Tag: yoga

21 Day Body Love Challenge – American Thighs

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Colonialette

“I think the quality of sexiness comes from within. It is something that is in you or it isn’t and it really doesn’t have much to do with breasts or thighs or the pout of your lips.” – Sophia Loren

I love my thighs.

Ok, that’s a  little bit of a lie. Like my knees, I find them very useful but not appropriate for all audiences. We’ve sparred a lot throughout the years and they’ve never quite measured up to my expectations. Or dreams really, I don’t suppose I expected a whole lot out of them based on the DNA of the female thighs in my family.

They introduced themselves to me sometime in the fourth grade. I was wearing culottes and playing in the front yard with my best friend Maria, when I noticed her legs were way skinnier than mine. Mine were normal, so were hers, of course, but I was at an age where comparisons were how I was making sense of the world. Bigger, smaller, better, worse, prettier, uglier, nicer, meaner. At this time, Tiger Beat magazine started to make an appearance, informing my tastes and educating me on all things cool and correct. This was the same year I took the book “Everything You Always Wanted to Know about Sex, But Were Afraid to Ask” into school to share with my friends at recess. I was exploring, let’s say.

From that point on my thighs were never good enough. They were never normal or pretty. My knees touched, knock-kneed I believe was the term, which made my thighs touch if I stood with my feet together. Other girls had this great space between their thighs and knees that birds could fly through. A piece of paper would struggle to make its way from the front of my thighs to the back. If I ran in corduroys, the fire department would surely be called.

What I didn’t realize at a young age was that the structure of my legs was what it was and there were millions of girls with that same structure. They just didn’t show up in cool magazines, hanging off the arm of an up and coming rock star. Or maybe they did but their legs were crossed or positioned in such a way that their deformity didn’t show.

I continued to put on a brave face and wear normal clothes, even baring some thigh skin on occasion but I always checked the legs of those around me. As I got a little older I busied myself with extra-curricular activities in hopes I would find my thighs a safe home. Drama club, sports, keyettes, homecoming committee. When I was involved in a sport or otherwise occupied I didn’t give them much thought, but when I was lined up with other girls my age for a swim team photo or soccer composite, I always glanced from leg to leg to see if mine were thinner than at least one other person’s.

When I look back at photos of myself now, I see how ridiculous I was, but at the time it was all so true for me. Today my thighs continue to refuse to conform to the photoshopped, super model ideal I have set for them. And they’ve picked up a few bad habits; spider veins, a little extra cushion, skin that’s lost a bit of its elasticity and of course a few well-earned scars. So they remain mostly hidden.

Then I see women, whose thigh circumferences far surpass my own, with cellulite and all, wearing short shorts or cute little skirts. And I don’t judge. In fact, I’m a little jealous. And then I have a realization. It just doesn’t matter. The only person that cares about the shape of my thighs is me. I’m the only one who is keeping track of how big or small, firm or not they are or have been. Those who ARE judging my thighs are the ones who have the insecurities. I should know. I am them.

They wonder if their own thighs look better. Or could there’s end up like mine and what kind of life would that be? They wonder who could love a woman with thighs like mine and thank God they have a husband, boyfriend, girlfriend, wife, children or friends who would never judge. Yes, thank God.

Oh the irony. All over a body part gifted to the soul that inhabits it.

At some point in my young adult life I learned it was rude to refuse a gift from anyone. Yet daily I, and let’s be honest, you, refuse the gift of life in one way or another. This body, and even these thighs, are here and this way to help me do whatever work I am here to do, to help move humanity forward. And that’s really why we’re all here. On some level you already know that. You know that worrying about the size of any body part is distraction from your real work. In fact the size of whatever body part you’re consumed with may be the doorway into your soul’s work.

