Coming Back to Stillness

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Skagit Bay mudflats; Larus sp.; Ika Island (Wa...

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It’s amazing what half a pint of crème de leche frozen yogurt, a five-episode marathon of Grey’s Anatomy via Hulu and eight hours of solid sleep wrapped in a warm duvet will do for a woman’s disposition.

It’s not everyone’s first choice cure for over-extension and except for the sustained sleep not particularly healthy – but when I need brain candy only the vast wasteland of computerized television viewing and a dairy-based fat and sugar delivery system will do.  I’m not proud.

Earlier the same day, however, I spent an hour sitting on a bench at Shoreline Park.  The sun was warm, the breeze cool, the tide out.  The mudflats were filled with aquatic birds (and one extremely noisy raven) feeding like gluttons on whatever was free for the picking.

I love watching birds in their natural habitat.  My favorites are the pelicans.  I saw a squadron of fourteen fall into formation and execute perfect three point landings.  They were white with black tipped wings and glowing orange-pouched bills.

My other favorites – the ones that can make me cry sometimes – are the little ones that fly in huge swarms and seem to shape shift in flight. I believe they’re sandpipers. The wings are dark and their underbellies white. As they race through the sky they seem to appear from nowhere and then vanish depending upon how the light has fallen on them.

That hour in the sun was food for my soul.  The hours spent eating frozen yogurt and watching the trials and tribulations on Grey’s?  Not so much.

A few years ago I believed wasting sixty minutes of my life bird watching on a sunny weekday afternoon was pure decadence.  Spending an evening watching television was “relaxation.”

But on Tuesday I embraced both experiences on a day that could have been better. Trust me – burning the candle at both ends really does bite you in the backside eventually.

What did I learn?

The obvious.  An hour outside – even during a workday – beats wrapping myself in a duvet, stuffing my face with ice cream and filling my spirit with the distraction of a bad soap opera. Hands down.

Why?

That little bench by the mudflats delivered stillness.   Connection.  It tempered the endless chatter in my mind.  The clarifying peace of that hour allowed me to feel my feelings without judgment.

The lesson?

I’m not ready to give up the occasional binge of ice cream, Hulu and duvet – but I know it won’t nourish me.

For real nourishment – the kind of soulful nourishment that lifts my spirit – I need the sun, the birds, and an hour on the water’s edge.

Yoga is More than Skin Deep

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When I began to practice yoga twenty-five years ago, the emphasis was on the physical.  In fact, it would be closer to the truth to say I wasn’t practicing yoga at all – I was practicing asana.  And while my early training included work on the philosophy and history of yoga, I listened about as carefully as I did during fifth-grade arithmetic (and my friends are all too aware that my ability to add and subtract leaves much to be desired). 

What was I afraid of?

I convinced myself that asana was enough.  But I was only swimming on the surface.  To me, deeper work meant something physical, nothing more than graduating from half to full lotus without damaging my fragile left knee. The thought of moving deeper spiritually was too uncomfortable.  My asana practice strengthened  but I failed to see beyond its gifts. Deeper examination meant diving into the unknown.  And I was uncertain of what I might find.

But twenty-five years after my first utthita trikonasana I now see awesome beauty in the unknown.  I’ve yet to reach center – do we ever?  But to paraphrase one of my teachers, I know that when I do find my center, freedom will be waiting for me.

Although I have no proof, I think it is reasonably safe to assume that most yoga practice in the West is asana-centric. There’s nothing wrong with that.  I mean, what’s not to love about asana practice? It brings us to a place where we feel balanced and alive.  It calms or energizes depending upon our needs and our sequencing.  And if we pay attention to the sensations we feel after our practice we’ll realize they are more than physical. More than skin deep.  Our asana practice influences our emotional state.  It influences how we perceive the world around us.

But this is just a tease.

When we broaden our yoga practice with elements of pranayama and  meditation we build a practice that is deeply integrated and holistic.  The physiological and spiritual sensations that asana practice hints at become intensified. We begin to dive beneath the surface.

The same teacher who taught me where to find freedom also offered a metaphor.  He suggested that our day-to-day lives, our random thoughts, our unconsidered reactions to the world around us are like the surface of the ocean: rough and unsettled with white caps and tides that rush in and just as quickly rush out.  But beneath the surface of the ocean there is calm.  If we can turn away from chaos and turn toward the calm found in a measured breath and silence then our spirits – and our asana practice – will be nourished.

Those Autumn Winds: Supporting Your Immune System

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My last cold had me flat on my back for three days, hacking for seven, and speechless with varying degrees of laryngitis for six.  Of course, my last cold was in December of 2009 – so I really shouldn’t complain.

