When You Want To Squeeze Tighter, Push Harder, Force the Way: Yield

"Abundance is the process of letting go; that which is empty can receive." 
-- Bryant McGill

A week ago, my bag got lost after my airplane flight. It never circled around.  The baggage claim was empty and lonely...my bag missing.

At first, it was no big deal.

Bags get lost.  They show up.  That's how it works.  The ladies who worked baggage claim looked weary:
so many missing bags + so many complaining people = dreadful job.

I really wasn't too worried.  I'd made it home and the odds were good that my bag would meander there too.

But the next day, there was nothing.  They hadn't located it and they went through their ready-made speech: 97% of our bags are located within five days.

The seed of doubt was planted...could my bag be in the 3%?

I asked the question out loud.

The lady on the other end of the phone was straight talking and real. Yes, some bags are never found.  If that happens, you'll get a travel voucher.

That wasn't comforting.at.all.

That was when I started counting.  I mentally picked through my bag: all of my toiletries, my new glasses, my super comfy fleece lined hoodie, my favorite jammies, Caroline's teddy bear...and my grateful journal.  Suddenly, without meaning to, I couldn't let go of these items.  I needed them, desperately, right this minute.  Like hitting refresh on the computer, over and over in my mind I kept remembering things that were in my lost bag.  Things I needed.  Things that I very likely might not ever see again.

There were tears of loss, sad to say.  There was an exasperated husband who tried to get it.  And there was me counting my missing items, obsessing, perseverating, needlessly agonizing.

What's the point?  It's just stuff.
I know this but I couldn't let it go.
 All I could see were the missing items.

Years ago I had just landed in Hawaii with our family.  The sky was stunning.  The airport so tropical it could be partially outside.  Literally, a rainbow greeted us.  Yet, there was a guy yelling and raging over his lost luggage.  I remember hearing the man who was the unlucky recipient of this guy's misplaced anger: "Have you turned around?  Look outside.  You're in Hawaii.  You only need a pair of shorts."

I remember scoffing in my mind at the weary, angry traveller.
"Yeah, guy, get over it. You're in Hawaii."
How irony loves to play with us.

Flash to my Sunday.  I wasted the morning, precious hours never to be seen again, focusing on that crap in my suitcase.  It was my daughter's 18th birthday.  I wanted to wallow, I really did...but I knew I wasn't getting today back and it was a pretty special day.  Remembering Mary Kate's birth, the joy of the pink blanket and her 2 1/2 year old brother marveling at her beauty and her amazing name (in his mind), Mary Cake, could only make me smile. I pictured her in tap shoes, in a soccer uniform scoring that thrilling first goal, holding the lacrosse stick, in her goggles covering up her baby blues for a science experiment and suddenly I could let that suitcase go.

It no longer mattered.

As soon as I stopped counting what was missing, I could see what wasn't.

I could see my sweet daughter, my day off to celebrate, my family, my health, my opportunity for a great day...and as soon as that happened...
poof!
I got a phone call.  They had found my bag.  It was on its way home.
Of course it was.

A long, long time ago I took a yoga class and the teacher taught me something very counter-intuitive and life changing.  I was trying to work my way into a position and the teacher advised, "When your instinct is to push harder, to force the way, don't.  Instead, yield."
Yielding has been the wise choice on so many occasions -- once I helped a guy trying to fix something in my garage with that advice. He was trying and trying to force something.  I told him about the yoga yield...it worked like magic and he looked at me like I had just punked him.

It took me awhile to get to the yoga yield on this one but there it was.

Stop counting what's missing.
Stop looking for what isn't there.
Stop noticing the way it isn't working.
When you spend that time on all of the things that should be but aren't, you miss out on all of things that are,
magically, perfectly, are.
All of the abundant blessings that are always there but are just never noticed.

This type of thinking has a name: it's called the deficit model.
It happens in education all the time.
We list all of the crap in the suitcase that's missing.
Your kid can only read at x level, his comprehension is at y level, this is blank % below grade level.
We perseverate on it.
We endlessly agonize.
We set a goal to move that number by 15% and call it a day.

We never see what is in front of our eyes.
We don't list the artistic talent, the creative writing abundance, the natural empathy, the ability to make friends, the skill that connects the dots across different parts of the curriculum.
We focus on the can'ts.

We miss the rainbows.

Last Sunday I relearned something I've known for a long time.
If I keep counting what's missing, I'll never see what isn't.
Happy Rebirthday to me.
Happy 18th to my favorite cake of all,
Mary Cake.

