Extending Generosity

My most recent lightbulb moment arrived courtesy of the On Being podcast. In an episode titled The True Hard Work of Love and Relationships, philosopher Alain de Botton discusses (among other things) how we tend to unconsciously misconstrue the actions of our partners, which strains our relationships. The pattern of thinking he described felt a little bit too familiar, so my ears perked up for his recommendation of a better approach. It was unexpected! To sustain healthy romantic relationships, try to interpret your partner’s behavior with the same generosity that you offer when interpreting the behavior of children.

Now I don’t have a child, but I was fostering a retired racing greyhound who–like a child–sometimes exhibited unreasonable behavior and demanded incredible amounts of time and attention. With little effort I could think of numerous examples of being patient and understanding of Goose despite the impact his actions had on me. Like when he got on this kick of barking in the middle of the night. I live in a very small house and he has a Very Big Bark. The first time he sounded the alarm I shot up in bed with my heart pounding–what the @%#$ was happening?!? It took only a few minutes to reassure him, but it seemed to take forever to ease back into sleep.

The next night this happened again, and then the night after that…and as a person who needs my nine hours a night, I was starting to lose my mind. But during these episodes I never thought, “What is his problem? Why is he doing this to me? I have a big day tomorrow. Why won’t he let me sleep?” Instead I wondered about his experience and offered him comfort. “What’s going on, Goose? Are you afraid? You’re safe, buddy. You’re with me and I’m not going anywhere. Let’s try to sleep, bud. I love you.”

I could think of time after time where I was willing to be generous in my interpretation of (and response to) Goose’s behavior. He was going through a significant transition in moving from the racetrack to a home and completely different routine. I recognized that his actions were likely based on instincts and fears and they were nothing for me to take personally.

I questioned if I was only responding this way because Goose is a dog and I pretty much love animals more than anything else in the whole world. But as I gave it more thought, I found that my generosity of interpretation extended to children, just as Alain de Botton had said. When I FaceTime my three-year-old nephew and ask him to sing me a song, I don’t get upset when he shouts, “No! I don’t want to talk to you!” Instead I get curious about what’s going on for him and if he is having a hard day. I’m acutely aware that I don’t know what it’s like to be this little human in the world, and I trust that I’m still important to him.

Let’s contrast this with an embarrassing but demonstrative example of how I have interpreted a partner’s actions in the past. Perhaps I asked him to pick something up on the way home from work, but he forgot the errand and arrived home empty-handed. My mind might have immediately jumped to thoughts like “He knows how much I needed that! He never listens to me. I just don’t matter to him. If he cared about me, he’d remember what I asked him to do. He wouldn’t forget something that his coworker asked him to bring to work!”

These interpretations are not very generous. In fact, they are downright stingy! I’m assuming that his forgetting is borderline intentional, based on a lack of listening and care. I’m viewing my partner’s actions as a reflection of how he feels about me. And, as you may have already noticed, I’m taking his behavior quite personally. If I don’t pause to notice this runaway train of thought, how I respond to my partner is almost certainly going to be passive aggressive and provoke an argument.

Following Alain de Botton’s suggestion, could I be as generous to my partner as I am to a child (or a dog)? Could I approach this situation from the knowing that my partner cares deeply about me and that his forgetting has nothing to do with me? Could I get curious about what’s going on for him and where his behavior might be coming from, instead of jumping to conclusions? Maybe he had a difficult day at work, maybe something exciting happened and he was caught up in a new idea, or maybe–being human–he just forgot, as humans sometimes do.

Of course, this doesn’t mean that my partner’s actions don’t impact me or that I can’t skillfully share that impact with him (more on that in a future post!), but interpreting my partner’s actions from a place of benevolence and generosity will create more productive communication and increased connection. While it’s not easy to catch my mind when it starts racing down the wrong track, awareness of this tendency to misinterpret is the first step to making a change.

It’s frustrating to know that I’m offering this generosity to so many in my life, yet it can be such a struggle to give to my intimate partner. On the other hand, I know I’m capable of it, and I have a strong desire and commitment to improving how I show up in relationship. So how can I slow down and choose a different path? Maybe the next time I feel myself making an assumption about my partner’s behavior, I should ask myself what I would say to Goose!

