Yoga sutra 1.33 also tells us to be happy for (not annoyed by) those who are happy (and perhaps whistling, singing, or loud-chatting while we are trying to work), find compassion for those who are sad, and be delighted and inspired by great people, aiming to emulate and develop their good qualities in ourselves.
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Photo by Austin Schmid on Unsplash
A few years ago, I stopped making resolutions at the start of the calendar new year. Instead, on my birthday—in December—I starting making lists of the things I wanted to do in the 12 months ahead. Design and teach a yoga workshop. Snowboard down M1 without crying. Spend quality one-on-one time with each of my guys every single week. Publish four essays. Go on a road trip with my sister and kids.
I realized there was a common reason for aiming to accomplish all these things. I wanted to feel brave, creative, alive, connected. I wanted to mop up all the moments with the people I love most. Through my yoga studies, I realized that I'd switched from making resolutions to creating sankalpas. In Sanskrit, sankalpa means "will, purpose or determination." It's is sort of a resolution, wrapped in your best intentions, written by your highest self. Last year, my sankalpa was this: "I manage my energy in ways that allow me to stay present for, and to enjoy, the people and things that matter most."
This year, I've boiled my aim down to its essence, a single word: LEAP. I'm turning intentions into actions and ideas into reality, summoning up the courage to have the hard conversations, pushing past discomfort to expand my limits—as a parent, a partner, a person. And generally just getting shit done, like going to the police station to be fingerprinted (after four years of vowing to do it) so I can chaperone a school field trip without having to have a chaperone myself. I did that today. Took 10 minutes.
When it comes to aligning actions with intentions, I've discovered some things that help keep me focused (which is no small feat). Maybe they'll help you too:
Design your mission.
Turn your mission or your mantra or your word into something you can display front-and-center in your home, office, on your phone. (Or skin. I have a tattoo of a swallow on my wrist to remind me to keep writing. It's inspired by Anne Lamott's Bird by Bird). If you don’t feel particularly artistic, curate others' words and images to make a vision board. Mine has a bunch of colorful art on it. And lots of ladies leaping.
Wear a reminder.
It can be as simple as a string—or a hairband—around your wrist. I wear mala bracelets made by my friend Shannon, who donates a portion of every sale to help rescue dogs.
Set out a statue.
On my desk in my home office sits a little brass Ganesh—the elephant-headed Hindu diety associated with removing obstacles. (He's gone on many field trips with friends when they've most needed his power.) I also have a "egg" rock my kid found on a the beach, which reminds me to see the world more like a child, and a framed little card that says "Stop Talking." (It's for my own good. Thanks, HT!)
Stay in touch.
Read about inspiring leaders who align with your values and aims, get outside and connect with your thoughts, hang with people who expand your perspectives.
Journal.
Write about your victories (offer gratitude) and your challenges (and what you learned!). Notice patterns. Refine to align.
Practice yoga.
I love thinking about shapes as a container for my energy. Yoga poses may stimulate or symbolize certain ways of feeling. Here are my go-to poses:
To feel energized: Sun salutations and heat-building poses like utkatasana (chair), planks, core work
To feel confident: Tadasana (mountain pose), Virabhadrasana I and II (Warrior 1 and 2)
To find focus: Balancing poses - Vriksasana (tree), Garudasana (Gagle), Virabhadrasana III (Warrior 3)
To tune in (and tune out the world): Forward folds
To let go: Hip openers like pigeon, Baddha Konasana, Anjaneyasana (low lunge) Flowing sequences
Expiration Dates
It's raining. Truly raining. Not sprinkling (a Western PA term that a friend on Facebook just reminded me is a really weird and gross way of saying light rain showers). I just want to lie and listen to it, maybe read until it's really, really late. But there is lots of laundry to be done. Because no one has any clean socks around here. It's sandals season. But tomorrow's relay day so Jules wants to wear his sneakers. I could dig through baskets for a matching pair—but I've been at that for weeks so it seems time to dive in and attack the problem head-on.
