mucking around in the mud, opening my heart to the sun

My yoga teacher said something beautiful the other day about the symbolism of the lotus flower in yogic tradition. — How the lotus flower grows from the bottom of muddy, cloudy waters, rising above the surface and opening itself to the sun. Suggesting how we too can open our hearts to lightness and brightness, even when we feel ourselves stuck, mucking around in the mud, be it our everyday mundane lives or grief-stricken anguish.

This reminded me of how another yoga teacher used to describe me as a lotus flower with her petals always wide open. And how sometimes I might try to protect my heart a little by folding my petals inwards a bit when encountering unkindness or aggression.

For me, this closing in without shutting off is a real challenge; it's like I can never tell before it's too late that this would be a good time for closing in a little.

This fall, I will make more of an effort to follow the lotus flower's balanced modeling of exuberant opening up and graceful closing in.

image: wiki

when sentimentality rules

Our house is a sailboat and the fuck is my life but my life is also a wildly exciting roller coaster ride. And I have been finding more calm lately by simply observing and accepting, returning not only to my yoga mat but also to my former dabblings in Buddhism. I'll write more about that later. The bit I wanted to share today is my newfound lesson that sometimes sentimentality rules.

So I have planned this crazy packed Europe tour for my book, leaving this Friday and returning on the 31st in the afternoon. There is no coincidence in my coming back on Halloween. I feel immensely sad and bad about leaving my four-year-old for so long, even if she'll be in the highly competent care of her loving papa. It's my second long trip overseas this fall and on the previous one I missed first day of preschool. I simply can't miss Halloween.

So I've made these really busy stressful plans, cramming as much as possible into those ten days I'm in Europe before catching a flight out of Amsterdam early in the morning of Halloween to be back, well, for Halloween.

And though it may sound like I've gone entirely mushy, the fact of the matter is that it works.

i've caused my sweet 4-year-old to lose her cool

First day of school

We had a sunny summer of bliss, Lilly and I, me taking time off from work to regain some perspective, and she growing ever more confident and amazingly competent at the pool and at the beach. There was no hurry. There was only savoring.

Then comes fall. "Fall of excitement, here I come!" I posted on Facebook while packing up for my first trip abroad to promote my book. Preschool resumed while I was gone; missing first day of that is in itself a faux pas.

I've never missed any of her big milestones. In fact, I've only been gone from her a single night before on two different occasions and that was both three years ago. Then towards the end of this summer, Leighton and I had our first couple's only vacation, leaving her with grandparents she doesn't see that often for three whole nights.

And then I go over seas for ten days. In turn she starts extended days in preschool so Leighton can get his work done.

Seeing her again at the airport last Tuesday was pure bliss. She was so happy to see me! So excited! And the feeling was completely mutual.

But then came the nights with my exasperation at her crawling all over my body. And a house full of stress with both Leighton and I having more than our share on our plate this fall. As they say; when it rains, it pours.

final summer bravado: first romantic getaway as parents

On this last morning of work before we head off on vacation, I've finished up a few things I had to do this week for an erotic film festival I'm co-curating. I was also going to work on an abstract for an article on the speed limits of women's desire in Norway. Instead I've found myself googling fun and romantic things to do in Denver, Colorado where Leighton and I will be spending a few days and nights while Lilly gets to visit her grandma and grandpa in Wyoming. It'll be our first couple's only vacation after Lilly was born and we are all very excited. I'm hoping it stays that way, and that we won't get a phone call with a crying child on the other end begging us to come get her. She had her first sleepover at a friend's house a couple of weeks ago while we went out to celebrate our five-year wedding anniversary, and we all had a wonderful time that night, so I'm hopeful. 

I'm particularly excited about the romantic date nights we've got planned, getting hungry just looking at all the mouthwatering pictures from recommended restaurants, such as Le Central (French food, French wine, French desserts... nothing says romance like a French bistro... Call ahead to reserve a spot in the delightful garden room at the back of the eatery for a French countryside ambiance); Cuba Cuba (Cuba Cuba offers traditional Cuban fare in a cozy setting — plus they serve Denver's best Mojitos. Dine by candlelight on the patio for that perfect date ambiance); Highland's Garden (Soak in the quiet ambiance of the restaurant while savoring the fine dining. After a sumptuous meal, stroll hand-in-hand through the gardens and take in the sights of the lush gardens); Tamayo (A rooftop deck that affords gorgeous views of the Front Range... This sleek, contemporary Mexican restaurant is appreciated equally for its to-die-for margaritas and tequilas and its unexpected, delicious takes on old standards); and Sushi Den (Wonderful, high-quality dishes are sure to please, and fresh fish is flown in daily — a practice that makes for a slightly pricier, but more than worthy, menu. The modern decor encourages trendy crowds to visit over sake, sushi, and sashimi).

