symptoms of the alternative, (like existential nihilism (!) or chaos, which isn’t sustainable on an individual or a social level).

chaos (n.) late 14c., "gaping void," from Greek khaos "abyss, that which gapes wide open, is vast and empty," from *khnwos, from PIE root *gheu- "to gape, yawn."
(Also, meaning "utter confusion" (c. 1600), extended from theological use of chaos for "the void at the beginning of creation" in Vulgate version of Genesis (1530s in English). The Greek for "disorder" was tarakhe, however the use of chaos here was rooted in Hesiod ("Theogony"), who describes khaos as the primeval emptiness of the Universe, and in Ovid ("Metamorphoses"), who opposes Khaos to Kosmos, "the ordered Universe.")

And it’s not just about money. Whatever the work (tending a garden or tending a hedge fund), it is in our pursuit of activity, of experience, of doing more, living more so we don't get bored, and ultimately, of survival - in spirit and body. I think, we forget this all too often.

And don’t get me wrong; long hours can be good; and there’s nothing wrong with dedicating your entire life to work either. So long as you reflect on it and do make it a conscious choice. Without that I think it’s hard to derive enough ~~happine~~ joy from work. It may also give you the impetus to, at the very least, complain less and be a more positive energy in the world - and make other people’s work better. To all those who complain about their work without seeing what else it makes possible for them, to those in positions of power who ignore the potential for positive change in their office cultures to make them more...dare I say, human, and to those who just mindlessly don’t care much....I urge you to be more mindful about it.

And for those who do think and work mindfully and ask the tough questions, is the answer you come up with something you can truly live with? Can it stand the true test of time, all those long hours...and the many more that await us?

(yah this post is so nutty that I even have a poem)

We are all trapped by whatever life we live - this is a reality;
Whether we be bankers or bonkers
or hipsters or hippies
or immigrants or ignorants,
Madonnas or Marys,
or teachers or preachers or any kind of creatures….
We are all puzzle pieces, I think.

In order to fit in, each of us must conjoin with the other puzzle pieces around to form a picture, a whole, something that makes sense from some wider perspective.

Are you doing that? I don’t mean, fitting in; we all do that; I mean actually looking at what it is that you are creating when finding your trap and living in it?

trap (n.) "contrivance for catching unawares"

It doesn’t matter what it is; it can be any box, but don’t get caught up in someone else’s wrapping and bows, otherwise you may find your long hours will wrap up quick and you’ll bow down to your own mortality with a buyer’s remorse; regret. A puzzling picture of what your life became instead of what you made it be but taking the time to....pause and reflect and become more aware.

August 8, 2015

deprivation (n.) My first floating experience

After rolling out my thoughts in my last post about my meditative practice of "wallowing by walking" (i.e. indulging in thoughts about my personal drama with scenic backdrop so as to stay a sane citizen), I realize much of this thinking came not only from one of my walks, but from the effects of my first "float" in a sensory deprivation chamber. Sounds scary. And it was - at least, until I floated.

My First Floating Experience

I climbed into the tank and shut the door with quite a bit of enthusiasm and excitement given a chance to lie in quiet for 90 minutes. I didn't realize though how claustrophobic I would feel - and not necessarily as a result of being shut inside a tank of saline water in complete darkness.

deprive (v.) mid-14c., from Old French depriver, from Medieval Latin deprivare, from Latin de- "entirely" (see de-) + privare "release from".

Deprived of my senses, I became much more aware of not only my thoughts, but also where they resided - inside an equally dark and claustrophobic place: My mind. The real claustrophobia arose from the trapped sense I felt from being inside my head with nowhere to go.

Losing sight and sound meant losing sense of space and time, two things that give us evidence of our existence. "I am here and I am now." Except without outside markers and stimuli to orient me, I became the compass; the "here" and the "now" became much more... conceptually tangible in a sense. In floating physically, my body melted into its surroundings and I became numb to it (a bit of an oxymoron maybe). I instead became, simply, a floating series of thoughts. Completely released of my body and the physical world and its stories, I was left with myself, with memory as my only guide back to my identity.

private (adj.) late 14c., "not shared, individual; not open to the public;" from Latin privatus "set apart, belonging to oneself (not to the state), peculiar, personal;" past participle of privare "to separate, deprive," from privus "one's own, individual," fro *prai-, *prei-, from root *per- "forward, through."

Once the memories gave way to streams of consciousness and dissociative thoughts, I was in a trance. What's odd is that while never having ever felt more inside myself and aware of "me," I also never felt more incognizant of myself. The instant that I lost a sense of my body, in retrospect, I think was the instant I fell into a trance and forgot about myself. Or perhaps I was just paralyzed from fear...

trance (n.) late 14c., "state of extreme dread or suspense," also "a half-conscious or insensible condition, state of insensibility to mundane things," from Old French transe "fear of coming evil," originally "coma, passage from life to death" (12c.), from transir "be numb with fear," originally "die, pass on," from Latin transire "cross over" (see transient).

Perhaps it was the most privacy I've ever felt - because for a time, I couldn't even access myself. Time just moved without me for some time (ha!), until my internal clock woke me in the darkness, just moments before the sounding of the music that marked the end of my 90-minute session.

It's a fleeting condition this utter privacy and separateness from a world that does its best to help us take root. Perhaps we cross over to some place beyond the curtain in these kind of mindfull moments, but we can't stay there. Something inside wakes us up.

transient (adj.)c. 1600, "transitory, not durable," from Latin transientem "passing over or away," from trans- "across" + ire "to go" (see ion (n.) - 1834, coined by chemist Michael Faraday, from Greek neuter present participle of ienai "go, walk." So called because ions move toward the electrode of opposite charge.)

I've written about my tension between the observed life and the performed life. I now wonder if this tension is a function of our movement along a continuum: between sensory deprivation and sensory overload. Always moving between the outside and our inside, thoughts never stopping blood always pumping, we perpetually move between two opposites in a helpless effort to reconcile what I am tempted to just call magic.

magic (n.) late 14c., "art of influencing events and producing marvels using hidden natural forces;" from Old Persian magush, "to be able, to have power" (see machine (n.)- Middle French c. 1540s, "structure of any kind")

We're part of some kind of machine, that's for sure, and one that isn't necessarily physical; it's floating out there somewhere, too, just like us. Maybe if we release ourselves from always wanting to control everything, we'd better tap into the flow and let it take care of us, guide us in our walks and better navigate this general conundrum as we continue floating around...

float (v.) from *flot-, extended form of root *pleu- "to flow" from pluvial, from Greek plein "to navigate."

