Category Archives: It’s a New Day

Is There a Spiritual-Material Spectrum?

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Rishikesh is one of seven holy cities, Sapta Puri, in India. Aside from being alcohol-free and vegetarian, the city is a spiritual center, pilgrimage location, yoga and meditation center, and home to many Sadhus.

A Sadhu is a religious ascetic who has renounced the worldly life. He often lives on the street, with only the essential belongings for survival – his clothing, turban, towel, sandals, and beggar’s bowl. He is dependent upon the good will of others to provide him with enough money to buy sustenance-level nourishment each day.

On my way to yoga in the morning, after crossing the Ram suspension bridge, which is blessedly motorcycle-free at that time of day, I meet only cows, dogs, and Sadhus, all waking up after a night spent outside.

Sadus may be said to be at one side of the spirituality-materialism spectrum. As I wait for my sweet yoga teacher, Gagan, to arrive on his motorcycle, sharing the pergola which overlooks the Ganges with the same Sadu each time, I can often hear a passing Sadu chanting quietly or not at all quietly.

“Ram. Ram. Ram. Ram. Ram. Ram. Ram.”

Though they’ve renounced family, home and worldly endeavors and accoutrements, I’ve noticed that they tend to hang out in twos, threes, and fours – a social group of sorts – and they gather their few belongings safely around them or cover them with a tarp on a nearby bench. Some take advantage of government incentives and work at ashrams where they receive food and shelter in return.

As my yogi says, human nature is one of collecting: things, acclaim, friends, knowledge, money. Another distinction between other animals and the human animal.

We ate dinner with a group of 20 strangers in Delhi not too long ago. Nice people. Friendly. As travelers are wont to do, people spoke freely about their lives, philosophies, travels, and families. The two men who sat closest to us got into a long conversation (with my partner) about their various, and, it turns out, multitude of real estate investments all over the world. The ones they sometimes live in, the travails of having renters, the value and tax issues of different locations.

Neither was Bill Gates but neither was a Sadu either.

We’ve been in India for over three months now. It’s a long time to be out of mainstream living. With each day that our work commitments, family and friend socializing, and community presence gets further away, our bonding to each other and our investigation of personal values and beliefs becomes more intriguing. There’s more time spent observing, thinking, integrating and softening.

It could be that the inherent nature of India is friendlier and more conducive to this transformative process. It could be that an extended period of free time would create the possibility of this process anywhere.

In India specifically, as we travel, meeting other travelers, shopkeepers, restaurant and guesthouse staff, yoga practitioners, musicians, and language teachers, we can’t help but observe their everyday life and that of passersby. Some of them become a regular part of our day for the week, two or three that we are in their vicinity. We seem to be seeing the spirituality-materialism spectrum in real time.

Spirituality is in the air.

From JP, the owner of our guesthouse near Munnar, who gets up at 4 am each morning for 20 minutes of yoga, to the shopkeeper in Rishikesh who closes his shop at 10 pm, bends down 3 times to kiss the step in front of his shop door, touches the doorframe and then his forehead before getting on his motorcycle to head home, to the clearly well-to-do middle-aged Indian couple who travel to The Ganges to dip themselves in holy water annually, to my lovely harmonium teacher who has a smile for the pesky monkey who pushes open her door when she shakes her head in that ubiquitous, multi-meaning Indian wag and says “He, too, is one of the gods’ creations.”


The human nature of collecting is evident, too.

The same people mentioned above charge money for their goods and services. In general, they unabashedly charge foreigners more – sometimes shocking attempts to charge 10 times more. A Sadu might complain about a donation of 10 rupee (“But a chapati costs 20!”). One South Indian man we befriended had a candid conversation with us about his constant efforts to accumulate more wealth. The yogi with whom I practiced four years ago didn’t charge money (he reluctantly accepted my ‘donation’ of $75 for 10 classes) and this time made his charges clear before we began (less than $6/class).

So where does each of us choose to be on this spirituality-materialism spectrum?

Does being a Sadu, at one side of the spectrum, preclude a bit of materialism? Does being Jeff Bezos preclude a smidgen of spirituality? (btw, did you know that there is not one woman on the list of the top ten richest people in the world?)

Gagan believes that it’s easier for those who have wealth to take on spirituality. Perhaps this originates from his vantage point as a Sikh yogi whose path of relative poverty and practice was inherited, clear from the age of 10. Perhaps he envisions those who have large bank accounts as having the luxury and ease to choose to invest time in introspection and seeking spirituality.

It seems to me, from my vantage point of never having had to concern myself with the possible absence of my next meal or a roof over my head, that it’s easier for those who have not been educated to chase ever-improving material circumstances to take on spirituality.

Clearly Gagan and I bring different life experiences to our sense of things.

Seane Corn is one of the most famous (and wealthiest) yoga teachers in the world. Her net assets are reported to be over 20 million dollars. Not anywhere near Bill Gates’ estimated 100 billion dollars, but still not too shabby. While her exhibition-type, extreme style of yoga is not my cup of tea (maybe I just wish I could have her flexibility), I’ve admired her for years for her tireless work for altruistic causes. Her organization, Off the Mat into the World, offers yoga practitioners the opportunity to volunteer to build community centers in Africa, train young people to teach yoga and meditation in their villages and towns, and offer online courses for leadership initiative. A vegan, Seane teaches 250 days out of the year, and, when not teaching, calls a tiny yurt in Southern California home.