fighting the US resistance to taking a break

It started out slowly. The sigh-it-out feeling of relief; that things are coming together; my first book will soon be released (which I hope will free and inspire a lot of moms and women — and dads and men! — in general to claim, own, and explore their sexuality on their terms). Suddenly all the blogging and Facebooking and Tweeting just seemed less urgent. Plus, the days were getting longer, warmer, sunnier. And are still lovingly long, warm, and sunny, even if we've passed the solstice.

I grew up in Scandinavia, light and heat deprived and all: how could I not seize the moment to soak in pleasure and joy right now?

So I did. Like I've done many times before (though not last summer when I was crunching in work hours to get said book done).

Taking time off is definitely not an uncommon thing to do for me and most of my fellow Norwegians (who claim five weeks of paid vacation each summer), as well as numerous continental Europeans. On the contrary: we take pride in it. Which is so unlike most Americans who in the US take pride in their workaholocism though their production and achievement focused obsession shows no improvement is results from those of the Europeans.

getting up and going down

Lilly turned four last Friday: goggles was on the top of her wishlist. She tried them on in the bathtub last weekend as the rain poured down outside, and then when we went to the pool on Monday, she excitedly started jumping up and down, prepping to duck her head down beneath water. And then she did it! Just like that. She enthusiastically kept jumping and ducking up and down, over and over again.

It's not that she's fearless or reckless; it's not that there isn't some apprehension. It's just that this is something she's been wanting to do, testing the waters to do, for a very long time. Lilly, as a close friend of mine once pointed out, very much demonstrates a sense of caution and competence. The quality of standing back and observing, making judgment of what she may or may not be capable of doing; what may or may not be wise to be doing; what she truly would like to be doing or not. I'm quite impressed and invigorated by this modeling; I'd like to do the same.

So this week, I've worked on kicking up into handstand.

balance: it takes work

I believe a lot of us think of balance as letting go. To go with the flow more. And not work so hard. Stop striving towards the impossible goal of fitting it all in. Let go of perfectionism. (I too have been thinking in these terms). However, last week, I came to another conclusion. — Achieving and maintaining a sense of balance takes work. Real, hard work.

It's like in yoga. When you practice a challenging balance post, you have to muster all your core strength and mindfulness not to fall out of the pose. Balance is hard to attain and it's easy to fall out of. But in yoga, if you fall out of the pose, the idea is to always enter the balancing pose again before moving on to the next pose.

people who never get angry frighten me

One of the things I respect the most in people is relentless honesty including on the less finer moments of life. Like couples' arguments, of which you don't see too many blunt personal anecdotes, despite their commonness and recent research finding couples arguing stay together. Which is why I ultimately fell in love with Poser with its forthright disclosure of everything, including marital bickering which the author, Claire Dederer, comes to see "not as the beginning of the end of the world but as just another way families communicate." "We bickered pleasantly," she concludes.

Recounts Dederer earlier in her book about a "not entirely successful" date night out, "that vaunted American custom," which, when you are married "buzzes irritatingly on the periphery of your consciousness, the way New Year's Eve does for single people." They were out on a date night to celebrate her birthday, but both were exhausted, possibly with the flu, and on deadlines. Feeling rebellion fomenting on her side of the table at the lack of her husband's courtship and conversation, she "glared briefly" at her husband.

witches and yogis: lining up my people in times of trouble

"In times of trial and tribulations, I line up my line of people," mused my therapist in last week's session. She went on listing sever spiritual leaders, some poets and a few philosophers. She explained that in situations like my own where there are no parents to "hold you" and "call you forward," one can find other figures to provide that sense of safety and support.

This sentiment makes such good sense to me; I left our session with a profound sense of hope. Until later in the week, I found myself floundering. Because, who are my line of people? Have I failed to do my homework here? Am I that alone?

attachment parenting and feminism

Photo: Chasing Virtue
New York Times review of Poser

I'm in the midst of Poser: My Life in Twenty-three Yoga Poses by Claire Dederer, a self-conscious freelance book critic and new mom, surrounded by North Seattle's organically living attachment parenting moms. Dederer's voice is funny and often right on in pointing out how exhausting attachment parenting can be. Still, I find myself viscerally reacting against some of what she's saying.