If a 300 pound woman wearing a bikini pushes a beached dolphin back into the ocean, does the dolphin notice her rolls of fat? If a 98 pound woman lifts a car off a pinned child, do the parents comment on her scrawny stature? If a 175 pound woman with big thighs loves even a small portion of humanity back to health, will there be an editorial about her weight?

It’s all subjective. My thighs will never look like a speed skaters or a ballerinas. Nor will they ever look like Heidi Klum’s. They look like mine. And my mom’s and my grandma’s. They’ve looked like this for most of my adult life and they’re not going anywhere, so I’ll just have to embrace them. Be extra kind to them while slathering nourishing exotic lotions on them. Take them on more walks; they really like walks, especially hills. Dip deep in Warrior postures.

And dance, oh how they love to dance!

 

21 Day Body Love Challenge – Knee Deep

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Upside down

“Ankles are nearly always neat and good-looking, but knees are nearly always not.” – Dwight D. Eisenhower

I love my knees. That is to say I love what they can do and how long they have lasted without much ado. I am not a fan of how they look so much. Knees in general are not often the objects of ardor. They’re like ears, functional and little odd looking and we’re all super glad we have them but don’t often flaunt them.

As a child I could not be tethered to the indoors. Once called in from playing outside for dinner I would sit with one foot pointing toward the door, half off the chair, ready to bolt back to my game of tag or baseball or throwing locusts at each other. Dinner was for adults, I was in, I was out.

With tree climbing, roller skating down slides, hanging upside down on monkey bars and swings and riding my bike really, really fast, my knees didn’t stand a chance. There was always something healing, bandaged, covered in Bactine, bruised or freshly scraped. Often all of the above at once. My father was an artist and for my 8th birthday he made me a card – almost life sized. It was a caricature of me that he had strung a tiny diamond heart necklace on. I was wearing shorts and a t-shirt – matching Danskin blue and white, if you must know – and on each elbow, knee and shin were band-aids. The gift came with the caveat, “Do not wear this outside.” Well then, where should I where it? Around the house in my finest pajamas? It lasted 2 weeks. Gone. He really should have known better.

At some point in my childhood I realized I walked a little pigeon-toed, my mother as well. My father, with his high ideas about beauty, probably mentioned some misgiving about our less than parallel feet. I took this as something that needed correction. I began to walk like a duck to overcorrect. It worked mostly and my feet are now both pointing in the same direction, but in the process I rearranged the cartilage in my knees producing a relief map of the Utah desert. Flat land punctuated by mesas and phallic rock formations. They look like they should hurt, but they don’t, they’re just interesting.

They have never given me issues, other than being skinless for my first 20 years or so, until this past February. I asked too much of them. I put them on a nine hour flight to London, then walked them for 48 hours straight so that I could see absolutely every last crevice, crack and castle before heading off to India for 2 weeks. Mr. Right Knee was very argumentative that first day, he warned me. He said, take the tube, or a cab, or just sit a while. I didn’t listen, I rarely do, but I am learning. For two weeks in India I limped along, barely able to do yoga in the mornings – and it was a yoga trip – and wincing hiking up and down hills, but I soldiered on. Recovery would have to wait until I returned home.

He’s better now,  Mr. Right Knee, but he’s a little disappointed in me. I know now that my body parts only have my best interests at heart. During the whirlwind in London I had a great time, but it’s the moments I was still that I remember feeling like I was THERE. I must have taken 45 pictures of Big Ben, almost all from the same angle, in an effort to absorb it, to ground myself to that time and place. That’s all Mr. Knee wanted. He wanted to rest and he wanted me to get it. I do.

The knee with its complicated system of ligaments and tendons, cartilage and plates and shifting this and floating that is both vulnerable to serious injury and incredibly strong. Its life can be altered or snatched away with a single wrong move, but it can also carry us forward, keep us upright, bend in proposal and fold under us in prayer. It is an appropriate and beautiful metaphor for life itself. And it deserves the same attention and care.

