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.

Perspectives on Rain

Posted on December 8, 2013 by gettingoutalive

Quick! First thing that comes to your mind when you think about a rainy winter day.

Maybe this?

rain romantic

Or this?

Or maybe something else altogether? Like me.

I used to think rain was a bother.

I’d look out and see that overcast, steely grey sky that meant rain and start to grumble. Especially if I wasn’t home and had forgotten to bring an umbrella with me (almost always) or rain boots (always). Certainly if it meant windy rain of the nasty, wintry cold variety. Ugh. But, truth is, even that warm summer variety we had in Texas.

Traffic. Bad hair. Wet clothes. Cancelled sports activities. No cabs.

ARGH!!!!

And then I moved to Israel.

Once upon a time, not that long ago, one of the main topics of conversation in Israel from October to April was rainfall and the level of the water in Lake Kinneret. In a bad rainfall year, the level would go down and the national mood would go right down with it.

And with a few bad years in a row, it would get dangerously low.

I remember once showering at the gym and an old woman (she was probably the age I am now) getting angry with me for leaving the water on in the shower while I soaped up. I didn’t get it at first. Then I realized that, a long-time Jerusalem resident, this woman was used to taking “ship showers” all her life to conserve water.

I mean, SERIOUSLY?!?

(How could anyone brought up in North America in the 60’s possibly know that?)

Bad rain year followed bad rain year and I noticed that my ears started to perk up when people talked about rain and the level of the Kinneret and before I knew it I was talking about it, too.

There were years we couldn’t water our gardens…

So rock gardens started springing up everywhere.

The price of water in our homes went up. Families were allotted a certain number of cubic feet of water at a reasonable price, according to the size of the family, and above that amount the price was astronomical. Families with teenagers who were always in the shower? Look out!

Well, not quite.

I learned to appreciate those rain days. Wait for them expectantly. Smile at the steely grey sky and the sound of rain drops.

Then salinization happened. Israel made agreements with other countries, like Turkey, to buy up lots and lots of salinized water. Guaranteed an amount and a price for many years to come. No longer would we have to rely on rainfall to water our gardens or take our showers or irrigate our crops. Yay!

And then the rains came.

And came

and came.

And the level of the Kinneret rose and rose and reached a safe level.

So now we’re “stuck” paying for all that salinized water even though we don’t “need” it. You’d think I’d start to grumble on rain days again.

But I woke up to a steely grey sky this morning and the sound of rain by mid morning.

I smiled and grabbed an umbrella before I headed down to a friend’s house for coffee.

Last night the rain spoke to me slowly,

saying,

what joy to come falling out of the brisk cloud,

to be happy again, in a new way on earth!

That’s what it said as it dropped,

smelling of iron, and vanished like a dream

into the ocean and the branches below.

Then it was over.

The sky cleared.

And I was standing under a tree.

The tree was a tree with happy leaves,

and I was myself

and there were stars in the sky.

And the stars were also themselves at the moment,

at which moment my right hand was holding my left hand,

which was holding the tree, which was full of stars,

and the soft rain –

imagine! imagine!

The long, wondrous journeys still to be ours.

Mary Oliver

― Mary Oliver

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.

Friends

Posted on October 22, 2013 by gettingoutalive

I’m blessed with people in my life who are very kind to me.

They rock and roll with all the strangeness and new ideas I come up with. With the new projects I talk about doing.

bored

They never roll their eyes. Their body language never makes me feel silly or defensive or reluctant to talk to them about the next idea or project.

My best friends often try to think of ways I might be able to achieve my new projects. They ask good questions and think of ways they might be helpful in the new project. A couple of them even suggest new projects they think might suit me or generate income for me someday (and some of them actually have!)

But probably the best part is that they just listen in that active listening kind of way.

These friends never say “I told you so” (and, in fact, they don’t “tell me so” even if they figure the idea is unrealistic or that I probably won’t do anything with it other than talk about it).

They don’t even mention it or say “Hey, whatever happened to your idea about…” or remind me in any way that something I was excited about and for sure going to do has faded into the sunset.

So I always feel just fine sharing my next idea.

Used to be that when my friends talked to me about their ideas or projects, I’d listen and…give advice. I didn’t ask them if they wanted advice…or if they just wanted me to listen.

My advice was usually practical ways to make their ideas actually work…even if they were somewhat different than the direction my friends’ ideas were going.

In being practical I might have told them their idea wouldn’t work. I might have told them it wasn’t realistic…and why.

Usually my direction and suggestions were pretty accurate. (My judgments are pretty good about a lot of things) But I certainly wasn’t giving them that acceptance and unconditional encouragement that I was receiving from them.

Truth is, most of my friends don’t have harebrained schemes like I do. There’s never usually a reason their ideas totally won’t work or that it’s totally clear that their ideas are mostly pipe dreams (like many of mine are). They don’t have crazy ideas. (I think if they did, it might have been easier for me to be unconditionally encouraging. I like crazy ideas).

Some time ago I decided that I would like to be kinder to my friends not only in the ways they’re kind to me when I talk to them about new ideas and projects…but in general.

I wasn’t noticing things they were kind enough to notice and comment on. I didn’t notice haircuts or new clothes. I didn’t notice changes they made in their homes. I didn’t compliment them on new things I did notice if I didn’t especially like them (I’d sometimes try but it totally sounded fake and ingenuous to my ears).