March 24, 2015

gratitude (n., v.)

It's about time I dedicated an entry to something that's kept me afloat many a time when I was sinking. And while it is in fact a noun, I've decided to post this entry as a verb (actually, an imperative verb, or noun + auxiliary verb, to get technical here for you), so as to invite you (heck, command you!) to.. have gratitude.

In the new year, I started a gratitude journal in an effort to give myself a time and place to capture the moments in my life - however trivial - that are simply good. A recognition of signs that the universe is looking out for me; a prompt, which over time may change negative thought patterns: Despite the ebb that may sometimes leave me gasping for air, my gratitude journal serves as a nightly reminder that there's still a flow that keeps me going in the right direction. On many a sleepless night when I'm fixated on something that's bothering me, it undulates me back to a place where I realize that there is more justice in life than we care to notice sometimes.

And if we can remember to be grateful that we're alive, life does become fair.

Sometimes it is by way of force that I jot down three things I am thankful for. And in doing so - by articulating this on paper - I prove to myself that despite my very grave, "serious" outlook of that moment, I can still discern the good within the bad; and not always let darker, duller moments overpower the brightness that, like many of us, I too often forget is always there to fuel me if I am prepared to tap into it.

Bear with me as I take you through a sort of "chain of command" if you will, a set of definitions that will hopefully inspire you to find gratitude more often. After some digging into etymology, I discovered an intricate string of words that, as a whole, really exemplify the benefit of being grateful:

grateful (adj.) "pleasing to the mind," also "full of gratitude," from obsolete adj. grate "agreeable, thankful," from Latin gratus "pleasing" (see grace (n.))

So first and foremost, take that moment and search for the good - I promise you'll find it, and it'll feel great.

grace (n.) "God's favor or help," from Old French grace "pardon, divine grace, mercy; favor, thanks; elegance, virtue" (12c.), from Latin gratia "favor, esteem, regard; pleasing quality, good will, gratitude"

In doing so, you'll see the universe is giving you a lot of freebies - things you may be getting gratis, without directly working for it or deserving it, but that help to balance out the whole. Things do have a way of working out and sometimes in surprisingly elegant ways.

gratis (adv.) "for nothing, freely," from Latin gratis, "for thanks"

And when you get something, it's only fair to, at the very least, say thank you in return:

thanks (n.) The Old English noun originally and chiefly meant "thought, reflection, sentiment; mind, will, purpose;" also "grace, mercy, pardon; pleasure, satisfaction."

And there you come full circle, feeling even better having reflected on the many assets in your life you may not always be logging in your emotional balance sheet. When there's a will to be happy, there is a way to be happy, and that way my friends is by having gratitude.

So what am I thankful for tonight?

1. For my friend getting pulled over on Saturday and getting a ticket for running a red light (sorry Mira, but bear with me!) It was a wake up call for us to drive safer, gratefully knowing that in her moment of indiscretion, nothing major came of it that a relatively small payment couldn't solve. Problems that money can solve aren't really great problems - unless you keep making the same mistake until it really costs you.

2. For having an income. The world doesn't revolve around money, but it does make the world go 'round, especially when you can pay a ticket and fill your gas tank without guilt and 'treat yo self' to a day up at Whistler's Scandinave spa. (And you realize the price of your sanity! I highly recommend this relatively small inve$tment that for me was one very effective way to give myself permission to shut my phone off and meditate in silence, read and just be, for an entire 5-hour afternoon.)

3. And those times when the 'tab' really just settles itself. My car got towed a few Saturdays ago when I forgot to move it because I decided to walk home one evening. The night was beautiful and I just wanted to take my time and forgot all about the sign that instructed I move it by Sunday morning. I woke up the next day to find it towed. Rather than fretting over $130, I actually felt worse about the fact that I was supposed to help my friend move that morning and was now without a vehicle. The move went fine in the end, and believe or not, within 24 hours, I recouped my money: I won a signed Canucks jersey at an event the next night that sold on craigslist - for yes, you guessed it, a best offer of $130. I didn't negotiate up despite the jersey's higher value as this was my thank you nod to the universe. And that Valentine's Day walk home that night? Worth even more to me because I have such fond memories of it.

(4.) Thanks for the reading (and to my friend Jason for inspiring me to b(log) this idea)!

March 15, 2015

spontaneous (adj.)

Always

For those who know me, know me to be a pretty "busy" person. My calendar is usually packed at least a week ahead, filled with a mix of work and play, exercise, friends, family, chores, extracurriculars (because those still exist even when you work a 9-5 right?), etc. Me-time, and you-time, and us-time. It's all in there.

Those who know me better, know why I don't love the word "busy." It makes it seem like I'm not enjoying it, like I haven't made enough time for other (read: better, more important) things; as though I haven't chosen any of it. But, I truly believe that what we make time for should be what we believe in. And I think my OCD planning gets me living true to that for the most part.

My calendar fuels me; it sets me in motion - whatever my pace - making me feel safe in the comfort of the rails of my plan, moving steadily forward with stops along the way. Sometimes it's a short visit, sometimes an extended stay; and sometimes it can be just a brief glance out the window; but nonetheless, I anticipate it in some way.

I even leave room for "spontaneity" by clearing my calendar! I guess you could say, I plan for the unexpected. I don't jump out of the train very often, but when I do, I've mentally prepared to leave that as an option. Some would say this nullifies the spontaneity, as you shouldn't really "plan" to be spontaneous, but I beg to differ. In some ways, I think I'm always acting spontaneously - and this kind of proves it:

spontaneous (adj.)

1650s, "occurring without external stimulus," from Late Latin "willing, of one's free will"

We should always strive to be driven by choice. (I posit the 1650s addition had more to do with ((psuedo-)science than philosophy).