Life is messy. My knees are messy. And while I may not appreciate their aesthetics, I truly love their endurance and strength. I love my silly knees with their extra layer of protection on the inside and their craggy terrain on top. They’ve got a face only a mother could love and I’m that mom.

“I run like I have cirrus clouds for legs and rainbow knees. What is  life, if not a marathon of love?” – Jarod Kintz

 

21 Day Body Love Challenge – ‘Gam’orous

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photo (5)

“Darling, the legs aren’t so beautiful, I just know what to do with them.” Marlene Dietrich

I love my ankles, calves and shins. I include shins because of the three, my shins have taken the biggest beating and survived to tell great stories.

There are two body parts I know my father was very particular about on a woman. Oh, come on, it’s my dad! They were thin, delicate ankles and a long, graceful neck. In short, he would have been very happy with a swan. I never really understood the ankle thing, I mean, they’re pretty utilitarian, a juncture between the miraculous feet and, well, everything else. But then I met a woman who referred to hers as cankles. This would be the clever term for thick ankles denoting that her very calves have melted into her ankles.

To me, she looked like she had ankles. In her view, she had suffered through high school and college, hiding her ankles beneath long pants and socks. She had lost weight to the point of starvation, yet her cankles mocked her, diminishing nary a centimeter. Finally one day she realized she had the exact same legs as her mother and her two older sisters. They were all married, all happy and seemed to be oblivious to their plight. She realized that ankles were ankles and from that day forward she dressed like everyone else, shamelessly parading around in shorts and sandals, unafraid and unapologetic. Her confidence in her perceived flawed body part spilled into other areas of her life and she became the CEO of a large corporation, married a wonderful man and had three gorgeous children.

Gives me hope for my relationship with my thighs.

My own ankles have served me well. Scarred and bruised, they have never cracked under pressure. Never broken, never sprained. They have been twisted without damage while learning new dance steps, they have been stretched under me while attempting new yoga postures, and they have kicked many a soccer ball downfield, and they have always remained steadfastly true and stayed right where they were meant to be.

As a competitive swimmer for a minute and a half, a track star for 20 seconds  and a dancer for a few years, my calves developed quite lovely on their own. Not too big, not too thin, just right. Then one day, I moved away from the city to live in a faraway land called Florida, without a car. In this magical land nothing was close to anything else and walking would take days and melting was a possibility. Public transportation had not yet been invented where I was living so, instead, I procured a bicycle and set about to get around on two wheels. The byproduct of this was massive calfage. Bodacious bricks. They were quite a sight to behold and once I recognized them as my own,  I was a little proud. Today they are much softer and a lot less dangerous.

My shins on the other hand have seen some combat. As a soccer player for the better part of my childhood, shin guards could only do so much to prevent bruises and lumps and bumps. They took a beating. Being active outside of soccer left my shins defenseless as I ran around, climbed trees and overall had a blatant disregard for safety. On one particular occasion I wanted to share my gift of grace with a friend by showing her how adept I was at doing a walk-over in my living room. You know, gymnastics.

The handstand was flawless, straight up in the air, then as I began to narrate the walk over part something went terribly wrong. Instead of languidly placing my feet over onto the floor into a spectacular backbend, I crash landed into the coffee table. My entire shin scraped down the edge of the table removing most of the skin from the bone. But we were 15 so we laughed and laughed as I held my shin and secretly cried inside. It took many long minutes for it to even bleed. It was that deep. To this day I proudly wear not only the scar, but also the dent to my shin bone that resulted from my over-inflated sense of confidence.

All in all the lower half of my legs are keepers; they’ve been involved in all the hijinks and travel my feet have instigated. Every now and then one of my calves will cramp just to let me know it’s still there and maybe needs a little attention. So I take it to a yoga class and stretch it or to the gym or most recently I took both of them up, then down over 200 steps in a lighthouse. They were very chatty about that the next day.

