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The Year of the Couch

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Empire State Building in the clouds. 

 

“I’m going to stop you right there. I want you to verbally list out three things that you have accomplished because you haven’t owned a couch.”

This is what you hear after you diminish yourself in front of your life coach.

I pause not knowing what to say. I pause realizing how much I use this metaphor. I pause because she just showed me a glimpse into how I see myself and it is a difficult reality.

I often resort to self-deprecating humor when I compare my life to other friends my age and it usually goes something like this, “So-and-so owns a house, a boat, and has two kids. I don’t even own a couch.”

“Verbally list three things that you have accomplished by not owning a couch.” She said it again.

“I moved to New York, I’ve travelled all over the place, and I have the freedom to move anywhere that I want because I don’t own a couch.” I blurted out. Not a sophisticated list, but all felt important.

“Not so easy to move across the country with a couch is it? Not owning a couch has meant freedom for you. That is a beautiful thing.”She said.

She has a way of spinning all of the countless ways I diminish myself from a negative to a positive.(See below, I could list a hundred more (I think we all could) The left is what I apologize for, the right is what she sees from her lens)

No couch=freedom

Finished my degree later in life=Wisdom and self awareness

Change my mind a lot=Growth and evolution in the rawest form

I had no idea how much I diminish, apologize, and tiptoe around things that I say and how I act. Now that I have the awareness I’m going to make an effort to pause and spin it into a positive. I over explain things all of the time when there isn’t a need to do so. We over explain our insecurities and I don’t want to anymore.

I’ve been seeing my life coach/mentor/listener since mid-November and it is amazing and uncomfortable, and emotional, and has given me a clarity and drive that I haven’t ever had before. I didn’t have any idea what I was getting myself into, and didn’t really know what a life coach did, but I’ll try nearly anything when something lands serendipitously on my lap.

The conversations are usually on the phone, and it’s incredibly intimidating when a stranger says, “Tell me about you. This is about you.” It’s not very often that we are given the opportunity to have a willing listener. (Something else I want to improve this year, be a better listening friend) The first conversation  with her I started with a lot of “ums, and I don’t knows,” but then I started telling the story of how/why I moved to New York. After a few sentences of telling my story to her, she stopped me, “So you moved to New York without a job, without having gone to school here, and only “sort of “knowing one person? Can you just pause and recognize that that is inspiring to me and you should be really proud of yourself.” I blushed through the phone and a smile stretched across my face the first time I heard her say that. (She says inspiring things like that all of the time, and it really seeps in after a while)

“Yeah, that does feel  good, and I’m proud of that.” I usually talk to her while fidgeting on the floor of my bedroom and smiling. And then my story begins to flow out of me, comfortably, confidently, and clearly. By speaking life to my thoughts, feelings, and struggles I have been able to take an internal inventory. This inventory has helped to figure out how far I have come, but most importantly where I want to go.

My list of goals I want to accomplish this year is short, but very precise.

I have a new energy around my goals and feel really motivated to accomplish them. I have four things on my list, and one of them is to buy a couch. It’s no longer a soft place to sit, it’s going to be an extremely symbolic and emotional day when I make the purchase.

When I buy a couch I am putting down roots.

Roots! Something I haven’t been ready for until now. I’m always seeking clarity and have felt very spiritual in this new year.

I cut out a bunch of pictures of couches and put them on my dream board this weekend. I have a sexy little grey number in mind with a chaise lounge on one end…but I’m not quite ready yet but I have a feeling 2017 is the year of the couch.

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You’ll find a way.

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I want to talk about one night in Costa Rica. On this night I felt something change inside of me. The entire trip was incredible, and both instructors were gifted, and each and every woman that was on the trip touched my heart in some way. But one night, my heart healed, and I felt it happening…and I didn’t fight it, I let it heal.

Nosara, Costa Rica is this tiny little yoga/surf town that is so quaint you may miss it if you blink, even if you are on foot. Fruit stands selling watermelons and coconuts are freckled upon a bumpy dirt road and the sandy beach is nearly empty but the waves are dotted with surfers. Dread locks, man-buns, and beautiful tanned bikini clad surfers are too cool as they walk toward the beach with their boards under arm. The constant waves make this one of the best surf breaks in the world, and one of the best places to learn on. (I took two lessons and was able to get up the entire second day! So can I say I am a surfer now?)

