Vegan Experience Brings Gratitude in Unlikely Places

Posted on December 24, 2014 by gettingoutalive

I went to a wonderful one-day yoga retreat about seven months ago. It almost looked like there wouldn’t be enough people registered for the retreat to take place, and then, at the last moment, there were.

We were hosted by an interesting, lovely woman in her amazing house, with beautiful gardens. The weather was perfect. The yoga teacher, my original teacher who created that spark in me with which began my love affair with yoga, was wonderful. (thank you, Rachel!)

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As an additional treat, a vegan chef prepared our meals, taught us about the vegan lifestyle and how to prepare several of the gorgeous foods she prepared.

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She became vegan for all the health benefits about which she spoke and also because of her deep commitment to respecting the lives of all living things.

Hmmm. Sounded good to me. I’m not all that against eating animals, truth be told. I don’t get teary-eyed when contemplating a steak on my plate or a little Cornish hen that even looks like she could get up and waddle away. But I’m not against refraining from eating them either. And lowering my cholesterol while, perhaps, losing a big of weight, might finally get my levels to a more comfortable place in the middle of that pesky graph.

And, not only that, but I could be COOL.

All the coolest people are vegan these days, right?

I could be IN.

Yay!

Gershon put up lots of shelves in our pantry for all the containers with nuts, grains, dried soy chunks, coconut oil, beans and lentils. I bought a little extra refrigerator for that pantry to put all the leafy green things and the overflow of vegetables in.

He was supportive and I was…

INTO IT!

I was careful not to preach to anyone else. (how obnoxious is it when people do that, right?) I cooked all the usual victims for Gershon and he didn’t roll his eyes even once at the odd side dishes on his plate (my main course).

cholesterol

My cholesterol went down 20 points.

proud of myself

All was going just spiffy there for a minute until…wait!

WHAT THE HECK IS THIS???

D I A R R H E A!!

I don’t mean the kind where you have to go an extra time or two a day. Or the kind where there’s a slight change in texture or color. Okay, this is getting a bit graphic for the weak of heart but you get the picture.

I’m talking BIG TIME and 4 months.

So, I googled the heck out of the subject from every which way. I went to my family physician. We did tests. Blood tests and stool specimens. All normal. I took soy products out of my diet and started peeling vegetables and fruits. No change.

Finally, I picked up the phone and sent out a few emails to people I know who were vegans for years and either became simple vegetarians or, as one friend put it, now eat a paleolithic diet (yeah, I had to look it up, too)

And guess what? Every single last one of them said that they changed their diet because THEY WERE SICK…

FOR MONTHS!

Ha Ha Ha! Joke’s on me. Eating healthy was making me sick. And not only that but all that healthy eating makes lots of those COOL people sick.

So you guys all know I’m a yoga and meditation instructor, right? At least 6 times a week I tell my students that they should incorporate body and mind awareness into everything they do; not just yoga. If they find themselves doing something that doesn’t feel good they should ask themselves why the Sam Hill they’re doing it. And if the answer is, among other things, to be COOL, well, they need to cut it to heck out.

If you’re gossiping to entertain your friends; you might want to find new material (or different friends).

If you’re wearing high heels to attract men; you might want to find a good podiatrist (or a different kind of man).

And if you’re eating in a way that gives you diarrhea for four months; you might want to find a different way of eating!

And, so, I decided on Monday that I would start eating eggs and chicken and even add a few milk products into my life and kick all those beans and whole grains out. I unceremoniously (or maybe a bit ceremoniously actually, if that’s a word) and literally threw out everything that had a whiff of soy in it.

Lo! and behold. Immediate relief. And I mean immediate.

By Tuesday my digestive system switched back from Mr. Hyde to Dr. Jekyll. And, a bonus, I had more energy. I thought I was feeling a bit lethargic because of it being winter but, it turns out, it was all that healthy eating. In case you think this might be my imagination, one of those ex-vegan friends said that giving up grains upped her energy level like 5 cups of coffee for breakfast.

And here comes the gratitude part for those of you who get annoyed when the title has no distinguishable connection with the book or, in this case, blog.

Grateful to be energetically out of the bathroom, yes. But also grateful for my friends and relations who didn’t feel the need to warn me about the connection between veganism and feeling crappy (only a little sorry for the pun). Why, you might ask, would I be grateful for that?

There’s nothing like learning for oneself through experience (as long as it’s not lethal). That’s first off.

Would I have listened to them? Maybe, but then I might’ve always wondered.

And then there are all the lessons that I’ve internalized.

the one about not giving advice where none has been solicited
the one about being forthcoming and honest when it has
the one about examining goals with clarity (and throwing out the ones that are unskillfully motivated)
the one about APPRECIATING the glorious natural functioning of my body (recovering from 4 months of diarrhea is a super teacher for this one)

So, thank you, friends and relatives. Thank you, body. Thank you, Gershon. (a friend AND a relative but his support is distinctly different from anyone else’s) Thank you, eggs. Thank you, chicken.

And now I have to go eat some chorizo. See ya’

Gratitude in the Challenging Situations

Posted on October 21, 2014 by gettingoutalive

Have you ever been struck to discover that all that reading you’ve done over recent years has actually made an integral change in your life…just like “they” say it can?

For the past 5 years or so, I’ve been reading a lot of the research coming out of the Laboratory for Affective Neuroscience, The Waisman Center for Brain Imaging and Behavior (Richard Davidson), the Massachusetts Neuropsychological Society and The Center for Mindfulness in Medicine, Health Care and Society at UM/Boston (Jon Kabat-Ziin).

In fact, I get a weekly email from Rick Hanson (http://www.rickhanson.net/writings/just-one-thing/) which is often based on Richard Davidson’s work. Nice, succinct and almost always useful.

For awhile I kept up a Gratitude Journal

Writing 3 things that happened during the course of a day (even a crappy day) toward which I could nod a quick “thank you” before going to sleep.

Research shows that writing down 3-5 things to be grateful for each night develops and then strengthens new neuro-passages in the brain, eventually creating a default there.

That particular outlook on life and life’s daily events strengthens the part of the brain anatomically associated with happiness, satisfaction and positive self-image which, in turn, have been shown in other research to be associated with physical health, healthy relationships and, perhaps surprisingly, task completion.

Who knew?