Miriam (not her real name) is a talented artist, living in a rural area of Israel. Her husband of 25 years is most often in the US where he teaches religious studies in a small community where there would be no religious learning if he didn’t offer it. They have little in the way of material wealth, other than the modest, heavily-mortgaged home Miriam lives in, and, sadly, have no children. Their daily lives are committed primarily to the deepening of their spiritual lives and sharing what they believe are their God-given talents – painting and teaching. Miriam offers half-day and full day retreats for women, providing spiritual, artistic and nutritional nourishment, charging on a sliding scale according to means. Her walls are covered with her beautiful original works, into which one can gaze, imbued with Kabbalist and/or personal spirituality.

(not Miriam’s work)

Most of us are neither Seane Corn nor Miriam. We’re neither millionaires nor Sadhus. Some of us may not give a second’s thought to spirituality or ethical behavior or the meaning of life; others may think about it fleetingly or in depth once a week, or at random times.
All that stuff has been in my thoughts for as long as I can remember. Sometimes it led me to political activism, sometimes to volunteer work, sometimes to prayer, sometimes to regrets, sometimes to books, sometimes to an open heart.
I’ve been blessed with 3 months of unrestricted time, a partner who’s happy to listen to and share philosophical thoughts, and surroundings that welcome it all.

We live in an age of moral subjectivism, relative realities, political correctness – some may be tempted to call it an age of wishy-washiness. We hear that there’s no objective right or wrong, better or worse, too much or not enough. It’s all what you choose for yourself. The glorification of the individual, regardless of…well, pretty much anything.

But, hand on heart, don’t we all actually know what having enough looks like? I’m guessing it doesn’t resemble Jay Leno’s collection of cars or Imelda Marcos’s shoe closet. It most probably isn’t even reflected in most American’s refrigerators or leisure time.
I’m a member of a FaceBook group of people traveling in India. Recently there was a post about whether or not to tip in India, and how much. Some of the responses were eye-openers. From ‘Indians don’t tip.’ to ‘It’s good enough to round up.’ to ‘They earn so little that 10 rupee significantly increases their income.’ (10 rupee is the equivalent of 15 cents)
Seriously, guys!?
Then there’s the feeling that we’re too busy to walk the breast cancer marathon or visit the aunt who’s broken her hip or volunteer at the literacy group downtown.

We each choose our own path, even though sometimes it doesn’t feel like it. We have internal voices that may sound a lot like one of our parents, our seventh grade teacher, our partner, our eighteen-year-old self, our rabbi, our neighbor, or all of those people and others besides. Voices that narrow our choices to, well, theirs. Or what they wish they’d chosen.

Confusing…and noisy. Hard to hear our own internal voice with all that racket going on.

Gagan shared his own belief about all this choosing, whether it’s about spirituality, materialism, or how much time to look at a screen of some sort. If you never regret your choice, your choice is good. (I wish you could see his expression and hear his voice as he says that.)

When I pushed him…what about an addict who ends up dying from his addiction?

The answer – If the addict dies with no regrets, then the choice is good.

Say whaaaat!?

That’s going too far for me, but I get it when he elaborates and adds that trying to guide someone else’s path is like trying to steer a passing car. Unless the driver pulls over, stops, and asks for directions, your shouts will just make you hoarse.

I’ve spent many hours perfecting work and making deadline only to find that the client didn’t bother to provide necessary material – and didn’t care. I’ve spent money and time fulfilling a promise that the person on the receiving end, it turned out, didn’t value much, or may have even forgotten. I’ve worried about people’s “wrong” decisions that turned out not to be so disastrous in the long run, or even had their positive aspects.

So if I believe people are happier with spirituality in their lives, authenticity, or altruism, or other people, I choose to resign as one of those internal voices that points it out.

I’ve chosen to integrate those attributes into my life and to respect your right to choose to integrate some, all or none of them into yours.

No regrets.



Nature or Nurture

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Suspend the usual platitudes and accepted opinions of the social groups to which you’ve assigned yourselves. Mission accomplished? Now read on.

We’ve seen many beautiful animals over the past 10 weeks in India.

India really knows how to create and maintain national parks the way they should be. The kind where tourists are only allowed in a tiny percentage of the park lands and animals live in the rest according to their natural instincts and behaviors, without threat or fear of their main predator – us.

As it turns out, India also really knows how to create and maintain zoos the way they should be. The kind where the animals have enough space to live their lives as comfortably as possible, while being protected from their precarious reality out of captivity.

Of course the Saraus Crane, that very tallest of birds, might prefer to fly free, and that Bengal Tiger might prefer to roam the tropical and subtropical rainforests chasing prey, but their natural habitats are, sadly, disappearing or have become too dangerous for them.

We humans have been responsible for many of the causes of extinction and the threat of extinction for many members of the animal kingdom (though certainly not all). We have become one of the major causes of their comeback, too.

Wolves and buffalo, verging on extinction in the ‘60s, have made a valiant recovery as a result of protection laws passed in the ‘80s. Severals kinds of frogs, antelope, birds, turtles, and leopards have been saved from extinction by zoos. Yep, zoos.