I can't doing something 'out of the blue' without being inspired, moved, or propelled by an outside source, something external to you that made you change your course. And ideally, we should always be taking in the world to help us decide how to fit in it; mapping it out, then choosing a way. Sometimes we take the fork, and sometimes we take a knife to our plans and have to reconfigure the journey. But, in either case, we should be feasting on life with a hungry heart.

Sure, sometimes we may not want to be somewhere, or we'd rather be somewhere else; but in the end, we've still decided it to go about it that way; we've chosen a track and stuck to the course. If you're good at it, this shouldn't bother you.

Today

The day was like most other Saturdays, with a yoga class thrown in because I was feeling this "funky" feeling and wanted to, as one friend called it, "let yoga get the itchy feeling out!" I tricked myself into thinking power yoga would help me power through this feeling, and after a few hours of vegging out after class, I peeled myself off of my mom's couch and tried to force myself out; but it just didn't jive.

See, at the back of my mind, I didn't really plan to do anything tonight - or rather, I planned to do nothing. Yet, I wasn't comfortable with this idea of "staying in on a Saturday night." I let habit and this imaginary pressure get to me, not forgiving or excusing myself for not being in the mood for any of the otherwise fantastic options I feel grateful to have had tonight; perhaps a bit too melancholy for a night out, or a bit "socially-drained" after an epic and very stimulating night of square dancing the night before (more on this later), something about today had me a seeking seclusion for shelter.

For me, to function at my best, I need to prepare myself for what's coming so I can set myself in the right 'mode'. Tonight though, I totally failed at that. My "I-wanna-be-alone" trigger got muted by "it's Saturday night!" and I found myself standing at the bar about to meet my friends, begrudgingly wanting to escape back to my apartment. I derailed a bit, I guess you could say.

I initially thought I totally lamed out. After an awkward hello and goodbye with my friends (likely interpreted as rude or selfish unfortunately - sorry), I went home. To do nothing "on a Saturday." Until that is, I did something I didn't plan to: write. And now I'm back on course, and it feels allllllright.

And it's Sunday already.

March 11, 2015

mindfull (adj.)

Today I experienced/ participated in my first guided "Shamata" meditation, at the Shambalah Tibetan Buddhist meditation centre (they hold free weekly classes). I say "experienced" and "participated" because of my reluctance to decide on how active or passive this "doing" was: I came away having felt the unequivocal tension and paradox present in the practice of meditation:

Arriving, then letting go; putting in effort, but not trying too hard; concentrating on not concentrating. Being gentle, but disciplined.

The gap between quietude in body and in mind eventually shrunk - as I tried to quiet the bustle of sentience and reason that seems to come naturally to us as we go about the world. On the cushion, the stillness of body gave way to my mind to start filling the space with a more calm, less visceral being.

I tagged this post with the label "travel" because I really went somewhere. Meditation ventured me somewhere between sleep and wakefulness on all fronts: For those 7 (?) minutes, I oscillated between a deep - yet subtle - feeling of just "being" (for infinitesimally short periods of time that somehow felt long enough for me to remember them) and a shallow, blunt protrusion of the most trivial thoughts, like "my eyes are watery" or "I am going to fall asleep" that brought me back to my physical existence.

What I gathered from the talk that followed, was that neither place - whether in shallow existing or in deep being - is "bad"; the aim of meditation is to become aware of both, and of everything in between; in time, you learn to hold more space for reflection on all experience, affording you a chance to mindfully respond to life rather than to impulsively react. The first step is to hold more space for ourselves, so that ultimately there is more space for one another; with enough practice, and as this becomes more normative, we can all play a part in contributing to a world of ubiquitous kindness, acceptance, compassion, tolerance - as opposed to aggression, rejection, and self-consciousness (the harmful kind).

One line from the teacher that struck me was

see the body as a space to hold your mind.

This reminded me that the foundation of all our forms or expressions - whether physical, spiritual, intellectual, or emotional, are the acts of the mind - how we come to reflect on our being in the world is what drives our responses and reactions, which has a huge impact (and may arguably be the sole influence) on how we come to form our identity and how we relate to others in the physical world.

Another line that resonated was the instruction to

let your thoughts sit upon the breath, rather than to think through the breath.

To me, this simple notion of a thought just simply resting upon something, completely defines the act and aims of meditation. Just meditating on that spirals me closer toward that infinitesimal moment in time I experienced today and hope to tap into more often - of just being, and of being mindfull, not mindless.

“I cannot make you understand. I cannot make anyone understand what is happening inside me. I cannot even explain it to myself.”

*Disclaimer: I've long been curious in all sorts of philosophies, and spiritual practices (can you tell??), though I admit I've never taken to study any one kind or style at length nor in great detail; my authority to speak about meditation and mindfulness is solely based on my personal spiritual experience and my intermittent philosophical tinkering with a bit of informal everythings (or a whole lot of formalized nothing). So apologies if I've complicated, oversimplified, misnamed, misplaced, assumed, undermined or misused any terms, concepts, tenets, etc; I'm just rambling myself out of the absurdities and nausea of the existentialist's abyss following a relatively short stint into my subconscious. Thanks, and have a nice day!

December 13, 2014

integrity (n.)

Integrity. I hear this word often in yoga class when body alignment is concerned: Holding poses with integrity, pushing to a safe, healthy edge by being honest with what you're capable of or feeling so you can give your body a challenge without hurting yourself. Not being so worried about what it looks like from the outside but feeling it come from inside. Being able to look yourself in the eye in that mirror with the knowledge that you're giving it your all and your best while being good to yourself.

This is true in life, too. I try to remind myself of the importance of living with integrity, particularly when my thoughts get the best of me - when infinite options and worst-case-scenarios pollute my brain towards paralyzing indecision or confusion.

Dictionaries define integrity in three ways:

Steadfast adherence to a strict moral or ethical code.
The state of being unimpaired; soundness.
The quality of being whole or undivided; completeness.

I simply define it as living honestly.

Whatever it is, you gotta do it with integrity - whether it's sticking to your guns or giving up (you can give up with integrity as much as you can fight with integrity); it's about feeling certain in the decisions you make, or rather, as certain as possible (you can't help what you feel but you can help what you do about it). And you get there by being honest with yourself. And then you push that outwards so that it's reflected in your actions - so that you are being honest with those around you, so that you're living honestly.

