Claiming My Sensitivity

A poetic photographer gifts me a memory from a sweet summer.

***

I wake to the stories of yesterday. I feel the precious weight of the newborn placed so trustingly in my arms. I taste the cinnamon cereal shared as a snack with a spirited six-year-old while filling in the pages of a mermaid coloring-book. I hear the rage, hopelessness and fear in the young woman’s voice as she says, “I don’t want to hear another ‘I told you so.’”

I think of these women at the shelter, I think of their starry-eyed little ones. Our lives momentarily overlap. I only catch a small fragment, a quick snapshot of their story, now fading into an impression, into a feeling. The feeling blooming is love flowing into a fierce, sacred whisper to the Universe wishing them wellbeing, safety, and radiant rising.

I wake to their narratives and to a curiously peaceful heart. I am learning, then.

This is a dose of daily soul work: to be an open heart in this raw world, to be an alert listener to the stories of my fellow travelers and still be centered in my being. This is a challenge. I tend to absorb others’ heartbreak as my own.

I soak in emotional energies like a sponge: a phone call, a quick glimpse of the headlines, a poignant film, a brief exchange echoes in my being and whips waves of emotion that can either uplift or sink my spirits for days, or even weeks.

This sensitivity to places, people and energies is a natural part of my wiring, and I’m just now learning to work with and not against my sensitivity. I am peeling back the voices of misunderstanding teachers, judgmental family members and fifth grade bullies to hear and honor the soft voice of my sensitivity.

My sensitivity is a wild creature whom I use to fear. Sensitivity ignites me to  feel intensely, makes me dizzy in crowds, causes me to be overly stimulated in loud and busy environments. 

I’m now learning to nurture this artistic beast through routine that satisfies its craving for solitude, nature, and art. I restore through daily meditation, walks in nature (I relish a stroll in the cold; I feel so utterly alive), time spent freely journaling and reading works that sing straight to my center. I practice compassion toward self (because it’s a daily decision to show kindness) when I’m stressed, vulnerable, fearful, and when I’m content and joyful. By softening toward myself, I’m softening toward others, and I’m softening to the world without taking on the world.

The practice is the work shift at the shelter, a world pulsing with stories, heartbreaks, hopes, sorrows and dreams.  I feel for the young woman missing her purse, feel her frustration, her anger, her desire to discharge the blame, and I stay connected to my breath as I help her search, not taking on her feelings, just simply being present for her and myself. Instead of being scrambled with feelings, I am able to be in the moment. I see the incredible strength and poise the six-year-old exudes as she answers her mother in Spanish, then directs her unwavering gaze at me and asks for her mother, “What is it that you need?”

I need to be awake in this moment, to listen wholeheartedly, to be a gentle witness to the stories, and still wake in the morning fully empowered in my sensitive self. This is my soul work as a sensitive being. And I’m softening into the journey. 

Meditating In A Brewery

When you complain, you make yourself a victim. Leave the situation, change the situation, or accept it. All else is madness. – Eckhart Tolle 

***

In the comfort and serenity of a beloved yoga studio nestled in the Kentucky woods, I prepare for meditation. I sit tall, let my eyes gently and feel the presence of the breath. As I grow quiet, the once soft layers of sound, the whisper of the wind, the song of birds, the hum of the heater, become suddenly loud.

“There will always be noise,” the teacher says as if reading my mind, “but you can always come home to the stillness beneath the noise by returning to the breath.”

A week later, I repeat this piece of wisdom to a tribe of yogis settling down to meditate in a popular downtown brewery. Away from the tranquility of the woods, away from the quiet of the yoga studio, right in the center of a Wednesday night in a downtown hot spot, her words take on new significance and a sense of urgency.

Big city yoga is how I like to describe this brewery yoga class to inquiring minds. Mat-to-mat and limited space, a yogi must be conscious of all movements, otherwise a neighbor shall be unintentionally hit while launching into a half-moon pose, or toes shall smack a nose when flying up into locust. Every Wednesday night, the beer garden transforms into a yoga space: a loyal tribe of professionals, local artists, and college students arrive at least thirty minutes early to secure a coveted spot. The bare floor becomes a colorful canvas of brightly patterned yoga mats. Shoes become cubbies for car keys and cell phones. There are a few daring yogis who drink a beer before (or during) class. This is all part of the adventure of brewery yoga…and the noise.

The noise tonight, though, is louder than usual. The stereo is mistakenly left on in the beer garden, so an instrumental version of popular Christmas songs plays through meditation. The music is an additional layer to the hisses booming occasionally from the brewing machinery, and the rise and swell of laughter rippling out from the accompanying room where people gather for an after-work beer.

