The Bungy Jumping of Authors

Lots of people say that beginnings are always hard. Changes of all kinds, even for the better, are always listed high up on the list of things that cause people stress.

pulling out hair

Me? I’m a change junky. Always have been. It’s been toned down over the years between raising children and owning a viable business for a decade or two but the buzz has been increasing over the past few years.

Every single day I start my day giving thanks for hundreds of blessings  – Snoopy dancingpotable water in the pipes in my house, my house itself with its beautiful backyard and shady back porch where I eat breakfast every morning, my husband of 45 years who makes that breakfast, the amazing fruit he cuts up for us, the coffee he brews, and the money to buy it all, our healthy children and grandchildren, my supportive, fun friends and my (more or less) healthy body.

Lots of people say how much they love their lives and I hope they mean it as much as I do.

And then there’s that buzz, that itchiness to get moving – the voice of the change junky in me.

In less than three months my husband and I will be headed off for big changes. Six months in India. Different scenery, different languages, different food. Building new routines and then moving on to create yet other routines in other places when the spirit moves us.

But three months when I’m ready right now is a while.

What to do? What to do?    anxiety

One of the answers I’ve found is finally hiring someone to help me market my first two books. I loved writing them and relished actually holding the paperback in my hands and seeing each of them on my shelf. Marketing? I found I didn’t really have much of a passion for getting other people to read them.

I’ve been finishing up things in my present life to get ready for my new life in India. I’ve been de-cluttering my house and putting together a schedule for my studio for while I’m gone. I find that part of this temporary closure is a rising desire to have strangers buy my books. I wasn’t even aware of it being a circle that needed completion.     Old person forgetting

An organized, pleasant man from Germany is partnering with me to call my first two books to the attention of their potential readers. Working with someone in this field and getting acquainted with the logistics and technology of marketing is just the tweak my brain needs at the moment. It’s a world unto itself made up of puzzle pieces that fit together nicely when arranged properly.

He has many ideas that are tested and proven. I have ideas that are a bit out of the box for him as an expert in his field and a true example of the beauty of beginner’s mind.

There’s a rule out there that says that artists are intrinsically unskilled at selling their art; that the two talents are mutually exclusive. picasso

 

 

I’m guessing there are thousands upon thousands of excellent, fascinating books out there that go unread and unknown because their authors throw their hands up before even trying to sell them.

I don’t know if this marketing experience will lead to thousands of people reading my books, but I know that they won’t read them if they don’t know they exist. It seems that in this day and age they won’t know they exist if the books aren’t search engine optimized and connected to a similarly optimized author’s page. They need the boost that reviews give and being sold to libraries all over North America.

Alas, none of that happens by itself.

For some people, the blank page is the monster lurking under the bed. For other people, it’s brand awareness. I’m here to tell all you writers out there –

It isn’t as scary as it sounds.

namaste

 

Awakening Again

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

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

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

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

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

 

“It is better to give than to receive.” Seriously?

I live in a community that’s right out of “Little House on the Prairie”, complete with neighbors who care deeply about each other and that fussbudget at the County Store.  Little House on the Prairie

For good or for bad, we tend to know more about each other’s business than we might like. Definitely not as much as when we were a community of 60 families since today we’re closer to 800 families, but a whole lot more than your average Tel Avivit knows about her neighbor across the hall.

The upside has always been that if someone was sick or had just given birth or was having financial trouble, the community could be counted on to come through with meals, clean laundry and even a no interest loan. The downside, of course, is the fussbudget at the County Store syndrome. After all, we all know what’s best for the wayward teenager of our neighbor who was seen in a sleeveless blouse downtown or the wife of the husband who never helps with the household chores.  teenage girl

But even my community has not been left in its bubble of the ’50s in the USA with all the “progress” of the late 20th and early 21st centuries…whether it be the isolation made possible by wonderful new technologies or the frantic pace of business as usual with two breadwinners in the family.

Long gone are those lazy afternoons when mothers sat in the parks chatting with other mothers while their children happily played for hours. Those moms are rushing home from work to pick up their children at the after care center at 4 or 5.

Gone, too, are the hours spent sitting on the steps outside picking lice out of our children’s hair and chatting amiably. Nit picking Well, I guess that’s best gone and forgotten. But, truth be told, I have fond memories of those shared hours with my neighbors.

And as my generation – the pioneers and founding folks of the community – has mellowed into our 60’s and our children have married and begun to raise their own families, we’ve also found interests outside the community and left for the afternoons and evenings, shutting our doors, eyes and ears, behind us.

Part and parcel, I believe, of this natural process has been an adoption of that old adage, “It is better to give than to receive.”

lots of presents

When I gave birth to my fifth child, Rafael, who’s now 31 and awaiting his 2nd child’s birth as I write, I had a medical occurrence which resulted in a month’s stay in the hospital and 3 months of very limited activity once I finally arrived home.