It's hard getting clarity in this crazy world. How can we hope to navigate the hardships, irrationalities and challenges we face in life if we can't even own up to what's actually happening or how we feel about it? Without clarity, honesty, we risk muddling everything and living in a hazy limbo, which is not a good nor productive place to be.

Ask yourself the tough questions, don't leave holes, or turn a blind eye. Then act accordingly.

This reminds me of a conversation I had with a friend a few days ago. I talked out some stuff I was confused about with her and at the core of our conversation came out my truth - something I had not really solidified as the real answer when in conversations with myself. I learned then, that sometimes it takes talking to someone else for your truth to come out in plain view; it's there, but maybe you haven't owned it yet.

After all, the opposite of integrity is deceit.

It can be fairly easy to lie to yourself - or at least to waver on your stance about something - when it's in your head and you're your only audience. Sometimes talking it out with someone can actually help you judge the integrity of your own claims. You may not know you're being dishonest of course, but hearing your claims out in the open puts them under scrutiny - under your scrutiny.

And that takes grit [integrity - an etymological coincidence but I beg to differ) - it requires a certain strength of character, courage and resolve to be willing to hear the truth out loud. But it's so worth it. Because then you're aligned, living on your edge, and growing stronger with each new challenge - no longer just posing, but living and breathing it, just like in yoga.

May 2, 2014

injure (v.)

Back at the end of March, I decided to start training for the BMO half marathon. I had a good baseline to start from as I've always been a bit of a runner, my feet usually finding their way to the seawall for a 10K once a week, but I had never run quite that far. I was stoked and pretty exhilerated when I signed up - put some money down, gambling on my commitment to run 21km of hilly terrain, for my first-ever organized run.

I was off to a good start and gradually added kilometers to my training. I did do one (in hindsight, ambitious) big jump from about 12km, to 18km, but handled it pretty well. Woke up one Sunday and joined a friend with the Runner's World group and handled it with relative ease. Took it slow, and did it in just shy of two hours. That week, my foot started to hurt and I had to take a week or so off. I figured I'd regressed a bit, but wasn't too concerned - until a weird knee pain paid me a visit another two 10Ks later.

Late last week, I was still peg-legging up and down stairs and having a bit of a hard time comfortably walking (without that "icky-something's-up-with-my-kneecap" feeling). I took it easy this week and felt pretty good. Today, being Friday and the final countdown before the BMO, I decided to give it a go. Two kilometers later, I was done, icky feeling back and all. Came home for a glass of wine and an ice pack (pretty much what I'm doing right now).

It's not a coincidence that there's only a slight distinction between "injure" and "endure." What's interesting though is that I'm having an easier time enduring the injury itself than I am enduring the fact that I can't continue working towards my goal - and that in fact, I may have to just bow out altogether.

Ironically, "injury" comes from the Latin injuria, ‘a wrong,’ (from in-, expressing negation, + jur- ‘right.’). It couldn't be more right. That icky feeling is definitely a reaction to something being wrong with my body - feeling this dull, unnerving sort of pain (much like the disturbing feeling of a vaccination I had a couple of weeks ago).

But this injury also invokes the feeling of perpetuating a moral wrong - doing something that is in contention with my principles: Abandoning my goal by not running. The goals I set - and push to reach - stand for my attitude and character and I feel I must, at the very least, "show up and try."

These are the... enduries I'm injuring. I may have to just swallow my pride and sleep in on Sunday; lick my wounds (at least it's not an injured elbow!) and go to Julie's waffle brunch instead... Or, do I show up at the start line at 7am with the knowledge that I will likely abandon my goal just to know I showed up? Endure an ungodly wake-up-at-dawn morning....for the sake of my injured ego?

April 15, 2014

momentum (n.)

I literally hit a wall yesterday and with it I was hit with the understanding of the power of momentum - the beauty it can bring, as well as the damage it can do.

I've always strived to live in the moment; but I also like to reflect on each moment, so I can try to take something out of it - harness good vibes and energy from one moment on to the next to carry me towards something bigger (even if I don't know what it is); it gives moments even greater meaning, I guess. It's kind of like giving into the flow of things; reading your surroundings, the people around you, queues from the universe, and then channeling the energy from that into progress - productive things that make you experience, learn, grow. Even if it hurts.

The last year have been a strange ride for me. I fell into fall (sorry for the pun..) with a lot of momentum, starting things anew with a lot of energy to make some positive changes in my life. I ended a long-term relationship to the benefit of both of us, probably the most courageous thing I've done in a long time; I moved out, I helped my mom move, I travelled, and generally took time to do the things I had not had the energy to do before - experienced a lot for myself, with others, for others. Opened my heart and myself to new beginnings of all kinds. The new year pushed me along with such a beautiful momentum that brought me to do even more of that in the spring, opening up to new people, new experiences, improving myself, closing some chapters, digesting and healing, trying to make sense of the momentum of all of it. Just as I was moving along (even though with some difficulty and hard hits along the way), I hit a wall - literally - and the experience I had really has stopped me in my tracks. It sucks.

I haven't been at a standstill like this, both emotionally and physically in a long time. Usually when one goes, the other picks up the pace and moves me along to balance it out. Right now, I'm kind of just, in the moment but can't really focus or do anything with it but feel helpless and tired.

Yesterday, I went in to get my first shot of the HPV vaccine, a move to better my body. I walked out of the pharmacy (and over to the doctor's office) an utter physical mess, bruised, carpet-burned, emotional. I had passed out after the shot from an adrenaline reaction, falling head-first into the wall across me and then slammed my face into the floor. I blacked out for what the pharmacist believes was only a 3-4 seconds - but the thought process I had that I recall felt like I was out for hours. Talk about momentum - 70 pounds of my own body falling onto my own head; a bit hilarious, yet actually, tragic.

I awoke to the pharmacist speaking to me and I had no idea where I was. I had unexplained tears running down my face as I answered her two simple questions: my name and when my birthday is - I guess, the two main identifiers that we in fact exist - ha! Anyway, once I answered her (correctly, thankfully!) I landed back on earth and got a bearing on where I was and why I was there. It was utterly petrifying though - so many hormones running through my body, the confusion, the emotions, I just cried and yawned and shook for like 15 minutes trying to regain my full hearing and eyesight. It really hit me (pun..too easy) how resilient our bodies are, but also how weak.