A Taste for Adventure

So...I've lived in my town for 15 years...had kids at the same school for that time.  My town isn't big and I've explored a lot of it.  Of course there are always new nooks and crannies to find but I know most of it very well.  I've scouted out the local "big" city...visited some other favorite parts of my state and even ventured out of state several times...but I admit it.  I'm ready for more.  I need some adventure, people.  I need new faces, new places and maybe even some wide open spaces as The Dixie Chicks liked to sing about.  I don't have a death wish or even need an adrenaline rush...I just want to explore.

When my family went to Hawaii a few weeks ago, I asked out loud who would want to visit Haleakala with me.  Haleakala is the highest point in Maui.  It is over 10,000 feet high, a dormant volcano, and an amazing place to see the sun rise.  I had wanted to go for years but no one wanted to come with me.  This time, Jack was up for it.  We decided to bike down from Haleakala with a group...28 miles, all downhill, ending up at the beach.

It sounded like just the adventure I needed.  It included a 2am wake up call and a very long van ride up a huge mountain in the dark.  I left warm and tropical Maui and entered mountain cold.  Jack popped up, we gathered our things and went looking for our shuttle.  We found him in the dark and for the first time I wondered, "What have I agreed to?"  It wouldn't be the last time I asked this question.

After we picked up other people and made our way to the main town of Kahului, we were given coffee and a video explaining the risks of riding a bike downhill with a group.  We were told it could be raining and slippery making for a treacherous ride. (Insert above question to myself here.)  It was still very dark and misty so I wasn't sure what our weather was going to be like.  They passed out nylon waterproof shells that we could put over our clothes and showed us their winter gloves that we could use as well.  I felt like a computer that just couldn't process the information.  How could tropical, balmy Maui be Canada cold?  

   Turns out 10,000 feet makes a big difference.

We drove our shuttle up the winding road to the top of a dormant crater, Haleakala.  We all were quiet and sleepy...nobody knew what to expect.  We arrived at the summit in total darkness...the first shuttle in the parking lot.  We put on our shell and headed outside.  The cold air outside shocked us awake and Jack and I made our way to the one warm room at the top of this mountain: the gift shop. After warming up and getting our bearings we ventured outside for the view.

We couldn't see much of anything...but it wasn't raining. :)

We had a flicker of light, 

a soft stripe of an orangesicle, 

a promise.  

We might get a real sunrise.

Boy, were we given a sunrise!

Non-stop performance is more accurate.

Mother nature went for it big time.

No, that is not the ocean...that is fog filling the crater with whipped cream waves.

The dance of light, mist and mountain...truly stunning.

Now imagine a traditional Hawaiian chant greeting the new day.  Imagine looking with hundreds of others at the world below.  Imagine silence and camera clicks.  Imagine so many sharing in such a sacred beginning.

We were ice cold...but we were smiling.

Our guides told us that we were the first sunrise that you could see since Christmas...10 days prior.  We felt lucky.
But we also felt nervous.  How were we going to get down this mountain on a bike?

We got back in the shuttle and made our way to the entrance of the national park.  We kept our shell on and tried to warm up.  When we got out of the shuttle just a few miles down the mountain, the mist was running over the mountain and straight on top of us.  I started shivering.  My toes got that numb feeling so well known from ice skating. I looked at Jack and he gave me a smile.  We weren't completely crazy...just a bit.

I got on my bike and got in line on the side of the road. We had a family of 6 people with us from Toronto, Canada; we had a pair of honeymooners from Santa Cruz, California; we had one lone adventurer, Amanda, from Sydney, Australia (if you think it's hard riding down a huge mountain, try doing it on the wrong side of the road, like Amanda!); Jack and me.  Owen would be our fearless guide.  He could ride the bike practically side saddle so that he could see behind and check on his ducklings.

In the cold mist, on a wet road, we began to ride -- straight down.  We had 29 hairpin turns in 8 miles.  Needless to say, I took my time and tried not to get too distracted by the indescribable view.  We all made our way down the mountain.  Owen gave us hand signals of when to get to the side, when to slow down, when to notice something.  After a very short time, we got to stop and admire the view.

Yes, that is the faintest of rainbows guiding the way to a eucalyptus forest.


Adventure rocks!

The first 8 miles are the most treacherous and dangerous.  Since we made our way through the hardest part, we had to celebrate with an early breakfast at a lavender farm.  
Life does not get any more tranquil or peaceful than celebrating your survival on a crazy mountain with a cup of hot chocolate, a breakfast burrito and your son. Wow!