What bothers me, I think, is how Dederer puts up this simplistic division between her mom's generation of women who, intoxicated by the women's movement, left their families to pursue their own lives, turning their children into attachment parenting moms with mommy brains on a mission. That just doesn't sit with my own experiences of attachment parenting as a feminist woman:

Which is why I found blue milk's recent post on feminism and attachment parenting, and why they’ve more in common than in conflict. Excerpt:

peace, love, courage: a yogi's mindful approach to birthdays

My birthday falls on the first day of spring, and spring is my favorite season, but not for that reason.

Spring has that ecstatic sentiment of new life to it—the rejuvenation of life—but also a tender, almost vulnerable, skinless feel to it.

Some spring days have me flying high, and I've been known to take my birthday celebration seriously. But this year I wanted a more mellow observation. Something sincerely true to where I'm at in my life right now. Which is a mixed bag.

Professionally, I really am flying high. I have a book coming out this fall; I got a new job; and I've been invited to give talks and readings from my book this fall in places around the world, including in Mexico, Norway, Germany, and England. I also have found more balance in my life, with more hours for me to work, and more opportunities for dates. I even got an extra special early pass at the gym, so my time working out there won't interfere with my work-work time.

balance, schmalance and sheet therapy

I’ve read somewhere that depression is worrying about the past, and anxiety is worrying about the future. I've been doing a lot of both lately. And aside from writing about it here now and then, I haven't done that necessary murking around, as my therapist calls it, not to feel like there's this huge tsunami brewing that will wash over and drown me.

So I went back to therapy this week for a third round of serious murking around. I realized when talking with my therapist that I had somehow fooled myself into thinking that my previous rounds of therapy had, if not fixed me, at least sort of allowed me to take care of business and put it behind me. Not true. The wound inside will always be there. I can distract myself as best as I can, but it won't make it go away. And the more I avoid going there, the more I refuse to let it be part of me, the uglier and more ashamed I feel.

finding my time for sanity

I'm beginning to feel a little better over here, hunkered down at home. I made a point to shower and get dressed yesterday; the last couple of weeks have seen me mainly in sweats, rarely freshly showered. I've spent every free (and not so free) moment working and am beginning to feel a little more on top of things in that department. 

My work time is my time. And my working out time is my time too. Leighton made a comment the other day about how much I've been heading over to the YMCA lately, that I'd be getting really fit here soon. The point, however, isn't just or even primarily physical fitness. Through exercise and particularly yoga, I find strength and balance. Now more than ever, I need that. 

When I was pregnant with Lilly, practicing yoga was the only exercise I could do till the end that didn't hurt or feel uncomfortable. This is me just days before labor started practicing pre-natal yoga with Shiva Rea.

After 64 hours of labor even walking hurt for months. But yoga still felt good, and so I continued with Shiva Rae's post-natal yoga.

Now I'm trying to nurture an appreciation for yoga in Lilly, practicing yoga with her along the instructions of Marsha Wenig in Yoga Kids: From Silly to Calm. I don't want to push it; that would be very un-yogi and really just kill the joy of it. But Lilly is getting more and more into it; sometimes she'll break into some of the poses spontaneously and I love that.

I originally started practicing yoga as a grad student back in the mid to late nineties. I started practicing then to find my body which I had fallen out of touch with. My life evolved around thinking and writing fueled by coffee and cigarettes. I was underweight and overworked, my back and shoulders constantly aching. 

I stopped smoking and started exercising as a college professor, still overworked, but also dealing with a difficult relationship. Becoming strong physically helped me find strength to put that relationship behind me.

I was never one to eagerly race to the gym, however. Not until I became a mom. Now more than ever I need to work out. I need to stretch my back and shoulders aching from carrying. To tread out frustration. To zone out on the elliptical machine while thinking through things, preferably to some upbeat tunes on my ipod. To feel awake again.

temper tantrums: how do you deal with them

I bond with the moms I can share the hard times with. I feel out of place when I'm at the play-ground and all the moms there seem so happy, leaving me with a "have a good rest of the day now" as they cheerfully gather their kids to go home. Lilly's reached the terrible twos with its awful temper tantrums, and any outing involves the risk of a body flung to the ground, "no!" She doesn't want to go. Or she insists we go.

