A lot of times I find myself wishing for more time to do the things I know bring me into balance. You know, that state of being totally centered and peaceful and well rested, ready to brighten the world with a spirit of possibility and generosity one might be able (if they look close enough) to see behind my eyeballs and touch in my wake. That state, if I've felt it at all, comes only once in a while.
Right now is one of those times when I have more time. Since I have this luxury (and really, it is such a luxury after dealing with weird sleep patterns, some minor health problems, and a persistent left eye twitch), I've been able to go home and visit my family more in Raleigh, refocus on my yoga practice, and plan lots of fun adventures. Yesterday, I even did "a double" in yoga (ie. two ninety minute classes in the hot room in one day!). I also got ten hours of sleep (omfg). And I flossed (no, I don't do that regularly, but I'm not shoulding myself about it).
Even with my best intentions for getting back to center, it wouldn't be all yin and yang if I didn't (intentionally or unintentionally, I'm not sure), drink a few beers after yoga, sleepy eat before bed (yeah, I do that), and wake up after a few hours only to end up searching for new iPhone cases on Amazon until my alarm went off.
Some days you brush your teeth and floss; others, you just have to have the giant chocolate chip cookie, eat a load of Swedish fish, and drink a few beers. Sometimes these things happen on the same day. That's just how it goes. And telling you I do otherwise would be false.
Here's the other thing: As much as I crave balance and clarity and doing all the Right Things (especially when it comes to health), the bottom line is that 1) I don't do all the Right Things...and I'm not going to; 2) I actually kind of like getting a little crazy. Against the backdrop of Crazy, Balance becomes more meaningful; 3) Sometimes, I use balance as a word to replace whatever word it is that means "I'm too afraid to go to the edge and then jump into possibility without fear." Instead of saying, "I'm using this time to get back to balance," it's probably more true to say, "I've been stretched too far and I'm working my way back to my comfort zone."
On the relationship front, I've been thinking about balance and comfort. You see, I've never really been that comfortable letting someone into my life even in some serious relationships...I think I fear being abandoned or not wanted at some level (don't ask me why or how--I don't know), so I try to maintain a ferocious amount of independence that usually sets a precedent and then I wonder why I'm not getting the affection I want. I often ask, "Can I be myself/independent/authentic in a relationship in which I am trying to care for the other person just as much as myself? Can I trust that this other person will care just as much for me as I do him? Can there really be balance?"
Instead of questioning it, I need to start saying, "Yes. Yes. Yes." Stop worrying so much about it, and chances are, things will work themselves out.
Something that stuck with me recently goes like this: If you're going to love, love deeply. In the end, if you're going to get hurt, whether a little or a lot, it's still going to hurt, so you may as well go for the good stuff. And then, there's the reassurance that nothing good gets away. The same goes for anything else worth having.
So, walking to the edge we go. Getting out of the comfort zone. Seeking balance. Trusting the process.
Thursday 17 May 2012
Tuesday 15 May 2012
Things
What kinds of things do you remember about certain people? Your grandmother? Dad? Uncle? Sister? There are certain things that we remember the people in our lives by. I always wonder how we're attached to (or repulsed by) varying objects or actions that hold a special significance or memory of someone. Here are some of my memories:
I went to a friend's house last week and used her family's Juice-o-mat to squeeze limes for our rhubarbaritas. I'd never seen one of these contraptions, but it was so easy to use and a definite workhorse for squeezing citrus. She told me it was her husband's mother's from ages ago when she made them fresh squeezed orange juice for breakfast. Another memory.
So I went looking on eBay for it and found one. Now to get into bidding! It's stuff like this that really makes me wonder what kinds of things I do or have in my own family that I'll be remembered by.
I always remember my grandmother coming to visit and unloading our dishwasher quietly before anyone was out of bed in the morning. And she would always ask, first thing, what we wanted for breakfast after giving hugs.
My great-grandmother always had new dresses with the Belk price tags laying on her guest bed. She never wore them.
My dad taught me how to vacuum the "right way" and would pretend to screen calls from my "agent," Rex, when I played movie star with a homemade cardboard cell phone with a Capri Sun straw antenna.