Well, it turns out quite a few people knew. It just took time for “real” scientists, respected in the “real” sciences, to prove it with the amazing tools, developed over the last decade or so, which map the brain.

Many of us, Jews, begin our day everyday with a one-sentence prayer, thanking God for compassionately returning our soul to us. Personal confession: I grew up doing this but have only returned to it over the past couple of years after more than a few years of rolling out of bed, headed for my toothbrush, with nary a thought as to how that happened , or that it happened at all.

And, really, isn’t it a great idea to be grateful for opening our eyes to a new day, full of potential, just waiting for us to make choices – again – about what we do and how we do it?

So maybe we don’t all think there’s a God who gave us this gift again this morning. But can most of us agree that, if we made it, we might want to say a word of gratitude for the opportunity, regardless of how it happened?

Here’s the rub. And many of you may have thought of this instantly when you read the last sentence of the paragraph before this one.

For some of us, our reality seems more like this –

Maybe not everyday. But maybe a lot of them.

Maybe our health is dicey. Maybe we’ve lost people, jobs, capabilities, relationships, opportunities that were really REALLY important to us.

Maybe our goals, our path, our very existence has gotten a little fuzzy, out of focus or just plain LOST.

Life has a way of knocking us around, off balance.

Remember those neuro-passages we can develop and strengthen? The downside is that the people and situations that insult, hurt and humiliate us, the tasks, improvements, and goals we don’t accomplish, the aches and pains (psychic and physical) that pop up (and the ones that stick around) – these all build and strengthen neuro-passages, too.

Sometimes we feel like Sisyphus with the proverbial rock, trying to stave off impending doom and disaster in our lives – day after day after day.

And are we really grateful for the opportunity to do THAT – again?

Well, here’s the deal, guys. Feeling gratitude for the small, maybe tiny and flickering, lights of goodness in our lives will help break up that huge boulder into more manageable rocks and then, maybe someday, stones and, maybe, if we’re really lucky, pebbles.

Those little specks of goodness can be so tiny that our frontal cortex has trouble overriding the medulla oblongata, which controls our fight, flight or freeze response. That’s the part of the brain that insured our survival back in the days when our major threat was the lion that might be lurking behind the trees waiting to pounce on his dinner (us).

We should be grateful for this part of our brain, too.

But our threats today, for the most part, are more psychological than physical. Even our physical threats are influenced by our psychological responses to them it seems.

Yesterday I had an appointment with a doctor I’d waited almost 3 months to see. Unfortunately, he’d forgotten to tell his office (or computer scheduler) that he would be on vacation last week when I (and lots of other folks) had my appointment scheduled.

The office ended up scheduling in all the people whose appoin waiting tments had to be re-scheduled into this week’s schedule in between other clients.

Yay!

Not so much.

Naturally, there were the people who forget (or never learned) that a public place isn’t their personal space. Lots of cell phones ringing, loud conversations (on the phone or with their companions), and those people who “only have a quick question”.

In short, what could’ve been a 20 minute event in my day ended up being a 3-hour event.

There was a time when I would’ve been in alert, tense mode (fight) to prevent people from cutting in front of me with their “quick questions”, or just because my medulla oblongata was being activated way before I even got there. Maybe even when I got the original phone call telling me of the re-scheduling.

Not to say that I was calmly in touch with my inner peace for 3 hours. Oh no!

There were certainly moments of consciously going into meditative Ujai breathing…right after that inner voice shouted “SERIOUSLY? Talking on the phone – in my ear – again, dude?!?) and “Who the hell has a Barbra Streisand ringtone…and then let’s it ring 10 damn times…EVERY time?!”

But, aside from Ujai, I had my gratefulness practice, and all those articles and emails, to steer me into the very objective reality of being grateful for (basically) FREE MEDICAL CARE! How amazing is that in this day and age where (here’s a shocker) 45,000 Americans die annually from inadequate or inaccessible health care? And that’s not the Third World where who-the-Sam-Hill knows how many people lack health care.

Yep, folks, we, in Israel, get it for free.

And it’s great health care for the most part. Up to date tests and treatments. Excellent doctors.

So the price we pay is waiting for certain kinds of specialists and being patient with our fellow patients-in-waiting by cultivating some patience-in-waiting skills.

Wow! Small price to pay, right? Feeling grateful yet?

Waiting for the doctor pales in comparisons to many of the Sisyphus-ian boulders in many people’s lives but it’s a practice.

And, really, how many of our boulders are our medulla oblongata seeing a mountain where there’s a proverbial molehill?

So – lots of compassion for those whose mountains are mountains and also compassion for those of us whose mountains are molehills but still mountains for us in our mind’s eye and in our hearts.

No judgment. Just a suggestion.

Set aside 30-60 seconds every night before you roll over to go to sleep to think of 3 things for which, in spite of all, you can, in all honesty, be grateful.

Even if it’s as basic as the food on your table.

Or the ability to breathe.

I make one promise: ONLY GOOD THINGS CAN HAPPEN.

A Good Heart

Posted on April 27, 2014 by gettingoutalive

I was sitting with my husband and some friends yesterday studying a Jewish book called “The Sayings of the Fathers”. It’s a book of homilies. Seemingly simple stuff.

I used to study it sometimes with my father on the rare occasions that he would have the time and patience for or interest in that kind of thing.

It always seemed to lack the seriousness and depth of the heavier Jewish tractates. Maybe my father chose it as appropriate keeping in mind that one of the homilies advises men not to spend too much time talking to women so as not to engage in nonsensical conversation…or worse.

Climbing out of the time machine back into the present, there we were studying this book of homilies and we came to 5 student rabbis and their teacher (the Big Rebbe) sitting around trying to determine what one needs most in order to lead a worthy life. (the first branch of yoga – the yamas)

One student claimed “A good eye”. The second said “a good friend”. Another said “a good neighbor”. The fourth offered, “the ability to foresee what is to come.” The final student countered with “a good heart.” Their teacher agreed with the last student saying that having a good heart incorporates all the other answers.

Then the teacher asked his students what evil should one most shun in order to live a worthy life. (the second branch of yoga – the niyamas).

One student said “an evil eye”. The second said “an evil associate”. Another said “an evil neighbor”. The fourth offered, “borrowing and not repaying”. The final student countered with “an evil heart”. Their teacher agreed with the last student saying that having an evil heart incorporates all the other answers.

