When I feel run down or uninspired, I re-read this quote. I keep one copy of it on my desk at home, and a copy of this sticker is stuck on my iPad cover.
I purchased this sticker (actually, two copies of this sticker 🙂 when I was contemplating launching this blog. I was unsure if it should write about the #Woo. I was worried about what people would think, and I couldn’t muster up the courage to share my personal thoughts with the world.
Well, this blog is now well on its way to celebrating its 6-month anniversary. That may not be a huge milestone, but it’s something.
I use this sticker — and its message – as my constant reminder that it’s ok to be scared or unsure, but I shouldn’t let that stop me from trying to live the life I have always imagined.
My grandmother came to visit me today, and it was the most comforting feeling I’ve had in a long time.
My grandmother passed away when I was in college. Her death was sudden and unexpected. For me, it was profoundly painful and sad. She died well before her time, just as I was getting to know her as an adult.
There is so much I loved about my grandmother. She was a meticulous dresser. Her dining room table was always set with the best china, even if we were eating cold cuts on rolls. I credit her for my love of Marie Calendar salad dressing, bread and butter pickles, and using a vegetable peeler to shave pieces of carrots into a salad. She lovingly made clothes for my Cabbage Patch kids, bedding for my doll house furniture, and barrettes in my favorite colors – pink and mauve.
My grandmother had her quirks. She hated air conditioning. She’d always bring a sweater into the grocery store because she despised getting stuck chatting with someone in the freezer aisle. She also had an unexpected sense of humor. When I’d complain, she’d mimic playing a tiny violin.
In her own way, she believed in the #Woo. She read tea leaves, and she would often have nightmares the night before something bad happened.
And today, she came to visit me while my meditation teacher was guiding us through a loving-kindness meditation.
“Picture someone you know, who you love, and who loves you back, and the love between the two of you is uncomplicated,” my teacher instructed us.
Immediately my grandmother appeared.
“No,” I thought. “I can’t picture Grandma. She’s not here anymore.”
But she was very clearly right there.
As we proceeded with the loving-kindness meditation, my grandmother’s presence grew stronger. She was radiant, dressed in the bright yellow belted dress that she wore to my high school graduation. I could feel warmth emanating from her, with a ray of light glinting off her belt buckle.
Suddenly, I could smell her scent, the one that was always so recognizable when she was around. A mix of perfume and makeup and, well, my Grandma. Then, I could feel the smoothness of her skin, the softness of her cheeks. And I drank in her bright, joyful smile.
She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to. My grandmother knew I needed her and there she was — a reminder that in this vast and wild universe, we are all connected, love knows no bounds, and we have support even from those who we think may have “left” us many years ago.
My husband is an fantastic daydreamer. If daydreaming were a job, he’d be the CEO of Day Dreamers, Inc. He is constantly daydreaming, no matter how grand or big or outlandish the dream is.
These are adventures we’ve enjoyed because of my husband’s unrelenting daydreaming: Chased the northern lights in Norway. Spent our 10th anniversary in the Maldives. Skied from Switzerland into Italy to enjoy a leisurely Italian lunch. Sipped champagne in Champagne. Watched the 2017 total eclipse in Jackson Hole, Wyoming.
It’s all because he dreamed of these adventures, believed they could happen, and he made it so.
Daydreaming has never come naturally to me. I grew up with parents who were firmly rooted in reality, and my default mode is always, we can’t. My husband’s default is always, how can we?
This rooted-in-reality mindset can make the #Woo challenging. So many teaches of the #Woo preach the virtues of daydreaming. It raises your vibe! It makes your dreams feel like reality! It helps you stay on the path to achieving your goals!
So, why do I shrug it off? Why do I ignore my 4 pm reminder day in and day out?
Because I tell myself I’m too busy, I’m in the middle of something, or I’ll do it later. Because I have trouble translating my goals into a vivid, uplifting, lifelike daydream. And because I’m worried that at the end of the day I’ll fail and I’ll never reach my dreams.
Then I remember my husband. If it weren’t for him, I would have never seen the power of real daydreaming, or understood how switching my mindset from “we can’t” to “how can we?” absolutely changes everything.
Perhaps he is my reminder from the #Woo that there really is power in daydreaming and that it’s time to get serious and stop swiping left on my daily daydreaming alert.
It was inevitable that I was going to lose my sh*t at some point and that some point was Wednesday. That’s when I started to get annoyed. At EVERYTHING. Every little thing my husband said or did. Every news article I read. Every email or text message I received. Every dust bunny accumulating on my floor. Every cloud blocking out the sun. Every meal eaten at home. Every damn loading and unloading of the dishwasher. Don’t get me started on the handwashing.
