Flexibility for Life

When I lived in Georgia my home was located off the end of a dead end road, with about a quarter mile drive sweeping around a hill through thick native woods. The former owners had not thinned their hostas in years (if ever) and I undertook that project the first fall in that house, planting all the overflow along the sides of the drive. The plants really thrived in their new location, and by mid-summer the following year were quite lovely.

Bringing the boys home from swimming one summer afternoon I rounded the corner and noticed a lot of tall weeds coming up around the hostas. Those weeds just ruined the sight of the hostas, so I grabbed gloves and a wheelbarrow and went to work. A quarter mile of drive is a lot to weeds to pull! Three wheelbarrows full of weeds, and four hot, sweaty hours later, I turned to survey the results of my labor, and what did I see? Weeds! Yes, there were still some weeds remaining. And I just cried. Hot, tired, aching from the work, and still, there were weeds.

Now, I could walk to the place where all those wheelbarrows full of weeds had been deposited, and know that I had pulled a lot of weeds, but all I could see were the weeds remaining.

Over the years I have learned that a lot of things in life are like that. Making change is a slow, gradual process, and although steady, incremental changes are occurring, it is sometimes difficult to see anything but the remaining weeds.

So…here we are…January 2013. Never would have dreamed I would see this year. Somehow, in my early years, I always thought I would die young. Not being morbid, or anything like that. Just didn’t really believe I would live to be older than 30 something. Looking back (isn’t that what we do at the beginning of a new year?) there are lots of things to wonder about.

Maybe it was the stress of those early years, or life events that no one should face at such a tender age. Whatever the cause… the thought of living to see even the year 2000 was laughable. And now it is 2013.

My sons are 13 (almost 14) and 17. Two teens. Boys. Those of you who are living (or have already lived) through teen-times (whether boys or girls) are nodding your heads and thinking, “Uh huh…I know just what it is like”. The unpredictability of emotional storms that blow up from nowhere, and dissipate just as rapidly. There are days when the home barometric pressure changes make my head spin! If anyone says raising teens is easy, or stress free, they have not raised teens.

My fully independent business in its current location will be one year old on February 1, 2013. Learning about city taxes, and state taxes, billing companies, marketing, and fire codes… business birth-pains with their stress inducing financial and time consuming demands.

Yes, 2012 was a year of ups and downs, of joy and tears, of gut wrenching moments of uncertainty about survival, and deliciously peaceful moments of silence and confidence.

So many of my clients, friends, and family have supported, encouraged, and walked through the valleys and struggled over the hilltops with me. Of the many ways I know to sustain an internal landscape of peace and confidence, sharing the tumult and delight of everyday life with those who know my heart is the most effective, and profound strategy which has carried me through this year.

So I begin 2013 with a quick glance back at 2012, with a grateful heart, then look ahead, and continue walking forward, with an invitation to each person with whom I have had contact over the past year. Let’s do this together, because there is strength in numbers. Burdens are lighter when shared by many, and joys are multiplied many times over. Our community gives us courage, and encouragement, honesty, and a warm embrace. The stressors that our environment generates need not become internalized when we band into a stronger unit of many. Look out 2013… I see great things coming to my community, and I am ready to roll my sleeves up, get to work, then when the work is completed… celebrate!

Driving to Rome, Ga to pick up my son, a motorcycle passes me, loud, and going fast. Two people out for an early Fall afternoon ride. Trees beginning to change.  Temperature perfect.  Sunlight glinting off the beautiful paint job on the Harley, shiny and musclebound.  Ah, memories…

My appreciation becomes incredulity. The female passenger has her arms slightly extended, using the leather-clad back of the male driver as a stabilizer, and is texting for all she is worth!  I have to look two times, then again, to be sure I am really seeing this!

Now I may be the only person who would find this almost sacrilegious, but as a former rider, it’s just not right to be out on a Harley on a magnificent Fall day, and texting at the same time. 

Put that thing away and appreciate the ride, honey!

