Category: Well Being

Posted on

What’s that you say? It’s music to my ears.

I sat on the deck enjoying the last of the day’s warmth while I sipped a glass of wine. The lake was calm with small ripples and was quiet with the exception of the sounds of duck feet skittering across the surface as they landed.

I enjoyed the solitude until it ended.

My reverie was disturbed by the very abrupt and loud sound of a saw starting up. It was not a chain shaw, but one of those with the round blades. It fired up and then went off. Then I heard an aged woman’s accented voice:

“Why did you turn it on already, Carlo?” she asked.

It was the female half of the elderly Italian couple who live across the lake.

“Just to see if it was working.” Carlo replied.

“Oh, I see. Well I wasn’t ready for your help yet. You’ve come out too soon.”

“Well you said you wanted to get started on it,” he replied.

They bantered back and forth and I could hear every word. It is not uncommon for me to hear one of the lake neighborhood’s founding couples conversing. I’m told they are in their 80’s, and both are hard of hearing. And because they also had the saw on, they were speaking even louder.

I heard her give him heck for pulling at the boards in a way she clearly deemed incorrect.

“We need to work together!” she chastised but he just mumbled and fired up the saw while she started to say something else.

Next I heard her telling him to be careful of his knee and he barked he was fine and was always careful. Back and forth it went until she reprimanded him further:

“I don’t want to hear you swear like that.”

“I don’t swear!” he shot back.

“Well, what do you call it when you say those words then?” she asked.

“Which words?”

“Well I don’t want to REPEAT them” she barked.

“Then he said something in Italian which I didn’t catch but I assume was something like ‘you’re making it up’, (but probably less polite,) because then she fired back in a louder angry voice,

“Bastard. That’s what you said.”

“Oh. Did I? Ok, yes, well…” and he trailed off.

They continued to saw and move wood and every time he stopped, she repeated that he had made the task that much more difficult because he had come out before she was ready.

“I didn’t call you yet” she said. “But you came out on your own, so whose fault is that?!”

The saw went on and he grumbled a reply I couldn’t discern. (The saw paused…)

“Ok! Well don’t tell me! That’s why I didn’t want you to come out until I called you….” (The saw switched on again…)

“You didn’t wait for me to call you and that just makes it harder for both of us. It seems like I’m not helping because I have to do this stuff over here and so I can’t be over there holding the wood for you. And it’s dangerous. You could hurt your knee.”

“I’m not going to hurt my knee!” He retorted. “I’m being careful. I don’t need you to hold it.”

After about the fourth time of her tirade about him having come out before she was ready, he relented, “Ok, My Love. Ok.”

The ‘My Love’ caught me off guard and struck me as a sweet capitulation. But the tender moment didn’t last.

I suddenly heard the sound of a massive crash and a barrage of angry sounding words in Italian from both of them and then I could hear her tell him to just go inside and let her do it. The sound of him stomping inside was punctuated by the sound of a door slamming.

It went suddenly quiet and I was grateful because until that point I had been failing miserably at ignoring them.

I thought back to a scene in a tv show I had just seen which depicted a family argument around the breakfast table, and the father was deaf so as the mother and teenage kids yelled back and forth at each other, they also aggressively signed.

I chuckled because it was comical to see three hearing people simultaneously yelling and signing while the deaf father chose to stay hidden behind his newspaper. And even though the father wasn’t ‘listening’ as he wasn’t looking at them signing, they all continued as was clearly their habit to always sign and speak simultaneously. I thought that was so amazing, and it also dawned on me that deaf people can entirely ignore someone simply by not looking at them.

I haven’t known any deaf people and I can’t imagine what it would be like to live in continual silence. I wouldn’t want to give up any of my senses but the more I contemplate it, the more I value my hearing.

If I lost my hearing, not only would I miss the dulcet tones of my Italian neighbors conversing (wink, wink), but I would miss all the actual JOYS that come in the form of sounds. If I could never smell bread baking, or heavenly scented flowers, or the warm sweet head of a baby it would be an immense loss, but to lose the ability to hear birdsong and joy and laughter, and MUSIC?!? Losing music would be deeply life affecting for me.

I’m not a musician or any kind of an audiophile but I am madly passionate about music. I think listening to music is one of my biggest and certainly healthiest coping strategies, even if it occasionally is to the annoyance of others.

Now that I live outside of town (on a small lake in the country), I have a ‘drive to town’ which I say to myself in a Texan accent because it seems fitting in that context and because I love accents…which is something else I wouldn’t get to enjoy if I couldn’t hear, but I digress…

Anyway, my drive to town is on a winding pretty country road and I always listen to music. Like so many people, I love listening to music in the car because it’s an amazing acoustic chamber.

The other day I was driving home and when I turned off the highway, I had to stop at a light. A truck stopped beside me and I had the feeling of being observed. I had the top down, the music was on, and my son’s dog sat in the passenger seat looking generally pleased with the state of affairs. The truck beside me crept forward and the driver leaned out his open window and said,

“That’s a great song. It sure looks a lot more fun in your car, my son thinks.” (The song was Iko Iko featuring Small Jam.)