If you’d like to learn more about this concept of generosity of intention or other helpful ways to view modern love, give this podcast a listen.

Call It Magic

Yesterday I was reminded of the magic of yoga. It’s been over a decade since I first stepped onto the mat, and still I can forget the impact of this simple practice.

It was early evening, and I was in a pretty good funk. It had been raining all day and I felt trapped in my house. I was alone–par for the course during the pandemic–and thinking about how much I wanted a partner in my life. Longing for a partner made me feel lonely, and my attention naturally turned to my ex. As I remembered sweet moments with him, I felt a wave of grief for that lost relationship. My memories also triggered some hurt and disappointment, and I thought about calling a friend for some comfort. But that reminded me that a dear friend had recently expressed that she thought I had let her down, and I was anxious because I felt out of connection with her. Since we hadn’t talked yet, I found myself imagining the different directions that this difficult conversation could go.

I sat on my couch, tangled in all of these thoughts and feeling unhappy and stressed. I wondered how soon I could crawl into bed, pull the covers to my chin, and escape into sleep.

I glanced at the clock. It was only 7–much too early to attempt sleep. I remembered a yin yoga class that I liked started in fifteen minutes, so I opened my laptop to register. When the schedule loaded I saw there was a substitute listed for my favorite teacher. Ugh!! I snapped the screen down in frustration. But I knew from experience that yoga would somehow help me out of my funk, so I registered and started setting up my props.

The class began and my sour mood continued. I was rolling with the substitute teacher, but her microphone kept cutting out and I struggled to hear her instructions. I added that frustration to the running list in my mind…COVID, never ending rain, my ex, my friend, this yoga class. And yet I continued to follow along with the poses, beginning to breathe with the teacher’s cues.

In yin classes postures are often held for a few minutes to provide slow, steady stress to our connective tissues. As the poses became more challenging, I started to feel stronger sensations in my body. I needed to focus on these in order to position my body in that sweet spot somewhere between pushing myself too hard (and fighting through discomfort for the remainder of the hold) and not challenging myself enough (and missing out on the full benefit of the pose).

We finished a particularly intense hip opener and rested on our bellies for several breaths. I settled onto the mat, released a loud exhale and felt the support of the ground below me. I noticed that the list of stresses was no longer on repeat and–released from the weight of all of those thoughts and feelings–my body was relaxed. I felt peaceful. And then I remembered: this is the magic of yoga! This is the power of being present to the moment instead of trapped in the tangle of thoughts in my mind.

You see, our minds are always thinking. It’s sort of their thing. And while sometimes our minds think about useful things, like how we need to stop at the red light up ahead, all too often they think about all sorts of things that aren’t actually happening. They think about the things that we wish we’d done differently. The things that other people said to us. The things we said to other people. The things that we are scared may or may not happen to us or to the people we care about. And when our minds are attending to these past events or future worries, they take us away from the present moment. I am no longer sitting rather comfortably on my couch–albeit alone–while it rains outside. Instead I’m in the middle of an (imaginary!) argument with my friend and feeling anxious about it.

It’s an incredible challenge to not get carried away by our thoughts like this. Yet the more we are able to recognize that we have been caught up in our thoughts, the more we strengthen our ability to come back to the moment at hand. Yoga helps us build this muscle memory.

In yoga, we actively practice bringing our attention to our bodies in the moment. We may practice this dozens of times in a single class. As my mind starts to compose a grocery list, the teacher asks me to notice where the weight is centered in my feet. And I drop the list and turn my attention to the soles of my feet. As I start missing the way my ex-boyfriend tucked my hair behind my ear, the teacher cues to ground into my left hip while continuing to extend through my fingertips. And I feel what it is like to root and reach. As I start to worry that I might lose a dear friendship, the teacher asks me to inhale into my right side and I feel my ribcage expand.

Over and over again in yoga, I practice turning away from my mind’s distracting chatter and bringing my awareness back to my body. My attention can’t be in both places at once, so if I am present to the moment then I won’t become tangled in thoughts about the things that have already happened or that haven’t even happened yet. I won’t become stuck in the morass of feelings that these thoughts provoke. I won’t spend the precious moments of my life in a moody funk induced by recreating the past or worrying about the future.

