Relax Into Being

We should be happy. I gaze at the Christmas tree and realize its completely unfazed by the family drama that occurred around it. I’m finally pausing after the hectic Christmas morning and in the pause feel the emotions I’ve suppressed: disappointment, anger, guilt, sadness. I have a slight headache, a sign of tension, a message that I’m pushing myself too hard.

My reaction to the unexpected (and for some family members unwanted) Christmas morning visitor was to rise to the occasion (a family motto), but not all reacted with a fake it till you make it attitude. Quite the opposite. There were outbursts, privately shed tears, and passive aggressive comments that were passed with the maple syrup.

Any holiday can be filled with family tension, but my household always “rises to the occasion” when it’s Christmas. We all try a little harder to please, we all soften our edges, we all forgive a bit more and argue a little less. This Christmas is an exception. Family dynamics are delicate and the balance tipped in no one’s favor when the surprise guest showed up for waffles. 

I’m a little heartbroken standing in this beautiful living room, which my mother decorated so beautifully with pine and twinkle lights. There’s the lingering scent of waffles and syrup still in the air, which is my father’s gift to his family, a Christmas breakfast. We should be happy.

The house is quiet but tense. We’ve all disappeared to our own rooms and corners to recover and reconnect. I take shelter in the living room. I reach for my holiday lifeline, a repeated mantra: “Tension is who you think you should be. Relaxation is who you are.”

The Chinese proverb dispels the growing internal tension, releases the shoulds and brings me home to my breath, to being a loving witness, to myself.

I relax. I relax by just being. I don’t need to be super happy, even if it is Christmas. I let go of the quiet judgment I hold against my family. I’ve been silently ranting at them for being so inflexible, insensitive and unwilling to go with the flow. Judging them builds tension. Just let them be and breathe.

Relaxation is who you are. I let this truth settle in and down into my bones. I become aware when tension clutches my muscles, when “shoulds” dictate my words and actions, making me feel frantic, frustrated, afraid. When tension arrives in the body, I remedy it by relaxing. I relax by mindfully breathing, opening my palms (or taking a mudra), and letting go of the need to micromanage people’s emotions and to control the situation.

I can be my authentic and peaceful-self by simply relaxing. This is the Christmas gift I treasure. A piece of wisdom leading me gently to the unfolding New Year. 

Find Home : A Mantra for the Holidays

The rush of the week sweeps me up. I’m trying too hard again. I'm reacting and resisting the pull of my feelings. I’m creating and believing stories I tell about myself, about my day. 

Come home, the breath pulls me into an embrace.

Come home to the breath, to the body, to this moment. A deep inhalation and a complete exhalation.

I breathe myself back to center and hold space to feel the emotions present: I am angry. This anger simmers, hisses and wants to scald. I experience the life-span of the emotion, knowing it will need to be spoken out loud soon, and the words have not yet formed, but that is for another time, for now I witness. 

I feel the touch of cold air on my skin. I crave alone time in the winter woods. To be in the company of bare trees and pine. I want to take shelter in the turning inward earth. Fellow introverts. I think of the woods, of wandering in stillness, and know this will happen, and soon. My heart needs it. This time will be a homecoming, too, of returning back to a self defined only by a beating heart, breath forming in cold air, and feet navigating a rugged path.

The longing for the woods softens with the knowing I’ll make a journey there soon. The present moment, with its twinkle lights and soft twilight, calls for my fullest awareness.

What do I need now to be my most vibrant self? I need to find home in myself by creating and honoring my own magical and sacred traditions. So...

I find home in my body by dancing wildly to the playlist from the ultimate Christmas romantic comedy, “Love Actually” (I imagine  dancing around 10 Downing Street with Hugh Grant).

I find home in my heart by curling up and reading on the living room couch by the sparkling tree.

I find home in my whimsical self by laughing with my sister while watching “Elf.”

