Habits

Habits are on my mind. This summer, I joined a local team for the a 4-month bike challenge on Endomondo. The idea: to get more people on bikes for commutes, exercise, or transport. For years, Mark has encouraged me to ride everywhere possible (he commutes to work each day and longs to have our car sit idly in the garage). During the summer, I typically bike a lot, but not everywhere. So I joined this challenge and guess what? I'm biking everywhere. Most days our car sits idly in the garage-- a new (and very positive) habit formed by this challenge. 

My friend Wendy hosts a yearly February Challenge (as she says, it's only 28 days, but that's all we need to form better habits). Five years ago I took on eating 9 servings of fruits and veggies a day. It was a low-stakes challenge--I wasn't really accountable to anyone (just like the bike challenge), yet I did it. And now I never go a day without at least the minimum suggestion of 5 servings of fruit-and-veggie goodness.

Interesting how (relatively) easy it was to form and hold onto these healthful habits (and many others). Yet what about my daily meditation practice? That formed and then went away. Or the 28-day yoga challenge I joined, yet didn't follow through on? Why do some habits stick and others flutter away? Flutter away even when I know they are in my best interest? Not sure. But perhaps there are only so many habits I can hold onto; only so many changes I can make during a certain period. And perhaps soon there may be space for more. Perhaps tomorrow will begin my daily meditation habit. Or not. (The beating-myself-up habit is one I'm gradually trying to break.)

Summer Magic (To Be Retrieved in February)

Mark and I had a wonderful weekend together. It was one of those magical summer weekends. The drought and the heat both broke; the weather was gorgeous. We spent much of the weekend in our backyard. The farmer's market boomed--so much tasty produce. We perused the stands and talked about meal ideas. By Saturday at 10am, we arrived home with food, smiles, and anticipation of wholesome, yummy meals made from ingredients in our farm-share box, the farm-market purchases, and our own container garden.

We enjoyed our usual Saturday breakfast of blueberry pancakes (fresh blueberries from Michigan). Then we read books in the beauty of our backyard. In fact, I have the bird-poop-stained page to prove it. (Mark noted that being one with the backyard also means making peace with the occasional bird poop. I could only chuckle.) I devoured not only delicious food, but an entire (well-written, honest, captivating) book: Wild. It was glorious--the space to read, cook, relax, and enjoy.

We baked bread; harvested our basil to make fresh pesto for pizza; roasted tomatillos and peppers to create a sweet, yet spicy salsa; enjoyed fresh veggies in our morning eggs; drank homemade margaritas (not with our morning eggs, but with the evening salsa); drove to an iron pour; sat in our backyard; listened to the rain; talked; hugged; shared our occasional struggles with truly enjoying the moments and the guilt of not doing enough (pesky ego--but it's so important to share; we are such a doing society, but phllpht! to that for the weekend); fell into bed last night with huge gratitude for the weekend and love for each other. This is exactly the summer magic I want to tuck away in my memory banks; magic to retrieve during the dark, cold days of February when I wonder if spring will really come (and if I'll eat a vegetable with genuine taste again). This was a weekend of saying YES to life. 

What Have I Learned?

During the last 7 weeks, I've read Inner Excavation and worked creatively with the prompts. This process is a natural extension of the inner-work I've done throughout my adult life. It's liberating, scary, creative, overwhelming, peaceful, and worthwhile. Essentially, it's life. The read-along has brought me many gifts and insights. This seems an appropriate time to reflect on what I've learned (in no particular order):

* It's both exhilarating and terrifying to share deeply from my heart; there's an initial moment of doubt (which sometimes lingers), but then ultimately there's a sense of trust.

* Self-worth can be misplaced in many ways; sometimes I place my self-worth in maintaining my blog, pushing creative boundaries, or monitoring the number of comments I receive on Flickr; when this happens, my most skillful action is to stop doing (e.g., get offline) and start being (e.g., lay on the grass in the backyard). 

* It's important to share my story, yet there are tender times when it's better for me to stay quiet.

* I must regularly revisit my authentic motivation for any activity.

* What I've heard from many teachers is true: every moment is an opportunity to change; to form a new habit; to come back to myself; every moment.

* I'm deeply grateful for the gifts I receive from others; gifts of inspiration, vulnerability, kindness, insight, and acceptance.

* I have a new appreciation for my natural sense of wonder.