When my attention is centered on my body, I am awake to what I am experiencing now, in this moment. I am alive. I am sitting alone on the couch, listening to the raindrops tap dance on my windows.  

This is a life changing practice. You might even call it magic.

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If you’re interested in learning more about the practice of bringing your attention back to your body, check out this podcast by meditation teacher Tara Brach.

Awakening Our Body's Awareness - Part 1 - Mindful awareness of our bodies is a portal to full aliveness, wisdom and love. These two classes will explore the trance that takes us away from our body, the pathways home, ways of working with pain, and the gifts of an embodied presence (a favorite from the archives).

The Power of Observation

“Before I respond, I have a choice to make. Do I want correction or do I want connection?” Hearing these words, something deep within me snapped to attention. While conflict is a natural consequence of being in authentic relationship with others, it’s typically viewed as a problem. Yet the speaker, Kathy Marchant, was reframing conflict as an opportunity to strengthen connection.

Yes, please! I know that when I experience conflict in my relationships, despite whatever I might feel in the moment or how much I think I’m “right,” I ultimately want to regain closeness with the other person. But when my emotions are at the wheel, the words that tumble out often have the opposite effect. My message is received as critical, the other person distances or defends himself, and connection is disrupted.

Kathy leads nonviolent communication (NVC) trainings, and it was inspiring to hear how her relationships evolved through practicing these skills. I wanted to learn how to communicate more consciously as a way to nurture my relationships. So with high hopes and a little trepidation–because personal development always comes with growing pains–I enrolled in a three-month introductory course.

While NVC teaches practical communication tools, it’s really a philosophical approach to relating to others. There is so much I want to share about NVC, but in this post I’ll try to stick to one of the skills: distinguishing observations from evaluations. Observations are neutral, concrete descriptions of what happened. According to Dr. Marshall Rosenberg, the founder of NVC, observations are statements “specific to time and context.” Evaluations, on the other hand, include your own perception, judgment, or analysis of what happened. Evaluations frequently include exaggerations (“you always” or “you never”) or words that carry a connotation (whether positive or negative). After talking through examples in class and completing an eye-opening homework assignment, the difference seemed clear to me–sort of like separating opinion from the facts.

Evaluation: John is a reckless driver.

Observation: John got a speeding ticket for driving 20 mph over the speed limit in a school zone.

Evaluation: Sarah missed the deadline because she always procrastinates.

Observation: Sarah didn’t turn in the report by the 5 pm deadline.

Sounds simple, right? So why is this important?

Once you can reliably recognize the difference between the two, you begin to see how infrequently we communicate neutral observations when we have a conflict with someone. We’re constantly mixing in our judgments, and this is where communication starts to break down. When we express our evaluations of others, we are often met with defensiveness or resistance, effectively blocking connection at a moment when we want to be heard and understood.

A better option? Express your observations.

Let’s look at an example. I observe my partner playfully interacting with an attractive coworker. I immediately feel anxiety and fear in my body, because his behavior brings up an inappropriate work relationship he had in the past. Later, when I tackle the subject with him I start by saying, “I didn’t like how you were flirting with Lisa tonight.” The chances are quite high that he will respond that he wasn’t flirting at all, and maybe he’ll even add that I’m being sensitive or insecure. Now I think I’m being criticized and my concern hasn’t been acknowledged. Guess where things go from here…

In the moment when I approach my partner, I believe that I’m simply stating the obvious about what happened; my “observation” was that he was flirting. But this isn’t actually an observation; I made an evaluation of his behavior. There is judgment about how he acted in my statement, and it makes sense that he might react defensively or turn around and blame me.

What if I used my NVC skills to make a true observation instead?

Evaluation: You were being too flirty with Lisa tonight.

Observation: You were talking and laughing with Lisa for several minutes, and when you walked away I saw you put your hand on her back.

Now that I’ve gotten clear about what I actually observed, I might begin the conversation by saying, “When I saw you laughing and putting your hand on Lisa’s back, I felt scared and anxious.” Now I’ve described his behavior using specific, neutral statements. This might seem like a subtle difference, but I’m no longer interpreting his behavior. I’ve also expressed an observation of how I felt when I witnessed the behavior, which is risking vulnerability.