After our breakfast we rolled through the upcountry town of Kula -- where Tom Selleck and Randy Travis make their homes.  We meandered by sugar cane fields.  We coasted into the cowboy town of Makawao.  We rode on empty roads and enjoyed the sounds of bike tires spinning.  We could smell plumeria and see the beauty of hibiscus in its natural setting.  We were seeing the rural part of Maui, the secret part.  I felt daring and privileged to see and know something that I had never taken the time to notice. We rolled into the hippie town of Paia, with its cute shops, gelato ice cream and surf shops.  We were slowly weaving our way back to the touristy Maui we knew and loved.  

Last stop: the beach.  Owen had us stop at a surf beach...giant waves, native Hawaiians surfing and a whole bunch of mainlanders trying their hand at the impossible.  We just watched the three and four layers of waves break on the beach, hypnotized by the surf and the sound of crashing waves.  Jack and I weren't even tired -- we're not used to riding only downhill -- but we sure felt accomplished.  We did it.
We survived a sunrise at 10,000 feet, a crazy bike ride downhill and hairpin turns and mist that acted like the natural obstacles of a video game.  Best of all, we did it together.

I'm on the lookout for more adventure in 2013.
How about you?
I might have to stay a bit more local but I'm up for anything...roller derby, a hot air balloon ride, a hike to some unknown spot. 
Do you have any good ideas for me??
Better yet, what adventures are you hoping to take?

"Life is either a daring adventure or nothing at all."
-- Helen Keller

Rainbows and Daffodils -- Cheesy and oh so perfect!

"Why take life so seriously?  It isn't permanent." -- bumper sticker


Today was one of those days...you know the kind...just a downer.  It felt like life was just one big gray cloud and the big huge actual black cloud dropping rain on me from place to place only added to the effect.  I could list my woes and some of you would think: "Phew, so very glad that isn't me" and others would think, "Really, you think that's tough, hear what's going on with me". We all know that the woes themselves don't really matter, they are inter-changeable.  It's the weight. And for today, they weighed heavy.

I tried to find the bright (or should I say light) spots: I helped for a minute or two to teach a first grader to tie his shoe; I watched Caroline effortlessly jump onto our rope swing in the backyard and just swing with the freedom and joy of a four year old; I sat in a fort with a dog and my sweet Caroline...but the weight was still there.

As I moved through my day to day obligations, I couldn't shake this overall melancholy and when it poured rain on Caroline, Patrick, Mary Kate and myself it just felt right.  I didn't even mind it.  When the four of us came out only a half hour later, it was sunny and I told the kids to look for a rainbow.  With all of that bright sun and the recent rain, it had to be there.  But, of course, on a day like today, the physics didn't work and there weren't any rainbows -- just some puddles and kids with wet feet.

We made it home and I dropped Patrick and Caroline with Mary Kate.  I hunkered down and headed to the grocery store. I was making the list in my mind, envisioning my peanut gallery's response to this evening's dinner and figuring out exactly how much was in my bank account when I pulled in to the parking lot.  There in front of me in vivid, gorgeous hues was my rainbow.  It was a full arc and it took my breath away.  It was so unexpected, so not in my plans today that I couldn't help but smile and thank the universe for that timeless sign of hope.  I sat in my car and drank it in.  I felt like Dorothy when she lands in Oz and sees everything in color for the first time.  I didn't even realize how colorless the day was until that moment.

I watched that rainbow and looked around for anybody to smile and share it with and there wasn't a soul.  In this crowded parking lot, no one was there.  I decided that for today, it was my personal rainbow.  I clearly needed it. At the exact perfect moment, a little grace came my way.  It always does.  Sometimes it's not as obvious as a rainbow just for you but today I guess I needed the neon sign to say: "Hey, stop, take a look, it's pretty beautiful around here."

As I pulled into my driveway, I noticed the yellow daffodils sprouting like a smiley face. My peripheral vision finally got the best of me and made me take note of my driver's side companion for the entire trip: Woody from Toy Story. Perfectly seat belted and ready for fun. I smiled and noticed the weight of the day was missing.  Getting out of my car, I sighed and was rewarded with the delicious fragrance of almond blossoms.  In that moment, I knew in my heart that the weight was as transitory as those small white star shaped blossoms in my backyard and yes, as fleeting as my own personal rainbow.

Sometimes it's just hard. Today was one of those days.  I needed a rainbow. In the parking lot of the Davis Food Co-op one showed up.  Whoever is accepting universal thank you notes...I sent mine on the petal of almond blossom. Thanks!