I find home within by granting my family and friends the space to be as they need to be. I grant myself the space to be sensitive, to be upset, and to be sparkly happy. 

When stress arrives, when emotions grab hold, when negative self-talk speaks too loudly, the breath finds me. I find home. This is my mantra for the holiday. Be at home in the present, in the experience, in the quieting comfort of winter.

A Lesson From the Sea

I know this stretch of beach by heart. Once again, I find myself walking it alone in the company of thoughts and emerging emotions. I walk barefoot along the edge of the water, careful not to step on a jagged remain of a shell and letting the salty waves catch my toes in their bubbling white foam.

The wind is fierce, whipping my hair into tangles and complete disarray. I let nature be my hair stylist. I release appearance insecurities to the wind; or rather the wind gladly takes them from me.

Come as you are, the roaring waves and whistling wind demand. Let your true self be seen.

In the majestic presence of nature, I feel like I have no choice but to let my guard down and let myself be seen.

I feel emotionally raw here, feet sinking into wet sand. My thoughts circulate dilemmas waiting for me at home. The most pressing question, the one I hush, but nevertheless  whispers, rises to be heard. For once, I don’t mind the question, not here, walking in the sun, under the bluest piece of sky. I can handle myself here – the worries, the dark thoughts, the delights – they can be objectively and equally seen and understood like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle fashioning my twenty-four-year-old life.

I tend to overanalyze those puzzle pieces; I get too close when a step back provides the answer I’m seeking.

Don’t try so hard. Just be, sings the sea.

No matter the age I’ve been as I’ve walked this familiar piece of shore, and no matter what has occupied my mind (my college decision, my first love, my senior thesis), I return back to this same lesson, this same salty kissed reminder: Just be.

Deep breath. Breathing here is so easy; the wind makes sure that I am breathing evenly and deeply. No holding, no pushing, no desperately seeking, no struggling, the breath meets me here with ease and I meet my whole self here with ease.

Relax into Being. This is my holiday gift from my time at the sea. It’s a seashell of a lesson I pocket and take home with me. Home to the Bluegrass, to the yoga classes and students I love so much, and to cinnamon cappuccinos … and when I try too hard, I will remember the walk on the beach, the wind, the sun, and the sea’s message to simply and exquisitely be. 

New York City Empowered

C'est moi in a purple beret. And the City looking bright on a crisp November day.

I wake with a slight heartache for the City. My morning daydreams are of Brooklyn. A stroll around the bustling neighborhood of Front Greene. A cappuccino and writing pause at the community coffee shop Smooch. Walking down the City streets with a very dear friend, laughing and marveling at the sights. New York City cast its spell, leaving me a bit star struck and imparting some empowered New York attitude.

Inside the colorful and bohemian coffee shop, Smooch, my cappuccino and writing hangout in Brooklyn.  

Lately, I’ve been working on boosting my confidence center (the third chakra), and a trip to New York City (to see a dear friend and visit Columbia University for a graduate program) turned out to be the perfect challenge for a Southern Gal seeking to cultivate more kick-ass power.

My wise yoga mentor was the first to make this revelation. In a pre-trip coffee catch-up date with her, I shared a few current struggles (even sharing I was nervous about hailing a cab from the airport) and she weaved them together, showing that many of them stem from not feeling comfortable and confident in speaking up for myself and my needs. Becoming aware of this pattern of not voicing my needs helped make it a priority as I prepared and navigated my way to New York. 

The Universe was quick to put me to the test. Traveling to New York City demanded that I speak up for myself. My flight into the City was cancelled and I got rerouted into a nearby airport in New Jersey. The nerves about hailing a cab from the airport vanished when presented with the whole new challenge of getting from Newark, New Jersey to Brooklyn. So, I spoke up. I talked with the airlines, family and my friend in Brooklyn about how to get to my friend’s place safely and soundly. I practiced being mindful of the present moment, embracing all what encompassed my experience of waiting for the delayed plane and figuring out the next travel step.