Leading with observations increases the likelihood that my partner will be able to listen to what I’m saying without feeling blamed or criticized and sets the stage for a more collaborative response. In this second scenario, I can imagine a compassionate partner responding with empathy, reassurance, or even curiosity. “I’m sorry to hear that you felt scared. Can you tell me more about why you felt that way?” Wow! My feelings were acknowledged and I was invited to share more about myself–both of which make me feel closer to my partner.

I’ve presented a simple example but it’s a glimpse of how powerful this tool can be. We have the opportunity to shift the entire dialogue when we start from a neutral foundation. Instead of falling into old patterns of blaming and defending, we can attempt to make skillful observations of the event and our feelings. This alone doesn’t guarantee that every conflict will build connection, but my experience has been that intentionally communicating observations is valuable–especially when I’m reacting emotionally to something that has happened. I’m slowly practicing how to choose connection in these difficult moments, and my relationships are stronger than ever because of it.

P.S. There is so much more to NVC! If you are interested I recommend finding a local course or reading Dr. Marshall Rosenberg’s book, Nonviolent Communication: A Language of Life.  

Be About It

Recently my boss invited an exceptionally inspirational human named Kevin Carroll to speak to our team. As Kevin spoke we were introduced to the vibrant characters that shaped his childhood and the unexpected places his careers had taken him. We laughed, we cried, and sometimes we laughed so hard we cried. Throughout his journey, he explained, he had lived by a mantra his grandfather taught him: Don’t talk about it, be about it.

When I heard this, naturally I labeled myself a “be about it” kind of girl. In high school I was the valedictorian and captain of the dance squad. In college I joined a hockey team even though I could barely ice skate. I moved to Colorado without knowing a soul because I wanted to be near the mountains. I started my Roth IRA when I was 24 because…you know…retirement! And the list went on.

Don’t talk about it. Be about it.

Kevin repeated this mantra throughout his talk, and I slowly began to feel uneasy. Something was coming up, quietly bumping against my consciousness. My legs started to feel antsy. My face got warm. I put on my best poker face in the hopes that my teammates wouldn’t notice the rather uncomfortable realization I was having. You see, in significant parts of my life, I wasn’t a “be about it” kind of girl at all.

As it turns out, when it comes to things that matter the most to me, I often just talk about it. At any given moment I have several ideas bouncing around my brain about how I want to show up in my relationship, how I can use my talents to help people, and how I can advocate for farmed animals and plant-based eating. I think about these things a lot. And I constantly talk about them with my friends and family. For me these are conversational topics that keep on giving, and I’m always coming up with some new idea about how I can do something meaningful or create change.

I wanted to get back into teaching yoga, particularly to populations with limited access. I wanted to offer financial education classes to help people make more informed decisions about money. I wanted to listen with empathy without immediately trying to correct my partner’s perceptions. I wanted to pause when I’m reactive and give myself time to identify my needs before revisiting the conversation. I wanted to write a children’s book about the similarities between cows and companion animals. I wanted to start an Instagram account for sharing stories about the intelligence and emotional lives of animals. At least, I repeatedly talked about wanting to do these things.

I realized that the uneasiness I was feeling stemmed from the disconnect between having such deep passions yet not taking action to support them. I recognized how hollow it was to claim that I wanted to make a difference when I wasn’t putting effort into transforming my ideas into reality. And eventually, when my introspection was complete, I became aware of my own lack of trust in myself to follow through when the stakes are high. And in this case, the stakes couldn’t be higher! Connecting deeply with others, helping people grow, and advocating for animals–each of these fuels a strong sense of purpose in my life.

Now I know that Kevin’s intention was to inspire action. He wanted to light a spark that with a dusting of encouragement might build an undeniable fire under my feet. So when I noticed that I was starting to shame myself for my lack of effort, I invited in some compassion. I decided to be gentle and curious about this pattern so I could understand what was holding me back and choose a different path forward.

My struggle with trusting myself is a significant project to dive into, and I’m grateful for this awareness. But Kevin’s story ultimately reminded me that right now (today!) I can choose to do something. Thinking and planning are useful, of course, and sharing my ideas with friends can generate support. But I can’t stop there. If I want to make an impact in these meaningful areas of my life, I have to take action. I have to take a step–even a small one–toward the change I want to see.