In the Jewish tradition of learning (called pilpul; that sing-songy kind of debating) the conversation between us went on as to whether or not the students referred to being a good friend, being a good neighbor or having a good friend and a good neighbor; and what is a “worthy” life anyway? much less a “good heart” or an “evil heart”.

But, really, we all knew what the book meant.

So I listened to the conversation with one ear (these are people I love after all) but found myself drifting peacefully inward like a fallen leaf floating gently downstream on a sunny autumn day when there’s very little wind.

Years of listening to podcasts, reading books, meditating and leading meditation.

Lovingkindness meditations. Gratitude meditations.

Compassion. Equanimity. Non-violence. Impermanence.

Inter-connectiveness.

Beginner’s mind.

Letting go.

And it all comes down to a good heart, doesn’t it?

Thich Nhat Hanh calls it “love” and so does Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz.

ALL YOU NEED IS LOVE

A heart filled with love allows us to feel compassion for that crazy Israeli driver who zig-zags his way down the highway endangering himself…and all of us.

A heart filled with love allows us to keep our partner’s goodness in mind when some not so good things happen.

A heart filled with love helps us to meet our lives with an inner smile, with gratitude for the very breath that supports us in every moment, even the moments of sadness, illness and disappointment.

And, yes, a heart filled with love creates in us a good eye which creates in us a good friend and neighbor who sees the goodness in others and even the ability to foresee what is to come, because we are open to whatever it may be.

I’ve often told my children when they have a falling out one with the other or with me or their father that if we keep in mind that the foundation of our relationship is that we love each other and wish each other well – all can be forgiven as a misunderstanding or misstep. We need not suspect a hidden intended hurt or bad intention. Nor need we don our barbed, protective clothing after brushing our teeth in the morning.

And isn’t that what it means to have a good heart?

And isn’t that what leads to a worthy life?

Simple stuff? Maybe not so much.

As my husband says, we all may seem fine from the front but we each carry around a “peckelach” on our back

from life’s journey so far. The result of things not turning out quite as we planned. The odd hurtful comment here and whispered gossip behind our back there. The random betrayals and losses.

We may not have to protect ourselves (or at least not very often) from the animal predator pouncing on us from where it lies in wait but we’ve learned we have to protect ourselves from the hurts that human predators can inflict, some as poignant as that lion’s snarl and often even unintentional.

Not so easy to open our hearts.

It’s a journey of tikun, or mending.

Tikun of the soul.

Tikun of the heart.

Not always, but often, I recognize how far I’ve traveled down that path and feel mightily blessed.

And most days, even the recognition of how far I still must journey is no longer daunting.

Re-learning Being in the Moment – Again and Again

Posted on November 12, 2013 by gettingoutalive

Another trip to the States. Much shorter than last summer’s epic six week journey. A mere 4 days in San Antonio, three in DC and two in NYC.

It’s hard not to be greedy when it comes to spending time with the people I love but I remind myself often to be grateful that I have the opportunity to touch them and hug them and watch them living their lives for several days at a time – an opportunity that so many people don’t have.

For me, moving through other people’s lives, being a part of them for a flash in time, is a constant practice in being in the moment.

It would be so easy to want to grasp on to the feeling I have when I watch my grandchildren do something precious – and it happens so often when I’m with them – it makes me smile!

And it would be a cinch to be tempted into thinking of all the times it happens when I’m not there to see it.

(Yes, the tree does make noise when it falls in the forest – even when there’s no one there to hear it!)

It would be so easy to worry about my 67 year old best friend in Texas growing old – without me there to grow older with her and be part of her support system. Even though 70 is the new 50…and certainly in her case it seems to be true.

But if I spend the time I have with my children and grandchildren being sad about the times I won’t be there to see their precious moments or spend my time with my friend worrying about her growing old without me, I won’t really be experiencing those precious moments and I won’t get to love every breakfast at the Twin Sisters restaurant with my friend or our mad shopping sprees,

our over-indulgent meals (we both gain at least 5 pounds every time we spend a week together) or our long conversations into the night,

the glutting ourselves on movies and country music.

I’ve been traveling back and forth between Israel and the US for 20 years now. I have family in both countries. I have good friends in both countries. There are places and landscapes I love in both countries. There are traits, cultural aspects and values I relish in both countries. I have citizenship in both countries.

And I’m not the only one.

There’s a trick to it.

Not all of us are blessed to have discovered it.

Some people with an M.D. or Ph.D. after their names might call it schizophrenia. But I like to call it being in the moment – in the here and now.

When I watch Noga and Maya laughing their heads off while they run around the house together, I’m totally in that kitchen delighting in their silliness as they gallop by.

When I float down the San Antonio River on a barge, chatting with my friend as we bask in the Texas sun, my skin feels a-tingle and the music of Billie’s Alabaman drawl fills my heart.

When I swing Zohar around and up in the sky like an airplane when I pick her up from pre-K in Beer Sheva, her gorgeous face and the mischievous glimmer in her eye make my heart fly. (“Again, Savta! Again!”)

When I play Scrabble with Gershon, every fiber of my concentration is on those tiles and all the possibilities.

When I settle into downward dog or the glorious stretch of high cobra, all of my awareness is in my joints, my muscles and the miracle of breath.

Here. Now.

Jerusalem. San Antonio. Ofra. Beer Sheva. Washington D.C. Ramat Gan. New York City. Ofra. Chicago. Tel Aviv. Yogaville.

In the moment.

I envision myself someday, many years from now, when my traveling legs have long given out, content in the moment of sitting on my porch, feeling the sun and maybe a slight breeze, savoring all the collected moments of a lifetime.

Therapy at 60

Posted on June 11, 2013 by gettingoutalive

I’ve started a therapeutic practice again. There! I said it!

My last go at it was almost 30 years ago. In a tiny office in Jerusalem I hung out my shingle as a “Couples Therapist” and met with a few unsuspectingly daring couples for awhile.

I think (know) I was more anxious than they were. What if I had no clue how to respond

to whatever goddess-forsaken issue they might bring up?

After some (seemingly endless) amount of time, I gave it up with a sigh of relief. It still amazes me to run into some of those couples – who are still miraculously together in spite of my meddling – and listen to their kind words of undoubtedly distorted memories of my helpfulness.

When I think back to being 30 years old, and sitting in the therapist seat I can’t help but wonder, WHAT THE *&^%$ DID I KNOW ABOUT LIFE?”

