There are No wrong turns

Last month I was in Greece on a “hunnies’ moon,” which is a term and concept invented by my newlywed friends for a post-wedding trip they organized with a group of the wedding guests.

We were walking in Mykonos, finding our way up whitewashed, windy streets to 180 Sunset Bar on our last night. Maps would say to take one little road up, and they were all so close in proximity that we would take another one. When someone asked if we’d taken the right path, I said: “There are no wrong turns in Greece!” I said to the group, which is something I’d started to say earlier in the trip when we’d find ourselves slightly off the recommended path but somewhere, of course, wonderful.

This time, one of them turned around and added, “Only extra rights.” Yes, yes; exactly.

There are no wrong, turns; only extra rights.

Life is lived in the transitions

I spent a lot of my life, as I think many of us are trying to do and it’s driving society, Heather focused on what’s next. The Next Thing. When this happens, things will, I will, life will, be different. Better. Changed.

That’s been me for a lot of it. A life of staccato, of delayed, and even denied, appreciation of the present, the current reality, in all its fullness and truth. Instead, reaching forever for a future state.

in one yoga class in New York City, I remember looking to the teacher or a teacher, taking the class near the front, whatever it was, and seeing how beautifully this person transition from one pose to another. I was so focused on hitting the next one I saw it and sell it I thought about, and felt very little into, how I was getting there I decided to bring more attention to it, more intention, and ideally some grace. I remembered that the other day when I moved into a new position in a class here in Bordeaux, and it felt so good. I felt so in it.

Travel is a state of transition, really, too. I remind myself of that as I board a train, pack for the airport, and sit in wherever I’ve been staying for the last month in Europe. I’m here now in Bordeaux, on a leave from work, and thinking about how in some way, all ways, everything is a transition. I’m learning French in a fun little hopscotch way—reading signs, using a translator, listening to a podcast, asking friends—and I realized how in French many words flow one into another in speaking, and how beautiful it sounds. The stops are indiscernible, the transitions the speech. (“Nous allons,” “We go,” is said like “Nouzallon.”)

Nous/allons, living life in the transitions.

Stir the air

I arrived to my Airbnb in Bordeaux yesterday, which is in the historic part of the city right by the theater, where I heard the choir practicing this afternoon and my jaw dropped in awe.

My host informed me that my place is without air conditioning; installation is not allowed in the historic part of the city. Still, the stone building keeps cool, and she left me instructions for how to keep it temperate during the day, and then refresh it at night. “At night, open everything and stir the air with the fan.”

So, I am here, back at home before going out to a cafe to write a bit more, after stopping on a quiet, tree-lined plaza, (“place” in French) on my slow way home after a high-energy spin class and a walk to an outdoor market, the fan gently blowing. I am stirring the air, and then staying still. Stirring, and stillness.

For Sam, who I am so happy to be visiting here in Bordeaux!

Start where you are

I haven’t written in a while—all of the month of April, I now see—and here we are. I don’t wish I had done it, or regret not doing it, or anything. It just is what it is; it was what it was. And that makes it right.

I got quite sick during that time, the sickest I’ve ever been, at the end of which one friend reflected back to that I sounded so “raw,” that the whole experience sounded so raw. It was, in so many ways. And I am so grateful for my health, so grateful to be better. I also had my family in town for a week after that, which did wonders for my recovery and was so nice. Really so nice. It was the first time in a long time we were all able to be somewhere together (their lovely Airbnb) for a stretch of time and just enjoy each other’s company and being together. I miss having them here. And I am so grateful they were able to come. I also went to Coachella, and Napa, and said goodbye to my long-time manager at work and started on a new team and am preparing for a big move (it’s all already happening, as they say, as I’d say, as I remind myself) and a departure, a leave, from things as I know them right now. I am excited, it feels right, and it is all still a process. A process that sometimes calls for stillness, and other times calls for action, like selling and giving away almost everything I own: a literal practice in letting go.

I wanted to write here tonight and I didn’t know what to write, even with all the drafts saved here, even with all the notes in my phone like, “Live the width of your life,” which Bozoma Saint John shared in a talk at Google for International Women’s Day. Start where you are, came the quiet reminder. Yes, that. Start where you are, and right now, I am right here. Writing this, and letting it be it.

All it needs is some TLC

About a year ago I burned myself on my neck with a curling iron rushing to get ready in a beautiful bathroom at The Wynn in Las Vegas. (No more rush!) It was nothing serious, fortunately, but it was in a visible spot and I was super hard on myself for hurting myself and making such a silly mistake, and I also was superficially concerned about it leaving a scar, and having to be a reminder that I’d look at every day of how careless I’d been. (Something, of course, I could choose to not add meaning to, but found incredibly hard to do in the moment[s] of emotion.)

My friend Divya, who happens to be a doctor and therapist (a psychiatrist, specifically) and therefore a great listener and the perfect person to soothe my concerns, happened to visit not long after. “Let me look,” she said. “No, it’ll be OK. All it needs is some TLC.” It was so sweet, and so simple, and she was so right. I took care to cover it, to apply nourishing creams, to protect it with SPF. These days it’s a barely visible, and when I notice it, it instead reminds me of my friend, her care, and that all things can heal with time, gentleness and love.

For Dr. Divy, with gratitude for the forever reminder of the power of TLC

Our thoughts are just thoughts

I had this thought the other day. Our thoughts are just thoughts. They are not our responsibility; but what we do with them, is. Do we choose to identify? Do we hold on? Do we let them go, and fall away to the earth to be absorbed and transformed into whatever may be needed?

And for some guidance on moving past them, and transmuted them, I highly recommend Byron Katie’s Four Liberating Questions.

Who am i without this? / Byron Katie's Four Questions

Author Byron Katie developing something called Four Liberating Questions, a brief self-inquiry process that is as simple as it is profound. It’s also called “The Work,” and I’ve found it to be an incredibly effective method to move beyond thought traps, controlling thoughts and negative thoughts. The background:

I discovered that when I believed my thoughts I suffered, but when I didn’t believe them I didn’t suffer, and that this is true for every human being. Freedom is as simple as that. I found that suffering is optional. I found a joy within me that has never disappeared, not for a single moment. That joy is in everyone, always. And I invite you not to believe me. I invite you to test it for yourself.

– Byron Katie

And now for The Questions. It goes like this:

  1. Is it true?

  2. Can you absolutely know that it’s true?

  3. How do you react when you believe that thought?

  4. Who would you be without the thought?

When I’ve shared it with others, they’ve found it as powerful and effective as I have. At this point, I find myself moving through the questions almost automatically, often in my head. When I feel particularly stuck, however, and especially when I first began using them, I would journal out the questions and my responses.

I’ve made it a bit of my own by asking myself the question, “Who am I without this?” when I find myself particularly attached to an idea, thought or identity. It’s sometimes scary to answer, but on the other side of all those feelings, it’s always liberating.

See Byron Katie’s page for more, including the invitation on the home page: “Meet your Internal Wisdom. The Work is meditation. It is a method of inquiry born directly out of Byron Katie’s experience. This practice allows you to access the wisdom that always exists within you.”