Thank you for the nudge, Kevin. I’m committed. I’m not just going to talk about it, I’m going to be about it.

I Would Like to Remind You

Last night I was sitting on the couch, scribbling words in my journal as I raced to keep pace with my thoughts. When I finally glanced up from the page, I glimpsed my shadow on the wall–an oversized, fuzzy projection of my face and head, complete with high ponytail. I’ve sat in this position a hundred times, but this was the first encounter with my shadow. As my brain started to recognize what I was seeing, I beamed a smile at my silhouette. And then, as if talking with a dear friend, I heard myself say, “I love you.”

I was quite surprised by this automatic response. Really? I love you? Where did that come from? I would have predicted a critical comment about the shape of my nose in profile. For as much as I try to practice and nurture self-love, at times it can still feel elusive. Yet my natural reaction to seeing myself last night tells me that something important is finally taking root. I am starting to know that I am lovable.

In that moment I felt a strong desire to share what had just happened, because I think at times we all could use a little reminder of this simple truth: you are lovable just as you are. There is nothing that you need to do. There is nothing that you have to become. Right here, right now, you are lovable.

We always have been–each and every one of us–but this intrinsic knowing can get buried under the conclusions we draw as we begin to experience the world. As children we often develop stories about how we have to act or what parts of ourselves we have to give up in order to be loved. We may have felt that love was unavailable or withheld when we were angry, made mistakes, voiced our opinions, or asked for something we really, really wanted. This perception or actual experience of conditional love can cause our childhood selves to internalize a sense of unworthiness.

Later as we begin to explore relationships, we are filled with an overwhelming desire to belong. In these tender years, love may again seem to require some degree of effort or performance to attain. When we experience the pain of rejection, we may attribute it to something innately wrong with who we are. We may fear that we are not lovable, confirming our childhood assumptions.  

While our young selves processed their experiences as best they could, their conclusions are frequently misguided and incomplete. However, we can live our entire adult lives believing the stories they authored and unable to recognize the truth that’s deep within us, waiting to be discovered.

I hope that you will pause and remind yourself that you are lovable, even and especially when you don’t think you are. You are lovable when you’re not trying. You are lovable when you have nothing to give. You are lovable when you’re crying. You are lovable when you ask for what you need. You are lovable even when you’ve said something so terrible that you wish you could swallow the words out of the air. You are not perfect–you’re human. And you are lovable.

The Whole Truth

When I was deciding what to write about to close the year, it seemed like a no brainer. I wanted to write about feeling whole and how my understanding of that concept had recently changed. Yet when I put pen to paper, I found it was more difficult than I had anticipated to translate my experience into sensible words. For instance, what does “feeling whole” even mean?

It’s an airy thing to define, and I don’t really feel qualified to do so. But I can share my experience, and for me it is this sense of peace and comfort I have about myself. Feeling whole is a sense of self-okay-ness in the best possible way, and it does not depend on external inputs, feedback, or circumstances. I don’t have to change who I am or fear that I am somehow lacking.

Until recently, I couldn’t have even attempted that description because feeling whole seemed an elusive state. Countless books, podcasts, and experts advised me that I was already whole as is. Easy for them to say, but not so easy for me to manifest. I just didn’t feel whole. I had a few character flaws I wished I didn’t have. I had destructive habits that I occasionally slipped into. Sometimes I was an absolute mess! By my reasoning, this was all solid evidence that I had some work to do. I thought if I addressed these issues and made some serious progress in the self-improvement department, then I would finally be capable of feeling this wholeness.

Since I started traveling, however, I’ve had a lot of time to wander and question, to sit and listen. And my heart has begun to understand that all those books and podcasts were right. Feeling whole doesn’t require a certain level of personal development. It’s not a future state to achieve. Feeling whole comes from accepting myself just as I am here and now.

This means I have to welcome the parts of myself that I label as flawed (the selfishness, insecurity, and all the rest) instead of wishing them away. It means I have to accept that I will sometimes do the wrong thing. It means that even when I think I’m a disaster, I accept that there is no other way I’m supposed to be.**

This new understanding has fostered a sustained feeling of ease and comfort that I haven’t had before. I don’t need to add or subtract anything in order to be whole. I just need to embrace all of me: right here, in this moment. This doesn’t grant me permission to swear off personal growth, because there will always be more for me to learn. But I’m no longer waiting on some better version of me to come along. There’s only the me that I am and the extent to which I can accept that flawed but lovely human.