I went to a friend's house last week and used her family's Juice-o-mat to squeeze limes for our rhubarbaritas. I'd never seen one of these contraptions, but it was so easy to use and a definite workhorse for squeezing citrus. She told me it was her husband's mother's from ages ago when she made them fresh squeezed orange juice for breakfast. Another memory.
 |
| Drink up! |
So I went looking on eBay for it and found one. Now to get into bidding! It's stuff like this that really makes me wonder what kinds of things I do or have in my own family that I'll be remembered by.
 |
| The Juice-o-mat! |
Wednesday 9 May 2012
Winning and Losing
Recently, a friend of mine told me about the five year-old she babysits and how he taught her to play chess. She described how he led her patiently through the names of the pieces, the way to move across the board, and all the other nuances of chess he knew in his wise five years. And then they played. And he won. But instead of celebrating his victory over his babysitter all he said was, "There are no winners or losers. The game just ended."
Yesterday, North Carolina voted to pass Amendment One, the newest revision to our state constitution. In politics, like chess, there are myriad complexities and moves that determine who might be the winner or loser. Because of this new amendment, I sense that there may be a number of people who do truly lose that for which they fight so vigilantly. But thinking about this story makes me hopeful that this game we're playing of morals and tradition and right and wrong isn't a moment to cheer over a win or give up in defeat--it just ended. Perhaps, maybe not now, maybe later, there won't be any winners or losers. Maybe we'll be able to figure out a way to start a new kind of game called compromise where the rules are simple: grow understanding. However, I have no doubt that yesterday's election is just the beginning of a long, complicated road.
It is suffocating to look at most social media about the amendment and read complaints about who is right or wrong, or about how backwards we are as a state, a reason to pack up and leave. If anything, the results of this election are not a reason to move, but a justification for staying here during this incredible time in our history. I'm proud of the people who did their research and voted against the amendment. For those who voted for it--well, there's a lot of educating to be done, I guess. Instead of fighting, though, I urge you to grow pockets of love where you find them and share that with others. Focusing on the negative breeds negativity; finding and sharing the positive only attracts more of it.
The "Writer's Almanac" poem for today seems fitting as we look inward and outward at what's to come, so I share it here.
To pray you open your whole self
To sky, to earth, to sun, to moon
To one whole voice that is you.
And know there is more
That you can't see, can't hear
Can't know except in moments
Steadily growing, and in languages
That aren't always sound but other
Circles of motion.
Like eagle that Sunday morning
Over Salt River. Circled in blue sky
In wind, swept our hearts clean
With sacred wings.
We see you, see ourselves and know
That we must take the utmost care
And kindness in all things.
Breathe in, knowing we are made of
All this, and breathe, knowing
We are truly blessed because we
Were born, and die soon, within a
True circle of motion,
Like eagle rounding out the morning
Inside us.
We pray that it will be done
In beauty.
In beauty.
Yesterday, North Carolina voted to pass Amendment One, the newest revision to our state constitution. In politics, like chess, there are myriad complexities and moves that determine who might be the winner or loser. Because of this new amendment, I sense that there may be a number of people who do truly lose that for which they fight so vigilantly. But thinking about this story makes me hopeful that this game we're playing of morals and tradition and right and wrong isn't a moment to cheer over a win or give up in defeat--it just ended. Perhaps, maybe not now, maybe later, there won't be any winners or losers. Maybe we'll be able to figure out a way to start a new kind of game called compromise where the rules are simple: grow understanding. However, I have no doubt that yesterday's election is just the beginning of a long, complicated road.
It is suffocating to look at most social media about the amendment and read complaints about who is right or wrong, or about how backwards we are as a state, a reason to pack up and leave. If anything, the results of this election are not a reason to move, but a justification for staying here during this incredible time in our history. I'm proud of the people who did their research and voted against the amendment. For those who voted for it--well, there's a lot of educating to be done, I guess. Instead of fighting, though, I urge you to grow pockets of love where you find them and share that with others. Focusing on the negative breeds negativity; finding and sharing the positive only attracts more of it.
The "Writer's Almanac" poem for today seems fitting as we look inward and outward at what's to come, so I share it here.
Eagle Poem by Joy Harjo
To sky, to earth, to sun, to moon
To one whole voice that is you.
And know there is more
That you can't see, can't hear
Can't know except in moments
Steadily growing, and in languages
That aren't always sound but other
Circles of motion.
Like eagle that Sunday morning
Over Salt River. Circled in blue sky
In wind, swept our hearts clean
With sacred wings.
We see you, see ourselves and know
That we must take the utmost care
And kindness in all things.
Breathe in, knowing we are made of
All this, and breathe, knowing
We are truly blessed because we
Were born, and die soon, within a
True circle of motion,
Like eagle rounding out the morning
Inside us.
We pray that it will be done
In beauty.
In beauty.
