Breathe

My Kundalini Yoga teacher (I am on my second class and possibly hooked) sends me this message:

"In the Orient, it is said that when a child is born, the life-span is already pre-determined, pre-measured not by years but by the numbers of breaths allotted. Therefore, we can conclude  - and rightfully so - that if you breathe slower, you will live longer." 

Yum.

Beautiful Advice for Challenging Times

This is something I read and liked a lot.

It echoes thoughts that had been swirling in my mind and to whom I had not given form.

Ben Stein (who is an investor) does so beautifully.

He writes:

"After all, my wife has not lost value. My dogs have not lost value. My son has gained greater value by getting engaged to a fabulous young woman. My friends have not lost value (but, sadly, there are fewer and fewer of them). The sunshine outside my house in Rancho Mirage, Calif., has not lost value, and every year I have left has greater value because of scarcity.

In my remaining years as an investor, I will just do the best I can - and then go eat sushi. I recommend you do the same."

Well, what the heck ...

... before I go snuggle back to bed, I want to write a little bit about someone I "met" several years ago.

She had heard from me through some forum and wanted to coach with me for a few sessions. 

Fifteen minutes into our first call, I was no longer sure of who was coaching whom. 

The wisdom and humor that came across the telephone made me want to take notes. 

As she spoke of the man she had been loving for the past 50 years, of the many science fiction books she had birthed into the world (under a man's name), of the workshops she was leading and of her 14 adopted and handicapped children, I felt a cocoon of calm and energized warmth wrap itself around me. 

There were talks of newly planted bulbs, freshly baked cakes, scripts in the works, the joy of having raised her children and now helping them raise their own... there were plans excitedly hatched and memories lovingly celebrated. There was so much darn goodness all around. 

Our calls always left me in a better place and she was kind enough to tell me the same.

One day, as we began one of our calls, she laughingly mentioned to me something about a wheelchair getting stuck. Knowing that a couple of her grandkids were handicapped, I asked her what had happened. 

This is when I understood, barely able to believe it, that she was talking about her own wheelchair. The wheelchair she had been living in for many, many years. 

I was quiet, trying to take in this new piece of information (and the web of thoughts that was growing from it).

Never, ever had she mentioned her own wheelchair to me. When answering the usual "tell-me-about-your-life-as-it-is-today" question on her intake questionnaire, she had only spoken of her blessings and of her dreams. 

She had never identified with being handicapped.

Saying more and pontifying about the many meanings and implications of this would take away from its beauty. So I will simply leave it with you, pregnant and rich with gifts that we can all open as we wish.

That's it. I am going back to bed, now. 

Oh ... and in case you are curious ... here is some of her work. No, really.

Middle of the Night

What a strange time...

It seems that this whole expanse of hours before my kids wake up and I am making raspberry smoothies would be a great time to write. 

Roxy is snoring, all the sweet humans that make up my home tonight are asleep and only the humming of the refrigerator sounds "active."

I am awake. The kind of awake that feels as though I will never sleep again.

And yet... not awake enough to be truly functional. A weird kind of awake. A new kind for me. 

My efficient mind is frustrated as I know that I am borrowing alert time from tomorrow while not "producing" anything in its place. 

I think of a client of mine, years ago, who used to battle this ongoing insomnia.

She was a technical writer and I remember thinking how perfect this could be as she could write in peace through the night. It all seemed slightly romantic to me and it took quite a few words for her to pass on to me what a handicap this really was. 

I think I get it.

So what is the gift of these hours that stretch ahead of me while I find myself in a semi alert and yet pretty altered state? 

Should I set up my easel and start painting? 

Take a bath? 

Rearrange the living room? 

Watch a couple of TED videos?

Do some yoga? 

Bake a batch of scones? 

Or lay in bed and allow my mind to do whatever it wants, for a rare moment of complete non-effectiveness? 

 

Kindness

I am thinking, tonight, of an amazing (and quiet) kindness that was bestowed upon me almost a decade ago.

I was weeks into "my life's new arrangement", following the ending of my thirteen year marriage. 

The new arrangement stated that our children would spend alternate weeks at my and their Daddy's home. 

In some ways, it was violent. Brutal. For all of us.

To add to the craziness, money was scarce and the stress level high. 

One morning, Joan and Cheryl - who owned and ran the pre-school that my two youngest children attended - called me and asked me for "a favor":

They wanted to know if I could "help them out" and work at the school every other Friday. 

The Friday of the week when my kids were at their Dad's. 

Meaning: would I please come spend the day with my two boys ... and get paid for it?

The grace, generosity, thoughtfulness of this gesture has never left me. 

Not only did it save my heart but it gifted me with a model to thrive for.

I hope that I have occasionally done it justice. 

To Blog or not to Blog ...

That's it. I am doing it.