Beauty of Balance

I had an experience recently at a dance workshop/training that was so illuminating and significant to me that I felt the need to mention it. It had to do with the dark and the light and began with an exploration of darkness, under a blue silk. Listening to the music, we danced underneath, quietly and subtly, as night does. I began very much engaged, movement coming freely and naturally...but at a certain point, I felt a sense of being lost, not knowing what I was supposed to be getting or doing...and then, almost instantly, I was calmed by my own realization that I didn't have to know everything. I could experience what I was experiencing for its own sake...that not knowing was okay. And many times, our fear of the dark or darkness is just that...the unknown. What we perceive as "bad" is really something we don't understand or know...what we reject.

In the same evening of movement, we had a celebration of the light, with candles and music and water. There was a moment where I raised my lit candle up to the night sky and I had the overwhelming sense that the two were greeting each other...the light wasn't trying to banish the dark and the dark wasn't trying to smother the light. It was a simple acknowledgment of one another, of seeing the other and saying hello, without judgment or anger or fear. In that place of greeting was beauty, balance and connection. In that moment, I understood what is possible for us all.

Weekend of Contact Improv

A few weekends ago I attended a Contact Improv Retreat. I had the delightful and rich experience of dancing with some people I know very minimally and dancing with complete strangers for the better part of two days.

We started with a "structured" class where the instructor, Yves, gave us some starting points to work with. We crawled, played with moving from low to upright positions. We then worked with partners, holding another's arm with our eyes closed while we let our partner lead us around. I found this exhilarating and frightening at the same time, especially when my partner pulled me while running. Flying, feeling air in my face, trusting my partner completely to make sure I didn't run into someone or something. And once that trust was there, just enjoying the ride.

Then the dance began. I danced for several hours, loved having so much room to work with, really taking up space and allowing myself to move uninhibited, dancing with people, pushing, pulling, flying, running, falling, rolling. Because of the vastness of the space we were in, I was able to be in perpetual motion for longer periods of time--to really see the flow through, to follow the momentum to its natural end, which was a new and liberating feeling.

I especially loved moving to the live music: a cello, piano and drums. Between the musicians and dancers, I was given such a rich tapestry of elements to play with and off of. Such an amazing experience that I didn't want to end.

I guess it's not news that physical contact with others can be healing. We know that babies need to be held, touched, even have skin-to-skin contact with their mother or caregiver to bond, to feel secure and to grow into empathetic adults. Giving a kid a hug can cure just about any minor ailment.

I think as adults, we forget how good connecting physically with another human being can be. We may enjoy that physical expression with our spouse or significant other (with or without the sexual component) or our children. We may hug our extended family or friends as a greeting or maybe hug someone we know is having a hard time.

But how often do we really take in those bits of affection, of connection, that we're getting? How often does it become simply obligatory or rote? While dancing in contact with others, there is tenderness, care, exploration, sensuality, playfulness and everything in between. Moments of stillness, many times taken when a position feels particularly restorative or comforting, allow time for one to really take in that connection. It is truly a beautiful practice.

The Flawed Healer

I used to believe, naively, that healers and other people in the helping professions were healed themselves...that psychologists must not have issues, that energy healers never got sick...that somehow these people had the key to their own well-being. It was always disillusioning to me to discover the person I'd been seeking guidance from was flawed, sometimes greatly so. How could I trust what they were telling me if it didn't work for them?

Now I think, how could they be helpful if they didn't experience those things? How can you help other humans if you yourself don't have human emotions, human ailments, human thoughts? It seems obvious now. It is in our own suffering, in our flaws that we are able to help others because we are able to empathize. And it is our own suffering or discontent that pushes us to find answers, encourages us to find peace, however we can, and in so doing, help others do the same. At least if we don't get stuck in it.

Sometimes it works the other way around. Sometimes when we are striving to help others, we help ourselves as well. This is nowhere more evident than in a parent/child relationship. If we can relate and listen to our children, perhaps we can heal that child who was never heard. Or if we can honor our kids' "selfish" side, maybe we can learn to honor our own Self that has been neglected. And if we can truly show unconditional love to our kids, we might just be loving some lost part of our own inner child.

It's sort of a chicken or the egg kind of thing. It's cyclical...it's hard to give someone what you haven't gotten yourself ...but it's sometimes even harder to give to yourself.

I have many energy healing modalities at my disposal and when I am in pain or out of sorts, I can achieve a certain level of relief by using them. However, many times I find the result is more drastic when someone else works on me and my work on them is more effective on them than their own is. I can only speculate that this is because we can't see the forest through the trees, so to speak. Perspective changes everything and we usually don't have great perspective on our own issues. Or maybe it is the sheer act of purely receiving that is so healing...either way, we have the potential to help each other heal, if we could just see the connection, the reflections of ourselves in everything. I think we need to play both healer and healee in order to find balance and peace.

Being human, accepting all that that means, and being a healer or teacher are not mutually exclusive. Quite the contrary...speaking as someone who wants to help people heal, it helps us be more compassionate. And speaking as a patient or client or student, having a leader or healer who is human and embraces that, shows me that I, too, with all my human issues, have the same potential to help others.

Spring

I love spring. I love the smell of the rain and the trees just beginning to bud. I love the anticipation of seeing the first sprouts coming up from the earth and the mystery of what those sprouts could be (especially because I often forget what I planted the year before).