And it’s so true that music goes so far to create an environment. Music can really make a movie and we are all familiar with those montage scenes when clips of usually some kind of work or activity is set to uplifting music. The Top Gun, Footloose and Flashdance movies all used music to such amazing effect that so many of us see scenes from those movies in our heads when we hear the music from those films.

Music makes most things better….it sets the tone in almost any scenario, and can be inspiring when exercising or doing many kinds of work. And as many scenarios as there are made better by music, there are kinds of music from which to choose.

I love music with good bass and when I was pregnant I used to play it a little louder than usual in my car to try and maximize my enjoyment before I had a baby and thought I should no longer do that. I would love the feeling of the thumping stereo reverberating through my body.

I think, however, all I did was instil a deep love of music in all three of them in utero. They are all crazy about music and two of them write their own and sing.

Musical enjoyment is very personal though and one person’s taste is not for everyone and as innocuous as it hopefully usually is, sometimes it can go wrong.

A few years ago I had a studio in a building that came with an underground parking spot. I would pull into the down ramp and have to wait 30 seconds or so until the gate opened. I never sped down the ramp and was surprised one day to see in my mirrors, the building manager running down the ramp behind me.

My car had darkened windows so she couldn’t see inside. I parked and got out as she ran up.

“CARTER!?! That was YOU?!?”

‘Uh, that was me who what?’, I thought, but said,

“That was me driving in? Yes.” Had I run over a basket of kittens without realizing? I had no idea what the problem was.

“OH!!! So that was YOU playing that music?!?!”…she asked sounding incredulous.

“Ummm, Yes….” and at this point it dawned on me that maybe my music had been a bit loud.

“Oh Carter! It’s SO LOUD!!!! I had NO idea that was YOU!?!”, she continued, her doubt still palpable:

“When you stop at the key pad to buzz the gate open, the bass in your music rattles ALL the windows on the WHOLE FIRST LEVEL!!!!! They ALL shake and rattle!!!!! I MUST ask you to turn it off when you come and go. Someone told me it was a darkened out, dark colored Land Rover so I gave the lovely young man in 603 a lecture but his car is light green and that explains why he was totally confused. I never imagined it could have been YOU!?!”

Hahaha. I found that whole scenario hilarious. It really appealed to my sense of humor that I am clearly regarded as such a goodie two shoes that even the cranky building manager couldn’t believe I could behave ‘so badly’. And for that, I’m a little mortified, but mostly proud. When I relayed the story to the kids, Georgia giggled and said,

“Wow, Mom, you are such a baddie…”

Thankfully, I’ve mostly moved on from the gangster rap vibe. This is relief to all, not just my kids, and is especially good now that I’ve got a car with no roof. Now I usually have something more sedate playing.

But a few days ago, on the way to dance class, I was driving and went past a lady weeding at the side of the road, and as I drove by, she shook her hands in the classic ‘you-crazy-kids fist shaking hand gesture’ and as I looked in the rear view mirror she covered her ears with her hands and made a face.

HAHAAAAAA. I had to laugh again. It has been a number of years since my last incident of getting ‘in trouble’ for having my music on too loudly, and those years have been some hard ones so I decided to take it as a good sign.

I was further amused by the fact that I was listening to a song (with fantastic lyrics as an aside) called “Bad Child”. (Video here.)

So you can be a bad child at any age but I guess I should turn my music down a bit. I know the saying ‘Dance like nobody’s watching’, but i guess that’s different than ‘Listen to music as if no one can hear it’.

As I pondered this. I heard Carlo’s voice again. I looked across the lake and could see him standing at their bedroom window, with it open and him leaning sightly out. His wife was still below working on the job of organizing the wood.

“Coco!” he called.

No answer…Just the sounds of wood planks getting shifted around.

“COCO!”

“Are you calling me?” she called out at the same time so neither could hear the other. Then she added,

“I can’t hear you,” at the same time he called her a third time and added

“Can you hear me…?

Silence. Then he tried again: “COCO-OHHHHHH’

Then I heard her voice in a very slow and very grumpy tone reply:

“WHAT……DO……YOU……NEED?…….I……CANNOT……HEAR…..YOU….”

“I need the Detol, Coco….Where is the DETOL?…”

Then her reply:

“The WHAT?!?!………I can’t HEARRRRR you!!!!!…..OK…..I’M…..COMING…..”

(And then she lowered her voice, presumably to a level she thought he couldn’t detect, but still loud enough so I could hear her grumbling about how if he had just waited to come out when she was ready then it would have been SO much easier for both of them.)

She disappeared into the house and wasn’t gone long before she reemerged and I heard a third voice enter…(from stage right). It was Kenn, another neighbour, who lives directly across the lake from me.

“Hi Doris. Just thought I would pop over and see if you could use a little help.”

“Oh, Kenn!….Hello! Well that is very kind. We were just trying to tidy up the wood pile here but Carlo came out before….”

But Kenn cut her off:

“Before you were ready?…. Yahhhh. So we gathered….”

HAHAHAAAAAAA omigosh, nicely played, Kenn, nicely played.

I couldn’t help but chuckle watching this unfold because as side-by-side neighbors Kenn and ‘Coco’ and Carlo couldn’t see each other, but from across the tiny lake I could see and HEAR them both.