As Wednesday progressed, nothing could make me feel better. Not meditation. Not food. Not talking to my husband. In fact, I didn’t want to talk to him. Every time he opened his mouth, I wanted to scream. I jumped on our elliptical to work out my rage, and even that enraged me. I suddenly hated that elliptical beyond all reason.
All I wanted was one of my favorite drinks to soothe me.
A perfectly brewed iced tea with honey. An iced coffee with almond milk from my favorite coffee shop. A glass of white wine from the fridge. A homemade Aperol Spritz.
But right now, I can’t have any of those things. For health reasons, I am on a low acid diet. That means I cannot drink coffee, black tea, caffeine, or alcohol. If I do, it gives me a massive sore throat.
Hence Wednesday’s rage. I’d reached my breaking point. I just wanted a drink that I knew would soothe me, and I couldn’t have it. And I was PISSED.
I paced back and forth in the kitchen as my husband watched me. I felt twitchy and slightly like a caged animal. Finally, I declared I was going to do a deep clean of our master bathroom.
It may sound crazy, but at that moment, cleaning the bathroom was the only thing I could think of that didn’t make me want to pull my hair out.
I grabbed paper towels, cleaning supplies, the vacuum, and I headed upstairs. I cleaned our bathroom as if my life depended on it. I scrubbed the toilet, I scrubbed the floor, I scrubbed the shower tiles. I Windexed and re-Windexed the bathroom mirrors after my environmentally friendly faux-Windex failed to do the job. I removed everything from the vanity countertops and wiped those down until there were no longer any traces of water spots or errant specks of toothpaste.
I expended as much energy as possible as humanly possible cleaning that bathroom, until I started to slowly unwind.
I could feel the tension drain as the bathroom began to look “normal.” No more ring around the toilet, splatters on bathroom mirrors, or gunk collecting behind the faucets. It calmed me to know this task had a very clear beginning, a middle and an end. And the reward for finishing the job was instantaneous. Unlike everything else in life right now, cleaning the bathroom presented no ambiguity, and it wasn’t complicated. It just was.
I have to say I never thought cleaning a bathroom could bring me salvation. But on Wednesday it did.
I am not a lower back pain kind of person. At least, I wasn’t until I experienced a horrendous travel experience at Christmastime, and my lower back suddenly spasmed while waiting in line at a customer service desk at SFO.
When I started reading the book last week, I immediately loved Esther’s approach. It’s not conventional, but neither is she. Esther developed severe lower back during her first pregnancy. She needed back surgery, which was ultimately unsuccessful. Finding no solution to ease her pain using traditional techniques, she decided to develop her own. (This story sounds very familiar to anyone who explores the #Woo).
Esther’s Gokhale Method is built on the idea that those of us who live in industrialized countries do not know how to properly use our bodies, causing an epidemic of back pain. She believes we can change that if we simply learn how to move our body correctly — as nature intended and as many indigenous cultures still do today.
Her approach had me hook, line, and sinker, so I jumped into Lesson #1: Stretchsitting. Stretchsitting teaches you how to stretch your spine while sitting to protect your back and avoid compressing your discs. It’s harder than it sounds, and I couldn’t quite master the steps.
Then the #Woo stepped in.
I was scrolling through my email and saw a message from The Gokhale Method. Esther was going to be offering an online introductory course! For free! In two days! And it was going to focus on stretchsitting! YES!
Two days later, I joined the course, and Esther very clearly and slowly taught us how to stretchsit. She also taught us how to properly roll our shoulders back to open up our chests without straining the spine, neck, or shoulders.
“Go slowly, go slowly,” she kept cautioning us.
Then she said something that struck me: “Relaxing is an art and a science.”
I immediately stopped my shoulder roll to write that down. The phrase stopped me in my tracks because it is so true. We all seek quick fixes when it comes to pain management and relaxation. When we pencil in time for “relaxation,” we expect it to be instantaneous, brought to us by a massage, a drink, our favorite food, a book, or a pill.
But as I explore the #Woo, I’m learning that relaxation is a mindset that requires practice and patience. You have to teach your mind and your body how to relax. We aren’t very good at it. Why? Because just as no one teaches us how to properly use our body to protect it from injury, no one properly teaches us how to use our minds to coax our bodies into relaxation.
That is why I love this #Woo journey. I am constantly learning about our body’s remarkable and innate ability to heal and care for itself. All it takes is finding the right #Woo teachers to show us how
My tea obsession is going strong amid this coronavirus outbreak. I find tea soothing, and on cool days, it’s keeping me warm as I hunker down at home.
I love reading tea bag labels, and today, the label is spot on:
Photo Credit: Me!