Seeing wild elephants from a safe distance in Periyar Park creates a very different visual than seeing elephants in the Mysore zoo. That difference makes it tempting to condemn the zoo concept.

But that condemnation could paradoxically lead to the extinction of a large number of animal species.

I admit to some of my very best memories being the Macaws at the clay lick in the Amazon, the playful Otter family in their natural waters near Sandoval, the Blue Boobies on the cliffs in the Galapagos, the warm weather Penguins in the Patagonia plains…you get the picture.

But I’m happy that the Golden Lion Tamarin, once almost extinct, is thriving in captivity so that my grandchildren can get acquainted. Same for the California Condor and other majestic beasts.

Sometimes generally accepted ideas need to be re-thought.

Just saying.

Let Them Drink Tea

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Yesterday was a travel day. Yep, we ventured out of our little piece of heaven. Traveled forty minutes on the sometimes barely existent road in a tuk-tuk to Munnar – the big city in these parts – town of 38,000 inhabitants.

 

Our plan for the day was to check out Munnar and then go on a TripAdvisor tour called The Tea Trail which included a visit to the Lockheart Tea Museum and Tea Factory as well as a visit with the tea pluckers as they’re called, and the chance to pluck some tea and follow it through until it turned into a cup of tea. We should’ve been suspicious right away since, the tea process being what it is, there’s no way our freshly picked tea leaves could turn into a cup of tea within an hour.

But all in good time.

The twisty, uphill road into Munnar, aside from being narrow and deeply rutted at least half the time, was breathtaking not only because of the near-collisions but also the fantastic views of the tea, which grows all over the place in extremely well-ordered glory, under a dramatic sky with clouds wisping around and in front of mountain peaks.

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And then, suddenly, and for no apparent reason, there was this.

 

Why carrots? Who knows. But they were incredibly fresh and their color was the brightest I’ve ever seen. Tempting to buy but we had nothing imaginable to do with them so we sadly gave them a pass.

After a discussion about our finances just days ago, we’d decided to be more cautious with our spending (read“my” for “our” and “I” for “we”). But within minutes I’d bought handmade chocolates for one sister’s upcoming birthday and a mini-kurta and smaller box of chocolates for the other. This necessitated our third post office experience – the oddest and funniest yet. But that will appear in a much later post with tips for the traveler to India.

There’s a saying that everyone you meet is your teacher. Way back in Mumbai we had a young man guide us through the Mumbai markets. He was sweet  but not much of a guide. We didn’t learn anything about Mumbai markets but we did learn little tips for getting along in India. One of the most useful of his instructions concerned bargaining – always start with an offer of 1/3 the asking price. Sounds insulting but it’s right on the mark. You get a feeling when the seller is finished and really won’t go lower. The final price will be 1/2 to 2/3 of the original price and everyone will be happy.

Our tuk-tuk driver from Munnar to the pick-up point for the tour started at 300 rupee ($4) and ended up taking us for 200. It was a 25-minute drive similar to the one from Ayursakthi Riverdale to Munnar – bumpy, with hairpin turns. He dropped us off at 14:10 for our 14:30 tour. It was a beautiful location overlooking the tea fields. We’d brought warmer clothes so the chilly mountain air didn’t lessen our enjoyment of the luscious green surrounding us.

At 14:40 there was still no sign of our guide/car and TripAdvisor wasn’t answering emails so we began walking the 500 meters downhill to the Lockheart Tea Museum through the enchanting (enchanted?) Eucalyptus tree forest.

My partner’s knee had started giving him grief in the morning. Downhill aggravated his discomfort more than uphill. He’s very fit – a gym fanatic – and definitely not a complainer, but at some point I waved down a tuk-tuk to take us the rest of the way, fuming at TripAdvisor and planning my scathing review of the tour we’d paid for.

At the museum and factory there was still no sign of TripAdvisor other than their stickers all over the place. The cashier spoke no English but the word TripAdvisor gained us free entry. We bumbled along on our own in the amusing museum with its silly relics – like ‘an English bathtub’ and a rusty old iron – and fascinating photos. Once again we found ourselves wondering about British rule. Every photo showed a work crew or social group with at least 15 Indians to every Brit. How in the world did they control India for 300 years?

As we sat at a picnic bunch overlooking the plantation, pondering the lovely view, TripAdvisor and other questions, a woman came running over and asked if we were with the French group. We said ‘no’ and once again tried to explain that we were a TripAdvisor ‘group’. She turned a puzzled face to ours.

No  French. No TripAdvisor. No worries. She herded us to the factory entrance where a pleasant man with excellent English said he’d been told we’d arrive at 10 (Eureka!), which was later corrected to 13:00, but happily agreed to guide us through the factory if we would just put on little blue crime-scene booties.

The tour was very interesting. Who knew?

Turns out that all tea – black, green, and white – (white?!) – Orange Pekoe, Earl Gray and Chai – is made from the same tea plants. Black tea is made from the lower leaves, green tea from the top two leaves only, and white from the lone bud between the top two leaves.