My phone announced its final stage before battery death at the same moment when I realized that my bag had gone MIA at baggage claim. Exhaustion threatened to turn into hysteria, but the power center spoke up, commanding for me to pull it together, talk to the airlines, find a ride and get to Brooklyn in one piece. Around midnight I arrived in the glittering City and stepped out onto a curb in Brooklyn, which was still buzzing with City life (a film crew shooting a scene on the corner) and into the welcoming embrace of a best friend.

My stay in New York continued to offer lessons for my power center. Beginning, curiously, with my missing bag. 

Brene Brown reading and a gorgeous scarf from Tibet, a beloved gift from a world-traveler friend, were must-haves for the trip. And the beret. I’m kinda in a French fashion phase.  

My bag only went MIA for one night of my stay, but I still had a reaction to not having my things and realized my strong attachment to my clothes and makeup. Honestly, I tend to feel more confident when I feel good about my fashion ensemble and when I’m wearing a little bit of makeup. It’s a shortcut to confidence. True confidence is feeling rock star awesome and gorgeous no matter what.

That first morning in Brooklyn challenged this fashionista to adopt a more natural and rugged traveler look.  As I dared myself to venture down unknown streets and get a little lost, I did feel confident, the type of confidence born out of proving you can do something a little courageous on your own. I also felt beautiful because I was delighting in my surroundings, in new discoveries (a park in the middle of the neighborhood, a café called La Defense) and when I walked down a street called Carlton Avenue, I fell rather in love.

I could live here, I dreamily mused, strolling under brilliantly colored trees, passing charming townhouses and neighbors pushing strollers and walking dogs.

 In New York City inspired dreams, I live in one of these charming townhouses in Brooklyn and with a city savvy basset hound. 

Carlton Avenue is where my mind goes when I think of New York. The love at first sight feeling happened for me on Carlton. When I think of Carlton, I think of that first heartbeat of love for Brooklyn, of my friend and hear us laughing and feel that laughter radiate out through my being. This is a soul-friend; I can be vulnerable and joyful with him. He makes me laugh, liberating laughter that reconnects me to a playful and confident self.

And this confident self was taught a lesson even when it came to crossing the street. At the beginning of my stay, I was slightly petrified when crossing the street and the taxi cabs did not hesitate in inching up to the stream of pedestrians, ready to zoom through once there was a clearing. I was quickly pin-pointed as a tourist because I would jump back and throw up my arms in an pleading effort, “PLEASE DO NOT HIT ME!!!” Toward the end, taking cues from the natives, I went at my own (quick) pace and gave those taxis a raised eyebrow, “It’s my right-of-way, Buddy.”

A quick!quick! snapshot. 

This attitude travels back with me to Lexington. Though I was most definitely out of my comfort zone during most of my stay, and I welcomed that experience, it’s the memory of New York, the moments of courage, the laughter shared with a best friend, that remain and empower me here, in my hometown. These memories will continue to sparkle me up and get that confidence center shining bright, like New York City lights. 

Ishmael Beah: Writing & Advocacy

Patiently, I wait in line to get my book signed. I’m all butterflies, still marveling that I’m only a few feet away from a personal hero of mine. I usher my friends to go ahead of me – I want to savor this moment a bit longer.

I flashback to high school and see sixteen-year-old me who has developed her first caffeine addiction to chai tea lattes. In this memory, I’m in a different line, the coffee line at Starbucks and I’m pulled to a book display featured at the front. The cover captivates and haunts: a lone boy walks a rugged, jungle trail in torn flip-flops. An AK-47 dangles over his shoulder.  

I remember this moment clearly, the first time I saw  Ishmael Beah’s  , A Long Way Gone while standing in line at Starbucks.  It’s a moment of awakening. The book’s presence interrupted my train of teenage thoughts centering on ACT prep, surviving AP English, and school drama.

