The Year of Giving and Receiving (Okay, Mostly Receiving)

“When we can meet life with an open heart, receiving becomes indistinguishable from giving and we become conduits of grace.”                                       
                                                            --Mark Nepo, Seven Thousand Ways to Listen

Late last year, fresh off my yoga teacher training and full of good intentions, I decided to declare 2012 The Year of Giving. I would give something away every day for a year—and blog about it.

The universe rewarded my hubris promptly: I got laid off, right before Christmas. Oops! How could I commit to 366 days of giving when I didn’t know where my next mortgage payment was coming from? But it was too late; I’d already made up my mind to do it, and backing out seemed too convenient, not to mention cowardly.

So I stayed the course, more or less--giving more, blogging less. Now, on the eve of another new year, I look back at one of the most challenging, rewarding, and yes, happiest years of my life.

But it sure didn’t start out that way. Usually I love winter here in our little lakeside cottage. And with nothing to do all day but look for work, I figured I’d have a front row seat on Nature’s subtlest season. I’d watch the Great Pond freeze, the snow fall, and the cardinals and blue jays compete for the berries in my backyard. Mother Nature would console me while I got creative with this whole giving thing.

Or not.

The (warm) winter of my discontent

Last winter was one of the warmest winters on record in New England. For the first time since my son Mikey and I moved into the house eight years ago, the lake never froze. The snowfall never fell. The birds hid in the trees, out of the dreary fog and depressing cold rain. It was like living in Seattle, without the Starbucks.

But I couldn’t let a little bad-luck weather stop me. I plodded along, applying for hundreds of jobs and giving whatever I could think of away. I purged my closets, donating every third item in my wardrobe—a small mountain of shirts and sweaters and skirts and trousers. I gave away my beloved stash of Oprah magazines and my heavy punching bag and almost all of the hats I’d been collecting for more than twenty years. 

I gave editorial advice and manuscript critiques and pep talks; I taught free yoga classes and did free tarot card readings and hosted free writing seminars. I baked cookies and fried chicken and treated friends and strangers alike to a free lunch. And I blogged about it.

And then my dog died.

At the end of the winter that wasn’t, Shakespeare—the best dog who ever lived—was diagnosed with cancer.  By March he was gone, the quick-growing tumor the vet said would kill him no matter what we did having reached his brain. Shakespeare was a big old shaggy mutt, how old we weren’t even sure, having rescued him from a Las Vegas shelter nearly fifteen years before. But knowing he’d lived a good long life—longer than even he’d probably expected—didn’t really help.

I stopped giving, and started crying. I cried for Shakespeare and so much more. I cried for everything I’d lost in just a matter of months: my dog, my livelihood, my sense of self.

And then, because I said I would, I blogged about it. I told the truth: I was a 55-year-old woman with a dead dog and dead career. I had nothing left to give but my books and my shoes, the two cherished collections I’d heretofore spared in The Year of Giving.

What the f—k.

The Flip Side of Giving

Within 24 hours of posting that blog I had a new job. More than a new job, I had a new career, a new optimism, and a new respect for the flip side of giving—receiving. My dear friend and agent Gina Panettieri read my sorrowful, self-pitying tale and asked me to join her Talcott Notch Literary agency. I emailed her a head shot and a bio, and the next thing I knew, I was in business. I was thrilled and terrified at the same time—the emotional response the very best gifts always evoke.

But Gina was just the beginning. An outpouring of comfort, condolence, and compassion flooded my life—from friends, family, and colleagues, as well as people I’d never even met. My mom and the Colonel gave me the gift they’ve been giving me all my days: an unshakable faith in my ability to survive and thrive no matter where I found myself. My son Greg gave me the gift of laughter, recalling my lost sense of humor. My teenage son Mikey gave me the gift of poignancy, reminding me that the bitter is always accompanied by the sweet. My daughter Alexis gave me the gift of time, sending me a ticket to visit her and my granddaughters for Mother’s Day. And Michael gave me the shoulder I needed to cry on—happy tears as well as sad.