Body parts speak but we’re usually too busy crafting stories with our mind about other more pressing matters such as hairstyles and deadlines. More importantly we are speaking to our body parts all the time; usually unconsciously and mostly negatively. Or we ignore them all together.  Every day as you rush through your morning or bedtime routine, stop and take a little extra time to massage oil or lotion into all your parts, cooing and sharing sweet nothings with them.  Each time you catch yourself berating your thighs or upper arms consider instead how valuable they are to your very existence. They’ll love your for it and they’ll respond in kind.

I have a great affinity for my calves and shins as they are the only part of my leg that usually sees daylight. My thighs often misbehave so I seldom let them out, but from the tops of my calves to the tips of my toes all is copasetic.

Lovable

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Deer IMG_6942

About a week ago I was up at my ashram for a yoga teacher reunion. It was little more than 24 hours, arriving at noon on Tuesday and leaving around the same time Wednesday, in which we reconnected with each other, did some yoga and made a couple new friends.

The treat in going to the ashram is being in the presence of Yogi Amrit Desai. Wednesday morning, after yoga, we had that opportunity. During trainings, and even between trainings, Gurudev – our term of endearment for him – leads philosophical, spiritual talks called darshan. He shares his thoughts about many things in the yoga world and reminds us of a few universal truths, but most of his talks circle back to consciousness. This morning was no different. This is the reason I am here.

Today he is talking about how we feel we need to do things, be something and act in certain ways to be lovable. He was giving examples and making us nod in agreement and laugh at ourselves. I would drift in and out of engagement as usual, doodling in the margins of my journal, writing the big ideas down, then I heard it.

When we hear the same word over and over again, especially in our own language, in our own accent, it sometimes loses power, or at the very least, impact. He was saying lovable repeatedly. Only in his Indian accent he was pronouncing it love-able.

This completely reframed things for me. Lovable – Love-uh-bull – sounds to me like I have to add things to me to make myself presentable to another to be loved. I have to primp and preen, be smart, make money, have nice things, not be myself. I have to behave. To be loved.

Love-able makes me feel as if I have to strip away pretense, wash my face, take off my nail polish and open my raw authentic self up in order to love another.

One sounds desperate and seeking, the other scary and exciting.

Maybe I’m the only one who sees it this way, but I don’t think so. It tracks with what we’ve been told: In order to love another you must first love yourself. In order to love yourself, you have to accept yourself AS YOU ARE and that is knowing who you are underneath it all.

Acceptance of self = Self love = Lovable. Able to love.

[Photo: Young orphaned buck that was cared for across the street from the ashram. He now comes over to visit and receive love.]

All or Nothing

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manatee IMG_3784Go big or go home. In or out. Without realizing it most of my life has been guided by these phrases. If I decide that I am going to do something it has to be every day at the same time. Gym every morning. Juicing for lunch. Walk after dinner. If I miss one day, I’ve failed. So I stop.

This is a tough one for me. Consistency equals success.

I remember hearing Wayne Dyer talk about running. For years he ran every single morning. Rain, shine, snow, illness, injury. Everyday. Then one day he couldn’t. He was too sick or injured. He completely struggled with not doing it. Until he didn’t.

I remember thinking, “Wow, that’s so obsessive.” Hello mirror.

I still do it. It shows up a little differently each time, cleverly disguised as  resolve or gumption, but it’s still a 50/50 split.

The problem is with the nothing, go home, out part. That’s the easy part. It seems to take such a long period of cheer leading and hand holding to talk me into the healthy habit and a mere whiff of fresh-baked cookies or a frigid morning or a sore foot or whine, whine, wine (oops, how did that get in there?!) to pull me out.

Then a brief stint in the corner of self-doubt and shame helps me turn things around. This process is exhausting!

After all this craziness I believe a switch has been thrown. Finally I feel ready to tackle this or that. This is the time. I just need to do it every single day for a certain number of days and then…what? Keep doing it every day for the rest of my life? Integrate it into my life as a healthy habit? We saw how well that worked last time.