I just had to smile and find the amusement in the humanity of it all.

So three cheers for our ears! May we all be thankful to hear!!!…..Even things which we may prefer not to!

Posted on

Turning wrongs into ‘writes’…

I have just finished David Sedaris’ class, entitled ‘Story Telling and Humor’ and it is definitely one of my favorite writing courses. I have enjoyed his books immensely and find his sense of humor resonates with me, in similar ways Jenny Lawson’s does.

In his conclusion, David Sedaris says:

“I divide the world into two groups of people. There are those who pay someone to listen to their problems. And there are those who get paid telling people their problems. I am very fortunate to be in group number 2, and there is a spot here waiting for you, when you are ready. .. I can’t wait to hear about everything that’s gone wrong in your life.” (Masterclass App: David Sedaris, Lesson 13.)

I giggled. David Sedaris’ idea of wanting to hear everything that’s gone wrong in life is such a refreshing and inspiring starting point for writing. I think what I respect (and enjoy) most about both David Sedaris and Jenny Lawson is that they both write about all the weird and wonderful and frustrating and disturbing and confusing things that happen in their lives, and they make me think, feel and LAUGH while they do it.

Those who know me have heard me go on about how much I love Jenny Lawson and I just can’t say enough how she impresses me. She is the perfect example showing that it’s not what happens to you in life, but your attitude toward it. Jenny Lawson battles a number of medical issues that on their own are debilitating, and she handles multiple SO deftly, finding the humour all the while. I’ve never managed to connect with her personally but I hope she knows how many of us she TRULY inspires.

Both Jenny Lawson and David Sedaris write not just with wit, but with almost unfiltered honesty. Truthfulness is natural for me but I struggle with knowing where the line exists for over-sharing. I have also been told that given I’m a very private person, it seems an unintelligible choice for me to even have a blog in the first place. I get that. And I wrestle with it too. But like a dog who needs to chase a ball, or a clown who needs to try to make people laugh, I feel compelled to write.

What’s more is that despite not having a large group of subscribers, I keep getting messages to encourage me to continue to share. I’ve always been a quality over quantity lady so even if each post resonates with just ONE other person, I feel it will have been worthwhile.

I feel it’s also a responsibility for me to walk the walk and talk the talk. I have 3 teenagers I try to encourage continually to follow their BLISS….to follow their PASSION. I believe SO strongly that when you do what you love, the rest will follow….that when you do something that truly inspires you, it doesn’t feel like work, it just feels like you being you.

I’m certain David Sedaris would say I could write about the two life threatening illnesses that happened in our family as they are prime examples of things having gone ‘wrong’, but my challenge is that I’m not sure I can write the way I would like to about my cancer journey. I keep attempting it, and I keep failing.

It was a strange experience because my close friends say it appeared like I weathered it with relative ease but I can confirm that was NOT the case. Cancer brought me to my knees and I confronted monsters I didn’t even know existed for me.

The same way I found it easier to be a support system to James after his heart attack and subsequent illness(es) rather than be the patient myself, I find it easier to write about my experience of James’ illness rather than my own illness experience. When I try to write about my journey through cancer I get physical pains in my chest.

Even just the three months when I was awaiting surgery and didn’t have a prognosis were heinous. I could not eat. It felt like my brain and body decided to stop talking. My mouth was dry and when I put food in it, I had to spit it back out. I couldn’t chew it and make it soft to swallow. It was as though my mouth was on strike against my will.

James very thoughtfully bought me some Won Ton soups and I sipped the broth and thought of how many times he had told me stories of families bringing ‘congee’ soup in to the hospital to sick family members. Sometimes I could manage to swallow a couple of the accompanying wontons, but mostly I couldn’t.

No one except my immediate family ever saw me during those months. I did what comes naturally to me in times of intense crisis (I learned). I turtled . I didn’t get dressed. I didn’t write. I didn’t exercise. I didn’t speak to friends. I didn’t eat.

I read anything and everything I could find about breast cancer and reconstructive surgery, and I cried almost continually.

It wasn’t until they weighed me prior to surgery that I realized I barely tipped 100 lbs. My cheekbones stuck out and my skin was sallow and grey. I never understood what it was to feel at rock bottom until I faced the possibility of dying ‘young’ and leaving my children too soon.

I’ve always been a happy sunshiney person and to feel I was losing grip both physically and mentally felt insurmountable. I told James I was so frightened that if cancer didn’t ‘get me’, starvation and despair would.

James asked his psychiatry friends if there was someone they would recommend. There was. And she saved my life.

While I truly love my reconstructive surgeon who is entirely credited with resurrecting my body, and making the arduous and painful process less so, it is my equally amazing psychiatrist with whom I credit saving my mind. My fear of my diagnosis affected my ability to cope, and the medication she recommended and support she provided gave me the reboot I so desperately needed.

I made it through surgery. The goal was to use fat from other places in my body to add some fullness to edges of the breast implants but there wasn’t much there to harvest. James, always keen to make me laugh said he would happily donate the extra he felt he had but that’s not how it works my surgeon said with a wide grin.

After needing to wait a further few weeks, pathology revealed the cancer had been removed entirely by surgery. I was euphoric. Could this journey really be over?! My lovely reconstructive surgeon told me to celebrate, and to EAT.