My fellow agents welcomed me with open arms—Katherine Sands, Linda Conner, Janet Reid, John Willig, Rachael Dugas, and Sara D’Emic foremost among them—and recommended me for conferences and seminars. After years of attending BEA as an editor, I went to my first as an agent, and editors like Amanda Bergeron of William Morrow, Phoebe Yeh of HarperCollins, Peter Joseph and Toni Plummer of Thomas Dunne Books, Andrea Spooner of Hachette, Allison Wortche of  Little Brown, Michelle Richter of St. Martin’s Press, Michael Braff of Random House, Christina Parisi of Amacom, and Joan Powers of Candlewick Press gave me my first meetings—and eventually some of my first deals for my first clients. Jill Santopolo, a wonderful writer and executive editor at Philomel, reminded me not to forget I was a writer, too.

My first clients gave me the gift of confidence, especially those who signed with me in the earliest days—Shannon Stoker, Lynn Coulter, Susan Reynolds, Richard Thomas, Dr. Lillian Glass, Vaughn Hardacker, Rich Krevolin and John Drdek, Greg Bergman, Phil Slott, the fab Saulnier sisters,  Emily Coughlin, John Partridge, Omar Garcia, Rachelle Christensen, Jess Anastasi,  and Rob MacGregor.

One good turn led to another and another and another. Chuck Sambuchino of Writers Digest told the world I was an agent—and I received more than 1000 query letters in a week. Queries—the gift that keeps on giving!

Publisher Phil Sexton gave me my popular Writers Digest Boot Camp gigs, and Michael Neff of the Algonkian Pitch Conference asked me to lead workshops in New York City.  Emma Spencer at Dragonfly Yoga Studio invited me to lead my first 5-Minute Mindfulness and Chakra Power seminars. Thanks to these lovely mentors, I learned that I loved teaching—and was pretty good at it. And Brian Kelly of Randstad landed me contract work as a content strategist, proving that you can teach an old writer new tricks.

Giving away the Write Stuff

The kindest words often came from my fellow writers, who reminded me that I am a writer first, and no matter what happened to me this year, it would make a good story. Hallie Ephron, Hank Phillippi Ryan, and Margaret McLean promised me I wouldn’t fall flat on my face; Jane Cleland and Jennifer Basye Sander told me to give myself a year to get acclimated.  My Scribe Tribe preached persistence and praised pages, and the Monday Murder Club rewarded my frequent absences with patience and affection.

And all my friends at MWA, Sisters in Crime, the League of Vermont Writers, the Harvard Medical Publishing Course, Killer Nashville, Writers Digest, the Algonkian Pitch Conference, and the New England Crime Bake chimed in with encouragement whenever I seemed to need it most.

With their support, I kept on writing. And agenting, and editing, and teaching, and content strategizing.

And giving. Yes, I bit the bullet and even gave away more than 50 pairs of shoes and 350 books. But who’s counting.

‘Tis better to give than…maybe not

While the blessings rained down on me every day of my so-called Year of Giving, I was reminded that gifts come in all shapes and sizes and colors, and that, ultimately, giving is just another form of receiving. It’s an endless loop of love that feeds both giver and receiver.

It’s New Year’s Eve, and given all I gained from The Year of Giving, I’m tempted to name 2013 The of Year of, uh, Something Big. But I haven’t come up with anything yet.

If you’ve got any good ideas to give me, I’ll take ‘em.

Embrace the Open Window

“When the Lord closes a door, somewhere He opens a window.”

--Julie Andrews as Maria von Trapp in The Sound of Music

“Keep passing the open windows.”

--John Irving, The Hotel New Hampshire

The Bible and the Buddha aside, sometimes I think that all you really need to know you can learn from Maria von Trapp and John Irving. I was reminded of this recently, after falling into a funk, due to a run of bad luck which included losing my job and my dog. When our beloved Shakespeare died, I wrote a blog about it—and my misery was met with compassion, kindness, and generosity from you all, friends and strangers alike. I thank you truly, deeply, sincerely.