Every day I go out and tour my own yard as if I'm seeing it for the first time and in a way, I am. Each day brings new wonder, new surprises. Spring is still hopeful. It isn't quite late enough to discover that those lilies I planted didn't make it or that the blueberry bush didn't produce. There is still so much potential.

I have planted shrubs before and waited anxiously to see them budding in the spring only to discover them dead. A few days ago when I walked around my yard, most of the new shrubs I planted appeared to be dead. Since they're new and I can't remember exactly what they are or when they're supposed to bloom, I decided break off a tiny piece of the branch to see the inside. I was delighted to see green. I have decided to take that to mean the other ones that appear dead are really just waiting, protecting themselves until it's warm enough to emerge. That's the wonder and beauty of spring.

Every year we gather with friends for a spring celebration. There are nature crafts for the kids, potluck food and drink for the adults and a planting ceremony. We all write down on slips of paper what we want to sow...wishes, goals, ideas. We take turns digging with a shovel and bury our hopes with a plant or seeds. We also have a bonfire and let go of anything we need to and take a turn sharing where we're at and what spring means to us. It's a beautiful tradition, one that I look forward to. For many of us, it is the hope, the light, that means so much.

For the past two years, I have gone into my dance studio above the garage in the spring to find a bird trapped there. They had somehow found their way in but couldn't find their way out. The first was a male cardinal, the second year a mama robin. In both cases, I was amazed to find that the bird allowed me to cup my hands around it and carry it to the open window to let it out. I can't explain how honored I felt by that. Perhaps they knew I could help or perhaps they were just too scared to struggle or fly away, I don't know. And though I was helping the bird, it felt like I was the one being given a gift.

The gift is being allowed to touch something that usually seems so separate. As a human it is a privilege for me to connect with another life that I usually just admire from afar, that is so light and free. I am touched by being part of returning that thing of beauty to its freedom. In this way, I am part of the hope that spring brings.

Love and Logic

I have a friend who is in love with a man from another culture, one where he is expected to marry a woman of his family's choosing. The man loves her, too, but is torn between that and his loyalty to his family and their expectations of him. It is very likely he'll have to make a choice. His family will probably disown him if he chooses to stay here. Their situation is complicated and at times, seems to my friend, impossible. They are from two different worlds and yet they are in love. Knowing this, knowing that there is a good chance that this man will choose his family, hasn't prevented her from seeing him, from loving him.

If only love made sense. If only we could reason with our hearts, make them love who is best for us. It's funny how we'll try....we'll try to find logical reasons for why we love who we love but the bottom line is that many times, most times, there is no logic. We feel what we feel.

They say that love is blind. Maybe that's true or maybe it's that love sees all...goes beyond the surface to see the potential in someone. Sometimes that potential comes to fruition and sometimes it doesn't and if we act on our love for that person and their potential we are making a willing choice to take that chance.

And what is romantic love anyway? Is it the chemistry between two people, the physical attraction? Is it the enjoyment or comfort we get from being around someone? Is it the feeling we get when we look at someone across the room or look into someone's eyes and can't look away? Is it the desire to know that person? To be near him/her? All or none of the above?

None of these things are logical or can be rationalized, no matter how we try. Nor can we control them. The only thing we do have control over is our actions, how we respond to the feelings we have. I suppose that's where the mind, where logic can be helpful. It has the potential to temper our actions but we don't always listen. And sometimes it can pay off and sometimes it doesn't. I guess the wisdom is in seeing both potential outcomes and being willing to accept either one.

Contact Improv Utopia

I recently became involved in a contact improv group that gets together to "jam". This consists of improvised dance between two or more partners who are sharing a point of contact the whole time. Not only are you touching, but you are experimenting with weight, momentum, physics. There is weight sharing, rolling, lifting.

There is something special about sharing dance with other people, especially in this context. Because it is improvised and because you are working with others, it requires you to really tune in to your body and your partner's, to respond to their movements, give your weight over to them and let them give their weight to you and the whole while, each taking responsibility for your own bodies.

I was struck at the last session just how much these dances reflect the ideal relationship. There are moments of give and take and there are moments of moving away and coming together. And most incredibly, there are moments where the two parties are giving and receiving at the same time by leaning into one another, neither one bearing more weight than the other but simply supporting each other. It is the sense of standing strong on one's own, while still providing and receiving support that makes it such a great model. It seems like such a beautiful example of a true partnership...autonomy and connection happening simultaneously.

How wonderful would it be to live in a world like that...supporting each other by leaning on each other. For me it's just another example of how extremes aren't necessary...opposites (giving/receiving) can happen at the same time, harmoniously.

Dancing in this way also reminds me of something I learned awhile ago about forming through resistance. In the womb, the baby grows and develops against the uterus of its mother. The uterus provides containment and resistance but still yields to the growing baby. In the same way, as we are dancing with the weight of our bodies against another's, I feel like we are growing spiritually, emotionally. Gently pushing against something or someone in a connected way allows us to expand ourselves and know ourselves in relation to others.

For more information on Contact Improv, go to: http://www.contactimprov.net/

Dance

When I was a little girl, I wanted to be a dancer. I'd dance in the living room, on my porch...I felt so beautiful when I moved. Free.