But, hold on. Maybe it did work last time. Maybe the time between the last 21 day challenge and this one was necessary for me to find those mirrors and hit those bumps and head smack myself a little into returning. Maybe it created enough of a recognition that it’s possible. That I don’t have to create an unrealistic schedule to succeed just to set myself up for failure.

Life happens. All of these things I’ve added in consciously, the writing, yoga nidra, gym or yoga – which by the way I’ve been to the gym 3 times this week and done yoga twice, thank you very much – are supposed to be about supporting my best self. They are supposed to be about loving myself. If I fall back, shouldn’t I just love myself back into action, rather than abuse myself? Yep.

The new challenge program has my deepest desire to show up as my biggest, bestest, most authentic self. That’s all. Now that’s something I can get behind.

That’s the switch. Make the choices that clear the path for ME to show up. When I show up clear and open, I allow others that same opportunity. It’s a win-win. And I like those odds.

[Photo: While playing hooky from blogging yesterday I scampered off to Blue Springs Park to be lulled into a state of waking meditation by the slow, gentle ballet of the beautiful manatees. Best reason to play hooky!]

Look What I Can Do

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me on ringsIt appears the treadmill is a good teacher and the second best place for aha moments – the first being “the chamber of insight” or as you may know it, the shower.

Walking has always been a head-clearer for me. If I’m walking in my neighborhood I don’t wear headphones, I like the sounds of birds, children, cars and the wind. When I’m at the gym, I’m definitely plugged in. And the music is loud. It propels me forward, because lets face it, the History channel, reruns of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Fox News just don’t really inspire me to break a sweat.

As my heart rate is rising and The Black Eyed Peas are encouraging me to pump it pump it, my mind is free to wander. Have you ever thought about how amazing that is? How we are able to do one thing, think another, look at something that has nothing to do with the first two and be aware that we are witnessing all of it? Pretty special, we are.

The most recent treadmill insight came as a nice energetic head slap. Don’t you just love it when you think you are a certain way, you are sure of it, you know yourself, then the tiniest thing flips everything upside down? You begin to question everything you believe to be true about yourself. Or at least I do.

I honestly believed that I no longer cared what others thought of me. Right? We all have that inner diva who still wants attention on some level. I noticed that as I was pumping away on the treadmill I couldn’t help but let my eyes wander to the heavy sweater next to me. At what speed was his treadmill set? Was I faster? Did he notice? Look, I’m faster. And I’ve been on here longer.

Out of left field. I wanted him – a random, middle-aged, slightly chubby man – to be impressed by my speed. Ignoring the fact that there were at least 10 people actually running that were way more impressive. I have no idea what this guy even looks like. I don’t know his story. I didn’t care. Did he notice and was he impressed?

Wow.

Of course I let that realization ping all over my frenetic mind coming up with all sorts of conclusions and ridiculous speculation. Who was I now, if not the strong, confident woman who didn’t care what others thought? But the fact remained that, of course I care what people think of me. It’s the human condition. If we don’t care what they think we look like, we want them to think we are smart or funny or have some other unique skill or trait that makes us completely unique.

The way we dress, talk, spend our money and our time all tell others something about us. This does not necessarily make us narcissistic, but human. How we look, what we say and how we say it is how we find each other. It’s how we relate.

The less we get caught up in the story we’re trying to convey to the world, the more likely we are to find those whose energy is a match for our own. Trying hard to convince others we are a certain way covers our authenticity and creates false impressions. The more we relax with who we are, the more peace we have. The more our true selves and authentic uniqueness can shine.

Dropping the masks and facades takes time. Lots of time and lots of practice.

For me, the realization was helpful. In truth, they all are, some are just harder to swallow. It showed me there is much work to be done. Continuing to let go through practices like yoga nidra, yoga and meditation. Continuing to be aware of these realizations and allowing space for them.