IMG_3503 (1)On the second to last night of our five-day retreat we walked quietly through the jungle to the Nosara Yoga Institute to practice yoga in “the tree house.” This was an open-air two story wooden cathedralesque building perched on the top of a hill. The jungle stood thick around us, and the treetops were eye level we were so high in the sky. The sounds of monkeys and exotic birds were so loud that it almost seemed like someone was playing a secret record that spun at the cadence of an intermittent speed of a windshield wiper. Peace and quiet, to the instant and intense deep throaty chant of a howler monkey.

 

 

When I think about this night, I think about it as if it took place in a vat of honey or tree sap. It seemed that time slowed down and the entire world had a golden glow.

I was overwhelmed with the beauty of the location, and my body was sore from the constant yoga and surf lessons. Fourteen of us sat up on our mats cross-legged and faced our instructor, Emily as she began class telling us a story out of Paulo Coelho’s book, “Adultery.”

Emily is one of those people that make you feel like the sun shines on you when she is in front of you, wether  she’s teaching, or having a conversation with her. She has a gift for teaching yoga, and for giving love like no one I have ever met.

It felt like we were in Emily’s church being perched up here on this hilltop. This was where she completed her yoga teacher training, and it was as if the Earth was showing off to honor her. The sunlight beamed through the trees and cast a dusty light that looked like an Instagram filter. The scene was perfection, and then she began to talk. Her words. Her inflection. Her timing. I don’t know what it was, but the story hit me so hard in the heart that I had a physical heart palpation. My chest fluttered as if my heart was trying to knock and get my attention. As if it was saying, “This is it. This is why you came here. Now listen up.”

I will paraphrase the story as best as I remember and it goes something like this, without Emily’s delivery it won’t sound remotely as powerful, so please look up this book yourself if you want to really read this anecdote.

A woman is hang gliding after committing adultery. While in the air she has a telepathic conversation with an eagle.

 She said, “I want to stay up here forever.”

The eagle replied calmly, “But, you can’t.”

And the woman said, “How will I ever face what I have to face when I get back down there?”

And the eagle replied, “You’ll find a way.”

 I realized in the moment that it was almost time to head back to New York, to face my normal life again, and I felt panic/fear/pain/sadness/loneliness all in one inhale. But the story she just told us. The story spoke to my heart, “You’ll find a way.”

The tears rolled hot and slow down my cheeks and I kept repeating to myself, “You’ll find a way.” I knew I would find a way to get through all of the hard times when I landed in New York again. Every woman here was facing so many of the same struggles that I was. I was not alone. Something else fluttered in my throat and chest and it said, “You are enough.”

As you are. Right now. For everyone. You. Are. Enough.

Between the two mantras that sang in perfect harmony, I listened. I listened! I even believed it.

We flowed through vinyasas and squeezed through eagle pose, and swayed through goddess pose and I cried the whole time. Tears fell onto my mat with a pat pat pat pat. And I let them. I let them fall because I was enough even while being vulnerable. I was enough showing my emotions, and my weakness, and my soreness.   This class is seared into my memory forever. This classs is sticky in my heart, it tastes like fresh fruit, and smells like wildflowers. As we ended the class in a circle I could feel the energy and the love and the healing sealing the class, and the week, and the trip.

Afterwards we walked in a single file line on the skinny trail and the tears flowed from me the whole way to dinner. I felt my heart open that night. My heart had been closed and hidden behind a vault for so many years.   I felt a peace about my last breakup, and I felt a hope that I would love again-that I deserved to love again.

That night a fellow retreater shared her heart-breaking story of a breakup that was very similar to mine. I felt empathy, I felt her deep sadness, but I didn’t feel like sharing my story. I realized then while I listened that mine is just that; a story. It doesn’t give me pain, or sadness, it is just my story. I know that I am so lucky/blessed/thestarsaligned for me to go to Costa Rica, and it is going to be a treasure in my life forever. I just had to share this light that is beaming from my heart. I feel renewed after this vacation. I am writing again. My heart is open.

We will all find a way. And we are all enough.