My mom took me to an audition at a dance company in downtown Chicago when I was about 8 years old. It did not go well. I couldn't make my body do what the instructor was asking. I was off rhythm, embarrassed by my lack of grace and coordination in the eyes of my "judges". What had seemed so natural and graceful, what had given me such joy, was now something I was failing at.

Taking ballet classes didn't do much for my confidence. The dancers were all thin and tall and didn't have breasts (something I had more than my share of from an early age). My feet didn't turn out like the others', no matter how much I tried to make them. But I still danced on my own, making up routines for my sister and her friends and dancing in the living room.

In college, I still wanted to dance but had given up on being a dancer. I accepted what I thought to be true at the time...that my body was not built for a dance career. Becoming a dance minor was the only way I could take all the dance classes I wanted to, so I took those classes, purely for my own enjoyment.

I took ballet, toe shoes and all (another disaster), jazz, tap and modern. It was the first time I'd ever taken a modern class. Each modern class was different, but I soon found that in general, this was a dance style that seemed to fit my body type. Most of the movements utilized gravity rather than defy it...the instructors encouraged us to use our weight and it felt wonderful.

I read "My Life" by Isadora Duncan and was so inspired by her, by the notion of dance coming from within and it seemed to reflect my own experience with and relationship to movement. Movement from within came so naturally while echoing someone else's movements often seemed awkward and foreign...something I could get "wrong."

I went years without dancing. It's hard to believe, now that I'm doing it again, that I could go so long without it. I have rediscovered my love of moving, of releasing into a dance... I have a dance studio above my garage where I can turn on music and simply move.

It is unfortunate that modern dance is not readily available to the public and that many of us have bought into the notion that only certain bodies can dance or be graceful. Perhaps, like me, people have watched a dance performance, a ballet or a show on television and been impressed with what those performers can do with their bodies. And we should be, it is impressive. But it is not the only way to experience dance. It is not the only form that can be admired. Watching someone truly in their body, enjoying their body and its rhythms, working with gravity but not being overtaken by it...there is beauty in that.

At an unschooling gathering last year I watched my friend's son perform a dance he had created. It was nothing you'd see on television...there were no recognizable, technical moves. But the movement was coming out of him and through him and his motions were remarkably fluid and he was responding with passion to a piece of music that he loved. It literally moved me to tears.

Art, in all its forms, should be accessible to everyone. We don't need to teach people how to create art...we need to be reminded of the dances, the songs, the pictures, the stories that we all have inside of us and be given opportunities to express them. Some people like to be given a vocabulary for that expression and that's okay, too. It's a start. And of course some bodies have limitations. Certainly some people are more in touch with their bodies and have a kinesthetic intelligence that enables them to do astounding things that are amazing to watch or to express things through movement that can't be put into words. And that truly is a gift.

For me, there is such joy in moving without restriction. Listening to a piece of music that evokes some emotion or that reflects how I'm feeling and being able let those feelings move through me in a physical way is exhilarating and healing.

One of my best friends once choreographed and performed a piece about an abusive relationship she'd been in. I'd never seen anger look so beautiful. The beauty was in the movement and it was in the face of my friend battling her demons.

Now I look at my physical limitations as a gift. If I had been gifted in ballet and all of the technical ability I wanted, I may have missed out on finding the dancer within. I may have become a dance performer and lost sight of the dance waiting to emerge from each person. Every person, no matter the size or shape. There is a reason I identified so much with Isadora Duncan's words and philosophy. They mirrored my experience.

The grounding nature of some of the modern vocabulary lends itself well to the average body. If I didn't have an average body, I might not have known that or been able to share it. And that is what I want to do...help people to love being in their bodies, dancing.

Free.

Creative Destruction

Driving in the car the other day, out of the blue, my 7-year-old son said to me, "So, basically, life is like a long dream and when you die, you wake up."

"What made you say that, honey?" I asked him

"I've just been thinking about it," he replied, "I don't think people go to a great place when they die. That's just stupid."

"Well," I said, "everyone has different beliefs about what happens when you die. And it's not stupid for people to believe it. They're actually just trying to find a way to cope with something that is scary and sad for them. That's not stupid, that's smart. They're giving themselves comfort."

"What's so scary and sad about dying?" Ari asked. "You just get a new life."

Death and destruction are an integral part of the life cycle. Seems obvious, yet we spend so much time trying to avoid it. What we eat, how we live...we run from death, some people more than others. I have always been afraid and disdainful of destruction. I do everything in my power to nurture, to preserve. I'm anti-war, I'm a vegetarian...I never really appreciated the element of destruction. I never wanted to acknowledge the destructive power in myself.

When my son was about 4 years old, he was playing with his wooden train set . He placed train pieces opposite from each other and said something about one train killing or destroying the other one. My initial reaction was discomfort. I wanted to chastise him for enjoying the pretend act of destruction. But I caught myself because I realized that it was a normal thing for a child, particularly a boy, to want to express. I didn't want to make him feel bad about the completely natural aspect to his being.