And apparently continuing to use the treadmill. At any speed.

Liberation

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SHC IMG_7067It was recently suggested to a group of yoga teachers I was with that it is our calling to help liberate others. Many are called. They become yoga teachers and scholars, yoga nidra facilitators, Reiki masters, counselors, ministers and leaders of all sorts. But when you are told this and it hits your gut with such a fierceness that it brings tears to your eyes, you know you are on the right track. 

Let me clarify. The liberation spoken of is from our preconceived notions about ourselves, our negative self talk, our victimhood. And while I believe no one can really free another, I know it is possible to help lift the veil of illusion just enough for someone to see their own perfection. I have seen it over and over again.

The rub for me has been a disconnect. I get it. Intellectually. My mind loves this stuff, it nods vigorously in agreement. Then it sets about to disprove it or pick it apart to  try to really understand it. To get it. There must be more. It creates problems out of this one principle just so it can solve them. And when it can’t solve them it takes me to the couch with a bag of potato chips and the remote. There must be a hole in the theory. We’ll figure it out from here.

I get it. And then I forget it.

I love to teach. Almost anything. But I especially love to teach yoga and yoga nidra. I love the way people look after a class. They have accessed something so deep that most of them aren’t able to articulate it. But they know where they got it so they come back. It’s not me.  I didn’t do this for them, I just held the space for them to explore. They allowed themselves to drop into that place where the veil got a little more transparent.

This is all beautiful. But I have been moving away from teaching lately preferring instead to work on my art. A fine choice. I love creating art; painting, photographing, cut paper designs, jewelry, coloring, it doesn’t matter, I love it all. The problem lies in the reason behind the shift from teaching to art.

I wasn’t even really aware why or what that was until this past weekend. Several very skilled teachers were able to help me with that veil thing. The disconnect for me is this: How can I teach yoga and yoga nidra if I’m not practicing it? Up to now I always thought that meant physically getting on my mat striking a couple of poses then lying in savasana for yoga nidra. Part of it. Maybe.

What I got while I was salsa walking on the treadmill to Gypsy Kings yesterday was this: How can I teach liberation, how can I help free others when I am still in a cage imprisoned by my own negative self talk? By my own lack of respect for the vehicle, the physical form that I was given? By the act of self-flagellation on an energetic level?

I have gotten this concept before. It’s an old, worn idiom: Practice what you preach. But now? I. Get. It.

I do not have to be a size 2 to teach yoga. I do not have to be pious to help others find peace. I do not have to juice and starve myself to help others get healthy. BUT, for me, when I am physically practicing yoga and yoga nidra; when I am at the gym early in the morning revving my metabolism and shining my sparkle; when I am eating clean; I FEEL free. I am an expression of that which I am teaching. I am a clear channel. And people get it faster. They don’t have to work as hard.

So in the first day of this new challenge, this ginormous truth has been revealed to me. My goal, yes goal, is to dissolve the cage by being what I am teaching. It is a prison of my own construction so there is no need to look outside of myself. The journey is inward.

Rising Again

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forest IMG_3750

I just completed an intensive training the trainer training (got that?) for Yoga Nidra. It was amazing, intense, awesome, beautiful, grueling, revealing and a tremendous gift. Out of this training an unspoken challenge was issued: “Do yoga nidra everyday; it will change your life, you already know this.” And so I am prepared to accept this challenge because it has in fact changed my life. The effects are undeniable. I’m relaxed and I come from a space of peace rather than reaction perched white knuckled on my edge. I am able to be highly productive without stress. It’s magic. And I’ve let it go.