One of you, my dear friend Gina Paniettieri, read the blog and asked me to join Talcott Notch Literary Services. “When can I start?” I asked. “Now,” she answered. Within hours, I was in business.

When the Lord closes a door, somewhere He opens a window.

But escaping through a window is neither as easy nor as direct a path as leaving through the front door. A fall from a window can be fatal. Going from a lifetime of staff positions with big companies paying handsome salaries and benefits to the uncertain glories of a commission-based income requires a leap of faith. 

Keep passing the open windows.

Both Ms. Von Trapp and Mr. Irving offer sound advice. But the paradox of life on earth is that we must traverse a world in which both axioms ring true. We must recognize an open window as the escape it is when we see one, remember that jumping is always a risky business, and then take the plunge anyway.

Because life is short, and we need to climb every mountain, even if we are all terminal cases.

Wish me luck!

The Year of Giving Continues

Days 52 – 65

Given in nurturing, care-giving, and mourning to Shakespeare.

Day 66 of 365

Freddie, our beagle, has been very lonely since his pal died. So I give him lots of love and attention and treats today and every day as we mourn Shakespeare.

Day 67 of 365

I send my daughter Alexis a beautiful Seven Chakra Necklace, made of lovely faceted gemstones I’ve selected myself, and strung on a sterling silver chain by my favorite jewelry designer Susan Reynolds. Check it out. (If you want one, just let me know.)

Day 68 of 365

At a networking lunch, I give a struggling entrepreneur a lot of marketing ideas, and volunteer to write some web copy for her.

Day 69 of 365

I donate a dozen pair of jeans—my man’s jeans—to charity. It has occurred to me, finally, that when I’m really at a loss for what to give, I can give away his stuff, too. (Hey, it’s okay, I did ask him first.)

Day 70 of 365

I take Freddie for a long walk in the cranberry bogs. Shakespeare loved the bogs, and we haven’t had the heart to walk there since he passed. But today I dedicated my walking meditation to Shakespeare, and Freddie and I hit the trail. It’s as if Shakespeare is there with us; I hear his spirit in the wind.

Day 71 of 365

I send my sister Pisces Hallie, Renee, and Carol birthday cards—with real notes inside, instead of my usual “Love you!” scrawls.

Day 72 of 365

I write up a quick guide to asanas and chakras for a yogini artist friend to use in her work and email it to her.

Day 73 of 365

My middle child—now thirty-something—is always losing things. Still. So I send Greg another medallion to replace the one I sent him for his birthday six months ago. This time I give him a fossilized quartz stone strung on a dark leather cord. This talisman combines the strength of clear quartz, known as the Power Stone, with the wisdom of the ages, represented by the fossils inside. Let’s hope he can hold onto this one long enough to evoke its mystical properties.

Day 74 of 365

Today’s my birthday, and I give my significant other, who’s on deadline, a break and tell him, no worries, we can wait until the weekend to celebrate. And I really mean it.

Day 75 of 365

I have dinner with a friend, and give her my full attention as she tells me about the troubles she’s suffered since we last saw each other. Mine pale in comparison, and I am reminded that this is always true, and were I to pay as much attention to what’s going on around me as to what’s going on inside me, I’d practice more compassion, gratitude and lovingkindness.

Day 76 of 365

I come up with both a series title and a book title for my Scribe Tribe sister’s new cozy—and encourage her to finish it.

Day 77 of 365

My son Mikey is home from college for the weekend. I give him a big hug and twenty bucks for gas. He disappears with his friends, and I do his laundry.

Day 78 of 365

I give up resenting the fact that I got laid off—and embrace my new opportunities. 

Letting Go of Shakespeare

 “If you have tears, prepare to shed them now.”