Creation and destruction are parts of us, whether we want to acknowledge both in ourselves or not. It is only in destroying something that we make room for the new. If we look at the world around us, even as something is being created, another is being destroyed and vice versa.
It is the cycle of life...as the leaves die and fall off the trees, they are creating the fertile ground for new seedlings to thrive. Plants that we think of as weeds have all sorts of healing properties, yet they choke out the "desirable" plants, ones that are prettier to look at. We want to always see beauty and we don't always see the beauty in things that are destructive.

It isn't that destruction is bad... it's that when destruction and creation are out of balance there is a problem and the way in which destruction manifests or the way in which people choose to express their destructive energy is the part that can be ugly. Killing another person, destroying someone or something (literally or figuratively) for destruction's sake or doing so without balance or consciousness serves no purpose. But accepting the natural process of destruction as part of our world and part of ourselves can bring us one step closer to integrating the creative and destructive elements in both.

That is what I am after, what I am seeking...to integrate, to blend both of these extremes into one harmonious energy, a united being. In order to do that, I have embraced the destructive power in myself. The only way I can do that is to know that I am creating in the process of destroying and to be clear on what that is. Getting a "new life" as Ari would say or maybe just a new me. It's not always easy to actualize, especially being human and having so many attachments and feelings about change and others' reactions to our changing.

I think we do ourselves a disservice by running from death, from the darkness, from all that is "bad". I believe balance only can come by accepting these things as part of life, as part of us. For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. This is life. This is us. Maybe it doesn't have to be...maybe there is a way for them to be truly one force, creation and destruction living not at two ends of a spectrum but within each other. But if we only choose one of these, whichever one that is, there will always be the other extreme. We can't run from it, we can't ignore it or detach from it. It will find us...as an individual, as a society, as a planet.

Ch-ch-ch-ch-Changes

A good friend of mine pointed out a sign a little while ago. It was in front of an insurance company and it read "Life is unpredictable….be prepared for it." She got such a kick out of that and so did I. You can't be prepared for the impermanence of things. I suppose in a financial sense you can be, but on a larger scale there's no way. I think that's why people feel the need to be prepared in a physical or financial way for the future. Because it's the only thing that they can control, at least to a certain extent.

Change is inevitable. If there's one thing you can predict it's that things will fluctuate, move, evolve, dissolve and evolve again. Everything changes. The weather, tastes, seasons, societal norms, relationships….it all changes. Sometimes the change is so slow that we can't see it happening but it's happening all the same. And if we're lucky, we change, too. Hopefully, we as individuals are growing and evolving from the inside out. But in changing, we sometimes find we don't fit into the life that we started out with because we're not completely the same person anymore.

When you change, or rather when the real you emerges, it can be hard for the people around you because they're used to you being a certain way….whoever you were when your relationship was formed. If you're someone who has always been a giver, someone who is constantly trying to please everyone else and accommodating their needs with little or no regard for your own and then you suddenly find your voice, find your ability to say "no", it can come as a shock. Or if you've always been the fun, go-with-the-flow person and you discover or get in touch with the deeper, more serious side of yourself, those around you may have trouble accepting these changes. People in our lives are often invested in our remaining the same because change or growth often feels threatening to them. They can interpret that change as judgment or as a sign that your connection to them is no longer needed or valid.

I've been thinking about that a lot...personal changes, finding that authentic self and how that works within a relationship. Certainly it's possible to grow into yourself, to change and to stay connected to loved ones in the midst of it, especially if those people are willing to accept and appreciate the new or rather, authentic, you. But sometimes the nature of those relationships change, even while there is still connection. And this can be just as difficult to adjust to, especially if the parties involved don't want the same things from the relationship.

Knowing that things change, it makes me wonder about traditional marriage. Clearly, when I got married I anticipated it would last forever. I married someone who was my friend as well as my lover, also knowing that romantic love changes and sometimes fades and that choosing a partner means choosing someone who you can connect with on many levels. I never understood people who got divorced during a rough patch in their relationship. That's what the commitment part is for, right? To work through problems, tough it out, knowing that it's temporary? I knew that relationships changed...what I didn't realize was how much I would change.

Real change is scary. The man who I married is a beautiful, loving, exceptional person. He has given me more than a person could ask for and I love him. But I am not the same person I was when we married. There are elements that are the same, sure. Maybe a lot. But there is more now, more of the authentic me and that has changed the relationship. It doesn't mean there is no love there...it doesn't mean that anyone has done anything wrong or that we don't have a strong connection or that we can't get along. But it is not the same relationship that we entered and it may not be the relationship of a husband and wife. Being authentic means being honest enough to admit that, no matter how difficult or painful it may be.

I think marriage, in some ways, is another way to find a sense of stability, of safety in a world that is in constant flux. Because people should change, they should evolve, they should emerge...and people don't always do so in the same way or move in the same direction. Being married means you have to move in the same direction...or at least the same general direction. How can you both be true to self if authentically, you want to move in different directions? And moving towards the unknown on your own, especially when the known is comfortable and safe, is quite intimidating.

Of course, there is some amount of compromise that has to happen if you have children. You can't go in a direction that takes you away from them because they do need to feel connected to you and I think they need to feel a connection between their parents, even if it's only in a familial way. But I believe they can adapt to change if those things are constant.

