Moved

I moved this past weekend. Just two miles down the road, to a smaller, more expensive place, but I needed the change. This process of moving taught me a few things.

I was excited about my new apartment, but as the move date loomed from just a few weeks down the road, I started to get anxious. I never thought I had much with me. Not a lot of furniture and most of my “junk” was, embarrassingly, still at my parents place. It was going to be an easy move. At least, that’s what I thought until I started to pack. Suddenly, my belongings seemed never-ending. Items materialized out of nowhere. I felt like my place had suddenly transformed into a Mary Poppins-style bag. Endless in its depths. I started to hyperventilate as I obviously had underestimated what needed to be done. My stomach was a pit of worry but I was paralyzed to act. This lasted for a week or so.

Eventually, common sense prevailed. This had to be done. No choice. I had to start somewhere. I began by throwing stuff in boxes, just to get it out of my closets and into a portable container. There wasn’t much method to this madness except for packing what I definitely wouldn’t be needing in the next few weeks. It wasn’t a great system, but it did get me going. You have to start somewhere, so just pick a place and dive in.

One night, after yoga, I had second thoughts. Why not use this move as a way to get rid of possessions I no longer needed? A part of me balked at taking more time in the sorting, but again, common sense whispered the words I needed to hear. I wouldn’t have to pack and unpack as much and besides, I wouldn’t have much space in my new abode. So, I cranked up some tunes and sorted through previously packed boxes. I found that I didn’t need 50% of what was in them. What we believe we need is so much less than what we cling on to and what we truly need is a further fraction of that.

As the week went on, I started working more methodically. Tackling one closet or cupboard at a time, I assessed, packed and then placed a sticky on it when it was empty. This gave me a sense of accomplishment and fueled my desire to do more. Break it down in baby steps and give yourself credit for each one taken.

Finally, the day before the movers came. I signed the lease and got my keys. I wanted to minimize the movers’ time, lest I be charged more than the expected three hours, so I brought over a few boxes to the new place. I couldn’t carry more than one box at a time, so I settled for transporting just a few. It felt good to spend a little time putting dishes away and breathing in my new home before the chaos started.

Moving day came and I was able to give the movers more boxes than I had thought possible. Everything went rather smoothly, but there was still quite a bit that needed to be moved after they were done with the big things. They went on their way, and with a sense of weariness, I assessed they aftermath. My parents came over and insisted in helping me. We got a lot done that day, but there was a sizable amount left for Sunday. I planned to do this last part on my own but they insisted on helping, again. I didn’t think I needed it, but eventually capitulated. Surprisingly, what I had expected to take six hours was finished in two. My exhausted mind and body was amazed and grateful. Accept help. You don’t have to do it, alone.

The coup de gras in all of this came somewhat unexpectedly. I received word on Friday that my first love is getting married on New Years. Although we haven’t been together in almost ten years,  this hung heavily on my heart. As I was moving the last of my things on Sunday, I came across a bag filled with clothes and odds and ends from my era with him. I had made excuses for hanging on to it, but in the light of the news and my move saw them for what they were. I tossed the entire bag without bothering to sort through it. Sometimes, you just have to be honest with yourself and let go.

Breathing Lessons

I went swimming today. It was the first day since the end of April, but I’ve gone for longer spells before. I noticed something as I swam. It was a little hard to breathe.
In yoga and meditation, we talk a lot about breathing. Breathing is something we can’t help but take for granted . Yet, when we focus on this very basic function, it helps us tie into our bodies, clear the mind and generally assess where we are in that moment. By paying attention to our breath we are able to sustain poses longer or back off, as needed.

This translates off the mat during times of stress. It’s hard to sustain the levels of high anxiety we ratchet ourselves up to while focusing on breathing. Sure, the word “calm” may not enter our mindset in these moments, but we are at least able to step back from the edge. Inhaling deeply tends to lower our emotional or mental exertion whereas exhaling forcefully helps to cool the body.