Returning to the yoga mat and heart-to-heart conversation with good friends help me regain perspective and some inner calm as I set and maintain the boundaries, over and over and over again. and again. Hold the space for her while she throws herself on the floor, screaming, throwing, kicking. Reminding myself of Catherine Newman's hilarious portrayal of parenting a two-year old in Waiting for Birdy, or Thelma Harms's wise "12 Building Blocks of Discipline" which emphasize realistic expectations from toddlers, that we don't overreact, and that we be patient with our children and ourselves. That we express love and catch our children "being good" as much as we correct. Other building blocks include setting up a safe environment and sensible limits, that we strive to perform predictable behavior and communicate clearly with our body, intonation and words.

But it's hard. It's hard at the house, it's hard at the mall, it's hard at the play-ground, it's just plain hard everywhere.

fake it till you make it

At the end of each practice, my yoga instructor will read an excerpt from various books on mindful living. Two lessons stand out to me in the last few weeks:

1) take your list and cut it in two. I went straight home and took out my to-do list and deleted as much as I could from this summer's to-do list and put it on a new one for next summer or beyond. Fantastic.

2) fake it till you make it. If you're in turmoil, pretend calm.

Both these little meditations help me in my parenting to stay focused on the present and not feel so overwhelmed by all the little things that "should" be done. And when I breath deeply, performing calm, I find that I indeed become calmer. It's like learning to ride the bike. It's wobbly at first, but I focus on the path ahead and eventually, as I paddle along, the ride becomes smoother.

patience

I've never been known to be particularly patient, but teaching forced me to work on that. These days I'm getting plenty of practice opportunities with my toddler. She's officially reached the "terrible twos." And it is amazing, the anger and frustration she can express at the tiniest little thing that's not going her way.

What seems to bother her the most is when there's something she wants to be able to do, but can't quite manage. Or when we tell her there's something she can't do, and she really wants to do it. Often the two overlap. Like yesterday. We'd had a fine morning, though both still sick after a week of congestion and fatigue. But then all of a sudden, as I got up to get some water, things went down hill from there. She too wanted water, but then changed her mind to "juuuch,"and she wanted it from a grownup glass, carried by one hand, while walking or preferably running around the house, into the bathroom, for instance, so she could drink and pee in her potty at the same time. I compromised and gave her an adult hard plastic cup and told her to use both hands and keep it in the kitchen. You could just tell from the immediate mischievous look on her face, that this was play time.

fear and playfulness

I'm trying to incorporate some of my toddler's fearlessness in my yoga practice. I've always been afraid of falling on my face in asanas where that could be a possibility. Like in crow, crane, headstand or handstand.

This winter, after more than ten years of practice, I have finally been able to lift up into crow, if just for a little.

Then this past month, I've kicked up into handstand (with the support of my yoga instructor and next to the wall, but still).

And then today, for the first time, I did a free standing handstand (true, my yoga instructor was nearby spotting me, but even so).

It's so much fun! I feel so brave, and so strong.

In fact, I don't think it's just my daughter's fearlessness that inspires me to tackle these asanas; it's the desire to feel strong. I need to be, for her. And for me, but really, ultimately, for her.

It's harder to be fearless about the future. What do we do when the money we currently have runs out, and we're not getting more coming in based on our writing? Or enough?

When my daughter has turned three (which will not be till next summer, June 2011), I'd like her to start pre-school at the Montessori Children's House in town. That'll give me from 8:30 till 11:15, minus driving. What kind of employer would hire me for those hours?

Again it comes down to this society's lack of flexible work hours.

Fear isn't always disabling in an unhealthy way. Sometimes it protects us. And maybe sometimes it can help us strive for positive changes. That's what I'm trying for with this particular fear.

mama body

I am grateful for the work my body's done, really, I am. I just wish that what it has had to endure throughout pregnancy, labor, nursing, carrying, and so on and on, wouldn't leave me feeling like such an old rag falling apart.

I remember last year when my daughter Lilly was close to turning one, thinking I'd never been in better shape. After a year of long daily walks (to break the tedium and to help her sleep), frequent nursing, and about a couple of workouts at the gym a week, I felt great. Strong. Last spring I did crunches, kegel exercises, and push-ups at home everyday for 10-15 minutes or as soon as Lilly'd go down for a nap, and my belly felt sort of together, though not its former flat.

Now I might wake up in the morning and sometimes my belly might resemble something like what it looked like last spring, if I didn't eat too much too close to bedtime. But as soon as I have a glass of water, it pops out. After breakfast I look like I'm three months pregnant; after dinner I'm at five.