There are all kinds of families and relationships nowadays. I met a woman recently who is in a polyamorous relationship, which means that she has more than one loving, committed relationship. I know of another woman who has two husbands and they are a family, raising their kids together. My understanding is that these relationships only work if all parties are completely open and honest about their feelings. Communication is key. It may seem outrageous to some people, but if one person doesn't fulfill your needs in a partner and it works for everyone involved, I think it makes sense. Especially when half of all marriages end in divorce and the main reason is infidelity.

If you look at nature, there are all kinds of examples to observe. Some animals mate for life. Others have many partners. In certain whale species, the males have one mate but they only come around to breed while the women care for the young. If there are so many variations in the animal world, why do we think a traditional marriage is the only kind of family to have?

Humans want guarantees....we want security and promises and forevers. And there is comfort in that, surely. But there are also great things that come from change, that come from being in the now, being fully conscious and aware of where you're at and who you are. If you're open to it, each relationship that you have has the potential to bring you closer to your authentic self, to provide the opportunity for growth that you need to move to the next level of knowing, maybe the next relationship. Through it all, being connected to self can be the stability, can be the safety and comfort.

I think love is a beautiful thing. Sharing a life with someone is a beautiful thing. Growing old with someone is a beautiful thing. But I think you have to be in touch with your authentic self , (as does your partner (s)) in order to find the right person and be content in that scenario. Because sharing a life should come not from obligation or need but from true connection and enjoyment. At least that's my idealistic take on it.

To Love or Not to Love

Vulnerability. To let yourself be vulnerable, for most people, is one of the scariest prospects. This is especially true if you've been hurt in the past. Me, I've never had that problem. I always kept my heart and soul wide open (again, some would say too open), even after being wounded or rejected. I kept putting myself out there, emotionally speaking, regardless of the risk. I was never any good at putting up walls around myself.

It's been a long time since I've been in a position of vulnerability in matters of the heart. It's also been a long time since I've been hurt, but I've recently experienced both. I put my feelings out there and was met with rejection. And yeah, it hurts. But I know I'd do it again in a minute. Because without that risk, I would never know what could have been. And more than once, the risk has paid off in a big way. If you're not willing to be vulnerable, willing to be hurt, you're also losing out on the opportunity to love, to be loved.

There is a line in a song by Ingrid Michaelson that says "Happy is the heart that still feels pain." Indeed. For me, even the pain is okay. It reminds me that I can still be vulnerable, that I can still open up to the unknown, risking the most precious thing I have--my heart. And what's more, I'm not collapsing in on myself because of that pain. I am sitting in it, feeling it, owning it. I don't feel despair, I don't feel stupid or silly. I feel like I was true to myself and my feelings and at the end of the day, that's who I have to answer to.

Maybe I would have done well to learn how to close off my heart a bit. When I was younger, the pain of rejection overwhelmed me, made me turn in on myself, fall apart. Probably because I just didn't have enough of my authentic self to connect with, to hold me up in the face of another. I let the rejection define my self-worth. It would have been good self-preservation for me to not leave myself open to that kind of hurt.

Now I accept that in order to have a heart that feels, I have to feel both the love and the pain. And I know that if I put myself out there and get rejected, it doesn't mean there is anything wrong with me. It means that I just opened up to the wrong person and if I don't keep opening up, I'll never find the right person--one who is willing to let me in, open up to me, too.

Certainly there is a time for closing off. Pulsing, like contracting, is a natural part of the rhythm of life. We breathe, in and out. We open, we close. We should be able to close off and protect ourselves if we are being mistreated or abused. We should go inward, keep some things to ourselves when we need to. We should stop opening to someone who doesn't want to take in what we're offering.

And when we have been rejected and hurt, that is also a good time to close off, go inward and heal. Soothe ourselves, reconnect with our authentic being. I know that's what I will do. But I also know that I will open up again the next time around because I know what is possible and I know that it's worth it. Every heartachy minute of it.

Honesty: Revealing You

In many respects, I've always been a very open person, both emotionally and otherwise. Some would say too much so and they might be right. I'd say it is both a gift and a curse. My reasoning was always that it was better for people to have all the information up front so they knew what they were getting. I could feel like I'd done my part by being clear on where I stood. There would be no guessing.

And honesty is a relief. Keeping things in is such a burden and so unnecessary. For me, being honest doesn't just mean telling the truth when asked. It means not withholding or omitting information that might have an impact on a person or situation. And it means revealing yourself. That isn't to say that you need to share everything with everyone--just the people that matter most to you. Sometimes that's hardest of all.

Often times we are so worried about hurting someone else that we deny ourselves the ability to feel and express our own thoughts, emotions, wants and needs. In a predominantly Christian culture, other always comes first. Self-sacrifice is an aspiration, martyrdom a prize. It's not widely-accepted to put yourself first or to say what you want. I'm not advocating being insensitive or inflexible. I'm not saying you say and do what you want with no concern for others. I think it's a gift to be able to see both sides of an issue but you can't do it at the expense of yourself. There has to be a balance. You can see both sides but at the end of the day, being authentic means being true to yourself...choosing you, staying with you, even as you are conscious and considerate of others.