So, here I am, 30 years later, after a particularly daunting 60th year of life, in which I realized that 60 years old is, indeed, OLD! That one is NOT as young as one thinks – in body or mind! My knees are creaky. I’m tired earlier and more often. I don’t want to schlep stuff around or dance zumba, rumba or samba.

A lot of activities I once found tedious, slow and boring – too many to list but gardening, yoga and calligraphy were among them – have become my areas of expertise.

All this by way of saying that getting older is real, folks. It has its down sides (notice that’s plural) but I’m here to say it has its up side(s), too. And they’re not gardening, yoga and calligraphy (although those are all great and I highly recommend them)

. Acceptance of myself and others – Wow! The interesting new opinions to be considered if I let myself listen to the ideas of others without simultaneously thinking of a witty reparte, the impression I’m making or always being on top, up to date and in the know….or knowing someone who had a similar, better or much worse experience or idea.

Much wisdom simply by virtue of having been around for sooooo long (and having made lots of mistakes – just ask my kids).

Throw in patience & compassion

A dash of gratitude and a pinch of humor

A lot of humanity and humility.

But back to therapy at 60. I originally titled these thoughts “Procrastination” until I saw that my thoughts were taking off at a gallop in a different direction altogether.

Why “Procrastination”?, you ask.

Last Sunday I was looking at my legs and thinking to myself that surely it was high time to get rid of my winter fur, though at 60 it’s more like the wisps on a balding head than the pelt of a hibernating bear.

Then last Wednesday I straightened out a drawer “full” of old handwritten letters that has been waiting for my attention, well, since before emails, only to find that there were exactly 14 letters. Hardly a drawer full.

And now, today, I sat down to write my detective novel that I haven’t added to in about 2 months and thought of this blog and, lo and behold!, saw that I hadn’t added to it since January 2nd. (I hope it wasn’t a New Year’s resolution)

So – procrastination. Not a new topic for most of us. An everyday occurrence for many of us. And it brought me to a thought of a client of mind (ah ha! the connection to “Therapy at 60”) from last week’s session that I loved.

It’s the “Not To Do” List

The “Procrastination” List

We were talking about obsessive thinking. You know the kind of thinking I mean. Those stubborn, recurring thoughts. The variations on the theme of “I screwed up” or the ones that go something like “Oops! I forgot to…”. Or how about “If only I’d said…” or “Why does she always…” and “Should I…”

But that’s a whole other blog.

I mentioned one possibility of obsessive thinking being the constant loop of the “to do” list. Checking off tasks as we go through our day and constantly scanning the list mentally for the next task to tackle.

and she said, “I’m more obsessive about my ‘not to do’ list.

Hmmm. A new concept to me. I’d always thought of those things left undone as “procrastination”…a word hinting at shame, embarrassment, and anxiety. Surely we’re meant to DO IT ALL (or it wouldn’t be on the list).

Just think of the possibilities of a “not to do” list. One you can look at with a whistle, feeling excellent about your accomplishments, as you happily check off all those tasks you have successfully not done.

Do not shave legs. Check!

Do not straighten drawers. Check!

Or how about…

Do not cut back on spending. Check!

Okay, let’s not get carried away because here comes the part where the past 30 years come in handy.

How lovely to be able to roll around the concept of a “not to do” list in a mind molded by wisdom, patience, compassion, gratitude, humility and humor, similar to rocks molded by the dripping water of decades, drop by drop.

As a therapist at 60, I can hope to help my client (let’s call her “Gladys”) internalize patience and compassion for the “Gladys” who hasn’t shaved her legs or straightened the drawer, done the dishes or balanced her checking account, met the deadline at work or been empathetic toward her child or colleague.

I can ask her questions that help her to smile at the “Gladys” who retains a rebellious streak toward authority or time or relationship or convention, even when it verges on cutting off her nose to spite her face. (Ouch!)

And, just maybe, together, we can someday change the label of this list from “not to do” list to “not yet done” list, without judgment or self-criticism, without shame or embarrassment, even without a date for getting the tasks done.

Maybe someday we can look at the “not yet done” list with a sense of curiosity – “Hmmm. I wonder if I’ll do that task someday. Maybe today?” – or a sense of wonder – “How odd that once that task was undone for such a long time.” or “Amazing! Once I thought that was something I should/wanted to do.”

Because, after all, life IS a wonder. It’s ever-surprising, whether we feel comfortable with surprises or not. Unpleasant surprises; pleasant surprises; neutral surprises.

We can try to control and list and be constantly checking it out and checking it off but those surprises just sneak right in there. Ready or not, here they come!

Unpleasant (oy!)

Pleasant. (yay!)

Neutral. (yawn)

My clients will always surprise me, just like they did 30 years ago, but, at 60, that’s fine with me. I’ll just open my ears and open my heart.

Namaste
The godliness in me sees the godliness in you.

An Unfinished Life

Posted on January 2, 2013 by gettingoutalive

Amram Meiri died yesterday.

He wasn’t old. He wasn’t sick. He went to work in the morning, like usual, but wasn’t feeling quite right so he went home early.

His wife was out of the country visiting a sick relative.

He called a friend from work in the early afternoon but his friend wasn’t home and he didn’t leave a message. His friend’s son, who answered the phone, later said nothing sounded out of the ordinary.

But Amram died an hour or so later.

Farmer

Husband

Father

Grandfather

Maintenance Man

Friend

He wasn’t an academic. He didn’t have a flashy job, car or personality. I’m guessing he didn’t have an impressive bank account either.

What did he have? He had a wife, three daughters and a son. He had grandchildren.

He had a calm, caring approach to life and to the people in his life.

As the maintenance man for our community of 1000 families, he was called upon to repair just about anything and, many times, interfaced with people when they weren’t at their best (hard to be cheerful about a broken hot water system in the winter). He not only fixed broken items but was mindful of his surroundings and the people in them – noticing if the family was also lacking proper winter blankets and quietly making sure that they were provided.

There were many hundreds of people at Amram’s funeral today, standing in the cold, listening to eulogies, one of which was from his son, filled with Amram’s honesty, his love of the Land of Israel, his love of his family, his deep friendships, his integrity and simple goodness.

You might’ve thought from the sheer number of people standing solemnly in front of the synagogue steps that it was the funeral of a great public personality. And, I guess, in a way, it was.