I’m one of the lucky ones. I can go a good year or two before a cold virus will hit me with a wallop.  Most folks will muddle through a cold every three or four months (and if you don’t believe that I’m knocking real hard on some wood right now – guess again!).

Besides good luck and good genes, my good health boils down to my being vigilant.  Not hyper-vigilant, but reasonable.  Especially this time of year.  As the days grow shorter and the weather turns cool we’re apt to spend more time with others indoors. And as we all learned in school, the virus responsible for the common cold is spread through airborne respiratory droplets.  It can remain alive on hard surfaces like countertops and desks for hours.  In other words our comfortable, centrally heated homes are more like oversized Petri dishes.

Ok.  I’m exaggerating.  But only just.

But factor in environments outside of our control like schools, offices and shops it’s a wonder we’re not all walking contagion zones, all red-nosed and dripping.

So what keeps us healthy? Hazmat suits?  Nope. It’s our ever-faithful immune system.

We usually don’t think about our immune system until something goes wrong. But consider this:  We run for cardiovascular health, lift weights to support our skeletal system and eat right to keep things running smoothly in our gastrointestinal tract.  What do we do to support our immune system?

Show Your Immune System Some Love:

Times are tough.  We want to stay healthy without breaking the bank along the way. But how do I figure out what my immune system needs without spending too much money on herbs and supplements?

My approach is to keep things as simple as possible. There are plenty of reasons why the immune system becomes compromised.  My first job, therefore, before I load up on supplements and herbal remedies, is to determine if my lifestyle is putting my immunity in jeopardy. If I want my immune system to defend me against pathogens, then I have to defend my immune system.  To stay healthy I begin with the tried and true – the stuff we’re reminded of each year around this time:

  1. I remember to wash my hands.  Up to 80% of infectious diseases like colds and flu are transmitted by touch. Simple hand washing with warm, soapy water is enough to rid our skin of viruses and bacteria picked up from computer keyboards, the cell phone or doorknobs.  If soap and water are not available an alcohol-based hand sanitizer is effective provided it is at least 60% alcohol.
  2. I do my best to get a good night’s sleep.  Burning the candle at both ends has never worked for me.  My goal each night is seven hours of quality sleep.  To achieve that, I turn off the television, lower the lights, and trade the temptation of Facebook for a soothing story (from a real book with pages!).
  3. I try to reduce stress levels.  I know.  You don’t have to tell me:  easier said than done.  Our spirits cannot match the pace of the 21st century.  But increased stress reduces our body’s ability to produce white blood cells.  And white blood cells fight infection.  So close your eyes and take a few deep yogic breaths.
  4. I watch my diet.  I have a confession to make.  Until recently I didn’t cook.  Most of my meals came from the community refrigerator otherwise known as Whole Foods.  Even then, and more so now that I am meal planning, I read labels.  I look for foods low in sugar.  I purchase locally grown and organic food when possible. And I try to eat seasonally. As we move into autumn my diet is shifting from green salads to roasted root vegetables, soups and stews.  Oh, and I make a point of staying well hydrated by drinking plenty of fresh water and green tea.
  5. I accentuate the positive.  We all know there’s a mind/body connection.  While it’s not always possible to eliminate the negative, research has shown that our immune system functions much better when we are happy and optimistic.

Is That a Tickle I Feel or is That Virus Just Happy to See Me?

Just because I don’t catch too many colds doesn’t mean I’m not prone to the occasional sore throat. As a full-time teacher, I talk.  Incessantly. So when a virus settles on me, it settles in my throat. My throat is the gateway to any pathogen looking for a place to roost.  But the very moment I even suspect a tickle I pull out all the stops to knock that pesky bug flat before it has a chance to do the same to me.  This is what I do:

  1. Salt Water Gargle:  Yes, Virginia, it does work.  A 2005 study published in the American Journal of Preventive Medicine enlisted 400 healthy volunteers.  For two months a percentage of subjects gargled with salt water three times per day.  At the end of the study it was determined that those who gargled had a 40% decrease in upper respiratory tract infections.  Furthermore, if they did become ill the salt-water gargle appeared to reduce the intensity of symptoms.  So there.
  2. Echinacea and Zinc Lozenges: My favorite three-dollar roll of lozenges is my go-to product even if there’s a chance the tickle I feel is a figment of my imagination.  I think the jury on Echinacea will always be out – some of us swear by it, some of us swear at it. There is, however, a bit of backbone in the evidence reporting the efficacy of zinc.  Studies indicate that zinc may help reduce the duration and severity of a cold.  The key is to take the lozenges within twenty-four hours of the onset of symptoms.  Like I said at the start, vigilance is key.
  3. Neti Pot or Saline Nasal Irrigation:  Remember when you were little and got “a nose full” at the local pool?  That’s what using a neti pot feels like.  I find it useful at the first sign of a cold as well as toward the end, when my nasal passageway feels done in.  It’s an acquired practice, though. There are folks who swear by their “daily flush.”  I, however, limit its use. Is daily colonic irrigation a good idea?  Probably not.  I rest my case.