Anger has never been an emotion that sat well with me or one that I connected much with. Sadness, yep. Fear, yeah, I know that one. Joy, sure. All of these are emotions that I had no problem identifying in myself but that I also had no problem exposing to others. But anger was a tough one…I could get angry for a cause or in defense of someone or something else but never on my own behalf. I never owned my own anger when it came to me, I guess because it always seemed so ugly and scary so I pushed it down so far that I couldn't even access it. I might initially be angry with someone, but almost immediately my instinct was to justify it or jump into their shoes. "Oh, they weren't trying to hurt me," I'd reason. I couldn't stand with myself, in my own feeling.

Recently, a friend did something that I saw as a great betrayal. I knew that she was doing it from a place of genuine concern and love for me but it really made me mad. That came as a shock to me because I so rarely feel that (the exception being with my husband). This friend had set the standard for honest and direct communication in our relationship so I felt comfortable expressing myself to her. I did not yell, I did not call names or accuse. I simply told her honestly, and with a tone that was fairly severe (for me), how I felt. She explained her side of things. I acknowledged that she was coming from a good place but I did not brush aside my anger because of that, nor did I dump it all on her. I owned it, I felt it and accepted it completely. Only then was I truly able to let it go. It helped that she validated how I felt, understood my reaction. Certainly the mark of a true friend.

I've had other opportunities recently to practice what I preach which I may share in future blogs, but for now, the bottom line is that being honest with others can't happen unless you're honest and in touch with yourself, even the parts that seem ugly or scary. It is amazing what growth, what connection can come from that honesty because we can learn so much from each other. And we can experience such freedom.

Three Part Harmony of Our Being

It's hard to be in our bodies. We find countless ways to escape...television, drugs, alcohol, work, sex, shopping, thinking about the past, thinking about the future...even religion. They all can be forms of escapism. And our bodies--well, we ourselves--are constantly trying to get us back in.

I'm lying here in bed, sick. My body aches, my head hurts and I feel like I could sleep all day. I feel like it's my body's way of saying "come back home." It's a way of forcing me to be in my body because I am feeling and experiencing discomfort. I can't escape it. If I try, it will most likely linger or get more intense. We're smart like that.

Being human, being embodied, is challenging. All that feeling, all those aches and pains, both physical and emotional are sometimes difficult to bear. It's easier to find something to take us out of all that. Or to imagine that if we suffer, we'll be rewarded later for it.

My belief is that we really are a three-part being: physical, mental, spiritual. Feeling, thought, energy. The first two are obvious and accepted while the third one is up for debate. Since our experiences inform our views, our filter of the world and thus our beliefs, I can tell you that for me, the third component is not in question. It is. And it is also my belief that all three must be integrated to be healthy.

It seems to me that our society is fragmented into those three extremes. There is so much information that would have you believe that your brain is everything...it is the center of all and if you can learn to control or work with that, see things through that lens, you'll be able to solve any problem. Other sources would have you believe it's God or some outside force...that if you just connect with that, believe in that, you'll be saved. The third element, the feeling or emotional element, gets less focus, but there are sources that would say it's all about feeling and what gets stuck in the body as a result of your emotional development or lack thereof and if you can discover, unlock those secrets you'll be happy.

What is overlooked is the way in which all of these elements work together. All perspectives are valid. If we look at illness as physical...that's true. If we look at it as emotional...that's true, too. If we look at it as spiritual or energetic, that's true. They feed off each other, they are reflections of each other...they are each other.

If we accept what science tells us, we know that energy cannot be created or destroyed. So when our bodies die, that energy goes somewhere...it exists without the body. I couldn't tell you whether it goes to the sky or into another body or whether or not it holds memories or impressions. I have my own ideas about that but really, I don't know. And I'm okay not knowing.

If we humans view the world through only a mental or spiritual lens, we are operating and using only the top quarter of our bodies. We are disconnected from 3/4 of our being. By believing that thought and logic and facts are the only valid way to learn, to interpret...well, that's our brain. All of our energy is focused there. By believing that something outside of us, something out in the sky or the air is the only way to exist or get information, it takes us out of our bodies altogether. Not only that, but it takes the power out of our own hands. Religion would have you believe that humans have no power, that earth is just a place to be endured or suffered until you can go to Heaven. No wonder we're so detached from our environment, our earth, and everything on it. We're not experiencing it because we're existing only in the top 1/4 of our bodies. And we're not feeling.

When I was a child, I used to be called "sensitive", "dramatic", "overly emotional". My parents are wonderful people so this is not a judgment on them--I just don't think they understood the depth of feeling I had. To be fair, I don't think most people did. I think because I felt so misunderstood my emotions just escalated in an attempt to convey how much I really did feel. All this did was enforce the "dramatic" label and take me out of my own body.

Looking back now, I think I experienced so much sensation, such intense feeling because my parents did not. And on a larger scale, the super-sensitive, emotional people of the world are somehow trying to offset the detached, strictly-logical people of the world because there is always a balance. Humans are living longer, overpopulating while certain animal species are going extinct. There are haves and have-nots. There are the desensitized and the sensitive and everything in between.

But emotions are a way of being in the body. Sometimes they can be so intense that we want to be anywhere but our bodies. I have had that experience before, the feeling of wanting to disappear. It is the feeling, the emotional component of our beings that is the least appreciated or valued in our world. It is a bad thing to make emotional decisions. It is socially unacceptable to express emotions outwardly. It is a sign of weakness to be affected by your feelings. Wow, no wonder I wanted to escape my body---everything around me told me that what I was experiencing was invalid.