We keep accumulating stuff. And more stuff. It seems that half of my life now is about managing this stuff—mostly unsuccessfully. I never used to be into flowers. They die. They're here and gone. What's the point? I used to think. Now I know: That's exactly the point. It's obvious when it's time to toss wilting blooms, or rotting broccoli, into a compost pile. There's of none of that purgatory holding-on like I tend to do with clothes that are in 62% flattering and look brand new or 96% flattering and starting to fray—or with mugs that aren't my favorite but they're just a few spots away. You acquire them, you appreciate them, you share their goodness and when they've expired, you're grateful for the sustenance that brought you. But you don't hang on. You move on.
How I Strive vs. What Makes Me Feel Alive
We are all frail. We all make mistakes. We all fall prey to a thousand emotions and exaggerations... In truth, it is not the tissue of our humanity that defeats us, but rather our refusal to accept who we are and to live accordingly, limitations included.
Jane, the awesome yoga teacher, read this bit from Mark Nepo's book, The Book of Awakening, today at the end of class. It resonated so I looked it up again this evening. Then I bought the book. The purchase is a Compact violation, no doubt, as the copy I ordered is new but... 1) It seems the book could ultimately make me more mindful, less wasteful and 2) I have an Amazon credit—birthday gift from Jon's parents—that, week by week, is being eaten away by Walking Dead zombies. And I don't even watch the show. Actually, I think my second point actually makes the Compact violation worse. So maybe scratch that one.
In any case, I've been spending a lot of time lately thinking about what I'm not:
A person takes detailed digital notes and files them logically.
A daughter/sister/friend who sends birthday cards and gifts before the actual anniversary.
A mom who always remembers when it's snack week in the kindergarten class and bring-a-book-from-home day in the preschool one.
Someone who always knows just the right thing to say and the right times not to say ANYTHING.
Definitely not me. But all week, I'm been wishing things like this were true. Wishing I were not the person who scribbles to-dos with purple pens on random scraps of paper and scatters them across the earth. Who is still carrying my mom's birthday card and gift in my purse, 2 months and 1 day later. Who forgets Pirate Booty, and then a pirate book, on two consecutive days. Who blurts out 97% of things that cross my brain.
I can certainly strive to do better; I can stand to evolve. But now it strikes me that I also need to keep in mind what sorts of things most make me feel really happy and alive—like watching brilliant people do things that have nothing to do with order and measure and restraint.*
Or the OK Go dudes who combined campy choreography and rolling treadmills into one mindblowing video that makes me giddy every time I watch. And that's just what I do when I'm in a really shitty mood: I load up that OK Go video.
Because that's the kind of person I am. Whatever that means.
*I realize it most definitely took order and measure and restraint to produce this art but you get what I'm saying, right?
When We Resist Reality
Yesterday morning, I wrote this "Haiku to a Winter That Just Won't Die"
Today, sweet bird bands
Chirp cheerful songs in mild skies
Tomorrow, I weep.
Yesterday, at lunchtime, I took a great class with Rachel at Yoga Roots. It wasn't entirely pleasant—there were moments where she asked us to hold the asanas a good bit longer than was comfortable—but it was wonderful for me in all sorts of ways and I knew it.
I looked at these tulips a lot today.
Yesterday, during class, Rachel wisdom something along the lines of this: When you resist your reality, you create suffering. Learn to live skillfully within your reality to eliminate unnecessary struggle.
Today, I needed that advice.
Yesterday, it was 30 degrees and, for most of the day, beautiful and sunny.
Today, school was cancelled because it'd soon be dumping snow. My reality was that I'd be hanging at home with the boys but getting at least a little work done would be necessary. I knew there would be squabbles. And screen time.
And there was. But it was fine. More than fine.
I'm not sure my approach to the snow day was particularly skillful but I shared some sweet time with the kids, got some stuff done—and, overall, managed to keep the suffering to a minimum.
Plus, this week's snowstorm should make for some good riding on Saturday and, truth is, this winter will die soon. It will be spring again.