Beah’s memoir of war broke me open. His story revealed the worse and best of human nature. He challenged my ability to empathize. His story sparked a passion for advocacy, for championing human rights. And he did this through WRITING.

Beah represents both my passion (writing) and my heartbreak (injustices toward the innocent). He uses writing to spread awareness and provoke change. I hold him in the highest esteem and this admiration for him grew even more as I listened to him speak at UK. He radiated such presence and fully engaged with the audience. Despite everything he’s survived and seen (or maybe because of it), there wasn’t a hint of bitterness and anger in his voice.  He still criticized the US media’s portrayal of Africa and Hollywood’s misconstrued depictions of violence but he spoke from a place of truth and those words were soothed with understanding and peace.

I must confess that I wasn’t feeling entirely peaceful as I listened to him speak. The bored, texting and talking freshmen sitting behind and around me irritated me. UK’s incoming class was required to read Beah’s memoir, attend discussion and come to his talk. For the most part, these budding young scholars were polite and respectful. And then there were the ones that sat near me.

At one point, I shot an evil glare to the three ladies chatting behind me which only resulted in more angry whispers directed toward the back of my head. And I sent angry thoughts to the dedicated texters sitting in front of me. Here were my thoughts: there is a man standing on stage right now, exposed in his truth, talking about overcoming PTSD because of his war experience as twelve-year-old boy (who lost his family in the conflict and was fed drugs so he could kill on command) and they don’t have the decency to not talk and text for at least thirty minutes while he shares his story?

My frustration with this sea of freshmen humanity began to overshadow my actual enjoyment of listening to Beah.

Let them be. Show Beah respect by giving him your whole attention and just let the others simply be.

One of the signs of inner peace is a loss of interest in judging others. I was giving away my energy to the surrounding people instead of wholeheartedly listening to one of my favorite authors.

So, the ladies continued to chat and the texters kept busy, too, and yes I felt flare-ups of irritation, but I acknowledged, went back to the mantra above and then tuned back in to Beah’s talk.

At the end of his talk, as if he could read my mind, Beah spoke of the importance of being peaceful in our actions, our words, and our thoughts.

In daring daydreams, I envision myself being out in the world fighting the “real” fight for peace – like Beah who negotiates with war lords to rescue child soldiers from the front lines.

Right now, though, my daily task is to cultivate a deeper sense of understanding, forgiveness and peace toward others and myself. Every moment is an opportunity to be present and peaceful, to be responsive and not reactive, to show compassion and respect, even to the freshmen who chat and text around me – they’re struggling and learning, too.

The freshmen waiting behind me in the book-signing line, however, share my giddiness and butterflies. There’s a reverent hush. I watch as my friends timidly step up to get their book signed, I love being a witness to that moment for them. 

I’m all starry-eyed as I hand him my book, saying a soft “hello” and thanking him for his time. He’s been signing books for over an hour now and I can tell he’s weary, but he still engages in conversation with me and takes care to spell my name correctly (I wouldn’t have minded a misspelled name; I’m just thrilled I had the opportunity to meet and speak to him).

Walking toward my beaming group of friends, I think back to my younger-self reading Beah’s memoir. A Long Way Gone held such significance in my young adult life. This momentary connection with Beah offers fresh inspiration for my continuing journey. Just taking it one peaceful breath at a time.   

Commitment

Flashback: I’m in my college lit class, steaming with self-righteousness, as we discuss Toni Morrison’s Song of Solomon .

The protagonist, Milkman is a classic commitment-phobe. He runs from relationships and responsibility and nonchalantly glides through the motions of life. As the story progresses, Milkman begins to make commitments – to a family quest, to a lady and takes responsibility – and ironically, as he decides to commit to life, instead of becoming caged and stuck, he is set free from his past and able to grow into a confident and full human being.

The discussion struck a raw heart chord.