As I project and continue on the meditation (this is where theater training serves me tremendously: the show/yoga class must go on!), I feel the rise of irritation. I care about these students and want a tad bit more quiet for them. The instant I wish the moment to be different is when I feel myself veering from my connection to center.

Another piece of wisdom from an effervescent yoga teacher emerges and brings peace: “The ego mind is always going to want the moment to be different, and we lose our peace by fighting the reality of what is present. Let go the resistance. Let the moment be exactly as it.”

I surrender. I let the moment be exactly as it is – loud, but a loudness shimmering with the vibrancy of life: people at work, people sharing stories, people flirting, a local business thriving. I am a quiet witness to the world, present within and present in the hustle and bustle. Once I let the moment be as it, I feel a steadiness, a peace, and from there, I can teach.

A few days later, I find myself  thinking of the brewery yoga class and the gift of lessons it brings right in time for the holiday season. Finding a sense of inner peace is always easy when I am on meditating in the serenity of a yoga studio. The real meditation occurs off the mat. The real meditation is finding and staying connected to the peace beneath the noise of our lives and offering our genuine presence to the moment, whatever the moment holds.

During the holiday season, in my household, and with such pure-hearted intention, there is a desire for the holiday to be perfect, for everyone to be happy, and for the gatherings to go smoothly; but the holidays can be stressful and a rollercoaster of emotion. The brewery class prepares me to stay connected to my center as I ride the holiday rush. The brewery noise sharpened my focus and my commitment to be present and be with what is, and enhanced the joy and love I feel for teaching that class. The class is my spiritual reminder to let the moment be exactly as it (glistening with twinkle lights or tense with strained family dynamics), and let people be exactly as they are (joyful or grouchy).

Whatever the holiday holds for you, dear reader, and I hope it holds such joy and ease, remember in times of conflict and stress to return to the peace beneath the chaos by coming home to the breath. To be a presence of peace  in the midst of activity and stillness is a treasured gift for you and the ones you share this holiday season with.

Go gently and sweetly. Namaste, Loves. 

On The Tracks: Finding My Soul Tribe

I breathe this memory into my bones: the beautiful blossom of morning light reaching across train tracks, the touch of air on my skin, the steel beneath my heels, the soul tribe friends guiding me along my path.

Photos by the wildly talented Misty Pittman . Roam and revel at http://mistypittman.com/collection/ . 

***

Walking in heels along tracks is a balancing act. There is the terrifying and thrilling fear of falling, losing all composure and stumbling into gravel and unforgiving rails. Dwelling in the fear of falling makes it only more plausible. The security is in the present: an unwavering commitment to the NOW to guide my steps.

I am comforted by the presence of my friend, my kindergarten soul mate. She takes graceful steps in lace up boots. The black lace of her dress flutters in the breeze. Her serene aura ripples out and embraces.

I find my breath. I find a gaze to guide and mindfully direct my steps. I am safe.

The photographer captures the journey of my kindergarten soul mate and I traveling down the tracks through her poised iPhone. I feel safe in front of the camera. I trust the exquisite artistry of the photographer. She invites me to step in and see pockets of missed beauty in our raw and metal surroundings. In the fresh world of the morning, this industrial playground of breweries, train tracks and abandoned cars is curiously enchanting. We see beauty in the weeds growing beside discarded tires; in the street puddles left over from the night’s rain; in the bleach white bones of cat who perished by the train track.

She is an artist in full focus – angling the camera to catch a change in light, directing with a few, concise cues. For once, my usual self-consciousness is gone. Typically, I feel uncomfortable in the direct gaze of the unwavering lens and these feelings of unease appear in the photo, much to my chagrin.

Today, though, I am freed from the strains of insecurity. I don’t strive to be model perfect. The wilder my hair is the better. Spontaneous dance sessions celebrated. Carefree laughter welcomed. Heart-shaped sunglasses, Jeans, scuffed boots and leather jacket complimented and praised. I let myself be seen because I am in the presence of two people who see me and radically accept me.

Radical self-acceptance is part of my soul work. The work always begins from within. The daily commitment to practice compassion toward self and show up authentically in the world starts with wild permission to feel what I need to feel, process what I need to process, and love myself through all of the lessons.