After almost 3 months of eating so little, I had to ease back into eating and inadvertently created what I jokingly refer to as the “C”arter recovery diet, where two main items started with a ‘C’. It is NOT the diet of champions, but for me it was perfect. I started the morning with a (hot) chocolate that tasted like a melted dairy milk bar, and then in the afternoon I would pick at something very light and have a glass of the only alcohol I ever (rarely) drank: Champagne. Drinking Champagne every afternoon is decadent for certain but if ever there was a time for decadence and celebration, that was it.

After almost a month of recovery, I felt like I literally had a new lease on life. I didn’t need chemo and I didn’t need radiation. And I was being cared for physically and mentally by the two most wonderful doctors. Life was good.

I had started to gain weight and didn’t look so gaunt. Feeling like I had life to enjoy, I wanted to leave the house and engage with the big wide world again. But I needed an outfit. Or maybe it was a costume. I needed a ‘costume of coping.’

I went to the basement and pulled out what I called my ‘skinny clothes’ basket. I put on the jeans and was crestfallen to see the curves I needed to fill them were gone. They were the same curves I had cursed over the years, wanting instead to be a ‘fashionable’ stick person.

James once again rescued me and took me to buy new jeans. Banana Republic supplied me with their smallest size and though nothing could dampen my ‘all-healthy’ glee, I had a new sensitivity, thinking my head and feet looked gigantic. I was a human bobble-head.

Christmas was coming and though I was still lacking the energy to do much, I was excited to have my extended family come for the holidays. James was hilarious in his enthusiastic and dramatic handling of all things Christmas. By his own admission, it looked like Christmas threw up on our house. But I was happy.

Then I saw my surgeon and learned my skin wasn’t healing in an one area where I had lost so much vascular supply. Skin cannot regenerate without adequate blood flow and he told me he needed to take me back to the operating room.

Life was a bit of a blur at that point but I remember feeling so lucky that although there were still so many things that frightened me, anaesthesia was no longer one of them. But it was mid-December and I was worried that if something went wrong and I didn’t come out of surgery, Christmas would be forever different for my family.

Surgery went just fine and I came home ready for Christmas and healing. I caught the C-Dif infection which is no picnic but I still felt like all was finally becoming right with the world. All the super scary stuff was behind me. Plus, I felt like I was looking pretty presentable.

Family arrived and it was a happy scene of holiday jubilation. Hugs abounded and everyone said how well I looked. Then, in that very audible whisper of which only children are capable, my niece, looking at me, asked her mother “Is Auntie Carter going to die?”

My sister in law swiftly clamped her hand over my niece’s mouth and looked like she wanted the floor to open and swallow her.

But I didn’t die. I required further reconstructive surgeries and healing in all ways takes years. The psychological affects of dealing so intimately with mortality has forever changed me.

But I am one of the lucky (unlucky) ones. And what felt like hell on earth was NOTHING compared to the cancer journey of others. For this reason I’m a little reluctant to use the term ‘cancer survivor’, and have often used the phrase ‘my cancer debacle’ which has garnered unintended giggles.

But if the naming of my cancer journey can elicit even a tiny bit of humor, I would consider that an immense win. And if I’m ever offered a seat beside David Sedaris who wants to hear a story of ‘what’s gone wrong’ I’m currently working on other stories to tell. ;0)

Note: I’ve turned comments off on my blog because I was being inundated with spam comments so if you would like to comment please email me. Carter.helliwell@gmail.com :0)

Posted on

Fight Club (with a different kind of fight.)

Like most of us, I have been working out at home and trying some new stuff. A few years ago, Lululemon partnered with Taryn Toomey who is the creator of something called ‘The Class’. Gwyneth Paltrow featured it on Goop and it gathered a cult-like following in the upper westside of NYC where Toomey teaches from her Tribeca studio. To be honest, that hype was enough to turn me off. It was the same for me when Kundalini yoga became ‘a thing’ because of Madonna’s endorsement of it.

But I happened upon an amazing Kundalini yoga instructor on the alo moves yoga app as I decided yoga was worth a try for dealing with chronic headaches. I had found that my conventional fitness regime of running and weights was doing little to relieve the tension and if anything, those activities exacerbated it. I felt I had to start unwinding from the inside out.

Yoga and stretching were a good start but it was the mental component of the Kundalini yoga that got me hooked. I started regularly doing an online series with the most charming woman who has the remains of a texan drawl but, swathed all in white including a head scarf, looks every bit the part of a yogic swami.

Gurmukh Kaur Khalsa is enchanting and full of mirth. Her youthful spirit belies her chronological age and so much of that seems to come from her general attitude about naviating life. “Life is going to be hard. That’s just who life is! But you can go on, even when you think you can’t, you just keep going!”

One of my favorite parts of her practice is when she talks about living in grace. Grace is more than the elegant posture of a ballerina, she explains, it is the intention and place from deep within ourselves that guides how we approach the world and our place within it. It is the place of ease and comfort we develop within ourselves from being kind in all ways to ourselves, each other, animals and our environment.