Let’s recap. Back in October I issued myself a 21 day challenge to live a more enchanted life and I identified 5 activities needed to clear the way for this to happen: yoga, yoga nidra, writing, photographing all once daily and the gym a couple times a week. I nailed the challenge then let it all go the next day. Yep. Moment of truth. I could speculate on all the reasons why, but the fact is I just stopped. As much as I wanted it to be a lifestyle change and not a “goal,” it turned into the latter. I achieved it. Done. Slowly one by one I’ve added them all back in. First the writing, then the yoga, etc. And that feels good.

In addition to Yoga Nidra, I have been asked to assist in another yoga teacher training and another 21 consecutive days of yoga has been requested of me.

Then there is a little memoir contest I have decided to enter so it seems writing daily would be a good idea.

On top of all this, I will be heading to India in, ready for this, 21 days and the Swami guiding the tour has asked all of us to commit to a daily yoga and meditation practice so we are prepared for the same once we’re on the other side of the globe.

Here’s the thing; when I did this challenge the first time I basically let go of EVERYTHING else. I went to work, I taught, I did what was asked of me, but 99% of my focus and energy was on the challenge. I was on a little vacation from my life and it was awesome! When I completed the challenge I had to play catch up, putting me in the same situation I was in before: not enough time for all of it. Or, more honestly, maybe a misguided assessment of my priorities.

So this time, and yes I will be doing this again, it feels different. I will add these things in, on top of the work that I currently do, rather than replacing it. I will create priorities out of some aspects of the challenge and allow space for others. I know it’s possible.

Here’s the challenge: yoga nidra  and writing daily. Yoga and Gym as often as I can. Which is to say I will do some sort of physical exercise daily, I’m just not going to be militant as to what. As I write this I don’t feel the same sense of urgency or excitement I did before, and I think maybe that’s good. Instead, there’s a quiet determination and a sense of calm confidence. I’ve got this.

A few days after the last challenge when it was clear to me that I had slipped into the to-do list abyss, I was feeling a sense of failure and berating myself for undoing it all. But I didn’t undo anything. I simply stopped doing all of it at once and brought each component back in as I felt the need. All the work I had done was valid. It helped. It was time well spent.

My life is still enchanted, magic happens everyday. I didn’t need to do all those things daily to create an environment for enchantment to arise. I did need to do the challenge to reveal to me that I already had an enchanted life. I only had to recognize it.

I also believe anytime I am moving a little farther down the continuum of  self care and self love; honoring the vehicle I have been gifted, it is always a win.

So I will rise to the challenge again with curiosity and an appreciation of the experiences. I’ll post daily as before for those who want to follow along or create their own challenges. Please share your challenges and ideas with me, and we can grow together.

[Photo: Salt Springs, Florida. Deep in the Ocala National Park where pine trees sing like running water.]

Enchanted Elephant

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11 Kayovarohan IMG_2668 smaller

Forgive me, it has been two weeks since my last submission. I have not gone without writing, that would be the true sin, I have gone without posting while I allowed the dark forces of busyness to overtake me. But something magical and enchanted has happened while I was spending time in the vortex. I got published. In Elephant Journal.

For those of you unfamiliar with Elephant Journal, allow me to enlighten you. It is an online blog stuffed with great articles and blogs about mindful living; everything from yoga to spirituality, and nature to food. It’s a great place to read different perspectives on the same topic, to cry with compassion or to get your buttons pushed, all in the name of growth. I highly recommend a leisurely Sunday drive down the  many avenues of Elephant Journal.

I’d also love it if you’d check out my published piece http://www.elephantjournal.com/2013/11/i-invented-yoga-allison-l-andersen/ . I encourage you to leave comments; good, bad or indifferent either here or on Elephant Journal. They’re important for your growth and mine. Thanks for taking the time!

21 Day Challenge – Day 21 – Enchantment

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Wish web IMG_2159The 21 Day Challenge I laid at my feet three weeks ago has been met. I have been able to check each item off my list without a lot of trouble.

I have learned that when there is an intention to align with instead of a goal to be met, the force behind it creates openings for just the right circumstances to manifest keep me on my path.