**Note: I’m not suggesting that accepting yourself is necessarily quick and easy or that it’s something you do once and never think about it again. Accepting yourself frequently requires rethinking deeply held beliefs about right and wrong, good and bad. It involves letting go of feelings of shame and resentment as well as forgiving yourself for past actions. Accepting yourself also challenges you to give up your dependence on other people’s opinions of you. It's legwork I've been doing for years.

Keep It Simple Stupid

I’m six weeks into my international trip, and increasingly I’m bumping up against the question of what exactly it is that I’m doing. Don’t get me wrong, I am grateful for this opportunity–particularly when I consider the many recent conversations I’ve had with Balinese and Vietnamese people. It’s an incredible privilege to be able to travel, yet that knowledge does nothing to reduce the urgency of the question when it arises in my mind. What am I doing with this time?

When I decided I would take three months to travel alone, I had a simple intention: practice listening to what I want. I knew the primary countries I would visit but I had no concrete list of things that I needed to see or do along the way. I wanted to give myself the space to make decisions in the moment.

So here I am in Vietnam with no agenda and nothing but time on my hands. I wake up and each day is a blank slate that I can fill with whatever I want. I know that this is an awesome “problem” to have. And yet many days I’m dogged by questions and doubts. Now what? What the heck am I doing? What’s the point of this?

When you strip away all of your responsibilities, when there isn’t a job to go to or a dog to take care of or a car that needs an oil change, you have an expanded sense of freedom. Prior to my trip I actually joked that I was going to enjoy the life of a dog—nothing to do but eat and sleep. At first I took advantage by doing things that I had previously considered luxuries: waking up without an alarm, going to yoga every day, and getting massages. I had to pinch myself because I couldn’t believe that I was in Bali and this was my life.

Days turned into weeks and while I was still enjoying these luxuries, the questions started to slowly creep in. What now? Am I really going to spend another day doing nothing? It’s not like I was choosing to scale mountains or learn to scuba dive. I was chatting with the owner of the coffee shop while he made my morning cup and taking long walks on the beach to watch the sun set. I was listening to my body and it was telling me to slow down and take it easy.

Each time the questions popped up, I reminded myself of my intention. Now what? Practice listening to what you want. What the heck am I doing? Practicing listening to what you want. Am I really going to spend another day just walking around and eating whatever looks good? If that’s what you want. I repeated this mantra to myself, but it felt thin. It didn’t feel like enough. Shouldn’t I be doing something with this time? Shouldn’t I be accomplishing something? Wasn’t there some greater meaning to all of this I was supposed to be discovering?

One afternoon I was wandering around the garden of a Buddhist monastery. It was charming and quiet, and there was this dusty pine scent that reminded me of a hundred happy hikes I’d done back home. As I strolled along a dirt path lined by dozens of bonsai trees, the questions caught up with me. In response, I looked closely at one of the bonsais, noticing its thick trunk despite its short stature, imagining the care with which the needles had been trimmed back, recognizing that this tree has witnessed more time than I will ever know. For the briefest of moments my attention was entirely focused on the little tree as my senses drank it in. And in that fleeting moment I had the answer to my question. What the heck am I doing? Looking at a bonsai tree.

Just then I realized how much my mind likes to complicate things. Not content to experience the present moment as is, it runs all over the place–wanting to frame this trip as some epic adventure, wanting to weave some fantastic universal truth out of my experiences, wanting to capture breathtaking photos to post to social media to impress my friends. But none of that is why I’m here. My intention was to practice listening to what I want, and that’s really quite simple to do. The hard part, as it turns out, is not giving in to these silly questions and the “shoulds” that are subconsciously trying to thwart my honest work.

There is nothing to accomplish. There is nothing that I should be doing. That’s just my mind trying to distract me from being present in the moment. If I continue to listen to myself and give my full attention to the experiences that I choose, my travels will be an even greater gift to myself than I could have ever imagined. That's what I'm doing with this time. 