As we do Khalsa’s Kundalini yoga which my mom describes as pre-school yoga for its universal ease and joyfulness, Khalsa narrates her life philosophy which is the journey to experience enlightenment of the spirit. Kundalini is sanskrit for serpent and the idea is that enlightenment starts at the base of the spine and travels upward. The movements are entirely accessible and the relaxation and ease I enjoyed made a profound mark on me.

But I also wanted to incorporate some ‘traditional’ strength and cardio training and wondered if I could find it ‘packaged in’ a more wholistic kundalini type experience, meaning that I would feel inspired to be fully mentally present while I worked out. In the past, I had always used more difficult training as a way to ‘turn off’ the brain, and to escape my thoughts and worries. Meditation can be defined as ‘observing our thoughts’ but i’ve never been very good at being still and observing my thoughts. I wanted to find a rigorous physical exercise program that was also mentally rigorous.

In my reading about Taryn Toomy’s ‘the class’, I found it described as ‘an emotional exorcism’. I was intrigued. Gwyneth Paltrow’s ‘Goop’ describes ‘the class’ this way:

“This is one of those fitness situations that evades basic definition: Started by Taryn Toomey, it’s a self-titled cathartic experience, where you spend 75 minutes engaging in intense movement to “break open and activate ‘stagnant’ layers in the body.” In short you move, and scream, and shake, and yell as you release emotional energy–and get a pretty incredible workout in the process. It requires an open mind and a willing spirit.” 

Click the link for a 45 second video that gives you a sense of it (and was made to announce the collaboration between Taryn Toomey and
Lululemon.)https://vimeo.com/281978868?ref=em-share

After trying ‘the class’ online I was ruminating about it and realized it reminded me of the movie Fight Club. I hesitate to draw that comparison lest that seems it’s a criticism in any way of ‘the class’. I know it seems an extreme and bizarre comparison, but hear me out. Anyone who has seen Fight Club knows what a raw, intense, visceral movie it is. For those who haven’t seen it, I will summarize it by saying it is a journey into the psyche of a man battling the different sides of himself. On the one hand, the main character is an insurance company employee who lives in a picture perfect ikea-ed apartment, seems conventional and wears a suit. On the other side he is like an animal, fighting other men in a darkened basement, lit with bare bulbs and coloured by sweat and blood stains on the floor.

His boxing club, ‘Fight Club’ is hugely popular by men of all kinds. Suits are peeled off and men fight in only shorts, without gloves or mouth protection and teeth are readily strewn about the floor in pools of bloodied saliva. Men chant and fists fly. Black eyes, broken noses, cuts and deep bruises remain for members as evidence of their nocturnal selves.

(Click here for a link to a scene from the movie if you are interested.)

It’s an intense movie to say the least, but is some of my favorite work by Ed Norton and Brad Pitt. It’s super raw and gritty and disturbing, but amid all the violence and gore, there exists a kind of beauty. There is honesty in the raw portrayal of what it is to be human. And we humans, after all are animals. Fight Club is an unfiltered exploration into some of the darkest corners of the human psyche, where our animalistic impulses are distilled to their most basic elements.

I like that this movie reminds me that we are vulnerable to elemental desire, yet we also have brains that allow us some advanced powers of thinking and control. I think this creates a real paradox for humans. There are ways we want to behave and ways we are taught to behave. Watching toddlers play for only a few minutes reminds of us of this constant internal conflict. As we age as individual human beings we mostly learn to evolve our behavior to become socially palatable. But it also stands to make sense that as a species we should be evolving collectively.

There exist examples which demonstrate we are slowly evolving to use our brains ‘better’, but I’m convinced we are NOT fully harnessing our full potential in ways that are actually propelling our race and planet in a forward enlightened direction.

We are living in interesting times when we are at once mostly terrified of being taken down by a virus, and also inspired to throw caution to the wind so that we can converge in massive public gatherings of solidarity over inequality. George Floyd’s funeral had in excess of 50,000 people in attendance in the form of a massive conglomeration of bodies filling the street. Human fears are vast but they can be effective to also inspire us into action. But what kind of action makes the world better when it seems the very act of existing as a human is by definition being a detriment to the world?

I have read fascinating ideas about how humans could evolve to become less parasitic on our planet but that’s a whole other topic, but I think that what many humans share is this nagging guilt about our status quo. For example, we may logically know all humans are created equally, yet racism continues to thrive. And in the space between the status quo and us wanting to become better for all of us on this planet is where a lot of tumultuous emotions live: powerlessness, hopelessness, worry, dread, guilt, longing, doubt, despair, and anxiety being but a few.

In that way I feel drawn to try and release those feelings of lament that we aren’t doing our best work yet here on this planet, whether it’s myself personally, or looking at our race as a whole. Judgment of self and others is mostly harmful, except as it propels us to positive change. As I struggle to comprehend all that I feel, I also desire a reprieve or an ability to clear that lamentation away. I seek to be in the presence and tutelage of those wiser than me who are further along the path of comprehension of our place in ‘it all’, individually and collectively.

Taryn Toomey’s class has become one of those places of respite for me. It is really compelling how she brings the mind back into the body as we move the body physically. It feels like meditation in motion and it works for me. I feel like i’m learning to focus in on my thoughts as I’m moving my body. It’s a very mindfully present physical experience and I am finding it is bringing me greater peace and a feeling of ease.