I’m guessing they don’t always like my new clothes and changes I make but they always make me feel like they do.

And then there was my impatience with them. Impatient with their phone calls when they called just to say “hi” and didn’t really have anything to say. Impatient when I had things planned and they called or came over (even though, admittedly, it wouldn’t matter a bit if I spent a focused 10 or 30 minutes – or even an hour – with them before going on to the next thing on my list.)

So I decided to use my meditation skills and breathing methods to bring awareness to my behavior with my friends. To be kinder. Have more empathetic joy in their new ideas and things. Be more patient.

That was a couple of years ago.

I’ve woken up to the fact recently that I no longer have to use meditation skills and breathing methods to be kinder, more patient and more joyful for my friends. Wow! It works!

Awareness practice. I read about it, listen to podcasts about it and talk about it with my students. And now I’ve experienced it for real. Here’s the very good news – It’s all true!

And another thing that turns out to be true – all of that stuff really does make me feel happier. The gift of kindness, patience and empathetic joy for others ends up being a gift to myself. Just like “they” said all along.

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.

Traveling for Six Weeks with ONLY my Husband

Posted on March 28, 2012 by gettingoutalive

About ten years ago a friend came to try on some dresses of mine to wear to a wedding. A few of them looked GREAT on her. She ended up not borrowing any of them and when I asked her why, adding how good they looked on her, she explained that she prefers not to attract attention to herself. She dresses nicely but, in fact, once I considered it, with much fewer colors and “fashionable” new thingamagiggies on her clothes than some of my clothes.

An eye opener for me. I’d always just assumed that every woman tried to make herself as attractive as possible, within her particular social group’s unspoken rules. Not so, it seems.

This year another friend, noticing some highlights I’d put in my hair, said she, too, had put highlights in her hair for one of her kids’ weddings, having been persuaded by her hair stylist, but was happy when they grew out. I asked innocently, “Didn’t they look good?” She answered that, well, yes, she’d gotten quite a few compliments but she prefers for her hair to look “okay” and not attract compliments.

A re-enforcing “ah-ha” moment. Sooo, here it was again. That difference in basic behavior from what I (no longer by this time) assumed to be generalized to the population of women.

All this to say that when my husband and I began to talk about our upcoming 6-week travel adventure to South America and New York City, I was less surprised to learn that the idea of 6 weeks both away from home and routine AND with my husband, was an adventure whose positive effect on one’s life was not necessarily generalized to the population of couples.

Men who work with Gershon expressed surprise, “What?!? SIX WEEKS with ONLY your wife? Why would you want to do such a thing?”

Women were also quite vocal in telling me that the heat and humidity of the Amazonian jungle (not to mention the mosquitoes, leeches and occasional lack of hot water), the cold of the Patagonian glaciers and, yes, being with ONLY my mate for six weeks was of dubious enjoyment in their minds. (putting it mildly!) One friend went so far as to ponder aloud whether we would be speaking to each other when we returned.

Once upon a time I’d thought that the excitement and adventure of experiencing different cultures and seeing the beauty of God’s wonders was something everyone dreams of. But, this particular trip being the sixth or seventh Gershon and I have taken, I long ago learned that leaving one’s daily comfort zone is not something many people take lightly. The personal discomfort and anxiety level being too high a price for all that excitement and adventure.

One friend put it well when he said that he preferred to see the glory of foreign flora and fauna from the comfort of his living room – the National Geographic tv station is just fine for him and there are always DVDs.

Okay, here’s a news flash – Being with “only” my husband for six weeks is a bit of a challenge sometimes.

But it’s not because of my companion being my husband.

There probably isn’t anyone I’d rather travel with. I can only wish for everyone a partner who is as mellow, go-with-the-flow, enthusiastic, considerate and happy-to-be-on-the-road as my husband.

Nope, the only reason it’s a challenge for me is because of ME!

I have a hard time being with ANYONE 24/7. I’m happy as a clam having a few hours, minimum, of private time, all to myself, every single day. So six weeks of 24/7 with anyone requires planned “alone time” and some deep, meditative breathing from time to time.

Probably the secrets to traveling for a long time with one’s partner are the same secrets which hold the key for long-time relationships in general and, ultimately, all relationships, including with oneself.

Non-violence – don’t aggressively try to dominate and control, yourself or others
Truth – be honest about and respect who you (and others) are
Don’t steal – don’t take away from one place to compensate another – physically, emotionally or interpersonally
Don’t envy – don’t compare yourself or others to an ideal or to fellow travelers
Moderation and renunciation – try to do, say and experience everything in proportion

“Hmmm…sounds suspiciously like the “yamas” of yoga”, she said blushingly.

Oh! That’s another secret of retaining my enjoyment (and composure). Taking time out for yoga and meditation practice brings a little bit of home, comfort zone and gratitude with me wherever I go.

Because, after all, wherever you go, there you are. Ommmmmmm…

p.s. I got complaints about the writing style of “Addictive Behaviors” – “too heavy”; “not like you”; “didn’t get a chance to read it”

So here’s a lighter, more like me, opportunity to read, blog. Happy Spring everyone!

gettingoutalive

still here

Category Archives: Mindfulness

A Good Heart

Perspectives on Rain

Re-learning Being in the Moment – Again and Again

Friends

Therapy at 60

An Unfinished Life

To Every Season

Certifiable

Who me? Retired?

Traveling for Six Weeks with ONLY my Husband

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