Amram’s greatness lay in his simple goodness. Public and private.

My thoughts turned to my father, Amram, who died so many years ago. A couple of decades.

A complicated man – a public personality – outwardly charismatic – he was never able to free himself from the tangle of his childhood and difficult nuclear family to develop close, personal relationships or remove himself from the center of attention to truly give of himself to his family.

Always “on”. Always making an impression. At home he was a private, closed-off person; behind closed doors – physically and emotionally.

After he died, in all the many years since, and again today at Amram’s funeral, I thought of my father and thought, “I never really knew you.”

I know Amram Meiri will forgive me for crying for my father, Amram, at the funeral today.

Crying for never having been able to say, as Amram’s Meiri’s son said so touchingly, that I could feel my father’s presence while walking with my children in nature as he did with his father, in my relationships with my family and others in my life having learned to be in relationship from my father, in my love of Judaism learned at my father’s side.

But mostly crying for the tragedy of my father’s life being so impoverished in the very ways that Amram Meiri’s life was so rich.

Amram Meiri’s life was cut short by modern standards. He was in his 60’s. I don’t mean to minimize the loss to his family or his friends. I don’t mean to take away from the sadness of his not seeing his grandchildren grow up and marry or continuing to get pleasure from the Land of Israel he loved so much.

But Amram Meiri had a good life and leaves many people with memories and life lessons that they will always cherish.

I’m grateful that I woke up ten years ago, out of the trance of my own childhood and adolescent struggle on into young parenthood. Out of the need to fill the emotional void left by my dysfunctional nuclear family.

Grateful for the people and life events that sustained me through those challenges to rebirth into an aliveness children deserve to be born into…but, sadly, many aren’t.

I’ve come home to the core of the meaning of my life which lies in relationship… to my family, my friends, my students, the communities in which I live daily and the one in which I live in a larger sense.

I’ve come home to the understanding that relationship means giving. It’s being able to be full enough to be able to silence the ego’s voice to hear and be with the Other.

To bask in the pleasure of my granddaughters’ giggles, their quirkiness, my grandson’s amazing physicality without one eye on the clock. To listen to my children’s decision-making out loud, to act as a sounding board for their thoughts, without having to interject my own agenda.

And it means receiving, graciously, the blessings in every day, and the gifts that others share with me. Integrating and experiencing the truth that teachers are truly found everywhere.

In children. In aggressive Israeli drivers. In the insect world found in the garden. In the doctor’s waiting room. In those interminably long conversations with customer service.

In an unassuming neighbor.

And I mourn for my father’s unfinished life. He never had a chance.

Rabbi Amram Prero 1917-1993

To Every Season

Posted on November 25, 2012 by gettingoutalive

My backyard takes me back to San Antonio so often. And never more so than on an overcast autumn day. I’m not sure why that is. First of all, my backyard doesn’t look anything like my childhood backyard in San Antonio. Second of all, why autumn? Maybe only a channeler or re-birther or some other New Age witch could help figure those conundrums out.

Meanwhile, let me tell you about my backyard.

We planted fruit trees in a rush of exuberance. Apples, pears, almonds. Wow! Our first home after dozens of rented apartments. Our first declaration of permanence in Israel. Sort of like having all those kids in a flush of love and as a declaration of our commitment to each other.

Several years we put in a vegetable garden, right in the middle of the yard where there was the most sun. Healthy, organic food to nurture our growing family. No chocolate spread and sweetened chemical juice for our kids.

We hung wind chimes to create a feeling of harmony and serenity.

We planted wildflowers one year, domesticated flowers other years, spices yet other years. An infusion of orderly color and practical usefulness.

We set up a composter and three large plastic containers, one for paper, one for glass and one for plastics, to be among the few people in our community to actually recycle. Ever the conscientious, ecologically-inspired good citizens of the Earth.

But backyards, like kids, like marriage, like us, don’t often turn out exactly according to plan.

The fruit trees, now almost 30 years old, quickly became a tangled mess of wayward branches, the fruit mostly feeding birds and worms. There are wooden trellises here and there and gardening tools leaning against a tree as remnants of the vegetable gardens which invariably gave us a few tomatoes before sizzling in the Israeli summer. You can see the wind chimes if you search among the overgrown trees but they’re way too deep to actually be heard. Wildflowers sometimes pop up to surprise us but domesticated flowers and spices have long been replaced with funky green plants which are the only ones hardy enough to survive. Our composter and recycling bins are usually full in anticipation of the next step.

In short, my backyard is a reflection of life…at least mine. It’s comfortable and flexible and accepting of the vagaries of my care. We’ve grown into each other. I love the abandoned trellises and wild trees. I love running into a wind chime unexpectedly and hearing its lovely melody. I love walking out to feed organic waste to my composter.

I love how my kids are each exactly themselves. Quirky. Interesting. Ideas, directions, dreams of their own. I love how my relationship with each of them has grown into something comfortable, flexible and accepting of the vagaries of my attention…and theirs.

As for the perpetually almost-overflowing recycling bins, the gardening tools leaning every which way by the gnarled almond tree and crazy green plants of unnameable species lining our porch, that’s what takes me back to San Antonio, especially on autumn days.

I think of it as Southside San Antonio, though I’m no longer at all sure that it was the south side or if that’s one of those unreliable memories. It was where my less genteel friends lived. Not those girls with the big hair who actually had debutante seasons. Not my cheerleader friends or the boys in madras shirts with fruit loops on the back. Nope, these friends had yards full of history. The car up on blocks that someone had thought they’d fix someday, the broken tools or machinery or household appliances laying around haphazardly waiting for repair, the big German Shepherd who always looked fierce but was good for a romp on the grass. These friends wore cowboy boots, drove souped up Mustangs and didn’t figure on a college education.

(You knew this kid, too, right?)

I used to love going to their houses. Ah – the freedom and lack of complication to be found there in their yards.

And now I have a yard like that.

Almost every morning, rain or shine, I toss around bread for birds to come visit my backyard. It’s become a feeding station for them. On nice days we have breakfast out there and watch them fly into the wild, overgrown trees – such a great protected shelter for them – until they start coming down, one-by-one at first until they feel safe, and then whole messes of them pecking and performing for us. On days when the weather forces us inside, I stand by the window over the sink and watch them enjoying my Southside San Antonio backyard as much as I do.