Tuesday 8 May 2012
An Important Day
For North Carolinians (and I'd say many people in the U.S.), today marks an important time in our history. Today, people are voting on Amendment One--what some are calling the "marriage amendment"--that would strip gay couples' ability to marry, and interferes with legal protections for unmarried couples and their children as well as unmarried women and older adults. Find out how.
North Carolina already has a law against gay marriage, and this poorly written constitutional amendment is merely a bold, brazen statement of bigotry and discrimination against another minority group. And, I suppose, what can be seen as the most disappointing aspect of this prejudice is the negative publicity North Carolina receives as being yet another backward Bible Belt state (well, at least by folks who might lean left). On the other hand, the national attention this topic grabs--and the numbers of people voting against this amendment at the polls--can send an equally strong message that people in our state care about the well being of ALL citizens who live here.
In my mind, it's one thing to make a statement against gay marriage affecting adults (a very poorly constructed statement, mind you), and quite another to take away the limited rights of our most vulnerable population: children. This amendment affects their healthcare coverage, the protection of visitation rights, and custody by a committed parent they love.
I also find it infuriating that this amendment could also harm unmarried women by taking away domestic violence protections. As someone who falls into this category, and whose reproductive rights are also being slashed away at by state and national (majority male) political figures, I am incensed by the direction our "moral" compass points at this moment. What the hell happened to women's rights? Civil rights? Have we forgotten our history? Have we become so removed from ourselves and our communities that we are numb to the repercussions of our state and national "leadership"?
OK.
Today is a big day. So I voted. Actually, I drove to Raleigh last night, slept for five hours, voted, and drove back to Greensboro in time for work at 8 a.m. And I got to vote with my mom, which was even more special since she's someone who has always taught me to stand up for myself in situations like this one. And no, I haven't been brought up on bra-burning feminism, just a good old fashioned sense of justice, fairness, and love. And that is why this is important.
North Carolina already has a law against gay marriage, and this poorly written constitutional amendment is merely a bold, brazen statement of bigotry and discrimination against another minority group. And, I suppose, what can be seen as the most disappointing aspect of this prejudice is the negative publicity North Carolina receives as being yet another backward Bible Belt state (well, at least by folks who might lean left). On the other hand, the national attention this topic grabs--and the numbers of people voting against this amendment at the polls--can send an equally strong message that people in our state care about the well being of ALL citizens who live here.
In my mind, it's one thing to make a statement against gay marriage affecting adults (a very poorly constructed statement, mind you), and quite another to take away the limited rights of our most vulnerable population: children. This amendment affects their healthcare coverage, the protection of visitation rights, and custody by a committed parent they love.
I also find it infuriating that this amendment could also harm unmarried women by taking away domestic violence protections. As someone who falls into this category, and whose reproductive rights are also being slashed away at by state and national (majority male) political figures, I am incensed by the direction our "moral" compass points at this moment. What the hell happened to women's rights? Civil rights? Have we forgotten our history? Have we become so removed from ourselves and our communities that we are numb to the repercussions of our state and national "leadership"?
OK.
Today is a big day. So I voted. Actually, I drove to Raleigh last night, slept for five hours, voted, and drove back to Greensboro in time for work at 8 a.m. And I got to vote with my mom, which was even more special since she's someone who has always taught me to stand up for myself in situations like this one. And no, I haven't been brought up on bra-burning feminism, just a good old fashioned sense of justice, fairness, and love. And that is why this is important.
 |
| We voted AGAINST! |
Wednesday 2 May 2012
Whole-Heartedness and an Email
How much do you like TED Talks? (Yes, that's a leading question).
Recently, my friend Nicole told me about a particular talk called "The Power of Vulnerability" by Brene Brown. Her talk underscores the fact that humans need love and connection. A lot of what prevents us from feeling love and connection are feelings of shame--the sense of "I'm not ____ enough." On the other hand, when people have love and connection they believe they are worthy, that they are "enough," regardless of others' impressions. These people are what she calls whole-hearted, and whole-heartedness comes from the courage to be imperfect, to practice compassion with themselves and then others, and to be authentic.
Now here's where she gets me:
"The other thing that they had in common was this: They fully embraced vulnerability. They believed that what made them vulnerable made them beautiful. They didn't talk about vulnerability being comfortable, nor did they really talk about it being excruciating -- as I had heard it earlier in the shame interviewing. They just talked about it being necessary. They talked about the willingness to say, "I love you" first, the willingness to do something where there are no guarantees, the willingness to breathe through waiting for the doctor to call after your mammogram. They're willing to invest in a relationship that may or may not work out. They thought this was fundamental."