Black tea is more processed, going through three drying stages, one of which lasts either 30, 60 or 90 minutes, a heating process, and one of three grinding options. Green tea is processed far less and white tea is barely processed at all.

Black tea is ground fine, finer or even finer, while green and white tea are not ground at all.

Finally, the death blow to my teabag drinking days, we saw that black tea, in its final stages, is separated out by color-sensitive  cameras into leaves, stems and fiber. Some tea is packaged with only tea leaves while other are packaged with a mixture of leaves, stems and fibers. It’s the second kind that goes into teabags.

Ugh!

The stems have no flavor but add color. The fiber adds bulk. The first is labeled ‘Orthodox’ tea and the second is ‘CTC’ tea. I never noticed that on boxes of tea but I’ll be looking for it.

When we had a tea tasting experience at the end of our tour we could definitely discern the difference. The CTC tea had a very  bitter aftertaste and the taste in general was less pleasing. Sadly, the white tea, which is coveted, has the most health benefits, and is very expensive, was flavorless. 

On to the fields where we were too late to meet the all-female tea pluckers. Yes, that’s what they’re called, though it may be a translation from some other language.

Turns out you have to arrive by 13:00 to actually meet those plucky women who are paid the equivalent of $5.65/day to pick 27 kilo of black tea with machines or 400 grams of green or white tea by hand. Pick less than 27 kilo and the per kilo rate drops. Oddly enough, a lower per kilo rate is paid for every kilo over 27, also. Go figure.

Pluckers who are permanent employees are given free lodging but we couldn’t figure out why some workers are eligible while others are not.

22.4 million tons of tea are bought annually in the world. That’s one heckuva lot of tea. China is first in the world of tea production with India a solid second and many other countries, like Sri Lanka, trailing behind.

The Lockheart Tea Factory sells tea to Twinings, Tetley and other tea brands. We might be able to see their export name, Harrison, on some boxes. I’ll be looking for that, too.

The lovely woman who accompanied us in the tea fields lives seven kilometers from the factory. She takes a short cut through the forest, which reminded us of the children we saw in Peru walking home from school up into the mountains. She laughed when we exclaimed at her daily journey saying that she’s still fat. While I found her pleasingly rounded, I wouldn’t have called her fat. Indians don’t find that a derogatory term, though, and use it freely about themselves and others. 

She kindly arranged a tuk-tuk to come get us, realizing that my partner’s knee was bothering him. She negotiated a price and we were off. The young driver was truly a maniac on the road, even more than usual, but we negotiated with his sweet brother (picked up along the way) a good price to wait for us while we ate dinner and then drive us back to Ayursakthi Riverdale.

Weighed our options ⚖️ – possible death on the road, good price, possibility that none of the other many many tuk-tuk drivers would be willing to risk life and limb on that road at night – and confirmed the deal.

He took us to a pure veg restaurant where we had what was very possibly our best meal yet. Manchurian Mushroom, Green Pea Masala, Coconut Rice, Garlic Naan, Coffee and the best Masala Chai I’ve had so far – all for a total of about $6.50. Our dinner was served on big banana leaves.

No forks in sight.

Indians eat with their hands – actually one hand;their right – which is why only foreign tourists get forks in many restaurants and why there’s a sink or two in the restaurant. Washing one’s right hand is essential after the meal. Before the meal is optional.

Some foreign tourists emulate the eating with the hands thing. I have to admit, I don’t get it. Adopting customs that are pretty, like wearing a kurta, or practical, like the Indian version of the bidet, is nice. Using a banana leaf instead of a plate is genius. Roll it up & throw it out after dinner. No dishes to wash! But foregoing forks? Really? A bit silly, imo.

Lessons learned from our Munnar Tea Outing:

1. It only takes 3 minutes to steep tea leaves and is well worth the wait.

2. The Lockheart tea trail tour is great! Do it! But it’s done just fine without the commission  to TripAdvisor and the added hassle of trying to hook up with them. Go on Monday – the only day the manual plucking of green and white tea is done. Get there before 13;00.

3. Pure veg restaurants probably prepare better veg meals than restaurants that provide veg and non-veg options.

4. Locals know the better restaurant choices. Ask them.

Anyone can Detox on Morjim Beach

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I think that after those last few days of stomach butterflies at home leading up to our departure from life as we know it, we chose well with Mumbai as our first stop. The drastic difference of Morjim Beach from those days of checking off the last items on our “to do” list would’ve have been too great a shock to our systems. Mumbai, with its crowds and our 17,000 steps-a-day touring, was a perfect jumping in point.

The five days of incredible Mumbai, with its teeming population of 22 million and the additional Diwali festival crowds, may sound even more hectic than organizing our life to exist without us, but the contrast between colorful India, spicy Indian food, traditionally clothed people passing us on the street and our own reality in Israel made it perfect.

Five days was enough.

We chose Morjim Beach in Northern Goa for two reasons: for the promise of turtles coming ashore to lay their eggs (which hasn’t happened yet) and the claim of serenity and lack of crowds.

Expectations are problematic for travelers. We choose because we can’t stand at the intersection without choosing right, left or straight, but if we expect our lodging to be exactly as pictured/described or expect the town/beach/tourist site to be exactly what we were looking for, without leaving our mind and heart open to accepting a different reality, we’re often setting ourselves up for a bad time.