My backyard is a whole world. Is yours, too?

Certifiable

Posted on November 4, 2012 by gettingoutalive

All you yoga teachers out there over the age of 40, remember the days when you could become a yoga instructor by receiving the blessing of your yoga teacher? Some of you may even remember the days when you had to wait, patiently, in the moment, with gratitude and equanimity, until your yoga teacher invited you to begin the process of becoming a yoga instructor.

My mind is not at peace yet. I beg you, Master, please put it to rest.

Bring me your mind, and I will put it to rest.

I have searched for my mind, but I cannot take hold of it.

There, I have put your mind to rest.

WHAT!?!

Well, today we’ve progressed, right? Anyone can hang out her mat and advertise for students to come learn yoga with her. Maybe she went to some yoga classes at her neighborhood gym or watched Yoga A.M. every day for a year or spent a long weekend in Costa Rica learning yoga instruction.

She may not know an iliopsoas from a sartorius or an Uttanasana from an Utkatasana. She may think, like I once did, that hip openers are just the thing for a person who’s had a hip replacement. But, hey, she can do a lovely

Eka Pada Sirsasana

and a knock out Natarajasana.

and P.S. She just might look like the women in these photos.

Hmmm. Maybe progress isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

So after trying about a dozen yoga classes in studios, in gyms, in the US, in Israel…even in London, I had the good fortune to land in the class of a wonderful yoga teacher with whom I practiced for 2 years. I received her blessing to teach and hung out my mat.

Nope, didn’t know the difference between an iliopsoas and a sartorius but I had lots of good intention, read up on everything every week before teaching, consulted with my teacher and went forth.

That worked pretty well for a couple of years. My students seemed happy and passed along recommendations to their friends. The numbers in my group increased. I could’ve probably gone on that way indefinitely.

But I decided I wanted certification so I could teach people with special needs and in recognized frameworks.

I searched for a course and found a much-respected teacher in Tel Aviv. His focus seemed to be meditation, which I’ve been teaching for almost 20 years, but I would be able to get the prized yoga instructor’s certificate and become insurable and legal.

And then my teacher recommended Tsipi Negev…drum roll…one of the founders of The Yoga Teachers Association in Israel. One of the yogis who studied in India and brought respectability to yoga in Israel. All that I only knew later. What I knew from my personal interview with her was that the chemistry between us was good and her approach to yoga felt like home to me.

The only person older than I in the class was Tsipi. I think most of the 20 participants were in their mid to late 20s. 19 women and one guy. (other than the assistant who was also a guy)

Getting up at 5:30 a.m. to shower (one of the tenets of yoga is cleanliness of body and spirit) and get out of the house on time – even once a week – was a challenge.

Lunch was 21 people eating unrecognizable food from containers brought from home and one person (guess who) eating a sandwich and a piece of fruit.

Every Monday we rolled onto our mats bleary-eyed and yawning. We twisted and stretched and warmed our muscles like snakes on a rock in the sun, spent 10 minutes turning inward and then 4 hours learning and practicing yoga poses while Tsipi and Assistant Dudu adjusted, corrected, advised, recommended and generally guided us to integrative, holistic yoga. The yoga of Patanajali – unifying body, spirit and mind.

After our healthy, politically correct half hour lunch, we were back at it.

Anatomy and philosophy for almost 2 hours before a little sharing and setting forth into the world.

We did homework. Turned it in. Received encouragement. We grew to a definite closeness and caring about each other. Old (me) and young (most everyone else). Female (almost everybody) and male (two brave hearts). We taught each other. We supported each other with straps, hands on a back here, a foot there, words of empathy.

Four of us gave birth to new babies. All of us gave birth to new selves. We were all changed by our year together.

When I began my apprenticeship with my former teacher, I realized how much I’d learned over the year of my course. Wow! I’d actually become a yoga instructor. And, yes, I got my certificate in the mail last week and I’m happy about that, too, but mostly I’m deeply grateful for the life-changing experience of having learned – really learned – how to be a yoga instructor.

Today I know the difference between an iliopsoas and sartorius. Between Uttanasana and Ukatasana. I know better than to suggest hip openers to a yogi with a hip replacement. All of that is important!

But I also know about coming home to our inner self of compassion, empathetic joy, non-violence, truth, moderation and recognition of the two arrows of life – the inevitable pain over which we have no control and the optional suffering which depends on how we relate to and cope with that pain.

I’ve integrated into my life off the mat that moment of meditative breathing and checking in with my body and my heart to come into the present moment in order to respond to life rather than react from places in my past and concerns in my future.

Yoga Off the Mat

I’m grateful to my teacher, Rachel, for bringing yoga into my life and guiding me to Tsipi.

I’m grateful to my teacher, Tsipi, for bringing yoga into my heart and the very air I breathe.

I’m grateful to everyone I’ve met along my path which has brought me to this fullness of heart. Those I remember and those I don’t.

I’m grateful for being alive in this wonderful time in our wonderful world – full of challenge as it is.

Nemaste

Who me? Retired?

Posted on May 10, 2012 by gettingoutalive

Here’s a word for you. Close your eyes and tell me what pops into mind.

RETIREMENT

Kind of a big word that brings to mind wonderful things for some people, frightening things for some people and just bafflement or confusion for yet others.

It’s one of those words that is barely part of our vocabulary for the first 50+ years of our lives. Sort of like thinking that our parents have sex when we’re 10 or thinking about smoking causing actual d-e-a-t-h (as in: our own) when we’re 17 or thinking about Alzheimer’s while having that toke when we’re 25 (if you haven’t thought of that one yet…sorry…you know the one about the postcard that the Jewish mother sends her son – “Start worrying. Details to follow.”).

I closed my company at the end of 2010. I used to have three offices in two different continents with 3 worker bees in one of them (sort of like having triplet toddlers but that’s another story).

Then I had two offices but no employees and that was even busier.

Now I suppose I technically have one office but since I do less and less having anything to do with public relations or fundraising, it’s sort of a misnomer…or a fiction…or, let’s face it, sort of a lie.

It reminds me of something Ram Dass wrote in his wonderful book, Still Here. He wrote that many men in their 70’s and 80’s (yes, it is sort of gender-specific for his generation, maybe for mine, and maybe even for my children’s) still “go into the office” (that’s how they put it) and talk about their indispensable-ness (please overlook that not being a word) because that’s the only identity they have and cling to it fearing that the only alternative is the guy in the robe with a scythe in his hand.

