Boring means you’re awesome.

I relish new beginnings: new diets (oh my sugar free, pegan fads…you know me!), New Year’s Resolutions, yoga practice plans, website launchings.  I get this rush, a burst of bright satisfaction. The start is intoxicating: I’m making a plan, I’m doing it, yippee!

But then, some way down the line, upholding my intention becomes, well, boring. 

I’m going to the gym, and now it’s part of the routine. I am eating better, and it’s status quo. The initial shine of doing something different and better! has given way to a humdrum-this-is-just-part-of-my-life-feeling.

This is the moment where we “fall off the wagon”  – because we forget there’s a moving wagon in the first place! It’s only a couple weeks later after I’ve eaten three boxes of Timmy Hoho’s do I think, huh, wait a minute. Where was that wagon again? Oh crap, now it’s three miles ahead. Then I’m running again to catch up. And again setting shiny new intentions.

Upholding our best self doesn’t always have to be an uphill battle. Sometimes being our best is about the plateau, the easy cruise, the staying with of our current momentum. Rather than climbing a mountain, now we just have to show up and do it. Even it’s boring. Especially when it’s boring. Because this is the time when we are integrating this change into the fabric of who we are.

Yes, enjoy the rocket launch of your start, but let’s not be seduced by that fleeting emotional high of momentary change. Once that rocket gets into outer space, there will come a point where it will cruise on its own momentum. Like in our relationships, that first sense of heady in love intoxication will fade. Our job is to recognize and get comfortable with the fact that change – at some point – loses its lustre.

Boring is the moment we’ve been waiting for. Boring signifies that we are becoming.  “Boring” means that it’s working.

So get on your rocket. And enjoy that mother-loving boring ride.

Bittersweet human. The beauty of our no-win situation.

Two armies are poised for battle. Our hero falls to his knees at the impossibility of the choice: should he uphold his righteous claim to the throne and slay his enemy – who also happen to be his kin? Or shall he be killed and forsake his duty? Frozen by terrible consequences on all sides, he collapses and begs for guidance.

Arjuna’s battle in the Bhagavad Gita is a metaphor for the choices we face everyday. If we choose one path, we lose something. If we choose the other path, we also lose. There is no way to win.

As we get older, the simplicity of our childhood choices falters as we start to realize the world’s true complexity. There is no right way. There is no answer. Whichever way we choose, something gets taken away. Good mother, good career? Adventure, or stability? In each moment, we necessarily must cut ourselves off from a thousand other possibilities. Small choices in the past nudged us in one direction, and ten years later we find that small choice has thrown us onto another continent, another world, another life.

What if I’d bought that apartment? Stayed with that guy? Left that guy? Said fuck it that one time? What if I’d been more responsible and played it safer? What if?

Every path is bittersweet. I feel this truth so strongly right now because my fertile years will soon be exiting stage left. For the first time, time is imposing the brakes of real life consequences. The cumulation of choice is inescapable.

But here’s the thing.

This isn’t a problem.

No, my friends. As much as I may want to rail against and mourn the many paths I have not travelled, this bittersweet ache I feel is part of the tender beauty of being human. In each moment, we stand in the middle of our own compass, choosing our direction. And we do it again in the next moment, and the next. We have no right choice, we only have the artistry of this choice. And the next. A kaleidoscope of decisions that creates the tapestry of our lives. Fucked up, colourful, confused, full of inconsistency.

Making great art is rarely tidy or clean.

Our practice: Love this choice. Love this tapestry. With all your heart. With abandon and courage. Love your one, precious, and most remarkable life.

“I’ll never know, and neither will you, of the life you don’t choose. We’ll only know that whatever that sister life was, it was important and beautiful and not ours. It was the ghost ship that didn’t carry us. There’s nothing to do but salute it from the shore.”

― Cheryl Strayed, Tiny Beautiful Things: Advice on Love and Life from Dear Sugar

 

Ah, thank you Nico Luce, for reminding me today of the story of the Bhagavad Gita. 

 

How much should we sleep?

I slept an unprecedented 10 hours last night. That’s right. Ten.

For a gal who usually weighs in under 7, 10 felt like a luxury only reserved for vacation or illness.  Oh, and then I had a nap. For an hour.

What the what?

Perhaps it’s because I’ve been chronically underslept since my early twenties, or perhaps it’s simply that this weekend is the first time I’ve been able to unwind a bit. Who can say for sure? But science does keep beating us over the head: Sleep is good for you.

The Paleo movement (which I’ve been dabbling in for the last few months) is not just about food. They’re also big on sleep. In fact, sleep ranks #1 on Paleo Gugu Mark Sisson’s Daily Apple this week   – for tips on building lean muscle mass! Go figure!

Check out these recent articles from reputable sources:

And now go on. Nap.

 

*My mom says, “I really noticed an improvement in my sleep when I started wearing a sleep mask!” She petitioned me to put this link in. Enjoy!

Garbage Pail expectations

I like to plan.

I’m a great planner, a presidential planner. I have an app called Omnifocus that agendifies every area of my life. Until recently, reminders in this apps included things like, “Call Mom,” or “Phone out of town friend,” lest I forgot to feel my beating heart while navigating my labyrinthine to-do list.

Planning makes me feel safe. Bestows the illusion of control. And gives birth to little babies called Expectations.

Like little Cabbage Patch Kids, these expectations pop into existence just after the planning starts. And they’re so darn cute. They run here and there, giggling, shaking their nicely braided yarn hair. But then all of a sudden, these little happy toddlers turn into pint-sized tyrants. They pout when the plan doesn’t go their way, throw tantrums when they’re disappointed. When thwarted, they stamp their feet, blubber uncontrollably, and glare in frustration.