Kindergarten Artist

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My mother kept school memoir books for each one of us. I remember being so jealous of how thick my older brother and sister’s books were in my elementary years. The book has a couple of pages dedicated for each grade, and a pocket to store report cards, certificates and a few school assignments. There was a space for your yearly school picture as well. Next to your picture you were able to (write in the book!) and answer a few prompted questions and sign your name, at the time it feels exciting to merely write inside of a book. When I look back through this book, you see the metamorphosis of your appearance, your handwriting, and the ever important line to fill in. “When I grow up, I want to be…”

hatchet-gary-paulsenIt just dawned on me, sitting here at my desk, I always wrote that I wanted to be an artist (and then after I got my childhood dog, it changed to a veterinarian for many years, to inevitably make Coco live forever). Remembering this fills me to the brim. I knew at age 5, that being an artist, a creative, was something that I had to do. I remember my first artist’s apron, and can smell the brand new box of oil pastels. My fingertips can still feel the raised wax and the feeling of smudging the vibrant colors across the paper. I cherished my first spiral bound sketch pad like it was my most prized possession. I remember reading books like The Boxcar Children and can still smell the stews that they would make with wild potatoes and onion. Then I read Hatchet and felt the pull of adventure on my heart, and I became obsessed with the outdoors collecting survivor gear for years after.boxcar

I have been influenced and drawn to the arts my entire life. I don’t know why this feels like such a revelation to me this morning. It feels empowering. It makes me grateful to have parents that encouraged my bookwormery and live inside of my imagination while my brother tinkered with motorcycle parts and was completely logical thinker. My sister wanted to play house, and be a mother and chase boys.

Thinking about this makes me feel like maybe I didn’t stray from my heart at all. Most people call me dreamer, a wanderer, but I always have been. I wanted the whole world then, and I still do. I want all of it. I want to hear music, paint watercolors, write poetry, travel alone, and fall in love over and over. Maybe I’m an artist, after all. My inner child approve wholeheartedly with my path. For today, that’s enough for me.

Home Sick

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I had a rough week. Nothing “bad” happened. It has just been emotionally draining and confusing.

Two weeks ago,my best friend (Haley) and sister-in-law (Jeri) visited me in New York and I couldn’t believe how home sick it made me. It was such a great visit, and we were New York’s finest tourists anyone has ever seen. These were my people. These are the pee-with-the-door-open friends. These are the friends that have seen me at my worst, and hopefully my best. I missed that sort of connection, and I didn’t know how much. When they left my apartment at 5:30am I sat on my couch and cried. Not a few tears, it was the kind of cry where you can’t catch your breath. My emotion took me by surprise because things have been going decent for me here.

But I realized that when they walked out of the door, I was alone. The silence hurt my ears. Their absence hurt my heart. I felt lonely in my aloneness. Alone chasing whatever it is I am chasing. Proving to myself whatever it is that I am trying to prove. I dialed my brother’s phone number this week and had to hang up immediately because I couldn’t get myself together enough to say hello. I just burst into tears. I miss my brother. And I am missing my niece grow up. I miss my nephews, and I miss my sister. I miss being able to drop by my parents house to chat.ferry

I had a great conversation with a co-worker, Claudia, last night, coming home from the Yankees game. She has only been in New York for one year and she came from Texas. It felt good to vent, and to empathize, and to hear from someone that I look up to that she is still having a hard time. She seemed so put together, and tough. But she is feeling the exact same thing. She gets scared on the late night train rides just like I do. She gets sad when she sees someone talking to themselves on the sidewalk. She feels overwhelmed with the tight space issues. Hearing these things make me feel more…normal. I feel unsettled and alone this week. She encouraged me to fight for what I came for. Everything is a fight here. She kept telling me that this place makes you better, because nothing is handed to you. I think I am used to not having to work so hard to make things happen. I am lazy, and this is not fun for me. I have learned so much about myself, and humanity since I have been here.

Now I need to remind myself what I am fighting for. What do I want? What do I really, really, really want? I need to shift my focus on the fight. Fight for what I came here for…even though that is even blurry today. Despite feeling inadequate, I have to pursue my dreams.  I have so much I want to do. I want clarity on what I want to pursue wholeheartedly.  I wish I could break open a fortune cookie to see what I was meant to do.

Part of me has a feeling that I want to run…perhaps to the West coast? Perhaps to a little town somewhere that I can afford. Somewhere with a washer and dryer. Somewhere where strangers smile at you. Somewhere with pollen.

To sum up my stream of consciousness here. This week is hard. I don’t know what I want to do with my life. Most importantly; I have great friends, and a wonderful family. Despite feeling worn down I am forever thankful for the people in my life, and for the opportunity to stretch myself. Even though stretching hurts right now.