The relatively few tourists on beautiful, sandy Morjim Beach are Russian (true to what’s reported by google), and Indians. We’ve yet to meet a tourist from an English-speaking country or an Israeli. The beach is almost deserted most of the day. People frolic in The Arabian Sea from early morning until around 10, before the extreme heat arrives, and wander back down to the beach about an hour before sunset to watch the big event.

There are pubs here and there for nightlife but pulsing music is very localized and can’t be heard from our hotel.

Our first week in Morjim Beach was spent at Baywalk Goa where two exceedingly nice, polite, helpful men eased us into beach life. Breakfast was delicious. Service was immediate. Our room was spacious and had a front and back balcony. The older of the two men even showed me his yoga routine, which included an interesting pose that was new to me. The only drawback was that it was not directly on the beach (about 100 meters away) and about a kilometer down the beach from the restaurants.

We spent the weekend in Anjuna, about 30 kilometers away, where the Chabad House correspondence had prepared us for the possibility of it being non-existent that Shabbat. Not that they said that, but they just sounded flakey. As a result, we chose a more luxurious hotel ($40/nite instead of $30) with a quiet Shabbat around the pool as a possibility. In fact, Chabad House was closed and we loved our Shabbat in the pampered surroundings. There was even a surprise bonus of a wonderful Rajasthani Dance and Music performance on Saturday night. The beautiful dancer invited me to dance with her, which I did, and I had a great time.

On Friday we walked to a coffee shop/restaurant that I’d been following online and getting some India travel tips from for several months. The owners are an Israeli man, Moshe, and his German wife, Anastasia. There’s a big lending library with books in a multitude of languages in the restaurant, a wide variety of “Mediterranean” food options – all vegetarian or vegan – a space for yoga, and a bulletin board filled with notices about yoga classes, meditation groups, tai chi classes and upcoming concerts. A very comfortable, safe hang-out for travelers and people like Moshe and Anastasia who have made Anjuna their home.

I IMd Moshe after we left asking if he’d like to be interviewed for the book I’m writing about people who have stood at that proverbial intersection and chosen a path very different from their background and peers. I mentioned that we would be at our hotel all the next day because we keep Shabbat and suggested we get together on Sunday. Then Shabbat started and I wasn’t online to receive his answer.

Saturday in the early afternoon we were sitting around the pool and Moshe appeared. He had come to be interviewed. We sat and talked (mostly I asked a question here and there and he talked) for over two hours. I don’t know if his story will end up in my book – maybe – but it was interesting and I liked him. He’s been in Anjuna for almost 25 years. He’s approaching 50 years old. He sees himself as a citizen of the world and when asked to visualize his two daughters’ future (they’re now 10 and 12), he imagines they will live somewhere out there in the world – not India – and he’ll relish their happiness. Having had three children spend years each in the U.S., I could tell him that it’s much easier to relish one’s children’s happiness from closer up, but why burst his bubble. And, who knows, maybe he won’t feel that way.

Back to Morjim Beach on Sunday but to a place directly on the beach this time and close to restaurants – Ciiroc. Gershon found the manager taciturn and took an instant dislike to him. We’d checked the place out when we were at Baywalk and it seemed very nice. Little cabins surrounding a pristine pool, with comfy beds, a fridge, and pleasant porch.

Expectations.

Reality came in the form of a small(ish) cockroach prancing across the bed as we watched Blue Bloods on my iPad, an internet connection that was so slow that it was truly useless, and no cups to go along with the hot water kettle. As it turns out, though, one has only to ask and everything appears. The “taciturn” manager provides whatever we ask, including better internet by turning off and on the router whenever we ask.

The cockroach had no friends.

We’d eaten at the restaurant the previous week and already knew that they didn’t have about 3/4 of the items listed on the very extensive menu. When we tried (again) to order fish and were told they didn’t have any, the manager came over with an explanation. The fish in the market hadn’t been good that day so they were only serving it to non-guests. He hoped to have better luck the next day at the market and would make fish available to us then. A little scary for those non-guests, eh?

One important thing to note is that every single dish we ordered (that they actually had) was delicious and more than made up for the 3/4 of things on the menu that were unavailable.

We were the only customers most evenings for dinner and could only wonder at the four or five people in the kitchen. I was invited in to take a look at the kitchen and, while primitive, it was clean and a great space to prepare food.

Today we walked the other way on the divine beach and spent an hour or more investigating a rock jetty with tidal pools and many, many living things. There are four kinds of crabs here – bubbler crabs with their amazing artwork, hermit crabs who teach us an important life lesson – to be satisfied with what we have and not chase what looks a bit better – ghost crabs, and a kind of crab we saw on the rocks that Gershon has not as yet identified. The beach and shallows are populated by thousands of tiny clams that women bring their children to gather to add flavor to their soups. There are fish in the tidal pools and the inevitable birds who feast on crabs and fish.

I participated twice in a yoga and meditation class on the beach giving by a 68 year old yogi who seems to be the real deal. I could probably learn  a lot from him but each class is a basic class because he caters to the Russian tourists who come and go. Too much talking and not enough meditating or yoga for my taste. But a very cool experience.