I am blessed to have people in my life supporting me through the journey. These rare and treasured friends are my soul tribe.  My soul tribe speaks the language of intuition and of the heart. My soul tribe feels deeply, lives passionately and loves fiercely. The two women walking beside me are my heart listeners: I turn to them when I’m in joy and when I’m in pain. They hold space for all of expressions of me, and I hope I hold space for them, too.

Looking at the photos, I instantly feel a sense of belonging. We need each other on this journey. We need a soul tribe, a community, a few friends who applaud us along as we travel down uncertain roads, or bravely tackle train tracks in heels.

***

Cultivating Balance

A tree pose selfie for fall. 

***

I brave the early morning chill and walk barefoot into the canvas of fall leaves blanketing the backyard. I step into a circle of gold tinted and red hued leaves. I turn my gaze up toward the tree graciously greeting autumn by letting go and making space for change.

“The trees are showing us how lovely it is to let go.”

I take a cue from the trees and surrender the mental chatter and the worries by breathing deeply. I let myself unfold into the richness of the moment, to be present in the shift, to be consciously anchored amidst change. I savor the pause.

I realize I haven’t let myself pause too much lately. The current pace of my life is one that is simply too fast for me. I feel like my life is living me instead of me living my life. I jump from one commitment to the next with little to no pause in between. There are people who thrive off of going and doing, and way to go them! I’m not one of them. My work is primarily public speaking and my introverted self needs quiet to effectively prepare and restore.

I know a new balance must be contemplated, cultivated and cleverly created, but I am not like the autumn trees, I resist letting go.

I resist creating space that I need for myself because all my commitments bring me tremendous joy. I want to passionately pour energy and enthusiasm into my new position. My dream job is now a full-fledged reality and I love it. This is my soul work. It’s the ideal balance of passion and heartache, of academia and community engagement, of independent work and collaboration with amazing people. The contented balance I find in this position however feels different from my personal life. I know in order to be brilliant and bright at my job, I need down time to feed that inner flame.

That inner flame is also fed by teaching yoga. Each class I teach has its own unique character and sense of community. It is my bliss. My heart breaks at the thought of relinquishing a class or two, but I know that if I continue at this pace I’ll become stressed, uninspired and not able to give and hold space the way I deeply want to for my students.

I am capable of doing it all, of striving to be super woman, but by doing, going and speeding to the next, I’m losing a critical aspect of myself in the process: my creativity.

Looking at my planner the other day, I realized why I feel a sudden burst of stress whenever I glance at it: there’s not enough blank space for creativity. I miss writing. I haven’t posted a blog in over a month and I cringe at that fact. The way I write requires mental space to roam, muse and properly edit…in other words, a lot of blank space. It’s just how my muse operates. I feel like I am betraying myself by not writing. By being too tilted to working and teaching, I found how essential writing is to my spirit.

We all define balance differently. There are times in our lives when that definition dramatically changes because we change and our lives, naturally, change. We ebb and flow, expand and contract, hold on and let go on a daily basis. Right now, I’m in my mid-20s and am exploring the type of work that sets my soul on fire. I seek to cultivate a balance between my work with the community, teaching yoga and writing. Attending to these diverse passions will provide the wholehearted grounding that frees me to be vibrantly present with family and friends. Achieving perfect balance is not the quest; I’ll always lean a bit more to one or the other, but having an idea of what balance would look and feel like for me is comforting and steadying. 

I find steadiness in rewriting how I perceive letting go. I’m holding tightly because of the fear that I could make an irreparable mistake and will miss out on an opportunity that won’t come again. Letting go of fear and being comfortable in uncertainty is part of my growth. By letting go, I create space to deeply nurture my passions, my loved ones and myself. And as the trees so wisely remind me, this letting go process can be incredibly beautiful and lovely. 

Nurturing Softness: Staying Open-Hearted to Life

Nurturing the inner muse by reveling in the enchanting photography of Misty Pittman: https://instagram.com/misty_pittman/.

***

Monday late afternoon, the blues descend. The anger from the previous week that lingered through the weekend fades and reveals a sinking disappointment and heavy sadness. I prefer anger. The lividness fuels action; the sadness slows and paralyzes. The temptation is to indulgently dwell in the sadness, but a promise to be at a party pushes me to rise. I put on red lipstick, pop on an adored glittery bracelet and take off into an evening cooled by the afternoon rain.

Any remaining heaviness dissipates once I arrive to the backyard affair and am warmly greeted by friends. The gathering is of kindred spirits, sipping margaritas and beers in a free-spirited garden. The back porch holds tables overflowing with local deliciousness: hotdogs from a nearby farm, watermelon slices, fresh salads and a platter of homemade oatmeal cookies.