                                                            --William Shakespeare

In the past two weeks I haven’t done very much. I haven’t written a blog. I haven’t been to a yoga class. I haven’t walked through the bogs or watched What Not to Wear or called my mother, all tactics usually guaranteed to lift my spirits. Most important, in this my self-proclaimed Year of Giving, I haven’t given away a single thing.

This. Is. Resistance.

Resistance happens when the flow of your life is dammed by your own obstacles, your own obtuseness, and/or your own obstinacy. But, you say, I had a good reason for not being here, not going there, not doing this or achieving that. There’s always a good reason.

And I had a very good reason. Indeed, I had lots of good reasons, all of which amounted to this: I was sitting alone in my too-quiet house with no job and a dying dog feeling very sorry for myself.  

Shakespeare has been my dearest companion since we adopted him in Las Vegas 13 years ago. A big, shaggy black mutt of sweet and even temperament, he’d been abandoned by his previous owners. Nameless and homeless and ageless, he was a grand dog who deserved a grand name—so I called him Shakespeare and took him home as an early Christmas present for me and Mikey. We fell in love with him, and he with us. Everyone loved Shakespeare, he was easy to love.

But ultimately he was my dog. Perhaps because he remembered that I saved him, and he thought it was his turn to save me. And he did save me—over and over again. Shakespeare saw me through lay-offs and break-ups and cross-country moves. He led me on long walks when, blinded by endless tears during my divorce, I took my grief outside where Mikey couldn’t see. He served as my sentry, positioning himself by my bedroom door for his watch every night. He curled up at my feet when I collapsed on the couch after work, too tired to move. And one evening when I fell asleep after putting the kettle on, thereby setting the kitchen on fire, it was Shakespeare who roused me just in time.

Such Sweet Sorrow

So there I was, sitting alone in my house feeling sorry for my poor self, with no job and a dying dog. Dr. B said that Shakespeare had cancer, but given his advanced age, surgery and chemo really weren’t options. He gave us meds to make our ailing dog more comfortable, and sent us home.

For a few weeks, Shakespeare seemed to rally. But then he took a sudden turn for worse. He couldn’t walk, he wouldn’t eat, he cried in his sleep. He was failing—fast. I sat by him, day after day, praising and petting him, as he slipped into the next world.

Resistance was futile. Shakespeare died. And I gave myself the time to mourn.

Who's Afraid of Yoga Instructors?

All the brouhaha over how dangerous yoga can be—or not!—continues. “Don’t Be Intimidated By Your Yoga Instructor,” published on the wellness website  www.beforliving.com, comes down on the yoga-is-good-for-you side of the argument. Check it out, and not just because I’m featured in it:

http://beforliving.com/dont-be-intimidated-by-your-yoga-instructor

Namaste, Virginia Woolf!

The Year of Giving Continues….

Day 36 of 365

It’s Superbowl Sunday, and I gave the men in my life the gift of actually watching the game. Which was a heartbreaker for us New Englanders.

Day 37 of 365

I wrote a poem for a friend, and sent it to her.

Day 38 of 365

I found a local bakery that makes elephant ears—and I bought two pastries to share with a friend who loves them as much as I do.

Day 39 of 365

I helped a friend who had foot surgery recently return the wheelchair, walker, and other equipment she’d borrowed for her recovery

Day 40 of 365

Today I got a reclusive friend out of the house. Since I got laid off, I am beginning to understand how hard it can be sometimes just to get out of the house.

Day 41 of 365

Sometimes the best gift you can give someone is an apology. Today I said I was sorry to someone who was just trying to help. I am not always gracious as I should be to people who try to help me.

Day 42 of 365

Today I gave a friend a ride into the city, and paid the $47 parking.

Day 43 of 365

Today I played chauffeur to a neighbor whose car was in the shop.

Day 44 of 365

Today a former colleague asked for a reference—and I happily agreed.

Day 45 of 365

Today is Valentine’s Day—and I gave my sweetie two beautiful sweaters. But more important, I made him fried chicken for dinner.

Day 46 of 365

Today I gave a pep talk to a friend going through a divorce. Having been there myself, I know it will be the first of many.