In the last two weeks the Black Lives Matter movement has been in full force and it’s been really interesting to hear Taryn Toomey talk (as she instructs us via Live Streaming) about her evolution in learning. She said that she has always looked past people’s physicality (and skin color) and thought of them as souls. And that she views all people as being of one soul. But she acknowledged that though she and others like her see people in a non-divisive one-ness of being, that is not what people of color (or other minorities) are experiencing as they move through the world.

Toomey went on to say that her white privilege led her to believe it wasn’t appropriate for her to say anything, but she now realizes it should be the opposite. She said she needs to speak because it’s a waste not to use the privilege of both having a voice and having the platform to use it. When I caught the next class of hers a few days later, she readdressed having spoken about what were thoughts in motion and ideas not yet fully incubated. She acknowledged she may have said the wrong thing, or not been fully articulate in her voicing of her feelings and thoughts, but that she is learning.

She articulated it so beautifully saying she comes to the classes she teaches open-heartedly naked, with weapons down and armour off. In fact she created her class as catharsis for herself as a way to process being a human in this world and the conflicting emotions that entails. Toomey’s classes emphasize what she calls sounding which means just letting lose with any kind of sounds participants feel inspired to make and she emphasizes the importance of sounding as a way to clear ourselves of the sludge that builds. I think it’s one of those things that if it resonates with you, it really does, and if it doesn’t, it really doesn’t.

And therein lies my comparison to Fight Club again. If you understand the desire to strip down and get raw and fight without protection like an animal, the Fight Club concept makes sense. I feel similarly with ‘the class.’ If you understand and enjoy the physical and emotional release of both working out strenuously (burpees and jumping jacks are a foundation) whilst focusing on the inner dialogue too, it can clear and energize your whole body in the most wonderful way.

I loathe getting on the bandwagon with anything, so the fact that i’ve become a serious card-carrying Taryn Toomey fan chagrins me, and reminds me of the universe’s sense of humor. But I think that Toomey’s class is so popular because so many of us seek to open a valve and feel release. We need an outlet for all the emotions that circle our brain like a tornado. It seems so (too?) common for women to feel a tremendous angst in our journey as mothers/daughters/sisters/wives/lovers and friends.

I think society has long understood mens’ desire to throw some punches. And women have been lacing up their boxing gloves too. Some of my most admired female friends don the gloves and ‘fight like girls’ in the oft-heard battle-cry for female boxers and fighters. They are fierce and I am in awe. But boxing doesn’t appeal to everyone, and in that way I think of ‘the class’ as a boxing class for body and mind (without the punching.)

Despite reminding me of Angelina Jolie (as Lara Croft) in Tomb Raider, Taryn Toomey, clad in earth toned lycra and desert boots, feels genuinely charming and humble. As she takes us through her paces she tells us that she is always learning, and means only to progress and evolve while doing no harm. This is such a beautiful sentiment and takes immense courage to be outspoken in an era where everything we say invites vehement criticism. Like my lovely Kundalini instructor, Toomey guides our consciousness inward. She speaks of nurturing a gratefulness for our movement, and for our life and breath. She reminds us to embrace our wholeness in ourselves and our one-ness with others in this human experience we all share.

Every edition of ‘the class’ has a section when a heart-opening exercise is done and the musical accompaniment seems thoughtfully chosen. As we sit on our knees moving our arms back and forth so many times, it starts to feel meditative, I often become aware of the music and its lyrics. Yesterday was Tina Turner’s ‘the best’ which is such an oldie but a goodie from a legit bad ass lady. Today was Alanis Morissette’s ‘Thank you’ which I hadn’t heard in years but remembered I liked the lyrics:

“Thank you, India. Thank you, terror. Thank you, disillusionment. Thank you, frailty. Thank you, consequence. Thank you, thank you, silence.”

Posted on

ZF2 = SA+SA

Today was an absolutely stunning day. The heavens opened last night but this morning the sky began clear, bright blue and cold. I regretted wearing a short coat and stuffed my hands in my pockets as I walked through the Jardins de Palais Royal in the late afternoon.

Like a cat, I have slowly expanded the circle around my house and I have what feels like a sizeable radius within which I can wander on autopilot and let the hamsters in my brain do what they do best. It’s come to my attention that the content of my blog has not landed well with a few people and I have been mulling since my last post exactly how to address that.

I’ve been told that given I am a very private person, it seems strange that I am sharing things about my life in a public blog. I’ve thought a lot about this one. My blog came to be because I used to write long descriptive notes to a friend of mine and he suggested that I could write a blog because my journey might be of interest to other people. I do enjoy writing. It’s a great outlet for me to work through some of the cacophony created by the hamsters upstairs. I also love reading, and as such I follow a few blogs that I think, dare I say, ‘enrich my perspective’ and by whom I’ve felt inspired.

My favorite blog as most of you know because I am incorrigible about sending it to people, is Jenny Lawson, author of 3 books, and author of a blog called The Bloggess. Not only is Jenny Lawson absolutely hilarious, but she is a brilliant storyteller. She is a passionate animal lover and it’s a wonder she gets any words to screen given the constant barrage by her menagerie. I find her to be incredibly witty and engaging with her style of writing and her topics are so uncommon and also seem so relatable.