I have to go now. It’s almost time to see the sunset.

 

 

 

Awakening Again

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I made a new friend on my walk today. We’ve met with mutual suspicion six times a week for a few weeks now. He lowers his head, looks at me surreptitiously, and keeps his distance. I keep my eye on him as I pass on the other side of the path. But today was different.

I walk for about an hour every day except Thursday, usually alone. It’s a peaceful time. I listen to a talk for part of the time, and to music the rest of the time, except for Saturday morning. Saturday is Shabbat and my time off from electronics. My Saturday walk is a little less quiet – all that noise in my head. That’s okay, too, though. My curiosity gets a kick out of all those thoughts. “What? THAT one again?”

I started this walking thing – or I should say I got back to it after a very long break – about 2 months ago. It seemed an easily accessible habit, useful for changing the sedentary lifestyle that crept up on me when I began having hip pain from my Nordic machine.

Research shows that it takes 28 days to create a habit. That seems true for my walking regime. It’s become a habit. I check the weather & my schedule to decide the best time to get out there. The time arrives and I lace up my sneakers. I connect my earbuds, choose the talk I want, slip the phone into a back pocket, and I’m out the door.

Today’s walk started out the same. Aside from a sore throat and a little cough, nothing warned of a difference in today’s walk. After almost a full day of rain yesterday – with just enough delay to allow for a walk under threatening skies – the sun warmed the crisp mid-winter air just enough to allow me to shed my down jacket after fifteen minutes.

The talk I chose was good. They always are. The winding road up the hill was pleasant – not too easy and not too challenging. It always is.

The difference came from inside, I guess. One of those awakenings that come upon us all of a sudden. Or it seems to be all of a sudden, but I’m betting it’s the culmination of lots of stuff. For some reason, today, after about forty similar walks, I felt how strong my legs have become and how easy my breath comes on the incline now. I was aware of my sure-footedness coming downhill on loose gravel. I realized that I was enjoying the walk for its own sake. I had a glimmer of why hikers love to hike. Today it wasn’t about being healthier or exercising my knee or my hip. Today was pure pleasure.

When I got near the top of the penultimate hill I saw the same dog I’d seen in the very same place on every walk, but this time I didn’t pass him warily. This time I approached him with my hand extended. He didn’t move. He, too, had created a habit. But he let me rest my hand on his head and, after a few seconds, his tail started wagging as I massaged his neck. It was only a moment in time. Then he went his way and I went mine.

Later, on a secluded, wooded path, I danced to “Fallin’ All in You” before resuming a sedate demeanor more suitable to a 66-year-old woman on a bright noon somewhere in January.

(please click on the photo)

Hours later I can’t stop the feelings of gratitude. Thankful for my body’s vitality (with all its aches and pains of aging, coughs and sniffles of winter) – the muscles in my legs, my lungs, my heart. Thankful for the undeveloped countryside right near my home. Thankful for the resources and the freedom to wander. Thankful for my many teachers – official & unofficial – who imbue me with the ability to see the half-full glass (and the occasional moments when I realize that it’s full).

Maybe I’ll meet my friend again tomorrow.

Characters Write Their Own Story

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Writing Yoga for Detectives: First Lesson https://www.amazon.com/Yoga-Detectives-Lesson-Prero/dp/1512109371 was the kind of experience you’ve all had where it grabs you by the heart and you trip over your own feet, laughing, trying to keep up.

running joyfully

It was joyous and fun and refreshing.

I met Jaya, Arielle, Tal, Ansui, Rose, and all the others, along with my readers.

Friends of mine asked me if I had modeled Jaya after myself but, really, there’s some of me in all the characters. Sure, on some days I feel like Jaya. But on others I’m much more Ansui. At times I’m Tal, while at others I’m more Yitz. Sometimes 82 year old Rose and sometimes 9 year old Arielle. They’re all inside  me.

Mostly, they took on personalities of their own. Words flew out of their mouths via my fingers on the keyboard, not the other way around. When I tried to create their conversations through my fingers, they most often didn’t ring true and I had to wait patiently for my fingers to let go and surrender to the characters.

The story line tumbled out day by day. I was never quite sure where it would all end up.

writing                          writing two

These are all the kinds of realities that can be frustrating for would-be authors to hear.

What does it even MEAN? That the characters are in control of their actions and words in a book, and not the author? That the story tells itself, instead of the author making all the decisions?

I remember a Hebrew teacher telling my class, when asked how we know whether the plural of a word is the feminine ending “oht” or the masculine ending “eem”, that it just rings true or not. “How in the world does anything ring true to someone only just now learning the language?” I thought, in frustration.

gilda radner

Frustrating or not, it’s true of language and it’s true of writing.

I fell in love with the characters of my first book. And that’s what’s complicating my second.

The story is taking me to some dark and dangerous places this time. It’s not clear to me yet, as I begin writing Chapter 28, if all my beloved characters are going to survive. The plot is twisty and following an ominous path and there are some days when I’m too fearful for my characters to continue.

couchSeveral of my characters have begun to show less attractive traits, alongside the wonderful traits with which I originally fell in love. And that’s hard. In some ways, oddly, I’m finding it harder to expose their faults than it is to expose my own. (Someone has suggested that, perhaps, their faults ARE my own.)