Talk about commitment sparks thoughts about men like Milkman – the dancing through life men folk who dazzle and flee – and at that time, I was fuming over my own commitment-phobe heartbreaker. I even considered sending him my lecture notes.  Life Advice For You, I gleefully imagined the email subject line would read.

My frustration with commitment-phobes has provoked many eye-rolling rants. I never (like never ever) thought I was at all similar to the world’s crew of Milkmans. I’ve always prided myself on my emotional openness and ability to commit.

Well, I’m learning to beware of what I rant against because I tend to project my own issues onto others. Thank you, Universe, for that lesson. Instead of thinking of my then-ex during that English class lecture, I should have been taking notes for myself.

This recent autumn bout of restlessness dissolved when I made this epiphany: I’m struggling with committing to Life. I’ve been weighing my options, researching and researching, and hesitating to the point of paralysis. Keeping my options open has left me feeling anxious and unclear. I’m not taking action in the fear that I may make the wrong decision and take the wrong course of action.

My yogi-self knows that commitment issues are signs of an unbalanced third chakra. Taking action, showing up in the world and making a commitment are aspects of Self ruled by the third chakra, the energy center dwelling in the space above the navel. This is our power center, home to our ambitions, self-image and confidence. Represented by an inner sun, it represents the vibrancy of our personality and our inner majesty. 

I struggle with my third chakra. I struggle making and adhering to personal boundaries. I feel self-conscious about my looks. Recently, instead of taking intentional action, I’ve been prone to inaction.

Thankfully, I’ve got family members and friends with kick-ass (and that would be the mantra of the third chakra) power centers. My younger sister immediately comes to mind. She knows her needs, knows her boundaries and speaks up for herself and for others.

My childhood best friend is a force to be reckoned with, too. She knows her dreams and actively manifests them into reality. A recent example: she was looking up trips to the Bahamas, happened to fill out a “win a giveaway trip” form at a sushi restaurant while in Alabama and won a legitimate free vacation for her and her boyfriend to a resort there. Now, I need to channel some of that visioning power.

My third chakra has been off balanced. I can partially blame Mercury in Retrograde and the Vata winds of October, but the third chakra demands us to be responsible and to take responsibility for our actions.

So, I’m taking responsibility and taking action. I’m getting clear on goals and taking steps: booked a plane ticket to New York City to see a best friend and do some grad school visiting and started studying for the GRE. I’m not taking action to just take action. I’m taking the necessary pause to breathe deeply and listen and if I hear a “yes”, I go for it. 

Returning to that undergraduate English class, I hear my professor say, “Commitment liberates.” And like Milkman (and maybe those commitment-phobe exes have learned this, too) I’ve found this to be very true.

Tips For Powering Up Your Third Chakra:

*Watch an action movie.

*Go to the gym. Sweat and sparkle. Or take a walk. Get moving.

*Look Good. Dress Up. Impress Yourself.

*Practice a fun, vinyasa flow. Focus on yoga poses that strengthen your core, home of the third chakra, like boat pose.

*Take time to be quiet. Contemplate an issue or something you’re struggling with making a decision on and see what your gut tells you. What option feels light and right? Trust yourself and go for it.

Get Pumpin’ Playlist :

*Play It Right – Slyvan Esso

*Don’t Wait – Mapei

*Bang Bang – Nicki Minaj, Jessie J, Ariana Grande (my guilty pleasure)

*Every Other Freckle – alt-J

*Bailando – Enrique Iglesias

*Girls Chase Boys – Ingrid Michaelson

*Left Hand Free – alt-J

*So Have I For You – Nikka Costa

*Hey Mami – Sylvan Esso 

Restlessness

 There is something in October that stirs the gypsy blood: We must rise and follow Her. When from every hill of flame She calls, and calls each vagabond by name." 

~ William Bliss

***

Restlessness prompts a walk at twilight. Stepping out onto the front porch, I breathe in the fading evening. I set off on a familiar path. I pass by dimly lit houses, ruby red tinted trees, and glowing street lamps. I walk in the middle of the street, relishing the sound of my boots clicking against the pavement. No cars appear; no one interrupts with a hello or neighborly small talk.