But what brought my attention to my breath today was the difficulty I had with it. Swimming laps, I seemed to need air more frequently and holding my breath for any length of time seemed too much to ask. It’s at this point that I usually get frustrated at myself, the sport and life in general. Perhaps because I had a yoga class the night before, I paused to consider other options. When we have difficulty breathing during asanas, we are encouraged to back off. “It’s too much” the body says, and we abide. Why should this be any different? I backed off and voila, easier to breathe.

This wasn’t a nicely tied up bow, however. I continued to have trouble with getting air to my lungs and even as I sit here now, I find my lungs a little heavy. I’m pretty sure this is a reaction to being back in a chlorinated pool after time away. As to why it’s bothering me this time as opposed to others, who knows. I just know right now my body is asking me to slow down and pay attention. So without getting annoyed or overly worried, I’m just going to listen.

Awkward

I have a crush on a boy. He doesn’t even know I exist.

No matter how old I get, my thoughts are 16 years old.

However much we change as we age, a part of us is stuck in our teenage years. I’ve met bald, pudgy men who played high school football who still retain that sheen of confidence and self-importance. I’ve met women who were in the popular crowd bring their mean girl attitude to the workplace. And I’ve met smart, funny, sexy successful people who still see themselves as the kid who ate lunch alone.

Unrequited lust was a hallmark of my teenage years. I was boy crazy and had many a crush. Sadly, I also had the firm belief I was undesirable and therefore not an object for consideration. All the other girls were cuter, smarter, funnier, better dressed and way cooler than I could ever hope to be. Why would a guy look at me when he could have one of them? What did I have to offer?

I’ve come a long way from that. I’m more confident and self-assured. For the most part. Sometimes, that teen mind takes hold of a familiar situation and fills my mind with insecure ramblings. In this case, a boy who I’ve seen a few times in passing. He’s a dorky kind of cute and caught my eye. But I didn’t seem to catch his. “I’m sure he has a girlfriend,” I thought. Both to reassure myself and to keep my interest in check.

I forgot about him for a while but recently, I had the opportunity to be in the same room with him for an hour or so. He couldn’t have been more aloof. Ok, it’s not like I went up to him or anything. But still. He didn’t look my way or smile or in any way show that he acknowledged the differentiation between me and the nearby wall. Even so, I took heart when my friend said he looked like he was shy. Yes, I thought. Maybe he’s just shy. Aw.

I found out he’s not shy. He is smart, funny and outgoing amongst his friends. Just the kind of guy I’d like to meet. Except I’m sure he’s too cool for me. His friends include a lot of pretty and sweet and sociable girls. And he’s probably dating one of them. So why would he be interested in me? He doesn’t even know I exist.

So all this was running through my mind yesterday even as I wondered how I could find out when and where I could bump into him again. You know, to drive the knife deeper. And, I’m sad to say it went on for quite a while before I caught myself at it.

It’s nice to know that I’m not her anymore, but that she will always be a part of me.

On My Team

It’s rainy outside and, as always seems to happen in this type of weather, I spent the day feeling out of sorts and blue. I had my first swim class of the fall season this morning and decided not to go. I was a little late to class (good excuse) and I didn’t feel up to getting into the water. The relief in skipping it was negligible to the amount of guilt I heaped upon myself after. I was wasting money. I may be out of town next Tuesday and unable to go. I love the women I swim with so why couldn’t I focus on them? Why couldn’t I just keep a commitment?

Next was work. One of the rationalizations to skipping swimming was getting to work a little earlier than usual. But I couldn’t concentrate. I was feeling overwhelmed and didn’t feel like delving into the big project I needed to tackle. Besides, my head hurt. Of course, I chastised myself for this, as well. For hours. Still, I couldn’t spur myself into a highly productivity mode. The day trickled on.