My expectations, once sweet and full of possibility, have turned into the Garbage Pail Kids.

These Garbage Pail Kids recently threw a wrench in my romance. A golden beginning to the relationship had fostered warm feelings. Hopeful dreams ensued. Almost without realizing it, I grew a Plan like a scaffold beneath the shimmering surface of my ideas, and strapped my dream down onto its iron framework.  My plan was surely the right way. Diversions from the plan felt like betrayal, rejection. When my my partner finally threw up his hands in protestation, I was hurt, bewildered, and angry.

I confused my “Plan” with my “Vision.”

Life is a co-creation with the Universe.  While we control our own piece of it, the world out there is full of mystery and moving parts. We see this dance most clearly when we are co-creating with other people, like a partner.  When I am excited about to getting to my “goal,” I can put on blinders that prevent me from seeing anything except the road I’ve designed. I only see what I want, forgetting that other people are creating this wild big dream with me.

But by being so attached to my expectations, I miss the unexpected opportunities that are lying in my peripheral vision. Relationships can remind us that we are part of something bigger, help us to discern what is ours to own and what isn’t. They can help us look beyond our limited expectations, and take in some of the other points of view that make up the world. If we’re staring at the closed door, we may miss the fact that five windows have opened behind us.

The invitation: dream without being stuck to the plan. Raise our eyes from our expectations and see the great possibilities that are really there. Be surprised.

Because what if, just what if…this mysterious co-creation is could manifest a future that’s even better than the one that we’ve got in our heads?

Photo credit.

 

Growing up is a world of gray

What coffee has to do with constructivism

“Why don’t you make it the way I do?” he asks, as I pour the coffee grounds into the Bialetti coffee maker. I look at the coffee maker in consternation. I pour the grounds directly into the filter in the machine. He does it separately and then puts everything together.

“Because this is the way I do it,” I say.

“But then the grounds get all over the counter, and…” he stops himself.

“…Do you want to make the coffee?” I prompt.

He shakes his head and backs off, “Um, no. No, definitely not. Do it your way. We’ll just…clean the counter after.”

I throw a handy tee-towel at him.

Oh, how we want to believe the world is Newtonian! Push it and it moves, pull it and it comes. Gravity is fixed, mass is fixed. An object put into motion stays in motion. Reality is Absolute. Truth exists.

This comforting set of assumptions makes it easy for our anxious little mind to find solid ground. If I know what’s “right,” then I can play by the rules. If there is an absolute Truth, then I can be right and you can be wrong. Blame can be assigned. We rest easy in the rigid arms of justice.

Yet as humanity probes with relentless curiosity into the mysteries of the world, our desire to fix the world into yes/no is thwarted by the mysterious complexity and subjectivity of the Universe. Our poor little brains are on fire with the revelation that time, space, and mass aren’t fixed. Truth depends on perspective. There is no absolute Reality. Rather, Reality is a compendium of the stupendous array of subjective experiences that exist relative to any one point of space/time.

In other words, friends, sh*t gets complicated.

Not only do we see this evolution of thought playing out in physics, naturally the reverberations have cropped up in education and psychology.  For example, in my field of study, no longer are teachers fixated on a “one size fits all” version of teaching (this is the right way to learn them!), but there is an increasing passion for constructivism as a learning psychology, where learning is “constructed” individually by the learner. In other words, each learner is different and assimilates information based on their unique history, interest, and emotions.

Consider this riddle.

What is a hat?

There is no one absolute hat. We have a general idea of hat, with different qualities that we may identify based on our experience (it’s on my head, primarily). The hat that popped into my head is different than the hat the just popped into your head, determined by each of our experiences of “hat-ness” in the world. Think of this: tophat, tukes, riding hat, bowler, Stetson, cap, turban, Ascot, beret, pillbox. Each one of these “hat styles” is also a generalized idea. You could have a million kinds of tukes. Yet our mind puts together all these hat-like qualities and defines and labels the world according to the pattern. When is a hat not a hat? When it’s a balaclava? When it’s a headband? What about a really big headband? Labels are convenient, but they are relative, malleable, and subjective.

And if we have this much trouble with hats, just consider this one: what is love?

Our perception of the world is constructed based on all of our previous experiences, leaving each one of us with a remarkable and unique view of the world and its objects. Like a snowflake, no point of subjectivity is the same.

Growing up  – for humanity as well as for us as individuals – is accepting that the rules, protocols, and labels we so desperately wish to impose upon the world are limited in scope. They may be very useful, but we mustn’t mistake them for the Real Deal.

We are on the edge of revelation. We have been living in a world of right/wrong, yes/no, “hat/ not a hat” since the dawn of consciousness.  In our individual lives, it’s where we spend our toddlerhood, adolescence, and young adulthood. But growing up means expanding our view and recognizing the multiplicity of experience.

To move the collective experience of humanity forward, we must each do our intrinsic part to don our big girl and boy pants, take a breath, and embrace a wider version of Truth.

We begin with small, daily recognitions. Like coffee. So when I am in the kitchen making the morning coffee, and my beloved looks at me in confusion and says, “But why don’t you do it the way I do it?” we can pause. Reflect. And – without blame, defence, or righteousness – simply appreciate the difference. His way of making coffee is the perfect way for him. And my way is the perfect way for me. How lovely, how subjective, how revelatory!

And in fact, there are an infinite number of ways to brew that one extraordinary cup.