My whispering thoughts are background noise to a present heartache. A heaviness is here, a heaviness that is not entirely mine, a collection of stories spoken by loved ones and news reporters. I walk quickly, as if I could somehow outrun this ache.

Walk with the heartache. Be present in the discomfort. Breathe.

The moon rises in a grand, slow debut. In the darkening shadows, I’m tempted to run, carefree and wild down the block. Running may satisfy this nagging hunger. It’s a hunger that doesn’t want to consume. It’s a soul hunger eager to give my entire self to a cause, a person, a piece of writing. This hunger is growing and is becoming a daily presence. It’s manifesting in a restlessness begging for a short trip, pushing me out to walk alone at twilight.

I resist the urge to run. I continue to walk and breathe deeply. I listen for the lesson, for the wise voice to tell me what to do next. I don’t hear an answer, only the sounds of the falling night. I let myself be restless. I breathe into the twilight. I notice the appearance of the stars. I embrace the moment and let the starlight embrace me. 

Grounding Down for October Magic and Fun

October, I am thrilled you are here! I relish the crisp air, the whisper of magic, the carved pumpkins, the appearance of leather jackets and boots. I’m planning Hocus Pocus movie nights and a trip to Magee’s Bakery for the famous pumpkin cookies is definitely on the Fall agenda.

I’m ready to embrace the playful, sweetly wicked side of October, but I also recognize that I’ve been feeling ungrounded lately. The Fall season, with its winds of change, can easily stir me into many a thinking frenzy and am lured into scheming about the future, repeating the past (Gatsby, I can relate) and end up disconnected from my body and the present moment.

What helps ground me down? Routine and rituals focus my dancing, Vata mind. I just need the discipline to follow through with them. So, I add a little bit of sparkly fun to encourage my bouncy self to settle down for a moment. 

At the start of the new month, I make a point to sit down with my beloved, personalized Erin Condren  planner (best gift to self EVER) and a prized collection of pretty inked pens and take the time to record appointments, yoga classes, birthdays and events onto the calendar. Instead of feeling stressed or overwhelmed with the to-dos, scheduling the month actually makes me feel better prepared and helps me make intentional plans. If I see that I’m double teaching for a few days in a row, then I know and make sure that I get a day off to take it easy and decompress.

A morning mindfulness and meditation practice also replenishes and calms my go!go! mind. Before I get up and start the day, I take a few moments to simply rest, hearing the sounds around me and noticing how my body is feeling. I rise and find a comfortable seat for meditation. Meditation lets me witness where my thoughts are flying off to – either the future or the past. I compassionately recognize them and then lovingly return to the breath.

Sometimes I fear that when I meditate I’ll just go more thought crazy, but I haven’t found this to be the case. I feel calmer, breathe more deeply and operate more smoothly for the rest of the morning. There’s also no “bad” meditation experience. So even if I were to meditate and just bought into thinking the whole time that would be all right. It’s an experience. I can always begin again with a new cycle of breath.

There are a few rituals special to October that invite me to experience the beauty and magic of one of my favorite months. First of all, I relish the Fall weather. October promises beautiful walks around the Ashland Estate, through pumpkin patches, across sidewalks carpeted with red and yellow leaves. During these walks, I set an intention to receive and marvel at the beauty around me. I feel my feet connecting me to the ground. I take courage from the rooted trees and see my thoughts like leaves, floating in the wind. Walks connect me to my natural, unhurried self.

For Halloween, I’m musing on whether I should be a flapper (for the third year in a row, but the roaring twenties are my favorite era!), or Cher from the 90s classic Clueless. I’ll be celebrating with all the ghosts and ghouls and will be doing so with a calm mind and both feet on the ground. The midnight broom ride can wait until November.