Knowing What You Want

I’m reaching out to all the people pleasers. I am one of you. As a woman, middle child, and Pisces with Libra rising, on a scale of 1 to 10 I’m somewhere around a 13. (What do I want? Wait a minute, what are you asking?) But I’m working on this tendency, because while it may seem kind to consistently care take and accommodate others, without clear intention this behavior breeds resentment and frustration. Ultimately, it is unkind to yourself.

While it may be difficult to admit, I know from experience that it can feel scary to think about what you want. It requires you to stop looking to everyone else and instead undertake a close and sometimes uncomfortable examination of yourself.

What do I want? When I first intentionally asked myself this question, I didn’t even know how to begin to find my answers–and the fact that it seemed like such a simple question made me feel even worse. Yet how was I supposed to know what I wanted when I’d lived so much of my life according to what other people wanted for me or from me?

I struggled to identify what I wanted for a long time before I realized that I could take advantage of the deep listening skills that I’d been honing on my yoga mat. During yoga I practice detaching from the distracting thoughts in my mind by bringing my awareness to the sensations in my body. Have you ever had a yoga teacher ask you to feel into your feet or your hamstrings or your shoulder blades? This prompts you to direct your attention back to your body from whatever mind chatter you were caught up in. At first you may only be able to notice intense sensations in your body, like a stretching feeling in your hamstring or an ache in your knee joint. Over time, as you practice listening while you move through the postures, you develop an ability to discern more acute sensations, like subtle shifts in where the weight is in your feet or where you are holding tension in your face.

So how does this body awareness relate to knowing what you want? I believe that my body’s instinctive responses are a useful guide for making decisions. Our bodies constantly offer us feedback as we navigate the day; for example, you may experience a change in your breath rhythm, a slight increase in your heart rate, a clenching of your gut, or a relaxing of your jaw. This feedback is provided in real time, but we are usually too consumed with the mind chatter (planning, judging, remembering, criticizing, worrying, etc.) to notice it. When I need to make a decision about what I want, I can listen to my body’s response to the options I have and allow that natural feedback to inform my choice.

This is how it works. When I need to make a decision, I consider each of the options individually. I close my eyes and picture the first option. I briefly imagine that I’ve made that choice. Then I switch to observer mode. What is happening in my body? Am I feeling any sensations? Is there a churning in my gut? Am I holding my breath? Am I feeling at ease? I open my eyes and note what I felt. Next I close my eyes and repeat the process, this time picturing the second option. Again, I switch to observer mode and notice any sensations that occur in my body. Then I compare notes. What felt better in my body? It’s entirely possible that neither option created much of a response, but often I find that my decision becomes clear once I evaluate the simple feedback from my body.

I’ve repeated this process again and again, practicing it like any other new skill that I want to master. Now when I am asked for another favor or to change my plans for someone else, instead of falling into my old people-pleasing ways I can ask myself what I want. I can listen carefully. If I say yes, I know it is because it’s what I truly want and not because of some expectation, guilt, or need to be liked. That’s a meaningful change, and it’s ultimately a kindness to everyone.

It Takes Courage

I’m writing this from a balcony that overlooks rice paddies and banana trees, watching the sun peek over the horizon on a brilliant morning. From time to time I catch the sound of a woman singing, and a light breeze carries the scent of perfumed incense. I’ve been in Bali for five days now, and still I am struck by moments like this. Again I have to ask myself, “How did I get here?!?” It’s one thing to dream of travel but another to quietly watch this scene unfold before my eyes.

When I started telling people about my plans to travel, they typically responded with a variation on one of two themes: a) how insanely jealous they were or b) how insanely brave I was. Feeling uncomfortable with the latter compliment, I would poo poo the suggestion and reply that I was just lucky that the stars had aligned in the perfect configuration to make it work. But now, having lived through everything that had to happen to turn this peaceful morning into my reality, I can say unequivocally that it did take courage. And as for my previous belief, I will revise it to say that the stars did not align in my favor without first witnessing a significant commitment on my end.

I don’t say this to toot my own horn; my story may be unique to me but it’s not noteworthy on a larger scale. Instead I say this as a gentle reminder that it’s possible to chase a dream. I offer it as evidence that we really can do the things we imagine. The catalyst we need is available to each and every one of us. It is courage–the courage to persistently listen to what we truly want and the courage to take action toward that goal.