Long-Distance Connection

All diptychs: Steph on the left, Joy on the right

SEE

My friend Steph has a kind heart and an artistic soul. She inspires me creatively--she introduced me to liquid watercolors and filled my card-making toolbox with helpful materials. Since we live 5 hours apart, we rarely have opportunity to create side by side. But we long for chances to share fun, imaginative activities. Since we both love photography and the outdoors, last week we took mindful walks and paid attention to our senses. (This idea comes from Liz Lamoreux.) Via our cameras, we captured the five senses, plus an additional "sense": what we knew in that particular moment.

Though we didn't walk together, there was still a lovely connection. We both had a similar intention for the week and a positive reaction to the walk. (It was fun to talk about the experience over the phone last night.) Steph sent me her 6 photos. Before looking at hers, I chose my photos. Then I diptyched our senses (Steph:Joy). What a fun process.

HEAR

SMELL

TASTE

TOUCH

KNOW

Bookends of Yesterday

I began my day with a mindful walk along the river:

I ended my day eating tasty food made from the CSA box:

And sharing wine and deep connection with one of my closest friends:

These were the bookends of an eventful, active, emotional day. Such busyness, yet such mindfulness--the paradox of life. I'm blessed to be part of it.

Photo Session with Mark

Through my photography journey, I'm now comfortable with self-portraits. Yet when my teachers (Andrea Scher, Liz Lamoreux) encourage a portrait session with another, I freeze. Taking pictures of others is challenging, as many people dislike the process. But the bigger deal: when someone else takes my photo, I relinquish control and place it in another's hands. This taps into my tender spot--exposing myself, being vulnerable, and trusting someone. (My guess: this is the hard part for everyone.) I reflected on my reactions, and realized trust is the most important piece of the experience. Since I trust Mark whole-heartedly, he seemed a natural choice for a photo partner. (Truth: he's really the only one that feels safe enough; I imagine this will change as I continue on my path.) Monday, while the sun set, we did an impromptu photo session on the back porch. 

My favorite photo of Mark (I think it reveals his incredible kindness):

I also like this set of whimsical shots, which show his playfulness and humor:

Mark captured some great shots of me; photos I can embrace and to which I say "yes, that's me." I now understand the beauty of these photo shoots: the new ways in which I'm seen. Ways in which I haven't seen myself outwardly, yet seem to capture me inwardly. It's nice to have a new set of eyes. Mark's eyes on me:

Downtime

In March I wrote about craving--particularly the message I receive from Amazon boxes that appear at my door. The subject matter of the selected books lets me know what I crave. But it's not the books themselves I desire--it's the self-nurture. In March, I craved time to cook food and work on creative projects. This summer I purposefully made space for cooking, gardening, photography, and a little poetry. I've pushed my creative boundaries in exciting ways.

But ego snuck in when I wasn't looking. Ego took on the creative projects in a must-do, this-is-your-self-worth, stay-hooked-to-the-computer way. (This was a gradual process; ego is quite wily.) So what arrived on my doorstep recently? Pleasure reads. Books in which I can lose myself. Books for fun. Do I actually crave these specific books? No. I crave downtime. I crave a day where I have no plans; a day where I can start a book and perhaps finish it before bed. It's summer and my schedule is very flexible--this is precisely the time to leisurely enjoy an unstructured day. Yet I haven't. Interesting how ego works.

The good news: 1) I've made exciting creative leaps this summer, and 2) I spied ego early-ish in the process. Really, what more can I ask? This is the pathway of life. And sometimes, I receive a gift at just the right moment: yesterday I lolled at the Kohler Water Spa with two of my best friends. Any moment is an opportunity to change habits. Yesterday was a lovely reminder.

Making Friends with Drought

The title of this post makes me smile. My intention really is to make friends with the terrible drought we're currently experiencing. But it's easy to misread the title as "making friends with doubt," which is certainly a worthy effort. So really, the title could be making friends with drought or doubt or gout--essentially, making friends with difficulty.

I had 6 hours in the car Tuesday. My driving time is typically spent in silence or listening to dharma talks by meditation teachers. Although the teachers focus on different topics, certain themes emerge from all. In particular, I pondered our human nature to always want something different from what is. Usually we have a low-level feeling of uneasiness--that something is not quite right (with ourselves, someone else, or the world). Rather than experiencing this uneasiness--staying with it, being curious, and noticing the underlying feelings--we typically distract ourselves. Or we long for some set of conditions (e.g., destination, completion of a project), and then move immediately to something else once those conditions are met.