Day 47 of 365

My son had his wisdom teeth removed today—and I was his chauffeur, cook, maid, and nurse. In other words, being his mom.

Day 48 of 365

Today I spent the day with my ailing son—and sat through the first season of Game of Thrones with him. Considering that there’s a decapitation in the very first scene, this was indeed a gift!

Day 49 of 365

I really need to give more of my books away, but I resist this more than I can say. But today, going through my bookshelf, I found unopened copies of Bryan Gruley’s well-reviewed books Starvation Lake and The Hanging Tree—and I gave them to my pal Phil.

http://bryangruley.com/

Day 50 of 365

I gave a girlfriend suffering a bout of self-doubt a third-chakra bracelet of yellow quartz to inspire confidence.

Day 51 of 365

Today I volunteered to help do publicity for an upcoming charitable event. More on this to come.

Breathe through Your Superbowl Stress

Bad plays.

Bad calls.

Bad food.

Watching the Superbowl can be a nerve-racking ordeal, somewhere between death and impotence on the stress scale—depending upon whether your team is winning or losing. (Here in New England, where Patriots fervor has reached bikram-fever pitch, even those of us who couldn’t care less about football could use a little stress relief going into the big game. If only to deal with our obsessed friends, neighbors, and significant others.)

But it doesn’t have to be that way. You can breathe your way through every fumble,  offside kick, and incomplete pass. When your offense loses ground, don’t hyperventilate, just breathe. When your defense fails to, well, defend, don’t hold your breath, just breathe. When the very worst happens and that Hail Mary pass falls happily into that scrappy receiver’s clever hands right in the end zone, winning the game with only seconds to spare and thereby cheating your team of yet another Superbowl victory, don’t beat your head against the flat-screen, just breathe.

Here’s a little half-time breathing exercise to go with your chips, dip, and Bud Lite. Close your eyes—or keep them trained on Madonna, your choice—and inhale deeply. Imagine your breath as the perfect throw of the pigskin, soaring through your chest, up your throat, past your third eye and out the top of your crown. Touchdown! Now exhale slowly, emptying your belly completely of breath. Repeat:

Breathe in calm, exhale anxiety.
Breathe in courage; exhale fear.
Breathe in victory; exhale defeat.

Namaste, football fans! May the most enlightened team win.


The Year of Giving Continues….

Day 32 of 365
A writer friend was looking for ideas—and I gave her the seed that she grew into this swell Tom Brady vs. Eli Manning brain-off blog:
http://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/prime-your-gray-cells/201202/super-bowl-battle-the-quarterback-brains


Day 33 of 365
I created a special sequence of asanas for a friend with fibromyalgia, complete with its own soundtrack, and taught it to her so she can continue to practice on her own at home.

Day 34 of 365
Another out-of-work pal was depressed, so I planned a Friday afternoon respite for us: a 3D screening of Hugo, the Martin Scorsese film based on Brian Selznick’s bestselling children’s book. A charming story beautifully told, and guaranteed to lift anyone’s spirits.

Day 35 of 365
I picked up a copy of David Mamet’s On Directing Film at the independent bookstore for that replaced the defunct Borders at the mall. It’s for a filmmaker friend of mine out in Los Angeles.

All Play and No Work....

It's been 53 days since I got laid off. In that time, I've wrapped and unwrapped gifts for the holidays, gone to Las Vegas to see family and gone home again, put up and taken down a Christmas tree, and applied for jobs. I've cleaned closets and rearranged furniture, given away some clothes and mended others, revisited two half-finished novels, abandoned them, and started a new story, and applied for jobs. I've had countless lunches with friends, walked the dogs countless times through the bogs, done countless yoga postures, and applied for jobs.

Mostly, I've applied for jobs. 

As if my life depended upon it. Which it really doesn't. I could freelance for a living; lots of my fellow writers and editors do just that. Forgive me then, my compadres, when I say what I am going to say next: Freelancing doesn't feel like work to me. Perhaps it's the solitary nature of the job, or the feast or famine nature of the compensation, or the commute to work that begins and ends in my living room.