The conversations flow with ease around recent movie releases, podcasts, travels and politics (for once, I’m joyfully with members from my own political tribe). Beneath the melody of conversations is an indie playlist of Glass Animals, Tycho and alt-J.

There are toasts at the end of the evening, celebrating a departing friend as she embarks on her journey to graduate school. Included in this circle of kindhearted people, I feel an overflowing of joy and love. I let the goodness sink in. I revel in it; this summer evening of friends, margaritas and uplifting conversation is a balm to my heart and rejuvenates my soul.

From this space of belonging, I am able to access my softness. I connect back to my own kindness and feel such relief. My fear that I am losing my sweetness dissolves as I welcome this joyful moment. From this softened perspective, I see the past few weeks of difficulty and heartbreak are part of my growing, not my hardening.

The questions that always emerge during times of hardship return to me again: can this wounding open my heart even more to life? Can the difficulty be seen as invitation to expand and not shrink? Can I see people in all their glorious imperfections from a place of understanding and compassion, and not bitterness and judgment?

I intend for the answer to be a wholehearted yes: a yes to embracing the challenges, learning the lessons and remaining open to life; a yes to falling fiercely and beautifully in love again; a yes to recognizing that people’s imperfections are my own and we’re in this life journey together.

Recently, this daily practice of staying soft and remaining open-hearted is a challenge. The hurt seeps out into bitterness; the disappointment reshapes into sarcasm. I fear that my genuine softness is lost to the rough tides of life, but then a beautiful summer evening spent with friends grants access to the compassion dwelling deep within the core of my being.

In all my consuming anger and difficulty, I forgot the simple and magnificent power of genuine laughter and pure-hearted fun. I remember that to stay soft I must take great, gentle care of myself. I nurture my softness by surrounding myself with uplifting people, by taking sacred, steady breaths beneath a night sky. I stay soft by marveling at the universe and returning to the truth of my being, and knowing that all is going to be just fine. 

The Walk After The Rain

Dreams of the future bring me back to the paths of the past. 

***

I feel the certainty of my decision. I notice the clarity, the light-heartedness and the determination accompanying the decision. It’s a commitment that liberates. A calling that resonates in the deepest fiber of my being. 

So these days, I’m contemplating the future, strategizing the needed steps to manifest this decision into a full-fledged reality. These thoughts of the future curiously carry me back to the memories of my past. I turn the pages of the past, carefully studying the moments culminating to this dream that sings in my soul as purpose, as my reason for being.

I am led to revisiting the walk after the rain. This is the beginning of the new chapter. I see the lampposts lining the paths of the campus, their golden glow rippling soft light into the mist. I feel beautiful in this memory. I walk slowly, swaying along in a lace dress that reveals sun-kissed shoulders and in boots that click against the rain streaked pavement.

I walk with my first love. He listens to my day’s adventures, exploring a new city that is now his home: a graffiti garden, funky coffee shops, and vintage stores. Two cameo necklaces are treasured finds from the vintage stores and I proudly wear both, an over-the-top fashion decision that tonight feels right.  The cameos watch over my pounding heart, a heart yearning for a subtle sign from this boy that he loves and cares for me.

I silently wish he would reach out and close the distance between us by taking my hand. Instead, the distance is filled with conversation and a shared enchantment for a place of learning illuminated by gold tinted light.

At the time, I believe I delight and see these sights for him. I speak words of support and take the sights in twice because I want to envision a piece of his life I will not be in. I am brilliantly aware of his presence, his movements, his words, his entire being; and simultaneously, incredibly sensitive to my own presence, my own stride, my choice of words and the murmur of unspoken thoughts. I am present and removed; I watch us walk through the mist as a distant observer.

The remembered walk pulls me to the walk that follows a year later. I am alone this time. I retrace the steps of our walk not for the sake of nostalgia, but to reestablish my sense of direction in this sprawling city that is both new and homelike.

Curiosity and spontaneity guide my steps into the academic buildings, secluded courtyards, paths traveled by students now on spring break, leaving an empty campus for me to fully take in and in the company of my thoughts happily explore.

I think of him, naturally, but there is no sadness that comes with the fading photograph of us walking after the rain. Instead of the familiar pang of heartbreak, there is a deep sense of gratitude for his role in my journey. I’m thankful for the evening stroll that left me - not in his arms as I originally thought - but at the beginning of a new chapter. Now I walk alone and brave in my decision to follow a soul calling that all began to whisper my name during that one walk after the rain.