Well, I didn’t think that owning up to having retired from the work I’d been doing (foreshadowing) meant that I’d have to start watching out for The Grim Reaper (as if watching out for him helps – an aside here with a great story about the guy who caught a glimpse of TGR and ran to his friend to borrow a horse to ride to the next town over to hide out until the coast was clear in his hometown. His friend ran into TGR who said he had no time to stand and chat because he had an appointment with someone in the next town over.)

I just didn’t think about it at all. Who me? Retired?

Back in the olden days when our 5 children (finally) stopped moving back into the house “just for a month or two”, Gershon and I looked at each other over our morning coffee and fresh fruit one day and realized that we had an “empty nest”. Yikes! Lo! and behold, there followed a year of adjustment until we wiggled this way and squished around that way and looked at each other over our morning coffee and fresh fruit one day, smiled, and realized that our “empty nest” had evolved into a comfy home for two.

So just the other day, scroll up to see that I closed my office in December 2010!, I realized that I’ve retired from public relations and fundraising. I looked back over the last 18 months of playing spades online, watching American TV series from iTunes, a brief stint doing yoga as a volunteer in a senior’s day care center, piddling in the garden, starting a blog (ahem), spending more and more time with my grandchildren and reading alot and thought,

“Hey, I’m retired! And wasting this amazing, promising, potentially exciting time of life called retirement when I’m a lucky dog to have gotten here in good health (minus a few aches and kvetches), with most of my brain working (I still don’t know the multiplication table beyond 6), a life partner I still like to have around (most of the time), enough money to keep the proverbial wolf from the door even without becoming one of those sad older women who sell cosmetics in the drug store and…never mind, this sentence has GOT to come to an end.”

My cluelessness was pretty pathetic given that (1) I’d already decided to take a 2 year yoga instructors’ course for certification and had been getting up at the crack of dawn (I’m not a morning person unless loving those morning hours of sleep can be called being a morning person) once a week since November to be able to teach yoga in places that require insurance, (2) I’d decided not to agree to meet with new potential clients “just to listen to their ideas” and (3) I’d been checking out a Transpersonal Psychology course in the US to get certified to go back to doing therapy.

Hmm. Sure sounds like someone who knows she’s retired from what she was doing professionally for a couple of decades. Like anyone who read that paragraph and knows that I’m approaching 60 would figure it out. But the person living it…i.e. ME…hadn’t figured it out yet.

You might ask yourself what the Sam Hill difference it makes what I call it to myself? (you probably wouldn’t say “Sam Hill”, though, unless you were born before 1920)

Well, I guess it DOES make a difference because once I realized that this is “RETIREMENT” (ay yai yai), I knew I had to make the most of it and stop playing those stupid games online and doing so much of all the other wasteful things I’d been doing. In spite of what all those meditation teachers say, escape isn’t all bad. It’s great within proportion, imho, with “within proportion” being the key words in that sentence. But many of my days had lost that proportion.

So now I’m taking a closer look at what I’m doing with my time.

Part One reminds me a little of a lecture I heard Sylvia Boorstein give years and years ago about Right Speech. One of the many very wise things she said in that lecture is that it’s important, before letting words out of one’s mouth, to do a quick speech scan (my term for it) –

What’s your motivation for saying it?
What’s your intention?
Will what you’re thinking of saying actually help realize that intention?
Is the other person open to hearing it right now?
Is this an appropriate forum?

And, in case you’re thinking that people would never say anything at all if they had to go through all that before speaking, yes, someone in the hall DID say that to her and her response was to say, “Could be. And then there would be more silence in the world. And wouldn’t THAT be nice!”

But back to the point.

Now I’m trying to institute that kind of “action scan”. Before planning my day, and as I go through my day, I try to remember to ask myself those questions and only if my motivation and intention are positive, if the action will actually help fulfill my intention, if I think the action will be received as it’s intended and if the forum is appropriate will I follow through.

Part Two of my realizing the reality of this new stage in my life is matching my values with how I fill my time. Choosing what I want to fill my time with by examining how different activities correspond to my values.

I value family – so I try to visit with my grandchildren who are an hour’s drive away once a week and my granddaughter who’s further away every other week. I try to let my kids know that I’m thinking of them. Sometimes just with a text message. I try to remember the things I can do so effortlessly that Gershon appreciates so much. It took me 15 minutes to make some dinner to bring for him to eat before the movie the other night when he met me after a 2-hour workout at the gym. (p.s. One of the worst movies either of us has ever seen – “This Must be the Place” – what could Sean Penn have been thinking? – be sure to give it a pass!)

I value friendship – so I try to keep in touch with my friends. Valuing their friendship often means respecting that they AREN’T retired. Sometimes an email is a better reflection of valuing friendship than a call or a visit. And I try to develop new friendships with some of the people I meet. Remember that Audrey Hepburn movie where she says she couldn’t possibly be friends with Cary Grant until one of her current friends dies? I think I used to come across that way (though, sadly, without the long neck and big, beautiful eyes) and am trying to remember to make a change.

I value my health – body and mind – so I’ve re-committed myself to including at least an hour of serious exercise in five days of my week, meditating every day (at least a little bit), reading soul and mind nurturing books and actually filling some time going to doctors to check out all those pesky things I’ve been passing off as annoying but “only a part of getting older”.

I value altruism – so I’m dedicating part of my time to actually doing the things I’ve been thinking would be nice if someone did.

I value financial security – so, yes, I’m training to be a yoga instructor with much broader possibilities of income and, even though the Transpersonal Psychology certification in the States turned out to be too expensive, I’ve found and registered for training right here in Israel next year to be able to get back into doing therapy.

But, even though this blog is all about me, it isn’t really about me. It’s about the bogeyman of retirement. What is it? What does one do with it? Is it the end of the productive part of our lives? When do we do it?

Gershon has taken to asking retired people we meet on our travels, or even in Israel, what they do with their days. At first most of them sort of answer in some glib way but he always follows up with, “No. REALLY. I really want to know what you do with your days. Start with when you get up.” And they usually comply…and comply…and comply.