To be fully in our bodies, energetically speaking, we have to be able to accept all aspects of our being. We have to let ourselves feel what is going on inside, let ourselves feel our own emotions (positive or negative) and take ownership of them. Even the ones we think of as ugly or dark. We have to accept our own humanity, which is more than a body and brain (though of course those are important parts). We are feeling, sensing beings, too. We are heart and soul. We are body, mind and spirit. Being authentic is acknowledging and living them all, simultaneously.

The Value of Play

*This is, admittedly, something I wrote awhile ago but I felt like it was worth posting.


It’s a beautiful fall day and I’ve invited several friends from the homeschooling group we’re part of to come over and play in our yard. My 7-year-old son is chasing my 10-year old daughter and her friend around our yard as they squeal in delighted terror. This isn’t going well so the girls decide to start an army to defeat my son and his friends. My son is not enjoying being the object of their attack so we all work together to create two teams that will battle each other by fencing with sticks. Interestingly, and not by adult design, the teams consist of one group of four girls and one boy and another of four boys and one girl.

This is not the first time they’ve constructed a scenario to be played out--the last time we were all together at a local park, they had created a kingdom with hunters and gatherers and wizards, everyone playing a part. From our adult vantage point, it looked like they were all climbing on a big tree trunk but when we peeked into their world, for whatever reason, we discovered something much more complex, imaginative and purposeful.

While all of the parents in our group have different styles of homeschooling (from highly structured to unschooling) we all agree on one thing—the importance of letting kids have time to be kids. Imaginative play and connecting with nature are things we encourage and see actively in our children and are aspects of education and child-rearing that sometimes get lost in today’s world.

While studying education years ago, before I had children, I remember reading about the importance of imaginative play, not just in toddlers or very small children but in older children as well. Among other things, role-playing helped kids develop empathy, since they were more easily able to put themselves in someone else’s shoes. It also helped nurture an ability to find creative ways to problem-solve and think outside the box (like using a stick as a sword or a banana for a phone). Surely these things are not only useful but necessary for all of us and imaginative play is most certainly underestimated or overlooked compared to reading, writing, testing and the like.

Parents with kids in school tell me that kindergarteners are doing worksheets and homework, and that children in elementary school are developing anxiety disorders due to the stress and increased pressure to excel academically and the amount of work being given. Add to this the reduction in recess or free time and we’ve got a recipe for children who might be successful in their academic or professional lives, but disconnected from each other and the natural world around them.

I have been heartened to see my 5-year-old daughter building a nest out of twigs and leaves for herself and her “baby bird” (another 5-year old) after observing a mother and baby robin or to see my 10-year-old daughter rushing to the computer to look up anything she can on painted turtles so that she can find out how (if at all) to help the baby she found in the driveway. These aren’t things that can be taught, they must be experienced and their value must not be underestimated. Without empathy, how can we become a more peaceful society? Without imagination, how can there be innovation?


 So today, while the kids march off with sticks in hand for hours, I am confident that they will do more than just hit sticks together…rules will be made, alliances formed, ideas played out. Play is never just play. It is, as Albert Einstein says, “the greatest form of research.” 
 


Authentic Learning/Unschooling

For me, unschooling is a natural fit for leading an authentic life. Unschooling looks different in every family simply because it is guided and defined by the individuals that make up that family, including the children. The basic concept is that learning happens naturally, through living life. It doesn't have to be separated from life or institutionalized.

Today, for example, I was making granola with my 5-year-old daughter. I've done a lot of baking with my kids and math and chemistry are naturally embedded in the activity. I think my eldest learned fractions primarily from using the various measuring cups and spoons. But today, we got a lesson in physics, as well. Sadie was stirring the honey and oil together with a spoon. The bowl was metal and she wasn't holding onto it.

"Mom, look at this!" she squealed. Since she wasn't holding onto the bowl, the spoon was spinning that rather than the ingredients. "Look how high it can get!" she noticed. The faster she spun, the higher the liquid rose on the side of the bowl, leaving almost nothing at the bottom.
I'm not a scientist and I remember very little from my science classes in high school so I had to look up the word and definition for what I was seeing. Sadie could care less about that. They say that a picture is worth a thousand words, but an experience is worth even more.

My ten-year-old daughter is trying to find local horse rescues on the computer. She tends to like for me to give her direction so when she came to me feeling bored and wanting something to do, that's what I suggested because I know she wants to volunteer at a rescue and I haven't gotten the chance to look it up yet.

As I'm sitting and writing this, I'm watching my practically-eight-year-old son making a diving board off of our couch using his fort-building kit (pieces of peg board, posts with holes, screws, nuts and bolts.) He's figured out how to support the front but is still working on how to stabilize the back when weight is put on the front. He's used ropes but it's still not quite stable. Now he's got a back-up plan: pillows and blankets at the bottom. He's decided it will be more like a dunk tank (which he and his dad made this summer) than a diving board. And the experiment continues with his sisters getting in the act, too. It works as a diving board only if someone holds the back end down. Ari has used several layers of pegboard for the diving platform to prevent it from breaking.

I could categorize all the various lessons the kids are learning from this exercise or any of the other activities from our daily lives. But there's no need. It is organic learning, experiencing, living and they will retain and use and build on whatever is authentic and meaningful to them.