Jenny Lawson is very open about suffering from a myriad of health problems, both physical and mental which sometimes cause her to feel like the walls are closing in. Sometimes her depression is so bad she cannot write. And yet she does..just a little, here and there when she can. The grace and good humor with which she handles all that life throws her is incredibly inspiring and impressive.

There are people who are fighting crime and slaying dragons in impressive displays in the arenas of athletics, academics, business, technology, medicine and others I’m sure I’ve forgotten, but what partly inspires me about the way Jenny Lawson is, is that she lives a seemingly mostly ‘typical’ life, being a daughter, wife, mother, pet owner, neighbor, friend etc and also dealing with (more than her fair share of) adversity. And from her everyday experiences and struggles with medical challenge, she makes her own kind of beauty and magic, and SHARES it with all of us.

If she eliminated the personal content of her blog, her story wouldn’t resonate on the very human level that it does. I believe it’s precisely her bravery and courage in sharing all the parts of her life that gives her messages their immense power. (Click here for an article about her.)

It’s also a wonderful example of giving because as a result of sharing her journey in such a truly authentic, touching and hilarious way, Jenny Lawson has created a huge fan base from whom she says she now feels tremendous daily support. It’s a perfect example of how the act of giving when done with pure intention becomes symbiotic with receiving.

I thank all the stars that shine that I haven’t had to deal with the sorts of obstacles Jenny Lawson faces daily. But like all of us I have had challenges. I had never known fear of imminent death for example like when I had cancer. It was crushing for me. The challenges of living abroad have paled in comparison, but I have certainly had my moments and the heartfelt notes of love and encouragement from you have meant the world. You know who you are, and I thank you and am so grateful to have you ‘in my orbit’ as one of my friends says.

I think it’s important to note also that my blog is not meant to be taken as notes home. My writing here is my place to play with ideas and experiment with commentary about things that are of interest to me, and maybe others. My stories are not fictional, but may involve a little artistic license because that’s fun and makes things more interesting.

I think it’s of benefit to be in a public format and discoverable for people to come across because it means I can connect with those with whom my path might otherwise not cross. And isn’t that the whole point of our journeys through time on this floating blue dot?….to challenge the unknown in whatever form that takes for each one of us? It’s also been my experience that when I share authentically especially with others who I am just coming to know, they will often do the same. And if they don’t, they are probably not those with whom I wish to engage. I’m not a huge fan of cocktail parties for example because of their ‘small talk nature’ but almost without fail I end up finding a few like-minded people with whom to share a few really deep conversations.

So what does ZF2.0 = SA+SA mean?

Well I was thinking about the concept that’s bantered about so much these days of ‘giving zero f*cks’. There’s a book on it, and I have to say I found it to be excellent. And this image below just came up on my instagram and I had to laugh:

But joking aside, it’s a concept with which I wrestle so much. The idea of ‘giving zero f*cks’ about what others think is very difficult for me. Like most of us, I have always sought the acceptance and approval of others. So when I boil down the true nature of giving zero f*cks it means being so accepting and approving of ourselves that the opinions and judgments of others don’t hold any relevance for us.

Zero F*cks 2.0 = Self Acceptance + Self Approval

If I chose to write some commentary or other about something or to share my version of something that happened in my life, it is for my own artistic expression and as a way to consider the meaning of things as I move through life. Acting with kindness, respect and honesty is what is of utmost importance to me. I endeavour to do that with every interaction I have everyday.

When I make decisions, my rationale might not be obvious, clear or even discernible when explained to others, but that’s ok. And sharing things about my life is a form of expression that won’t ‘vibe’ with everyone as the modern vernacular goes. But I’m happy doing my thing here in my pink Mickey Mouse spandex. It works for me. I’m comfortable for travel, and maybe I’m on my way to Disneyland!? I’m going to fit right in, and be able to walk happily for miles in my dad sneakers, tank top and these vermin themed leggings in a color that will make me easily viewable in a crowd. 😉 #DisneylandOrBust

Posted on

Media influences du Jour

After a busy couple of weeks of packing and moving and unpacking and settling and school readying, I’ve succumbed to a bug and am feeling very ‘harumphhh’. I would like to ring the little bell from the ManCold Video, and have someone soothingly whisper, ‘Poor Little Bunny’, but instead I’ve been consoling myself with some reading and movie viewing.

Georgia’s acting coach recommended the movie ‘Phantom Thread’ to me. Daniel Day Lewis once again plays an almost maniacal creative genius, akin to his role in Nine. I loved his portrayal of the Italian filmmaker in that movie and his work as a British fashion designer in Phantom Thread is even more impressive.

https://youtu.be/xNsiQMeSvMk

I hesitate to give away the plot but let me say that while the story weaves a thread of fashion, it is more about relationships: with oneself, and with others. The portrayal of his relationship with a local waitress who becomes his muse, lover and wife is strikingly powerful. I had not anticipated how their connection would unfold. It was extremely curious to me to watch the dynamics of power shift between the two individuals, one the fastidious creative master and the other his initially timid muse.