Back to my 6-hour car trip... I don't often sit for hours at a time and my body hurts during extended car trips. As I listened to a dharma talk, where the teacher encouraged me to stay in this very moment, I longed to be home--out of the car and in the comfort of my nest. (I fully realized the irony.) I did actually stay with many moments, but I noticed my natural tendency to long for home; long for the end of the trip. Of course, I did arrive home--the place I painfully longed for during most of the trip. Then what? Did I enter my house with gratitude and slowly stretch on my living room floor? Nope. I took a tour of my yard, watered my plants, and was saddened by the toll taken by the hot, dry weather. Then I unloaded the car, unpacked everything, and drove back to the rental-car company. (At this point I was quite hungry, but I told myself I could eat when I got home--I can enjoy life later.)

On my run home from the rental-car drop off, I eventually found my breath and my mindfulness. Per usual, the breath is always there--we just need to notice. So I chuckled and allowed myself to look around and experience the run. I noticed that the brown grass actually looks quite beautiful in the evening light. Perhaps there are lessons in the drought. Perhaps there is beauty in the drought. (In fact, there is.)

Here's a pattern I notice: I rush to get somewhere; I arrive at my destination; my mind starts thinking about the next destination or the next thing I must do that day. Without mindfulness and intention, an entire day zooms past with very few lived moments. Part of this is my discomfort with being with what is--whatever happens. So my practice is to spend more and more mindful moments, which means more lived life--more real, connected experiences. It's a practice because it actually goes against my human nature, so I make mistakes, notice, and being again. (See the story above.) Yet I know firsthand it brings me great peace.

An apropos (and beautiful) poem by Galway Kinnell:

Prayer

Whatever happens. Whatever

what is is is what

I want. Only that. But that.

Fun with Shadows

Last night, while in a parking lot, I noticed the long shadows easily made on the concrete. I asked Mark to join me in some shadow shots. He obliged and even enjoyed the experience (notice my devil ears in the photo above). I think shadows are beautiful, but they can also be quite playful. Especially when you have a fun playmate:

My Body (It's Complicated)

What is my relationship with my own body? Honest answer: it's complicated. Sometimes I'm gentle with and nurturing of my body. Other times I punish my body with workouts. Sometimes I truly listen to my body and take a break. Other times I send loathsome messages to my belly. It's back and forth and day to day. But there are many more days when I'm gentle and kind. And every night, without fail, I massage my feet (with deep gratitude) before bed. I'm exceptionally thankful for everything my body does for me. And yet (sigh).

During this week's Inner-Excavation read-along, Liz encourages us to take self-portraits, and to be especially present with our bodies; see our bodies, write about our bodies, BE in our bodies. I've done much self-portraiture in the last 6 months. After some initial discomfort, I now find it a freeing, creative process. So I mindlessly dove into this week's activity: "I can do self portraits; this doesn't scare me; I've confronted all my demons; let's take some backyard snaps right now!"

I charged into the backyard, and was immediately self-conscious; my neighbor was outside doing yard work. But an answer quickly formed in my head: "You're beyond that, Joy. You're free. Just do your thing." (At this point I did not recognize the voice was ego, not authentic Joy. In fact, Joy was in a very tender space.) I took many self-timer photos and thought I enjoyed myself. Yet there was a nagging feeling of doubt. When I came inside to view the pictures, I saw myself as flabby, awkward, not attractive, and silly. I felt shame. I sobbed. Such is the complicated nature of my relationship with my body. I feel strong one day, and the next I feel like a bulging fake.

After the insights (and the crying), I felt much relief. And, once I became mindful, I was able to access gentleness and love for my body; and love for the core me (which is not my body). I set aside my inner-critic. I put on my favorite summer dress and my "Be Brave" necklace, and I went back outside. This time I let my inner-spirit guide the session. And in the post-processing I cropped the photos to show only parts of my body--and I made peace with them. In fact, I saw their deep beauty.

So what a wonderful reminder that we never wrap up all our issues; we never face all our demons. Actually, life is a spiral of inner-work, where we often revisit the same issues, but from a different perspective. And it's all okay.

Summer Day

Mary Oliver's poem, The Summer Day, is simple yet profound. It contains one of my favorite lines ever written: "Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?" I think of these words whenever I get overly attached to my to-do list or other people's impressions of me or a false sense of control (of the whole world). 

Yesterday, Mark and I shared a fabulous summer day. We made delicious meals and ate in the backyard. We had lovely conversations interrupted by wildlife--a squirrel traversing the phone line, a chipmunk eating oak seeds, a woodpecker rat-a-tatting on a nearby tree. We read books and shared our favorite lines. We edited each other's work (blog post for Mark and painting for me). We rode bikes to the house of dear (vacationing) friends, and then slowly picked pints of berries. We thoroughly enjoyed our own and each other's company. We went to bed very happy and grateful.

This is exactly how I want to spend my one wild and precious life.