Authenticity begins young. I think we come into the world as authentic beings and our experiences during our formative years help to determine our connection to our authentic self. School age has gotten younger and younger, there are fewer recesses, more expectations, less time to play and be children. I would hazard a guess that all that this does is lead to delayed childhood, adults acting out their unfinished development in sometimes subtle, sometimes obvious ways.

Learning doesn't have to be compulsory and by making it so, we take the ownership of that learning away from our kids. As a society we tell them what to learn, when to learn it and how to learn it and if the schools' formula doesn't fit the child, too bad. Unschooling gives the ownership of learning back to the individual child. He/she seeks out what is interesting, stimulating, enjoyable. As a parent, I'm not a teacher, necessarily, but a facilitator, a guide, a partner in that learning. I try to provide a variety of resources and exposure to different things but I don't force them to learn anything or provide external motivation (ie: positive or negative reinforcement) for them to learn. I don't need to. All I need to do is open my eyes and my mind and see that they are learning every day, every minute. They are either learning from what they are experiencing in their physical world or they are learning from going inward, reflecting, imagining.

But I can't judge what they learn or the ways in which they learn because it is theirs and it is authentic to them. It is driven by them and I am there to support and nurture and validate their experience, not to create an experience for them that I think will result in their success or intelligence or whatever other expectation one might have. Sure, I want them to be successful out in the world but I don't define that success--they do. And above all, I want them to know themselves. That is the best education of all.

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Hair

I cut my hair. Really short. Now, it's not the first time, but it' been awhile.
When my son was just a baby, which was 7 years ago now, I shaved my hair clean off with my husband's clippers after a botched attempt at a self-performed haircut. It was completely impulsive, but I remember grinning at myself in the mirror, thrilled by my own daring and tenacity. Doing something so bold felt good, gave me a sense of strength that I sometimes forget that I have. "Here I am", it screamed, "there's nothing to hide behind."

I kept my shaved/short hair for quite awhile but it's been years now and my hair had grown quite long. It was thin, tangled, coming out in places…I'd been considering cutting it for awhile, remembering how liberated I felt when it was short. Then that second voice in my head said, "You were younger then, thinner…you didn't need anything to hide your face behind". And indeed, in the 7 years that have passed since the first hair-shaving, I've nursed for 4 years, been pregnant for 9 months, suffered several major depressive episodes, put on weight and unschooled three children. And yes, it shows…in the lines in my face, in the somewhat puffiness under my eyes and in the wisps of grayish-whitish-silver that congregate at my scalp. I let those things convince me that my hair provided some sort of cover, that only fresh faces deserved to be seen, that I could hide the encroaching white hairs underneath the longer, brown ones on top.

But I've found myself feeling stronger lately…physically and emotionally. I've been doing yoga for several months and while I'm not as thin, toned or accomplished as some of my yoga peers, I have more upper-body strength than I ever had and more endurance than I imagined myself capable of having. I've accepted the unconventional child-raising methods I've chosen to use, accepted that we don't necessarily fit in the mainstream and accepted that I am truly human, perfect in my imperfection. I am valid. I am worth seeing.

So when we were all sitting around at our Fall Equinox party a few weeks ago, discussing the things we were wanting to let go, I mentioned my hair. Yes, it's just hair, but it's also representative of the past years of struggle, the weight of uncertainty of my choices, the fear of showing myself. My friend offered to give me a haircut, right then and there and after some convincing, I agreed.

"How short do you want it?" she asked me.
"Really short," I said, "I want it to be bad-ass."
She laughed, "Ellie, you're too soft to be bad-ass. But I'll do my best."
So the hair started coming off, inch by inch. At one point she stopped and stood back to look at me. Her eyes lit up and she said, "It's really cute!"
"I don't want cute," I told her soberly, "No cute."
She sighed and kept going. We went inside to take a look.
"Shorter," I said, after looking in the mirror.
One last round of cuts later and she stepped back again, surveying me.
"It looks like it was shaved and is just growing out. This is what you want."

I peered in the mirror. Indeed it was what I wanted. My hair was background noise, an afterthought to my face in all its lined, tired glory. But somehow, to me, I didn't look as tired anymore. My silver hairs looked like they belonged instead of being intruders on my otherwise youthful strands. The strength that I knew I had, seemed to now be more evident. I felt free.
Just as the trees lose their leaves in the fall, bringing one cycle to a close, I've dropped my hair. It feels like a fresh start…not a new me, but a more definitive me, a decidedly stronger me.

The friend who cut my hair has a 5 year old son. At the park recently, he told me that bad guys have short hair so now I looked like a bad guy. I took this as a great compliment. I've always had a softness, a tender look about me. You could call it innocence, femininity, vulnerability…all qualities that I possess, more at some points in my life than others. The addition of this other element, of strength, of "bad" was quite a boon. That five-year-old made my day.

That being said, it isn't the haircut itself that is bad-ass or strong--it's the act of cutting the hair off. It's the strength it takes to say, "I don't need this to be feminine". It's the courage to let the world see the evidence of my human struggles and victories on my face. And for me, it's being brave enough to drop the facade of "good" girl. I am caring, compassionate and kind but I am also fierce, opinionated and confident. And both sides are worth seeing.