We’re traveling to parts of India and Spain  where I’ve never physically been. How peculiar that after reading about these places, seeing photographs of them and writing about them, I feel that my characters have taken me there and shown me around, through their eyes.

Writing. Not an experience for the faint of heart.

As if self-discipline weren’t challenging enough, there you are, meeting yourself on the path over and over, in the most unanticipated places with the most unexpected feelings. Not all pleasant.

This time my characters and their story are sometimes dragging me forward reluctantly instead of grabbing my heart joyfully.

Noooo

But I’m all in for the journey.

meditating woman

 

News Flash: Old Age is Not the Enemy

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Old Super people                            Old People iin Wheelchairs

Fight                                   Or flight?

Remember when 40 sounded old? Remember when you weren’t sure if your mother was 38 or 83 (because, hey, what was the difference?) Remember when you hoped you’d live long enough not to have to do homework? Or wait for summer to have some fun?

Okay, kids, here we are. We made it!

anxiety

NOW WHAT?!?

Truth is that it kind of creeped up on me. The 40’s were great years. And then the 50’s? Even better. And then came…THE SIXTIES.

I breezed past my 60th birthday. We had a big birthday to mark the accomplishment. But, really, I just liked having all those people in the same room – the people I love and like and some I hadn’t seen in awhile. I didn’t really think of being 60 as a big deal.

The rest of that year began what I like to think of as my period of enlightenment.

Awakening to the reality of small aches and pains becoming larger and not so easy to ignore. Awakening to an EVEN SLOWER metabolism. (how was that even possible?)

And as the 60’s progressed I couldn’t deny that I  had less energy, less ambition and less cartilage in my knees.

Old white water rafting                                                                       =   Old canoe

A new stage in life began the day I closed  my company.

Stage One

business woman>>>>>>  No work

Another stage of life began when I stopped agreeing to meet with people who just “have a couple of questions”.

Stage Two

Then another stage when the answer to “So, what do you do?” began without disclaimers.

justify

Followed by a blissful couple of years when I:

  1. wrote a book and published it.  http://www.amazon.com/Yoga-Detectives-Lesson-A-E-Prero/dp/1512109371

Yoga Wed am 002                   Yoga photos 004

2. created a yoga studio

and 3. filled it with classes

4. got into a regular habit of spending quality time with my grandchildren

036  (maybe the most fun of all)    001

And now? Now I seem to have arrived at Stage Four.

Partially I’ve arrived here on my own, in a natural kind of way, and partially I’m being dragged into it and, I admit, initially with a bit of kicking and whining, by my friends. Noooo

This is a Stage of wondering a lot about how to best do this thing called “Old Age”. Give into it? Okay, THAT sounds bad. Fight it? Hmm. That sounds tiring.

Road Lesds Traveled And I haven’t found a good guide book yet. Not on Lonely Planet or Footprint or even Google.

Oh, there are plenty of books out there on the topic. I’ve read a bunch of them. Probably the one I liked the best was From Age-ing to Sage-ing http://www.amazon.com/Age-Ing-Sage-Ing-Revolutionary-Approach-Growing/dp/1455530603/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1449132020&sr=1-1&keywords=from+age-ing+to+sage-ing+a+revolutionary+approach+to+growing+older   But I don’t seem to have many people in my life who are looking for a sage. And, truth be told, it sounds a teeny big presumptuous.

Coach?  Yuck! Gives me a rash thinking of that title. Mentor? Better but headed toward ‘sage’.

And, anyway, is this Stage about what I am for others or for myself!?

pondering

When I taught aerobics and hip hop it was all about pushing to your limit and going one step beyond.

When I teach yoga it’s more about investigating your limits and taking one step back.

But in this evolving life of mine, where old age has creeped up on me? A step forward? A step back? What does that even MEAN?

Many of us loved what Dylan Thomas had to say about it:

Do not go gentle into that good night,

Old age should burn and rage at close of day,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light

But, you know what?, now it just makes me roll my eyes. And, hey, he was in his mid-40’s when he wrote that. I might have agreed more when I was in MY mid-40’s.

Raging and burning? Unh unh. No raging and burning for me. I have a feeling that road leads to frustration and grumpiness.

Old and grumpy

For the past 2-3 months I’ve been feeling like I’ve over-scheduled my life; like there’s not enough time to sit and write or sit and read or just sit. But facts must be faced…right?…and the fact is that I’m still teaching the same amount of classes and private lessons a week and I’m still traveling each week to visit the same number of homes to which I’ve lent my grandchildren.

It’s that bogeyman of all bogeymen…old age. I just have less energy for it all. So when I’ve finished teaching all the classes and private lessons and finished driving and playing with my amazing grandkids and finished shopping and cooking and cleaning, I’m POOPED.

Now there are some who make fun of us older people and our running out of energy mid-afternoon

Old Woman sleeping  but there can be some nice things about napping.  Old People Napping  And maybe, just maybe, that’s part of it all.

No, no, not napping. But pedaling down some of those things we love to more manageable bites.

Meditation for Elders  Old woman enjoying music   Old person reading

And maybe we can sage our way into some nourishing and gratifying volunteering  Old professors  Old knitter

Okay, so we tend to freak about forgetting a couple of details

Old person forgetting

But young people forget stuff, too, they just don’t worry about it.