Your dream may be to learn a new language, share your art, or find a job that is more fulfilling. These possibilities all threaten our sense of stability in some way. Each one poses a risk, and because we don’t know the future, we can’t quite be sure how things will turn out. Therefore, when our comfort-loving brains weigh the uncertain reward against guaranteed risk, the result is too often a decision to leave things just as they are.

Fortunately, we have the power to override the autopilot. We can take a breath, summon our courage, and consciously choose to make our lives into more of what we want them to be, despite the uncertainty. For me, committing to my deep desire to travel meant I needed to give my boss my resignation. I’d be lying if I said I was 100% confident in my decision as I walked into that conversation. I didn’t have any of the details worked out, plus the idea of not having a steady income was terrifying. But I couldn’t hush that voice inside of me any longer.

When I told my boss that I wanted to transition out of the company so I could travel for an extended period of time, I immediately followed that statement with a directive: don’t freak out! He smiled and said he wasn’t freaking out, and in retrospect I realize I was projecting my own anxieties onto him. I had no idea how this was going to play out. I was scared. But I had done the hard part–I had committed.

Then came the work of planning an international adventure while wrapping up my entire life in Portland. It was a bigger undertaking than I had anticipated. I felt rushed and unprepared, and sometimes I wondered what the hell I was doing. But I am happy to report that those were often the moments when the stars did align, providing a dash of synchronicity right when I needed the encouragement to keep going.

I still don’t know how this is all going to play out, but I’m thrilled to be sitting right where I am–courtesy of a big dream and the courage to chase it. I hope you'll join me. 

Contain or Expand

At a recent yoga class my teacher was talking about her personal experience with aging, and during her monologue she said something that piqued my curiosity. The words aren’t exact, but it went something like this: We can let our experiences contain us or we can let our experiences expand us. As I left class that day, I immediately started to explore that statement within the context of my own life.

At times I have done each of these things, often without an awareness of why I chose that path. I have let my previous experiences define who I am and prevent me from challenging my perceptions of myself. And other times my life experiences have become opportunities to explore my ideas about myself and grow in unexpected ways.

For several months I had been thinking about my purpose in life and how to spend more time aligned with my passions. This deliberate examination of my inner world forced me to confront several Very Important questions, including whether or not my job was still a good fit for me. I loved my coworkers and our mission, but I was feeling stifled in my role and disconnected from the daily impact my company made in the community. After that yoga class I decided to consider this situation through the contain or expand lens, as an alternate way to frame my thinking.

Regardless of where I’ve worked, throughout my life I’ve held roles where I’m responsible for creating process to drive efficiency and improved results. I analyze data to identify hidden trends and problems, and then I provide meaningful guidance on how to address them. Because these activities add value to the business, managers quickly recognize my skill in this area. In fact, whenever I am asked about my strengths, I habitually respond with words that sound suspiciously like what former managers have told me at countless annual reviews. Without realizing it, I have been allowing my experience to contain me, limiting my beliefs about what I can do.

And yet, I’ve done some personal exploration that challenges those assumptions. Yes, I have a knack for analyzing systems and creating process, but I’m also good at a lot of things that don’t require such an intimate relationship with Microsoft Excel. Through yoga, self-study, and other pursuits, I’ve realized that I have a variety of strengths to offer, like being able to build authentic relationships or effectively communicate ideas to a broad audience. I also love teaching, writing, and working in collaborative groups, and while these activities are embedded in my personal life, they rarely happen at work. What if I expanded my idea of career based on these experiences?

I have more clarity and confidence in making a decision now: I can let my past work experience justify my narrow vision, or I can let my holistic experience push me to explore new possibilities. Instead of asking “What have I done before? Where do I know I’ll succeed?” the questions become “What do I want to do? What would be fun to try?”

It can be appealing to rest comfortably on what we think we know about ourselves. This is often our default. Yet if we don’t regularly examine our ideas about who we are and dig deep enough to identify our core truths, we can inadvertently create a mold from which it is difficult to break free.

When I reflect on my life, I see places where I’m still letting my experiences contain me, and that’s okay. Pushing myself in all directions at once isn’t necessary either. But by tackling the Very Important questions I face with this honest perspective, I know that I will consciously make more choices to expand my life–and with it my capacity for love and joy.