Or maybe I simply identify with poet Donald Hall when he says in the very first line of Life Work: “I have never worked a day in my life.”

http://www.amazon.com/Life-Work-Donald-Hall/dp/0807071331/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1328020585&sr=8-1

And not in a good way. 

The Pride of the Peacock

I want a real job. This is what I am thinking at yoga class on Sunday. My shoulders are tight, and I remember what my yoga guru always tells me, that we carry the expectations of others between our shoulder blades. I smile as I settle my forearms onto the floor for the dolphin series that is supposed to prepare us for Mayurasana, better known as the peacock pose. The only pose I hate more than dolphin is peacock.

As far as I know, I am not so worried about the expectations of others, as I have enough to handle with my own. I carry my stress in my shoulders the way others carry stress in their temples or their lower backs. The weight of my world is on my shoulders—and the postures that challenge my shoulders are the ones I struggle with the most. Holding myself up by my forearms alone puts enormous pressure on my shoulders—and my feelings of self-worth.

I make it through the class—just barely—and leave with the realization that my peacock needs work, on and off the mat.  William Blake said that “The pride of the peacock is the glory of God.”

I go home, make a pot of coffee, and work on my new novel.

And apply for jobs.

The Year of Giving Continues….

Day 24 of 365

I sent an autographed copy of my memoir Fixing Freddie to Ilana Krebs, daughter of my good friend and fellow writer Gary Krebs. Enjoy, Ilana!

Day 25 of 365

I gave my BFF John K. Waters my beloved Edgar Allan Poe bobble head, which I got as a favor at a Edgar Awards dinner for Mystery Writers of America a couple of years ago, and kept pristinely in the box ever since. You can take it out of the box, John.

Day 26 of 365

A writer friend serving in Afghanistan emailed me about his latest work, and I offered to read and edit it for him. God bless you, Andy.

Day 27 of 365

My cousin Did emailed me, telling me how much he enjoyed Fixing Freddie, and telling me a bit about his life. We have been out of touch for decades, but thanks to the gift of facebook we’re back in contact—and have discovered a  mutual interest in Buddhism and yoga. I’m sending him a copy of my latest book, 5-Minute Mindfulness.

Day 28 of 365

My next-door neighbor Steve, who lost his house in Hurricane Irene earlier this year, came by to check on his lot, where he is rebuilding. I gave him lemonade and homemade brownies straight from the oven.

Day 29 of 365

Today we gave the dogs a bath. Our big shaggy mutt Shakespeare, whom we adopted from a Las Vegas shelter back in 1999, is at least 14 now, and slowing down. (Yesterday he only lasted one mile on our walk—a bad sign.) Lately he’d rather we bathe him than go to the groomer, so as the weather was unseasonably fair and warm today, we indulged him. It took an entire bottle of Herbal Essence conditioner to render his tangled mane soft and shiny again.

Day 30 of 365

Today I took Shakespeare to see our wonderful vet, Dr. Barrow, who confirmed what we had suspected: Shakespeare has cancer, and there’s not much to be done about it given his advanced age. I bought red wine and chocolate and invited my friend Susan Reynolds over, and gave myself a pity party.

                                                

Day 31 of 365

It’s the last day of January, and I am giving myself the morning to write. No applying for jobs today, as I have a two-hour follow-up interview for a fine position this afternoon. Wish me luck.

Breathing Upside Down

When my youngest child went off to college last year, I asked myself, “Who am I without kids?” Yoga saved me—by helping me breathe in and out, in and out, in and out, while I explored that question.

When I lost my job last month, I asked myself, “Who am I without a job?” And I hoped yoga would save me again. Or at least keep me breathing until I figured it out.

When Life Hurts, That’s When the Real Yoga Begins

The glorious trouble with yoga is, the more you do it, the more you come face to face with yourself. At first you’re flush with the quiet, the peace, the joy that the stillness of Savasana brings you. As you go deeper into your practice, you still experience that bliss during Savasana at the end of every class—but you may have to work harder to get there.