Goals are often set out of exasperation, especially personal goals. They are bringing to light a shortcoming and putting it on a pedestal for all to see, so when we fail to meet that goal again the village can have a good laugh at our expense or just shake their heads collectively with, ‘here we go again.’

When goals are used as stepping stones to achieve something great they often work for a while, especially if that something great is aligned with our soul’s purpose. If we are failing to meet the same goal over and over again, it is not aligned, therefore it is a distraction from the real work of the spirit. It’s time to let it go and look beyond that particular goal.

I have goals. I have a pretty big one right now that I’m working on. It feels completely congruent with my intention; they support each other.

As I move forward from these 21 days I plan to continue the habits I have set.

1. Yoga Daily. This was more difficult than I thought, especially if I planned to do it at home. If you recall I had mentioned it is much easier for me to meet the expectations of others than to rise to my own tasks. Going to class helped a lot. It was actually easier to get myself out of my house, drive to the studio and take a class than wander to my back porch unroll my mat and do sun salutations. I’ll continue to work on a home practice, but for now I know what will work.

2. Yoga Nidra twice a day. This proved to be excessive. Once a day fit perfectly. I established doing yoga nidra at the mid-afternoon dip, to be the most beneficial and I’ll continue with that.

3. Gym twice a week. This is one that surprised me. I had no trouble going twice a week – one week I went only once, but took a very long walk outside. I am planning on attempting 5 days a week with this one. I feel energized and bright when I leave the gym.

4. Write 2 hours a day every day – even Saturday and Sunday. Overall this goal was easily met. Many days I wrote much more than 2 hours. There were times when I bored myself with my own voice and struggled with subject matter, but working through the process helped and I was able to check that task off feeling accomplished.

5. Fresh photos daily. Harder than I expected as much as I love to take pictures. It became a necessity. I would find myself locked into my computer or overcome with my sense of busyness and remember I hadn’t taken pictures. Just walking away from whatever task I was engaged in and going outside with my camera created a beautiful sense of presence. This I will continue.

6. No alcohol. Surprisingly easy. There were only two social occasions in which I would have normally partaken but didn’t. Bowling and a swanky little party. Both times I had water and no one scoffed or even noticed. And I didn’t miss it. I will drink wine again, but it will be much more deliberate – a single glass at a special dinner or party. It just isn’t worth the sluggish, cobwebby feeling in the morning.

So overall I’d call my little experiment a success. But the biggest gift in all of this was the Facebook Group that grew from that very first blog. A tremendous group of women who didn’t necessarily know one  another – I was the common denominator – came together in total unconditional support of each other. In three weeks that group has grown to include friends and relatives of my friends who I do not know and the power of the group has only expanded.

What started out as a seemingly selfish task has turned into a movement of upliftment and love. It is about no one and everyone at the same time. Women are able to share their darkest feelings and proudest accomplishments without fear of judgment. It all happened organically.

The only word I can come up with to describe this group is Enchanted.

My challenge was to change habit patterns that I felt were holding me back from the true expression of my soul’s purpose so that I could live a more enchanted life. What was created was a whole community of Enchantment.

I don’t know how it happened. I don’t care. The Universe has a way of rising up to meet us when we’re ready and many of us were ready. I didn’t do this. You didn’t do this. This could have only happened because we were all aligned on some level and knew we were to work together.

I learned that living an enchanted life had nothing to do with being the perfect size, in the perfect house or relationship or at the perfect job. It has to do with giving to others, being grateful, taking time to notice a bee on a flower. It has to do with presence. Showing up authentic and present for my own life.

It’s the last day of the challenge, but the beginning of a lifetime and lifestyle of enchantment as I, along with those in the group and elsewhere, continue to remind each other of our own magic and bigness.

The blogs will not end, it seems to be in my nature. I will continue to look for the magic in everything every day and share it. I encourage you to do the same.

[Photo: A little wish caught in a web.]