Having a plan, and executing that plan can be two very different things. It is Sunday afternoon and I have had three holly bushes begging to be put in the ground all summer. Finally deciding where I want to locate the bushes, I begin to dig. Two shovel fulls of dirt down, there is a jarring clash of metal on concrete. My arm and neck vibrate from the force of the collision and the next few attempts to dig are much more tentative. Too far from the house to be foundation, the concrete culprit finally is unmasked. A huge wooden post encased in concrete that runs a full four feet into the ground!

After spending several minutes digging around the concrete I realize I must make a decision. Do I continue the quest to remove the post, or consider relocating the bush. It is hot, I am sweating, and have a limited amount of time to spend on this project. Looking over the area I realize there is not a lot of “wiggle room” in the landscape plan, and moving the location of this bush/ tree will significantly alter the entire plan. Unwilling to go back to the drawing board after spending the summer watching shade and sun patterns in that side yard, I determine to dig for all I am worth.

Three hours later, sweating, aching, and in a decidedly unkind frame of mind regarding the previous owners of my home, the post and concrete are excavated. Aggravation with this turn of events, and with storm clouds gathering on the horizon, I am exhausted and feel stressed. Back-filling the hole I realize my neck and right shoulder are not moving very smoothly, and the index finger and thumb on my right hand are numb. Although I have intermittently switched from right to left handed digging, I am now hurting. Settling the one holly in its new home, I head inside to a hot shower, then to the floor.

Feeling older than my age, I lie still, having a short pity-party. My father, who at 80 can run circles around me, drifts into my mind’s eye. Enough of the self-pity. Finding a comfortable position, I turn my head from left to right in tiny little movements. Paying attention to where my shoulders begin to try to help, and where my breathing changes, the movement shifts from rolling to side-bending sliding, then to nodding movements. Soon the numbness in my fingers resolves, and the floor is more comfortable. I will tackle the other two holly bushes tomorrow, or maybe in a few days. And if I hit another post, well… I will deal with that if it happens.

Every morning I am up just before sunrise. Summer is parching my plants, and I am trying to salvage those that can be saved. Feed and water (and play a bit) the dogs, fix breakfast and lunch, clean the kitchen, shower, dress for the day, check email and prepare paperwork for the documentation part of my work day, then into the truck – drop my son at school – and off to work, all before 8:00am.

In my bag there is always a list of things that need to be done. Go to the bank, pay bills, make phone calls, prepare for classes, do laundry, clean house, grocery shopping, home repairs that have been languishing, the list goes on and on. Some days, when car repairs or doctor appointments are added unexpectedly, the press of the everyday list becomes overwhelming.

When those moments arise, I remind myself, “You don’t have to do it all right now!” Taking a moment to identify what is really important, what can wait, what is easy to do, and what requires a special time set aside to complete, helps take the pressure off. Some days that is all I need to do.

Other days, well, you know those other days… Politics and rhetoric are heating up, the economy is slowing down, overseas there are battles being fought and hunger is rampant. Sometimes just breathing feels like a major effort. When those occasions come along I take a news vacation and spend some extra time on the floor.

One of my favorite ways to find what is overworking is to begin by lying on my back and taking stock of what is touching and what is not. What is different from my usual pattern of contact? How much sand would I need to fill the spaces in such a way that my skeleton feels completely supported? Where does my breath go? Is it high and fast, or slow and in my belly? Are my ribs moving all the way around, or only in the front?

Beginning by flexing then releasing my ankle (moving my toes toward my head) I feel the muscles in my lower leg working, then stop working. I wait a moment then again move and release my ankle and feel what happens in my thigh. Each time I wait a moment before moving my ankle again. Successively I notice the same side ribs, shoulder, neck, and muscles around my eye. Then I stop and check in to see what the side that has been working feels like compared to the side that has been resting. How much sand do I need on each side? Is one side softer than the other? Does the floor feel like it is tilting? Now I begin flexing and releasing the other ankle and go through the same process. Each time my ankle flexes and releases I notice a different part of my body, moving from my lower leg all the way up to my eye muscles, stopping between each single movement. Finally I check in again and feel what is different from the beginning for my contact with the floor, the spaces, and what has changed with my breathing.

The whole process takes only a few minutes, even when performed slowly and thoughtfully, and the results are significantly satisfying.

So when the world overwhelms me, I prioritize, take a news break and get on the floor for a little extra R&R. Things always look so much more manageable when I get up again!