Last week, after a five-hour marathon interview for a job I’d love but may or may not get, I really needed to do some yoga. So the next morning I went to yoga class, intent on release and relaxation. But in true yogic tradition, it didn’t prove quite that simple.

Upside Down Once More

The best yoga teachers choreograph each class as a series of asanas building to a peak posture. My yoga guru, Emma Spencer of DragonFly Yoga Studio, is such a teacher. Just my luck—or should I say karma?—in this particular class Emma was preparing us for Adho Mukha Vrksasana, aka handstand.

I hate being upside down—literally, figuratively, metaphorically, or otherwise. I live by the motto, “there’s a place for everything and everything in its place.” Starting with my head, which I believe belongs right side up. I’m just saying….

Both headstand and handstand challenge this belief—and scare me silly. To graduate from my yoga teacher training, I had to learn to do Sirshasana, the headstand. It took a private headstand class from my other yoga guru, Michelle Fleming of Sanctuary Studios, to help me face my fear, breathe through my panic, and stand on my head. I learned to do it, but I still hated it. And it still scared me.

As for handstand, well, I wasn’t even going there.

But there I was in Emma’s class, my palms pressed against the mat as I willed my legs to make the leap from down dog to handstand. Intellectually I knew that I was strong enough to hold myself up, even when my world is upside down. But each time I swung my limbs up, I’d panic just as they approached the zenith, and I’d drop them back down to earth (where I thought they belonged).

Savasana was sweet as always—and tempered by the enormous relief I felt that the handstand class was over. The same relief I’d feel once I found another job.

The next day I went to class in a particularly good mood, knowing that Emma never repeats her sequences two days in a row, and that we would not be doing handstand again.

I was right: We did headstands instead. Keep breathing, I told myself, as I again prepared for the unsettling prospect of turning myself the wrong way around.

I breathed. I wrapped my fingers together into a basket, placed my forearms on the mat, lowered my crown into that basket, raised my hips, and walked my feet up the mat towards my head. Slowly I raised my legs, and waited for the panic to set in. As it always had before. I was prepared to breathe my way through it.

But the panic never came. I lifted my legs to a full headstand, and stayed there, upside down, for at least a dozen long inhalations and exhalations. Surprised and elated by the absence of fear, I lost count.

Fear of Falling or Fear of Flying?

Getting laid off turned my world—and my self-identity—upside down. But sometimes, being upside down is just where you need to be. Yoga has helped me see that, and taught me to breathe through the falling and the flying, the peaks and the valleys, the highs and lows that mark all of our lives.

Fear aside, I’ll get another job, and I’ll learn to do a handstand. Sooner or later.

In the meantime, I’ll just keep on breathing. May you do the same.

The Year of Yoga Continues….

Day 19 of 365

I gave myself the gift of a manicure today, in anticipation of my job interview tomorrow. I let the manicurist talk me into the deluxe offering, which included a “sugar and lavender massage” described as a “facial for your hands.” I compensated him wildly for the pleasure.

Day 20 of 365

I gave the guy running the Boston parking lot where I parked for my job interview an unnecessary—and unnecessarily generous—tip. 

Day 21 of 365

It stared snowing while I was in yoga class—the first real snow of the year. When I got home, I curled up on the couch with my handsome new roommate from California and watched the entire season of Homeland while the storm blanketed the cottage in white. It was my—and New England’s—gift to our friend from the other coast.

Day 22 of 365

Today, I continued giving up personal space in my home to accommodate my new roommate. It’s the first time I’ve shared my space with anyone other than my own children in more than a decade. This is surprisingly difficult.

Day 23 of 365

Today I gave my son $300 bucks to fix his car (my old Kia, as he wrecked his own car earlier this year). I drive like a little old lady, so the Kia has been in shock ever since the transfer of ownership. Here’s hoping it survives the winter.