Right now, I'm doing okay. My friend Jackie took me home - ensuring I didn't pass out on the bus (my blood pressure was hovering around 100/60). We sat on my lawn, then watched some Game of Thrones, and then I went to my mom's for some mama love and a long sleep (was told not to sleep alone in case I get dizzy or something). I awoke this morning to a slew of texts and messages from friends checking up on me after my 13-hour sleep. Their concern is great and really appreciated, but doesn't help as much as I wish it would - I still hurt because pain is a very solitary feeling. My face hurts and my head hurts and my left arm hurts. It hurts to walk (let alone run), to cry, to think, to laugh even - all things necessary for me to really get back to normal, both physically and emotionally - to get back to where I was a few days ago - it was kind of a tough place, but I at least had momentum.

Heck, even this blog post seems to lack momentum. I forget where it was going; sorry about that. Here, let me at least follow precedent, to make this make more sense....some etymology for you:

momentum (n.)

1690s, scientific use in mechanics, "quantity of motion of a moving body," from Latin momentum "movement, moving power" 

Ah yes, here we go - a conclusion (nothing fancy): I'm really lacking this "moving power" and am having a hard time putting energy into anything. I'm hoping that at least in writing this, I'll regain some of it. But before that happens, some Advil.

March 5, 2013

gut instinct (n.)

I remember when I'd get an upset stomach as a child and I couldn't keep any food down, my mom would make me eat burnt toast and sip on endless teaspoonfuls of chamomile tea; however, the moment I craved something (and I recall it once being shrimp gumbo), she'd make me a plate and watch me revel in the tasty mouthfuls. And I'd feel better.

Even if it seemed wrong, giving a child seafood in the midst of food poisoning, she trusted my craving, my gut instinct. And it was right.

I often experience this lingering sensation at the pit of my stomach. Oftentimes - and thankfully - it isn't a stomach bug. Rather, it's a gut feeling that encroaches, ever so mildly, from my stomach up into my throat, a noiseless, weightless clog in the throat.

I listen to it whir inside me, quietly enough that it's difficult to understand, but too loud to ignore. And if I listen intently enough, but ever so passively so as not to mute it out or change its form, it tells me something.

The icky, heavy feeling, the gut instinct, makes us step out of our comfort zone - simply by making us feel uncomfortable.

Countless times, if I listened long enough, it would eventually transform into an increasingly confident voice inside me sharing some kind of worthwhile message - telling me to react in a certain way, notice something, act on something. It's gotten me out of the mundane, the lonely, the empty situations that we often find ourselves in, pushing me to step out into the world and do something new. It's made me book flights at whim; it's made me run for that last train (and I made it); it's made me send in applications, turn them down, and accept them. It's made me say things out loud to others - and it's made me admit things to myself. This gut instinct has often been my impetus to act, fighting the lethargy of my body and the paralysis of my mind.
And it's here again.

Lately, I've been trying to listen to this gut feeling, which is churning inside of me. What I've noticed though - and in retrospect it's probably always been true - is how vague the distinction is between your gut instinct - and anxiety.

For weeks I've felt a lingering anxious sensation, which I've been trying to make my ears more sensitive to in order to better comprehend. I've been seeking this message, the craving of my spirit, in hopes of arriving at what my gut instinct is trying to tell me.

I'm still listening.

February 24, 2013

rest (v.)

We all know what rest feels like - from times of catching the flu, or being sleepy, fatigued, or just plain lazy.

However, an interesting aspect of rest - as it is defined in physics - is rest as it refers to an object that is in a stationary state in relation to another object: "When the position of something with respect to its surroundings does not change with time it is said to be at rest," says Wikipedia.

On resting the body:

Over the last couple of weeks, my 40-hr work week, 8-hr/week commute on the bus, and sometimes restless sleep has caught up with me. My poor immune system that's successfully warded off every bug on this planet for the last year and a half finally gave up. I got sick. I then needed to become "stationary" in respect to my status quo self - the me that goes to work and functions effectively in the outside world; in other words, I needed to rest - my body.

However, how do we integrate rest into our everyday lives when we're not sick - when our mind needs rest, rather than our body?

On resting the mind - even when you're moving:

For me, often the best rest comes from the kinds of activities that resemble the complete opposite of lounging in sick-mode on the couch with a How I Met Your Mother marathon in the background. I can't seem to let go and "forget about the rest of it" and just relax. It's precisely the rest of everything - the obligations, the fun, the events, the adventures - that my mind needs most in order to really relax.

It's the work week that slowly builds up and tires my mind. Work challenges, long hours, lots of thinking, stress; these slowly wear on the mind and once the weekend comes along, my mind needs, well, a rest. However, my mind can't sit on the couch.

So, if my mind is to rest - i.e. find a "stationary" mode in relation to its state when it's in overdrive, working and thinking hard and being productive - it needs to find an opposite state.

What I've found is that it's possible to train your brain to derive rest from all sorts of activities - even ones that many of us may not think of as being necessarily restful. I've found rest in climbing a mountain; it's also enveloped me in the middle of chaturanga in yoga class. I find it frequently as I wander through grocery aisles picking up groceries for the week. And sometimes, my mind gets a great rest from the same activities as my body - when I cut myself off from the rest of the world and let go and embrace the rest of my body.

The key, I think, is in not obligating yourself to limit what rest can be. Instead, see it as something relative that depends on the world around you and where you are within it.

Perhaps you're a walking virus receptacle overhauled by a sinus headache that just needs to sleep; or perhaps you're a ball of fun that just needs to bounce somewhere new because the rhythm of the routine is deflating you; or maybe you just want to curl up somewhere and eat a bowl of chili and let the world pass you by. It doesn't matter - you'll find your rest.

Just observe: Has the world just started moving a bit faster and you need to catch up? Or is it you that's slowing down? Figure out your state and then rest up until you can get moving again.

Rest up, y'all!

June 1, 2012

conversation (n.)