Young person forgetting

And there are some great things about long term memory.

Old woman telling stories

I think I DO want to fight the tendency to decrease the size of one’s world to the boundaries of what’s familiar to me; to what’s easy and comfy. I want to fight to keep my boundaries open to new ideas and new activities, new places and new people.

But, at the same time, I want to accept gracefully my decreasing physical energy and re-direct my time to the ever-changing physical reality of old age. And, yep, I want to accept that my mind isn’t quite so quick, quite so sharp and, at times, quite so reliable.

Ultimately, I know that ‘old age’ is NOT the enemy. It’s my own fears that I need to remain mindful of and face with compassion, kindness and awareness.

Older yoga  Old women walking  Old cooking

I can hear you saying, “Yeah, right. Blah blah blah.” So here’s what I have to say to you…

mountain out of molehill

Well, maybe.

Let’s hope so!

 

The Writing Experience is one of Muditta

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There’s a book on one of my book shelves that has my name on the cover.

Yoga_for_Detectives_Cover_for_Kindle Yep, that’s me. A.E. Prero. And that’s a book I wrote and published.

http://www.amazon.com/Yoga-Detectives-Lesson-A-E-Prero/dp/1512109371

It took me about 8 months to write it and another month to format the darn thing to turn it into a paperback book and, after my own feeble attempts, $50 to pay someone to format it for Kindle. And now, here it is, sitting on my shelf and the shelves of at least 25 other people, according to the Amazon stats.

Hand on heart, how many of you truly think you, too, have a book in you, if you could only find the time to sit down and write it? And maybe you’ll even do it someday. I’m here to tell you that it’s well worth the effort, even if that book inside you never makes it into a physical reality on your bookshelf.

Don’t get me wrong. I love having actual books in people’s hands which are the product of my imagination, time and self-discipline. Yay!

snoopy dancing

But, believe it or not, there are many other gratifying results from plowing through the entire process of writing a book.

Beginning to end.

Concept to character development to plot to consistency to description:conversation ratio to word usage to editing, proofreading and formatting….and maybe even marketing, though I haven’t begun the serious lifting where that’s concerned.

I’ve read some great books about how to write. Writing down the Bones is probably the best.Writing Down the Bones

But Natalie Goldberg has others out there, and some different authors have offered some helpful ideas, too.

reading

When I actually sat down to write, I realized that while much of what those people suggested had registered in my brain, it all became a  mutant version once the spices of my own personality and imagination were added to the soup…and that was okay, even good.

I learned what I, as a reader, liked.

I pondered what made me pull out one book from a bookstore bookshelf and not another. I asked myself what it was about one first chapter that pulled me into reading a book as opposed to putting down another. I went so far as to correspond with one author whose first paragraphs in her many books never fail to hook me and ask if I could use her formula.

NO way Wow! Now, THAT was a surprise.

After a few months, I could finally sit down to write even if I hadn’t:

  • Washed the dishes,
  • done the laundry,
  • watered the plants,
  • made dinner,
  • cleaned out the studio,
  • answered emails, phone calls and text messages,
  • updated Facebook, or
  • had coffee with every neighbor within walking distance.

mess

No, that’s not really my house but there were days when it felt like that…and I wrote anyway.

The further along I got with my book, the more I grew to appreciate the beautiful turn of a phrase or use of a word in the books I was reading. “Wow! How does she do that?”

The more I grimaced at a much over-used adjective or descriptive tool.  ouch

The more I became enchanted with how one character became someone I cared about while another was just plain irritating.

You might think that the magic of the well-written, well thought-out book  would be lost once the smoke cleared and the mirrors were revealed. But the opposite has been true for me.

Sure, there are some books I can’t look at anymore. I can’t easily fill time with just any old thing I find around the house, on my friends’ shelves or on the table at the doctor’s office. But I’ve developed a full hearted, deep, experiential response to other books.

I feel the author behind the words. And they become my friends as much as do the characters they skillfully develop. I’m happy for them for their work well done. Reading has become a double pleasure. Pleasure in the book and pleasure for the author’s success in having written a book which brings pleasure.

Natalie GoldbergRoland Merullo    Natalie Goldberg

                                                                                                                                   Roland Merullo

     Scott Pratt   Scott Pratt          Anna Quindlen     Anna Quindlen

Gay Hendricks                       Tinker Lindsay

       Gay Hendricks                    and                   Tinker Lindsay

And, isn’t that the real meaning of Muditta? Empathetic joy.

The happiness we feel when others succeed and are happy?

Writing has opened a whole new vista of Muditta in my life.

Vegan Experience Brings Gratitude in Unlikely Places

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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!)

Displaying 2014-06-06 15.13.33.jpg                                                            Displaying 2014-06-06 11.30.42.jpg

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.

Displaying 2014-06-05 19.46.03.jpg                                               Displaying 2014-06-06 12.42.52.jpg

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.

animals

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!

Cool Kids

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!

Vegan pyramind

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???

Diarrhea  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)

carnivore

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.

jump for joy 2

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.

I wonder

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’

Listen to your body

 

Therapy at 60

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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.