Many people, it turns out, do something pretty full time but don’t usually get paid for it. One man we know took over as director of a large volunteer organization in the health field. Gershon’s reaction is that it doesn’t count as retirement. That he’s working full time…just not getting paid for it. My reaction to his reaction is to laugh. What’s retirement? It’s whatever you make it.

So there it is. And why should it come as a surprise to anyone? Retirement is just exactly like the rest of life. We can just put away all that baggage we’re carrying – from the past (What’ll people think of me if I don’t DO anything? Maybe I’ll become brain dead if I don’t DO something! What’s the importance of my life if I don’t have a job? Am I too young to retire?) and the future (Will I have to eat cat food if I quit my job? Will I have anything to talk about? Will I be bored if I don’t have a job to go to everyday? ) – to recognize what’s here right now. And then we can experience the joy and adventure of this stage of our lives.

I don’t mean to make it sound easy. It isn’t. But, then, that’s the very first of those 4 Noble Truths. Just a quick reminder – the fourth clues us in that there IS a way. Choose Life.

Who’s Giving and Who’s Receiving?

Posted on June 26, 2011 by gettingoutalive

Okay, so the people in my exercise class at the Day Care Center for the Elderly in Jerusalem don’t quite have this one down yet…

A friend of mine was over a week or so ago saying that she felt she wasn’t contributing to the world and wanted to do something to help someone somewhere. I suggested volunteer work and mentioned that I’d seen a few volunteer opportunities in the newspaper that morning. We agreed that I’d look for the information and she’d get back to me.

Looking back over the possibilities, three jumped out at me. Two involved 3-4 hours a week gardening – one on the grounds of a hospital and one in the Botannical Gardens – and one gave several options of activities to lead at an Adult Day Care Facility.

My friend never got back to me for the information but I decided to check them out for myself. The gardening options got ruled out because of timing and logisitics (maybe the Israeli summer sun was a contributing factor in dampening my enthusiasm) so I made an appointment to meet with the social worker at the Adult Day Care Center just a 5 minute walk from my yoga teacher’s house where I do yoga every Thursday until 11 a.m.

The Bet Frankforter Adult Day Care Center is in a beautiful, old, former residence made out of lovely Jerusalem stone. There are three groups of elderly people who take the shuttle provided for them from their homes to the center every day. Each group is comprised of about 20 or 25 men and women and each group has a different level of physical capabilities.

The social worker, Tzillah, is a British olah (immigrant) who has been living in Israel for 30 years. Her Hebrew is heavily accented and not all that fluent. It’s easy to live in Jerusalem and get by with English. She was warm, enthusiastic and clearly in love with the people who participate in activities at the Center.

The Assistant Director of the Center, Efrat, is a younger Israeli woman who radiates patience, commitment and, yep, mindfulness. With a desk full of tasks, she didn’t appear the least bit distracted in her answers to Tzillah’s questions or mine. She had that enviable ability to be fully present for the person or issue of the moment.

Tzillah took me downstairs to watch a young Arab man lead the less mobile group in exercise activity. The room was full of people happily participating; each one doing what he or she could. The exercise wasn’t strenuous, to say the least, and I found myself wondering if I could fill 45 minutes with such minimal movement.

I agreed to start the very next day. Tzillah and Efrat were both extremely appreciative and happy and hustled me into the Director’s office – another woman – this one dressed quite elegantly – who greeted me so graciously I felt a bit embarrassed at my small commitment of 45 minutes a week.

To be honest, there is a bit of an “old people’s smell” and feeling to the building, beautiful as it is. I began to wonder what I’d gotten myself into. I remembered one of my social work practicums which was in geriatrics. Every single person I met in the first week of my practicum, barring none, was no longer longer alive by the end. Not that I had a hand in their demise, but it was still a bit disheartening.

That night I made a playlist on my iPod especially for the new exercise experience. Tzillah had said that they prefer quiet background music and, indeed, that was what the morning’s volunteer exercise instructor had on.

But I decided that, hey, these folks are old but not dead.

I started out with some quiet but cheerful music to do some pranayama exercises (which I’d call breathing exercises for them). A little Mamas and the Papas and a Beatles instrumental piece or two. And then I kicked into 20 minutes of salsa tunes. Decided to finish up with some quiet sitar music so should I decide to be way out there, I could do some guided imagery with them. (Hmmm…could they hear?)

When I got there the next day I found my class sitting at tables drinking coffee. Uh oh. Wrong place? Wrong time? I headed back upstairs to ask someone what was up and was accosted by a couple of octogenarians…”Are you the new exercise teacher? Come with us!”

Come with them I did and within seconds they had the tables cleared away and the coffee cups disappeared and my group was ready to begin.

They loved the pranayama. They loved the salsa music. They corrected each other putting a hand on a leg “No, not that leg. The other leg.” They smiled and answered when I asked if something was too hard or if they understood what I meant (I’ve taught dance, aerobics, yoga and meditation for decades and rarely heard so much as a mumbled reply).

They closed their eyes and went with me to their very own “safe place” in a 5 minute guided meditation.

When we were done I asked them specific questions about the breathing, the exercise and the guided imagery and they were forthcoming in their opinions – but gently.

“The music was great. We always get a steady diet of boring around here.”

One man said that he planned to try to get back to his safe place that night if he had trouble falling asleep.

But mostly they were just happy and appreciative and friendly and welcoming.

I’d been having an off week. Feeling kind of blah. But I left there feeling a cheerful glow from inside. The smile didn’t leave my face as I left and didn’t leave my heart as I went along the rest of my day.

Today when I walked up the small mountain near my home I saw a beautiful blue butterfly fluttering. I stopped to watch it, waiting for it to rest somewhere so I could take a better look. When it landed on a prickly purple bulb and closed its wings I saw that from the outside it was a decidedly undramatic light brownish grey. Not at all something anyone would stop to look at. But when the butterfly once again took flight, the full majestic glory of that electric blue was quite breathtaking.

What a gift!

And such was the gift of the mostly chair-bound exercise group in that building that smells like old people. The unfolding of their hearts to mine and mine to theirs in return made me wonder who was doing the giving.

gettingoutalive

still here

Category Archives: Aging

Vegan Experience Brings Gratitude in Unlikely Places

Gratitude in the Challenging Situations

A Good Heart

Re-learning Being in the Moment – Again and Again

Therapy at 60

An Unfinished Life

To Every Season

Certifiable

Who me? Retired?

Who’s Giving and Who’s Receiving?

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