Recently, I've been thinking a lot about how we start, fuel, and lead conversations in our very speedy plugged-in age of the interwebs. There seems to be more and more emphasis on being a conversation-starter and engaged participant, especially if you're trying to extend your reach, communicate a (brand) mandate, and become someone of influence (online, at least).

I can remember a time, however, when conversations used to only happen with schoolmates at recess, with parents around the dinner table, with friends on the phone... on busses and in line-ups, and with neighbours and people whom you could touch and see.

Today, I start to consider how easily I've adjusted to this new nuance of conversation - and though I am quite a bit surprised, I shouldn't be - at least according to the online etymology dictionary:

Stemming from the mid-14th century definition, a conversation pertains to "living together, having dealings with (con-) others (versus)" and also refers to the "manner of conducting oneself in the world."

From one standpoint, it's bang-on, even today, as the spaces in which we converse with one another change.

I do have my reservations however; the thought of us "living together" in a virtual space, or accepting that "the world" in which we conduct ourselves is one that lacks face-to-face interactions, is a bit startling.

Not until the 1570s was a conversation understood to be a "talk." And before that it was used as a synonym for "sexual intercourse" (hence criminal conversation became the legal term for adultery). It seems we're somehow moving further and further away from touching each other when it comes to conversing!

With its increased presence in the the online space, and as its form changes, can a conversation's intimate and emotive aspects be reclaimed or preserved? I fear a world in which we perceive conversations as modes of 'influence' on each other, where instead of conversing with one another, we speak (and tweet) at each other.

I think we have to reclaim the old conversation - and not by rejecting its evolution as technology advances. But rather, by reminding ourselves that to have a conversation means a lot more than feeding your opinions and agendas into various channels hoping they spur a reaction for your own benefit and "ROI". It's about being "with" someone, on some kind of less media-dependent level. This should also sometimes mean actually being with someone, especially if long distances don't force you apart.

And don't get me wrong; I'm all for vast and varied communications and celebrating the fact that for the first time in human history, we have an ever-growing chunk of the world at our fingertips with which to connect and converse - and "deal with". We've never had the kinds of global networks that we do now, and I, in no way, wish to undermine the significance and advantages of that phenomenon. I just want to have us be reminded of what I wanted us to be reminded of the last time I decided to give an online lecture about what it means to be connected.

I also wanted to have us consider that in order to build influence online, it helps (and it may be healthier) to practice actually having some in the real world. (Perfectly slicing fruit doesn't make you a ninja and being awesome at Fruit Ninja doesn't really mean much, unless you're a ninja (because that's just delicious irony). And creating the perfect persona online doesn't make you any more perfect - it just makes your friends sad, apparently.)

And with that I leave you, world.

*Disclaimer: I may either be posting very enlightened thoughts or exhibiting pure idiocy - both common symptoms of sleepiness and exhaustion.

March 21, 2012

nugget (n.)

So lately, with this cleanse I was on, I've become mildly addicted to baby carrots. As I was sitting at work yesterday, munching away, I came across this:

A nugget, is what one coworker referred to it as. I instantly thought of tater tots and timbits (yes, all yummy carb-loaded foods, hinting at my junk-depraved, detoxed self!)

In either case, it got me thinking about nuggets - not deep-fried, chicken or gold. I'm talking nuggets of time, the nuggets in our lives - those tiny moments and aspects of our everyday that can really add up to quite a bit more than they seem. (The nugget was fun to eat, that's for sure.)

Sometimes, like many of us, we can fall into habit, working the 9 to 5, going through the motions of the everyday routine, that we grow accustomed to it and forget to be grateful for the little things that make up that time. The day is filled (or can be filled) with real nuggets that can knock a boring perspective out and bring in a fresher one. It's really easy to get a case of the it's-greener-on-the-other-side after getting used to something, however great.

I'm finally nearing the end of the school semester.. and will soon be entering the "work zone". The year will no longer end in May and start in September. And when that fine day comes at the end of April, when I submit my thesis and all the grades for the courses I'm TAing for, I'll be starting full-time work. Before that happens, I want to indulge in the joys of my varied schedule and my 4-day week. But I also want to reflect on all the great things I'm looking forward to when I start working for a salary. I'm doing this, lest I forget 6 months from now, how excited I am for my change of pace.

Before novelty becomes habit, I want to make sure I will always remember to take a sweet little bite out of the nuggets that make up my life, regardless of what time I'm waking up, how much money I'm making, how late into the night I'm working to make a deadline, etc.

So, there you have it folks: my nugget list*

The feeling I get in shavasana after sweating it out in yoga class, my body hot, tired and oh so happy.

It's naturally sweet!
Walking home from work on a Friday evening in late spring, looking forward to the dinner plans I have.
The taste of that first Americano after a two-week cleanse...or just in general :)
Laying in the sun in the summer on a weekday, because the day is just so long.
Getting together with my lady friends and laughing my butt off with them as we drink wine and eat sushi or hot pot or cake or...
Sitting down at the Naam or some equally yummy establishment with my ma after a long Saturday morning walk.
The feeling of the warm wind in my face while rollerblading with Ben around the seawall.

Bojangles cafe

The smell of Bengal spice tea while I catch up on my favourite shows late into the night, exhausted after a yoga class.
Morning cuddles when you don't have to get up. Even if it's by yourself wrapped in a comfy duvet :)
The smell of baking at home during the holidays and eating all the extra batter off the bowls with my mom.
Finding a really great piece of clothing, on a massive sale, andbuying it within minutes without fuss.
That first sip of beer in the village after a long day ofsnowboarding where I'm still warm and tired.. followed by a greasy beef burger and fries.
The feeling I get when I read something I've written and I actually really like it.

Always get the poppy-seed dressing, though.
The dinner portion of random date nights with Ben that we don't really plan, where we just wind up hopping between places to have drinks/appies/dinner/dessert to drag out our meal.
Boarding a plane.
Watching the geese at Granville Island after not having been there for a long time.
The moment I look up from my work and out the window of my favourite coffee shop. [Bojangles, Brioche...]
Feeling how sweaty my pants are (lol) after a super night of dancing where I hit the right buzz the whole night and came home sober.
The moment we hit the highway to start off a road trip.
The smell of a salty sunscreen-y bathing suit.
Putting lotion on my skin after a long day at the beach.
Being out on the town after a very productive day.