I had promised my friend that if I didn’t swim, I’d go to yoga with her in the evening. Which I wasn’t crazy about doing. It was an “All Levels” class which usually translated to harder than the Level 1&2 I was used to. Also, the last time this teacher had subbed my usual Saturday morning class, I nearly collapsed with exhaustion. What if everyone was better than me? What if I couldn’t do it? What if it was a horrible experience for me? But this was one thing I would do today. I’d show up.
I set my mat down with trepidation. I do my best not to compare myself to others, but as the intensity increases the harder it gets not to do so. I’m very good at feeling inadequate and I was afraid this would be one of those classes that left me disheartened. Why was I here?

At the beginning of class, my teacher said something that really struck home. Flow with the fear, she said. How many of my choices were made out of fear? A lot. Especially, this day. It clicked. What I feared was abandoning myself. Pushing myself too hard and piling up the judgment and criticism based on how I handled it. So, I decided that I was here to take care of myself. I would take it moment by moment and make choices that served me in each moment. I would just see.

I won’t lie and say I didn’t sneak a peek at the others in my class or wish I was as flexible as the girl at the front, but I did a pretty good job of being there for myself. I made the choices that were right for my body at that minute, and was surprised to see the results. I was stronger than I gave myself credit for, weaker than I had hoped, but I was ok with the difference. And that was a success in itself.

Class ended with another teacher-inspired insight. She said that as a mother she learned that children don’t need to be fixed. They need to be seen, to be heard, to be understood. This applied to our own selves, as well. We jump in and try to make the problem go away, when maybe we don’t need to fight it. Step back and see what’s really there and what we’re trying to escape with all our activity. I had battled myself all day. I hadn’t seen. I hadn’t heard. And I didn’t even try to understand what was going on under the surface. So for this night and tomorrow, that’s the lesson I plan to focus on. To lay down my sword and pay attention.

Weight for It

Earlier this year, I decided not to weigh myself on a regular basis. Like many people, I’d look at that number and it would somehow color my day, regardless if it was a single digit difference. I really don’t believe in allowing a number to inversely quantify my sense of self worth, but here I was engaging in a practice that did just that. It didn’t make sense. So away went the scale.

For many years, my mind led the charge. Telling me what to feel, what not to feel, whether what I felt made sense and if it didn’t, to stop feeling it. In a like manner I dictated to my body when it should be hungry, when it should be full, if it should move or if it should rest. It was more or less a one way conversation until my body would do something drastic to get my attention. And it would get my attention for a short time. Enough attention to be disappointed and frustrated at it.

This wasn’t working for me, so I decided to try a radical approach over the course of the past several months. I listened to my body. It was shy at first, but when it realized it had a voice that would be heard, it would speak up in no uncertain terms. I did my best to honor it. From time to time my mind would reinstate its power and I would have to gently remind it that this wasn’t the way we did things anymore. Sometimes that worked, sometimes it didn’t, but it was certainly more successful than it had been in the past.

My body rewarded me. I felt better and had more energy. Yoga helped me to honor by body and I was witness to it responding in kind. I was also aware of it changing and growing stronger with more yoga classes. This was something I very rarely saw in myself. Maybe because I would get discouraged and quit an activity before I could measure progress, or maybe because I never paid much attention before. Probably both. There were other improvements. One of the ways my body used to cry out in distress was through my stomach. But now, it was quieter, happier. I focused on loving my body. It was hard at first but with practice and kindness, it grew easier. I liked how my clothes were fitting and how I looked in those clothes.

Yesterday morning, I thought of my scale. Why not? I thought. I wanted to see how much I had lost. I pulled it out and with a little excitement stepped on. I weighed exactly the same. Maybe even a pound more. Suddenly, my spirits dampened and I felt heavy and frumpy. How could this be, my mind thought. But then I caught myself. What was I doing? What did it matter how much I weighed? How did I feel. I checked in. I actually felt pretty good. I looked in the mirror. My eyes shined back at me and I smiled. This was me, just as I was the day before. But so much different than I was at the start of the year, regardless of what this machine said.
I don’t own a scale anymore.