We had only moved to our community the previous year and didn’t know all that many people all that well. By the time I came home from the hospital the community had a roster for people to make sure we had dinner delivered every day, to be available for shopping, childcare and household maintenance chores. The community nurse came every week to give me an injection I required, even though she was technically employed by a national health insurance plan other than ours.

Everything was done cheerfully and matter-of-factly. To this day I feel bonded with many of those people, even though we have not gone on to become actual friends, or even had occasion to meet very often. Bonding

My neighbor has cancer. I don’t know what kind. She divorced from her 2nd husband after less than 2 years of marriage while I was on vacation recently. I don’t know why. I only know that she’s refused help of any kind.

I have a good friend who, over the course of our 30 year close relationship, has had her ups and downs like we all do. She refuses to acknowledge any difficulties…ever…and always refuses help.

Somehow, “It is better to give than to receive” has infiltrated our hearts, minds, lives, deep into our innermost belief system. Never mind that it makes no logical sense—to give requires someone to receive, so for someone it must be better to receive.  But who knows who that person might be. The other guy, I guess.

For the past few decades, we’ve practiced giving religiously; even while sometimes really REALLY needing to receive.  We could be counted on not only to give charity, but also to give our time, support, and skills. And then, in a rare blue moon, we just might be sad for a nanosecond for feeling unappreciated, all the while still giving.

If we ever knew, we seem to have forgotten how to receive. A compliment, countering any comment with insight about our faults or a deflection of the significance of what’s being complimented.No big deal

A gift? We immediately feel the need to giveBigger Gift something in return, preferably bigger.

A kindness; we wave people away from helping us in a grocery line, no matter that we’re dropping bread as we speak.

Don't Need Help

How can we have gone through so much life and acquired so little experience with such a fundamental act as the ability to receive?

Maybe because we see receiving as involving vulnerability. When we give, we feel in charge.  When we receive, we feel less so.

Give feels like an action word; receive feels like something passive. Yet this is so mistaken! Giving and receiving are yin and yang, the equivalent of the infinity symbol—looping back and forth, neither side larger than the other, both integral to the larger whole.

Receiving creates a bond. A closeness. A trust. It allows for giving in return at some other juncture in life’s path.

I used to be the Queen of Giving and the Queen of Never Receiving in Return. But it got seriously old about a decade and a half ago and I’ve been learning to practice this shift into comfortable receiving ever since – slowly, one baby step at a time.thanks

I receive a compliment with a simple thank you , no matter that inside I might be discounting the words.

It’s a learned skill. We can all learn this. We can let the words of a compliment sink in and fill an empty space. We can accept a gift with a thank you and let that be enough, even if we have to sit on our hands to keep from jumping up to return the favor.

We can let others help us with grace and the profound gratitude that someone wants to be of service.

We can let others havSnoopy dancinge the fun of giving.

And ultimately, this is how we can give in a more genuine way and from a healthier place, by learning to refill our needs through receiving.

Giving to quench our own need will never be enough.

When we give, not from a full heart, but from an empty space that needs recognition, it’s exhausting.  Giving from our own need leads to resentment, victimhood, and even financial distress.  Yet I’ve learned that giving from a full heart is replenishing and sustaining. It brings joy into my own life.

And how wonderful when someone helps fill my heart with her giving so that I can bring joy into my own life through receiving…and then giving.

Here are  5 reminders another blogger recommended to help learn this new skill.

1. To begin, I must accept the basic premise that I am enough.

That before I give a thing, before I receive anything, I am enough just standing here. The act of giving or receiving doesn’t change this at all.

2.  I am becoming more discerning with giving.

I’m learning to examine my needs as well as the needs of others. To see when my gift is truly given from love and when it comes with expectations. To see when the expectations are self-imposed and when they come from others.

3. I am making room in my life for receiving.

This includes being aware of all the ways I can receive, whether it is accepting kind words, a stranger’s smile, or being let into the stream of traffic. I know that as I receive, I am becoming more comfortable with the art of receiving. I am staying conscious of how my receiving empowers those who are giving to me.

4. I am relaxing into the feeling of receiving…

…becoming okay with the feeling of openness that is necessary to truly receive. I allow this open space to be available to receive.

5. I remind myself that this is fun and joyful.

There’s no reason not to join in the fun!

How do you  open up to receiving?

Perspectives on Rain

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

rain splashed

boy in the rain

Maybe this?

  

 

rain romantic

rain reading by the fire

 

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.

rain anger

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.

didn't know

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.

rain fall

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.

Cuzco Plaza de Armes

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

Friends

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).   hyena laughing

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. Lucy The Dr is In

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).  skinny legs

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.  gilda radnerImpatient 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. baddha konasana drawing

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!  hug

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!

embracing lifeAnd 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

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.