It sure is beautiful
Waking up to the smell of crepes in the morning.
Finding a letter or postcard in the mail.

Picking up drinks on my way to watching the hockey game at a friend's place - and realizing it's still light out.

* This definitely is an incomplete list...an exercise to recognize the beautiful things in my life, of which there are more I'm sure...

And just before I sign off, a couple more weird pictures of my deformed carrot friend:

March 13, 2012

make up (n., v.)

I don't have a particularly messy apartment. So when it comes to spring cleaning, for me it's really about 2 things:

1. Getting rid of stuff I don't need.

2. Cleaning myself up. That means: revamping my diet so it's healthier, becoming more active, and generally drinking loads of water, vitamin C, and echinacea and garlic so that I stay immune to everything that's in the fine spring air.

This year, I've decided to take my spring cleaning to a new level by merging 1 and 2: Rather than purely going on my cleanse, I've decided to also get rid of something that we, ladies, really don't need: make up.

Today, I'm on day #3 and I'm feeling cleaner already. I must also add that it ain't all that bad. My eyes are a little sleepy as there isn't any mascara to stretch my lashes open (+ I'm not drinking coffee...) but otherwise, I'm feeling alright - if not, the same. It's also very refreshing to be able to come out of a yoga class without raccoon eyes.

I'm hoping that by doing this, I'll get to reflect a little about what I'm really made of, both literally and figuratively speaking. It's kind of like an ego detox of some sort, I guess. Plus, it cuts down my morning routine by a whole 5 minutes!

Of course, I know that I'll be returning to my regular 'programming' within a couple of weeks. This is a spring cleaning challenge and not a life-altering decision after all. This isn't about principles or making a stance on what beauty is; rather, it's a challenge to be a little more real, consume a little more of what's real, and feel like I'm not a made up version of myself.

I'll be back to mascara and blush soon enough (and heck, I'm not really a cosmetics junkie anyway), but I think I'll feel more beautiful then, despite the make up.

Happy cleaning!

November 9, 2011

salad (n.)

This morning, on my third day of my bi-annual detox, I woke to find I was not particularly hungry. I started doing errands, multitasking (I'm good at it but I genuinely hate it), and then 1pm rolled around and I realized I hadn't eaten - anything.

I had finished a few hours of fact checking for Reader's Digest, caught up on my emails, and watched some Lana Del Ray song videos (it waaay too early in the morning to emote to Video Games, I admit). My stomach hadn't grumbled but I felt agitated a bit, so I coerced myself off of my couch and into the kitchen.

There, I decided to make what I dub, a breakfast salad.

As I happily peeled my apple and carrot, grated them into a bowl, then sprinkled flax seeds, raisins, and blueberries on top with a hint of lemon zest, I came to a realization (apart from that I had invented a recipe): My life's been kind of like a salad these days.

My preoccupation (or lack thereof on one too many days) with writing my thesis, has justified my adoption of a crazy number of activities to keep track of (and be too busy to write). I started with a solid bowl, and rather than filling it with something simple, like soup or yogurt, I've decided to cram in as many different ingredients in there as possible.

And it wasn't hard either.

Leading tutorials, grading projects, working, volunteering, consulting on projects, writing for hire, writing for free, writing with angst and frustration, keeping up with family responsibilities, friend responsibilities, girlfriend responsibilities, and self responsibilities, as well as trying to eat healthy, and look for jobs for the new year, was really easy to take on or say "yup" to. Now, at times, I have started to get a wee bit overwhelmed that maybe I'm just doing too much. That if my "life salad" were an artist's palette or a painting, it'd be a piling up of so many different colours that the whole darn thing just looks, well, brown.

But then I think about it in more positive terms and realize that if my "life salad" were actually a real salad, it'd be daaaamn scrumptious! (I'm just getting a little full, that's all.)

I guess, the only way out is to eat it all at once. Can't be picking out ingredients one by one
at this point!

Gonna go do some yoga and get hungry again and start chomping down!

June 25, 2011

coughie (adj.)

It's been a busy week. My boyfriend, Ben, joined MML last week and we pretty much went straight into turbo-drive over the weekend - going out every night, staying up late, going for daily walks, and eating smoked meat and yummy boulangerie goods. To no surprise, I woke up with a scratchy throat on Monday and after spending 36 hours denying that something was going down with my immune system, I woke up on Tuesday to finally accept that I'm sick.

Funny thing is, I go through a similar pattern every time. While I don't get sick too often, when it hits, it hits hard. My 5 Stages of Incubation are as such:

1. Denial: I pretend nothing is happening and decide to push through oncoming fatigue by staying out later than I would otherwise, just to "prove a point".

2. Anger: I wake the next day with that odd feeling behind my eyeballs and nose...sickness is rising up, but I decide to push it back with gusto. I relish greedily in a huge cup of coffee as a reward for sleeping less than I should have the night before.

3. Bargaining: I go ahead with my day, but decide to purchase some chewable vitamin C tablets. I tell myself I can continue as before if I gulp 2 litres of liquid echinacea and lemon juice like no one's business.

4. Depression: I wake up the next day with an itchy throat and coughie-ness coming on. I get down on myself because I know the truth: I'm going to be disgusting (read: phlegmy, snotty, bunched-up-kleenex-in-my pockts) for a while now.

5. Acceptance: I finally accept that something is wrong with me: I don't feel like drinking my regular cup of coffee.

This time around though, I think something's different. I had 4 cups of coffee yesterday morning over a big breakfast with Ben at Cafe Cherrie on St. Denis. I coughed a couple of times, but I decided to sleep for 9 hours last night and I feel I fought the cold and I won after a 4-day battle. I'm a success case! Cured of flu denial - and the flu!

On another note, this is what a broken laundry dryer looks like:

How many socks can you spot?

P.S. This morning, I had another cup of coffee to start the day :)

April 6, 2011

home brew (n.)

Today, my dear friend Kristine asked me if "hangry" was really a word, or whether I made it up in my last blog entry. I was thrilled to have come up with a word that seems it should be in the dictionary.

In light of this, I've decided to enter a real word this week - just to throw you all for a loop later, when I come up with "dekonky" or "screem".