I love when movies and books leave me processing for days and this one has done just that. The power differential between any two individuals who make a couple is always interesting to witness, and when a partnership lasts for years, it inevitably endures all sorts of challenges which change the dynamic. One of the most common changes/challenges for a couple is the creation of a family, and the acquisition of a home and lifestyle, but there are many other strains a couple can experience. Some face the acquisition of fame, or fortune, (or the loss of either/both), others experience one (or both) of the individuals experiencing sickness or other hardship.

The winding journey of the relationship between the famous designer and his seemingly quiet wife was vividly portrayed. My favorite scene was also one which made me cringe to see myself in it.

The designer, who we have seen enjoying the same daily ritual of sketching and planning his day while quietly eating breakfast, is thrown completely off when his lover spends the night and joins him at the table the following morning. His lover noisily slices butter and scratches her knife on her toast. She holds the tea pot up very high and then tips it dramatically so the water has a long distance to land in the tea cup below. She even manages to make stirring the milk in her tea a noisy and off-putting affair.

As this unfolds, the camera pans back and forth between the noise she is making of eating breakfast as many ‘normal’ people would do and the face of the designer as he gets increasingly annoyed with the disruption of his serene routine. His long curls come out of place from his carefully styled hair and fall maddeningly into his eyes with every obtrusive disturbance she creates. He pushes his curls aside and vainly tries to block out his lover’s breakfast noises. Not being able to withstand it any longer he finally barks at her to please stop having so much ‘movement’ and “distraction’ at breakfast.

I laughed and also blanched because I could relate so much to his frustrations. I spend an embarrassing amount of energy trying not to be put-off by the actions of others. If someone is tapping his pen, or jiggling her foot it becomes an unescapable ticker-tape of annoyance in my head. If someone is coughing or clearing their throat, or worse yet, smoking and sending plumes in my direction I am completely put off. The more I try to block it out, the more obvious it becomes. I find myself looking at others to see if they have picked up on what seems to be an obvious and obtrusive disruption to my thought process, and lament to see that I am often alone in my heightened irritation.

The designer is portrayed as the stereotypical ‘mad’ creative genius who is a tyrant, getting angry at his wife for having brought him tea when he was working. She says something along the lines of ‘Ok, Ok, I will take it away. No harm done.’ but he snaps in reply that the harm of her interruption will remain long after she (and her tea) have left.

The designer is clearly a self-absorbed narcissistic pain in the ass, and yet she loves him and comes to understand his eccentricities. She handles and ultimately tames him in a way I had not predicted. The movie reminded me, albeit in a perplexing disturbing way, that what we often see occurring between a couple is really just the tip of the ice burg.

Conversely, I am enjoying a warm fuzzy feeling since having read Mitch Albom’s “The Next Person You Meet in Heaven”. It is the sequel to “The Five People You Meet in Heaven” which I somehow missed. But I loved “Tuesdays With Morrie” and pulled this off my shelf as I lay tucked under covers this weekend.

The story opens with a young bride, Annie, mere hours before her death. I was reminded of Harrison telling me I needed a strong hook to pull my readers in because Albom’s hook was strong and had me from the first sentence.

Annie had a difficult childhood and feels she is the constant ‘maker of mistakes’. Eddie was a ‘nobody who did nothing of any importance’ and this is a tale of how their lives intersect to create meaning for them both. It is magical fable of how everything that happens in life to us as humans is meant to be, and is all just part of our evolutionary process.

There were some beautiful quotes in this speedy quick read that I would highly recommend. For those of us who are animal lovers, Albom’s portrayal of Annie’s childhood dog is truly heart warming and his description of this dog’s view of heaven made me teary. He also has a keen observation on loneliness:

“We fear loneliness, but loneliness itself does not exist. It has no form. It is merely a shadow that falls over us. And just as shadows die when light changes, that sad feeling can depart once we see the truth.”

(And the subtext is that loneliness cannot exist for the evolved in the presence of an animal. I could not agree more and was reminded of how much I enjoyed Matt Haig’s book ‘The Humans’, and his depiction of an alien learning to love a dog.)

Albom also handles deftly, the parent-child relationship. He observes:

“Children begin by needing their parents. Over time, they reject them. Eventually, they become them.”

He also ruminates,

“On earth, we get the what of things. The why takes a little longer.”

I find this to be a beautiful concept: that our so called ignorance as humans is all part of our evolution. We aren’t supposed to know all the answers as earthly creatures. I love the idea that it takes the transition into becoming a heavenly body in order to understand what all the earthly time meant. It also helps us tolerate the end of life on earth for people which he observes is often very difficult for most of us.

Albom closes the story with a very meaningful take-away. Annie thinks she is on a quest to make peace with the people in her earthly past and Eddie, who has already transitioned to the heavenly realm gently reveals,

“(Your mother) was right about making peace,” he said. “But she didn’t mean with me. You only have peace when you make it with yourself. I had to learn that the hard way.”

“The truth is, I spent years thinking I was doing nothing ’cause I was a nobody. You spent years doing lots of things and thinking they were all mistakes.”

He exhaled. “We were both wrong.”

“There’s no such thing as a nobody. And there are no mistakes.”

This is a quick and magical little read for all of us earthly creatures trying to learn the messages of the heavens.