Let’s be honest. All of us, at some point, are going to loose our sh*t and act horribly during this lock down. We might act horribly to our family and friends or to ourselves. This is almost inevitable given the heightened stress we’re under, and the lack of our old daily routines, which helped keep us grounded.
But we aren’t always going to act horribly.
For those times when we have our sh*t together, we can try to remember to act with compassion. Because, as the tea says, when we do we will never be wrong. And these days, it’s the little things that really, really count.
The coronavirus pandemic is exhausting on so many levels. Nerves are fraying, and it’s only the beginning.
We are desperate for someone to fix this situation and return us to the lives we were living a few short weeks ago.
That is the dream.
That is not the reality.
The reality is that this pandemic is not going away any time soon. Our lives are changing. They will likely never be the same. This is very, very scary.
But I came across this article — That Discomfort You’re Feeling is Grief — in The Harvard Business Review of all places, and it has been incredibly helpful in helping me process what is happening.
This is Kessler’s response when he’s asked if what we’re feeling is grief:
Yes, and we’re feeling a number of different griefs. We feel the world has changed, and it has. We know this is temporary, but it doesn’t feel that way, and we realize things will be different. Just as going to the airport is forever different from how it was before 9/11, things will change and this is the point at which they changed. The loss of normalcy; the fear of economic toll; the loss of connection. This is hitting us and we’re grieving. Collectively. We are not used to this kind of collective grief in the air.
Kessler is spot on. Not since 9/11 have we felt this type of collective grief. It feels foreign, scary, uncomfortable, and it makes us feel vulnerable.
But in the way of the #Woo, Kessler provides us with concrete ways we can deal with this grief and its resulting anxiety by using meditation and mindfulness techniques.
Come into the present, he says.
Let go of what you can’t control, he says.
Stock up on compassion, he says.
And he tells us to name what we’re feeling.
There is something powerful about naming this as grief. It helps us feel what’s inside of us. So many have told me in the past week, “I’m telling my coworkers I’m having a hard time,” or “I cried last night.” When you name it, you feel it and it moves through you. Emotions need motion. It’s important we acknowledge what we go through.
I am in love with those last two sentences, which I bolded.
If mindfulness, meditation, and exploring The Land of the Woo have taught me anything, it’s that burying our feelings and pretending they don’t exist is futile. It’s only through naming our emotions and giving them space that we can take back our power and learn to live with emotions rather than being defined by them.
“It’s absurd to think we shouldn’t feel grief right now,” Kessler says. “Let yourself feel the grief and keep going.”
That is advice I intend to follow as I head into another week of sheltering in place. If you have the time and the energy, I invite you to read the full article.
A few years ago, my husband and I spent a week in Paris, leisurely strolling through the city’s streets and sipping coffee at its cafes.
One night, we decided to eat dinner at a tiny creperie. We got a window seat and ordered crepes and a carafe of cider.
Suddenly, there was a commotion outside. Taxis slowed, scooters stopped, and pedestrians began to congregate on the sidewalk. Some people whipped out phones and started taking pictures. Others drove by and honked. Some pedestrians shielded their eyes.
“What’s happening?” my husband asked me.
While I had a better view than he did, I couldn’t see the cause of the commotion.
“I can’t tell,” I said. “But I’m going to go outside to see.”
Once on the street, I turned to the right and was gobsmacked by a breathtaking view. The setting sun was lined up perfectly between Paris’ low lying apartment complexes and office buildings as it sunk toward the horizon. The unobstructed view created a spotlight effect, where its light was blinding, and its heat was palpable.
The sunset brought the Paris neighborhood we were in to a standstill. Bystanders stood there, enthralled. Passengers asked their taxis to stop. Others jumped off motorcycles to capture the view. Some stood in the intersection with cameras, trying to find the right angle to capture the sun’s stunning display. We were momentarily connected, watching this gift from nature.
A few minutes later, it was over. The sun set. The taxis sped away. I went back to the restaurant. Pedestrian continued their journeys. Paris zoomed back to life.
But I think of that moment now. How everyday occurrences can stop us in our tracks. How nature can be healing. That however diverse we may be, a beautiful sunset can connect us.
In this scary time, we are facing a lot of uncertainty. But every day, the sun rises, and it sets. It can serve as a reminder to pause, to take in its beauty, to breathe deeply, and to remember we are not alone — even if it may feel that way right now.
Like most of you, I am in a daze reflecting on the spread of coronavirus, and how much my life has changed in one short week. I am sheltering in place, having loaded up my fridge, freezer, and pantry with food, and my laundry room with detergent, wipes, and soap.
A week ago, we laughed at sheltering in place. This week we know sheltering in place is a stark reality that could last for months.