It all started this afternoon when a couple of my dear MPubbers and I were sitting in class multitasking (i.e. listening to a presentation about the shortfalls of Google Scholar - thanks, Linnet!- while on Twitter - sorry, Linnet!)

We've all been generally tweaking out a bit as we approach the end of our final week of MPub classes (yup, it's eight months later, somehow); as one our professors, John, would describe, we're getting ready to open the little vent at the top of our heads and become stupid again :)

But, before we can vent it all out and start our mini-holidays before internship season begins in mid-May, we've got our final Tech presentations to do on Friday. Fortunately, our nerves will be settled by the lovely faculty-sponsored soiree that follows the presentations up on the 3rd floor of Harbour Centre.
The particular place of interest will be our professor Rowly's office, which transforms into a bar. He even brings out #RowlysHomeBrew - it's red, full-bodied, and oh so delicious. But like all things magical, it only lasts temporarily; free-flowing only to a point but oh so memorable.

So, today's entry goes out to all the homebrewers out there. Whatever it is that you concoct at home, whether it's mulled wine or hoppy ale, handmade jewelry or knit scarves, here's to making lovely things and sharing them with me.

xox

Vish

"It's smoothie season!"

This isn't the one I actually made

today, but it sure damn looks like it!

Vish's lazy but healthy home brew:
1 cup frozen blueberries
1 cup Vanilla soy milk (So Nice!)
1 cup Odwalla juice (the green one)

March 21, 2011

cadaver (n.)

One of the most nauseating words in the English language: It's too big a hit of reality, that medical term reminding us of what we will all one day be. (And it's even worse than "corpse", because, somehow, it sounds more dead than dead).

This word came up this weekend, in (ironic) congruence with:

Purim: one of the most joyous holidays on the Jewish calendar, when people dress up costumes and are encouraged to get drunk to commemorate a time when the Jewish people living in Persia were saved from execution.

I ran into some of my Med school friends at a Purim party this weekend. It brought up a memory of our chats about "Cadaver Fridays". Last term, every Friday, my friends' Anatomy class would get really "hands on". All joking aside though, (and with utmost care and gratitude to those who offer their bodies to science), I was deeply struck by those who can deal with that word in their everyday life. I get the heebee jeebees just thinking about it. It's just so much easier to stomach rainbows and posies and just plain being alive.

In the spirit of this mentality, I began to think: yoga - "absorption", "contemplation", "union", "control".

I'm still on my #YYoga30DayChallenge (day 20, and boy are my hips open). I've learned a lot in the last few weeks. By no means, was my goal to to try and comprehend the complete principles of Hinduism, or fully experience drishti by way of yogic mantras and teachings. Completing the challenge is a way for me to motivate myself to hold a handstand, learn to use my body more fully, and stabilize my thoughts so that I can control my feelings and generally become a more pleasant person (and we could all use a few more of those).

What I have come to find is that I'm introducing myself to a bit more than just handstands, breathing exercises, and the splits.

Coincidentally (or not), in my Anusara and Power classes this weekend, we came across the idea of death - on two occasions. The first happened while we were holding the third of our three consecutive sets of dolphin plank after some killer warrior poses (that make me feel unfit for battle).

Tapas, anyone? (I'm serious. You could
probable use this as your mandala)

Full of burning pain, my teacher mentioned, tapas, the Sanskrit word for "heat" - a heat only available to us when we are alive; a heat that pains you, but without which one fails to grow. In my own interpretation, tapas is the burning you need to feel in order to shed away the bad so that a better self can surface. It also makes you feel like you're dying a little bit (or a lot). (But it also makes you feel alive.)

During another class this weekend, another time when the thirty of us were sprawled on our mats in deep lunges, shaking with sweat and trying to control our breathing while "dying a little bit", our teacher wisely commented on death once more: The more we die while we're alive, the less we'll die when the time truly comes (or something close to that).
However weird this may sound to some (or even absurd), it resonated with me. It resonated so far that I remembered it after I was four beers deep, talking with my future MD buddies on the dance floor. I was dressed like a quasi-belly-dancer, a giraffe was nearby, as was Castro, Mary Antoinette and a couple of jelly fish.

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee

Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;

For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow,

Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.

From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,

Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,

And soonest our best men with thee do go,

Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.

Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,

And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell;

And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well

And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?

One short sleep past, we wake eternally,

And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.

~John Donne

The thought of ever being just a body is a scary thing and I think we should all try to partake in the joy of our ability to daily defeat death. We may die just a little bit every day; some days it may feel like we died a little bit more; but if we conduct ourselves in such a way that every pain leaves us with a burning sensation of what it is to be alive, we may get to feel the benefits of that endorphin rush of tapas, our daily dose of reality that may better our lives and increase our daily wellbeing. Pain can serve as a reminder that we are so much more than mere bodies, that we are bodies with minds that enable us to move beyond pain and on to better things.

We're human, able to move, think, and speak, and if we use all three in tandem and with good intention, we will be that much more capable of sharing compassion through positive thought and that much less prone to acting out based on our limitations, whether physical or moral. In a way then, maybe we'll be less scared of that ugly word, and more concerned with whether our thoughts are alive with purpose and good will.

How easily contentment arrives when we defeat the ominous, the scary.

March 7, 2011

buck up (vb.)

So, in light of a previous "promise" I made - to make a list of goals, a "bucket list", if you will: It's nowhere near complete, but I did give it my best. I bucked up, took heart, gained courage, grabbed a pen (and now my Macbook) and went for it.

In the process, I discovered just how eerily difficult it is to give dreams physicality.

Also, since this experience of mine was really mind-opening and unsettling and exciting and daunting and energizing and inspiring and exhausting and refreshing and mind-blowing (for me), I figured I'd share it with you as it may be fun for you all to read something with an objective eye.

I present to you, A Bucket List: the visual edition.

1. Master the art of contentment.

2. Always find time and a space to practice yoga, however old I get.

3. Have a job that allows me to at least sometimes work from home.

4. Visit an ashram for some relatively extended period of time.

(yah, i know.)

5. Go scuba diving

6. Decorate some future kitchen of mine with plaid tablecloths and curtains and other cheesy country style stuff. (and always have a huge bowl of fruit at the table.)