Dear Lisa of the Future,

I’m completed day 15 of a 30 day yoga series, doing sessions on any day I am not doing a workout versus every single day.

I’ve done these series before and it’s been very positive. Yet I have also stopped every other time after a series or two.  Did I get bored? Did I think the benefits would endure even if I didn’t practice? Did I think my commitment to it needed to be 100 percent in order to embark? 

• I cannot remember. So this is what I want to lock in: There is only upside to practicing yoga!
• With just 15 times on the mat so far, I am more flexible and strong.
• Sometimes my brain truly does shut down and I can be in my body paying attention.
• Some good ideas have shown up without any effort.
• I feel proud that I am taking care of myself and that good feeling spells over into other aspects of my day.

At some point in the future, if the past is a guide, I will stop practicing again.  I will drift away from it for whatever reason even though I truly believe that yoga brings me vitality now and a greater probability of staying alive and healthy for longer.  I am the mother of a teen and a twenty something year old. Being alive, healthy and vital for a long time matters a lot to me.

So I am writing this little reminder to my future self. Keep going to your mat. Some days you will feel tired, rushed, bored or resistant.  Go anyway. Consider it a win if you take a few deep breaths and roll your spine up and down a time or two. Make this investment in you for you and the people you love.

Namaste, 
Lisa

P.S. Don’t forget The Long Time Sun, the song you loved from Kundalini yoga this past winter.

Frustration is …blah, blah, blah…uncomfortable….common…resistance…impatience…

Jump to recipe

Ingredients*:

1. Try to write a blog post that you feel obligated to write, because of a promise you made.

2. Spend a lot of time drafting the post that feels too vulnerable to share.

3. Meanwhile, spray your very dirty oven which needed to be cleaned about six months ago.

4.  Make arrangements to attend a wake later in the day.

5. Clean the oven. Rinse repeat. Rinse repeat.

6. Postpone going to get groceries until the very last possible minute.

Method:

1. Spray cleaned oven with vinegar and heat with door open to diffuse chemical smell.

2. Almost text your boyfriend that you cleaned the oven and it sucked. Opt to spare him.

3. Decide not to post the vulnerable blog post that was ironically about frustration and frustration tolerance and make up this “recipe” instead because of ingredient 1 above  

4. Sit with your freshly baked frustration and see how long you can be with it.

*Any combination of ingredients you don’t enjoy will work. The frustration will taste stronger the more you feel you cannot tolerate it.

Enjoy!

Death is in the air this week. A close friend’s mom died. Her wake and funeral are this week. Peter is in Ontario for funeral proceedings and friend supporting too. His good friend’s mom died after a very long illness.

Both of these moms were sick. Death was “expected” in some near-term. Their deaths could be considered a blessing. Still, it’s confronting, especially for our friends who have each lost their last living parent.

My own parents will die someday. I think about it more than they would ever know. I think about it when we are spending time together. I think about it when we are not spending (enough) time together. I think too about the quality of those times. Is it vulnerable and connecting or routine and transactional? My preference is usually the former, though we often struggle to get there. 

Last week Peter renounced his US citizen ship at the US Consulate in Halifax. He was not allowed to bring in his phone. This seemed to make him nervous, and by emotional contagion, me too. We kissed goodbye and I set off to wander the streets, knowing that he’d call as soon as he got back to the car and his phone. I was about two minutes into my freedom when I started thinking “This is what it would be like if he died”. I’d be excited to tell him I’d just decided I would visit the Art Gallery of Nova Scotia but he would never text back. He’d never come meet me there.

You might not have seen that coming.

I spend a fair bit of time anticipating grief—like a hedge against future sadness. Maybe if I just feel a bit sad all the time, loss won’t crush me when it comes. This makes me think of advice from a great therapist when I was having a tough emotional time during fertility treatment. She said that it was not because I hoped more that I would be more disappointed later.

In other words: Hope now. Be disappointed later if that is what comes. I can make this work for grief too: Love fully now. Lots of time for grief later. Ideally I will love myself more fully too, especially those sad, scared, bracing parts of me that work overtime.

Death is always in the air. It would be nice to drop the need to hedge against it so often  

It’s been at least a couple of years since I have written anything very meaningful. It’s not that I forgot to. This has been active resistance. I’ve had so much to say, but told myself many stories of why I couldn’t. Why I shouldn’t. That I would hurt people. That I might hurt myself by unzipping my head and my heart.

I used to write in a controlled way. I wrote good things that helped me and others. I shared of myself often but it was managed vulnerability. I don’t want to do that anymore but have spent three years living inside my head with too many words. Peter has heard the loops.

I have never felt more consciously angry than I have these past few years, but never more joyful either.

I have rarely felt more scared at some junctures, though never more safe, truly loved, and “at home”.

I’ve purposefully been more vulnerable than I have ever been inside the intimacy of my relationship with Peter but have also withheld more of myself, on purpose, as a new boundary in all kinds of circumstances.

I have traded ‘going along to get along’ which has brought me some freedom but mostly guilt, as I experiment with new ways of being.

I’ve despaired more and never felt more hopeful.

I’ve never been more myself.

Gradually, I am dropping some of the masks that I have worn like permanent make up, Some of the masks were so merged with me I couldn’t even see them.

This process has been: 

Uncertain. Exhausting. Guilt-ridden. Angering. Fearful. 

Connecting. Joyful. Freeing. Hopeful. Enlivening. Creative.

I am likely in the messy middle. It might last for years, or until death-do-me-part? But I won’t trade it for the world.

It is the first time in a very long while that I have taken myself on the road. Life with a small child and a business made it tricky. Then life in a newly blended family made it even trickier. 

Peter nudged me toward it. I was initially daunted by the idea and resisted a little, almost in a self sabotage kind of way. “I don’t even know where to go or what to do!” I came up with a myriad of reasons why I shouldn’t spend money and why I didn’t deserve it.  I also judged myself for not knowing what to do with the offered time. 

I’m the end I took an easy path and delivered myself to Halifax to see my family and a close friend. I was missing them. 

Last night we had a fantastic BBQ supper on their deck. My brother Tim barbecues like an engineer (=precision deliciousness) and my sister-in-law Natasha is the best chef I know. 



It’s been perfect. I am sinking in. And I am so grateful for this time that Peter nudged me toward.