Where is the Woo in all of this? For me, it is everywhere.
To start, I’ve been craving down time for years. Four years in fact. The past four years have been difficult ones for my family and me as we’ve faced major illnesses, multiple deaths, and unexpected diagnoses. It’s left me drained, especially when I am continually commuting between the East Coast and the West Coast to tend to family needs.
“When will it stop?” I kept asking the Universe as I was repeatedly pulled away from my daily life.
Now, suddenly, in a way no one could have imagined, it is stopping. For the first time in four years, I have no travel plans, no bags I need to pack, no jet lag to adjust to, no rental cars to book.
I am just here.
The result is that my mind is relaxing, releasing, and opening up. Story ideas are flowing to me in ways they haven’t for years. My concentration is rising. I am more productive than I’ve been in months. My meditations are deepening. I feel newly alive and more connected to the earth.
I also feel so much joy for the earth, and what it means for the planet when we keep our cars in the garage and our airplanes on the ground. Will the earth get the break it so desperately needs? Will our patterns of consumption change after spending perhaps months at home, away from stores? Will we think twice about commuting in the same way once our offices reopen? Will we have more flexibility to work from home?
But I also feel sorrow. So much sadness for those who have abruptly lost their jobs and been told to go home, their services no longer needed. Waiters and waitresses and bartenders and baristas and flight attendants and mechanics and retail workers and drivers.
Just like that. No warning. Overnight.
Millions are losing their jobs as shelters-in-place have shut business after business after business. I feel pain for my town of Napa, which thrives on tourism and welcoming others to our city. We have survived drought and fires and rolling blackouts. Now, our livelihood is being snuffed out by a virus that has not yet made itself known in our town.
And I feel so thankful that the Woo brought Jennifer Pastiloff into my life just 10 days ago. As I read her book, she is teaching me that it is possible to feel two things at once. That I can feel joy and sorrow about this virus. That I can be relieved and worried at what is happening. That this situation is good and bad. Life, Jennifer says, is not either/or.
Instead, I’m understanding that we are complicated beings, with complicated feelings, and the coronavirus is the most complicated event I’ve faced in my lifetime. To confront it, I will need to live in the and instead of the either/or.
This week did not start off on a high note. I’ve been having trouble writing. This Coronavirus situation is only getting worse (as I write this, it has just reached pandemic status). And even though I am doing my Kegels, my backache hasn’t disappeared. So I turned to Louise Hay’s Heal Your Body guide to see what she had to say about lower back pain:
Fear of Money. Lack of financial support.
Well, damn. Why does Louise have to be spot on?
Money is ALWAYS a trigger for me. It’s even more of a trigger now because I’m in a state of transition. I’ve cut back on my work so I can figure out my next step professionally, but I still judge myself by how much money I make. I know I will make less this year. My husband knows I will make less. But accepting that — instead of being extraordinarily grateful to the Universe that I can do that — has been super hard for me.
To top it off, I am failing at my attempts to practice non-striving. I cannot stop pushing myself to come up with a clear cut strategy for living my best life. Do I want to pursue writing? Do I want to get a meditation degree or certification? Do I want to look into yoga teacher training? I’ve been so distracted by this tug-of-war that I can’t write.
But this week, the Universe showed me it had my back.
Ever since I read Sheri Salata’s book, The Beautiful No, I’ve been listening to the Sheri + Nancy Show podcast. I feel like Sheri and Nancy have become my friends and a valuable source of support. (Ok, yes. That sounds a little creepy.)
But this week’s podcast blew me away. Sheri and Nancy interviewed author Jen Pastiloff. Before yesterday, I’d never heard of Jen. But as of today, she has changed my life.
As I learned about Jen’s life, it sounded amazing. She leads retreats for women all across the globe! She’s a yoga instructor! She’s written a best selling book!
And. She’s. Deaf.
BOOM!
My heart stopped when I heard that. My eyes filled with tears. I had to place a hand on my heart. I’ve been dealing with hearing loss for a decade, and I have let it stop me from living my dreams. In the past few years, I have slowly started to beat back my depression and regain a sense of self through therapy, meditation, the teachings of Abraham Hicks, the work of Dr. Joe Dispenza, and the support of my husband.
But hearing that Jen — this fabulous, accomplished, inspirational woman — was deaf felt life-changing. There are so many people I look up to in The Land of Woo. But I have yet to meet one who is deaf. You cannot be what you cannot see, and hearing Jen’s story allowed me to finally see myself living a dream life.
My path forward has become a bit more clear. I feel as if I have a soul sister supporting me in this Universe. Perhaps a whole tribe. Listening to that podcast, I felt genuinely complete — and that is something I haven’t felt in a very long time.