So, I'll tell you a (not so) secret: I'm dating someone new. And I really like him. I like like him. And it's sort of scaring me shitless. But it's also exciting and marvelous and draws me to checking my inbox for his quirky emails and wanting to plan weekend visits and imagine doing all sorts of fun things quite possibly past next weekend and the next and the next. And it's requiring me to be vulnerable. To be, in Brene's words, willing to "do something where there are no guarantees" and "invest in a relationship that may or may not work out."
And that requires patience and presence. The ability to live in joy in the moment and not worry too much about those future weekends and be grateful for what IS. NOW.
Today, I sent him an email. Innocent really. But I included two tiny letters that I've never closed an email to him with: xo. How do I feel? Vulnerable. I'm not sure how he's going to receive this text (or even acknowledge it if at all) given that neither one of us has been particularly lovey in our messages. X. Kiss. O. Hug. Simple, right? Not "I love you," but it's also not the usual banter. I'm putting it out there: I care for you. I enjoy you. I like like you.
I clicked "send" before I gave myself too much time to reconsider because one part of me thinks, "Well, if he's not into it, then it's better to know now than later...and then I won't get as hurt. Right?" And the other part is, "Fuck it. What makes me vulnerable makes me beautiful. (Good quote, Bren)." And then the tiniest part says, "Kate, you are enough. Stop worrying. Live now. Trust the process." (That's the part, the little seed inside, that I must water the most). ...I need to log out of my email.
I aim to be whole-hearted. To have courage. And now that my heart feels so light and bursting, it's time to embrace all aspects of being vulnerable in this new space. Because if I'm not in that space I'm numb, and I'd much prefer to be able to tell you that I'm almost scared shitless than to say I don't feel anything at all. I am enough.
Let's just hope he replies soon.
Recently, my friend Nicole told me about a particular talk called "The Power of Vulnerability" by Brene Brown. Her talk underscores the fact that humans need love and connection. A lot of what prevents us from feeling love and connection are feelings of shame--the sense of "I'm not ____ enough." On the other hand, when people have love and connection they believe they are worthy, that they are "enough," regardless of others' impressions. These people are what she calls whole-hearted, and whole-heartedness comes from the courage to be imperfect, to practice compassion with themselves and then others, and to be authentic.
Now here's where she gets me:
"The other thing that they had in common was this: They fully embraced vulnerability. They believed that what made them vulnerable made them beautiful. They didn't talk about vulnerability being comfortable, nor did they really talk about it being excruciating -- as I had heard it earlier in the shame interviewing. They just talked about it being necessary. They talked about the willingness to say, "I love you" first, the willingness to do something where there are no guarantees, the willingness to breathe through waiting for the doctor to call after your mammogram. They're willing to invest in a relationship that may or may not work out. They thought this was fundamental."
So, I'll tell you a (not so) secret: I'm dating someone new. And I really like him. I like like him. And it's sort of scaring me shitless. But it's also exciting and marvelous and draws me to checking my inbox for his quirky emails and wanting to plan weekend visits and imagine doing all sorts of fun things quite possibly past next weekend and the next and the next. And it's requiring me to be vulnerable. To be, in Brene's words, willing to "do something where there are no guarantees" and "invest in a relationship that may or may not work out."
And that requires patience and presence. The ability to live in joy in the moment and not worry too much about those future weekends and be grateful for what IS. NOW.
Today, I sent him an email. Innocent really. But I included two tiny letters that I've never closed an email to him with: xo. How do I feel? Vulnerable. I'm not sure how he's going to receive this text (or even acknowledge it if at all) given that neither one of us has been particularly lovey in our messages. X. Kiss. O. Hug. Simple, right? Not "I love you," but it's also not the usual banter. I'm putting it out there: I care for you. I enjoy you. I like like you.
I clicked "send" before I gave myself too much time to reconsider because one part of me thinks, "Well, if he's not into it, then it's better to know now than later...and then I won't get as hurt. Right?" And the other part is, "Fuck it. What makes me vulnerable makes me beautiful. (Good quote, Bren)." And then the tiniest part says, "Kate, you are enough. Stop worrying. Live now. Trust the process." (That's the part, the little seed inside, that I must water the most). ...I need to log out of my email.
I aim to be whole-hearted. To have courage. And now that my heart feels so light and bursting, it's time to embrace all aspects of being vulnerable in this new space. Because if I'm not in that space I'm numb, and I'd much prefer to be able to tell you that I'm almost scared shitless than to say I don't feel anything at all. I am enough.
Let's just hope he replies soon.
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