The Perfect Storm – When Optimistic Hand Washing isn’t Enough:

At some point, unfortunately, it’s bound to happen.  There’s a deadline at work and a virus making the rounds at your child’s pre-school.  The stress is overwhelming; you’re not paying attention.  You didn’t notice the tickle.  You missed your window of opportunity.  Too bad, because within a day or two it’s not a tickle, it’s a cold. And you’re flat on your back.  What do you do?  Let’s begin with what not to do:

  1. Don’t “push through it.”  It’s not fair to your co-workers and family and it’s not fair to you.  During my last cold I curled up on the couch for three days and watched “ER.” The Clooney years.
  2. Don’t ask for antibiotics unless a doctor diagnoses a bacterial infection.  Remember – a virus causes colds.  Not bacterial.  Why take antibiotics if they’re unnecessary?
  3. But don’t avoid the doctor because you think, “it’s just a cold”.  If your symptoms worsen, if there’s a fever, or even if you just don’t feel “right” – see your doctor.

And in the meantime take plenty of fluids and get plenty of rest.

The Bottom Line:

Everyone has their own solution for supporting the immune system and fighting colds.  To prove my point, I asked three people what they could not do without when struggling with low immunity and illness.

Patty, a nurse in Texas said, “2000 milligrams of Vitamin C in powder form. I also mix ¼ cup Apple Cider Vinegar with 8 ounces of grape juice and take that daily.”  She told me this routine clears sinuses and relieves head colds.  “I also take Vitamin C regularly as part of my routine.”

Sudeepto, a solar physicist in California told me,  “Rest, steam and hot tea with Tulsi, ginger, lime and honey.”  Tulsi – also known as Holy Basil but not to be confused with Thai Basil – is a medicinal herb used in Ayervedic medicine.

Finally David, a medical herbalist in County Donegal, Ireland shared this:  “My three herbs for a strong immune system are Reishi, ginseng and Echinacea. Along with its general ability to strengthen the immune system, Reishi relieves chronic sinusitis. I believe it helps prevent the common cold and flu. I choose Reishi when ginseng is contraindicated – for instance in people who are hypertensive or anxious. In general, however, ginseng is excellent in cases of fatigue and low immune systems. Finally, Echinacea stimulates immunity but does not build immunity.  It’s like the gas pedal on your car.  It only has an effect if there is gas in the engine.  But it’s terrific at stopping infections at their initial stages and good at clearing infections.”

The real bottom line?  There is no cure for the common cold.  It’s a virus that we can do our best to avoid or wait for it’s to run its course if it finds us.  There are, as we’ve seen, lifestyle choices and commercial products that will boost our immune system and alleviate symptoms.  It will take a little exploration, but I’m certain you will find the ones that work for you.

Want More Ideas? 

All three sites offer balanced information on health, wellness, nutrition and fitness.

A version of this blog post originally appeared in Yoga Living Magazine

Making Butter

I made butter yesterday. I think.  I poured heavy cream with a dash of salt into a cold mason jar, tightened the lid and shook it until the slosh of liquid thickened into the thwip of something that wasn’t quite Kerrygold but was far removed from Cool Whip.  I don’t know if it truly qualified as butter but on the first rainy evening of autumn my friend and I smeared it on fresh-baked rosemary bread and washed it down with homemade soup. It was delicious.

Yep.  Butter making.  Soup making. You might say I have too much time on my hands.  My toilet has never been so scrubbed, my hide-a-way bed so neatly hidden, my laundry so freshly washed and my dishes so deliberately stacked.

And I have to be honest.  I love it.

At first, when I lost my ability to fill the space between appointments, I wanted to believe I’d lost my drive.  I wanted to believe I’d become lazy. Isn’t laziness easily remedied?  You pull yourself together, up the caffeine and step on the gas.

But the only thing rushing through life has ever done for me is blur my vision.

So, for now, I’m going to let life slow down.  I’m going to take a more considered path.  And I’m going to make butter.

Autumn Teaching Schedule

I love this time of year.  Summer is winding down and the last few weeks of August are rolling by slow and lazy.  Kids are anticipating the start of the new school year and so am I.

I’ve had a wonderful summer full of hikes, a trip to Point Reyes and a weekend with friends outside of Reno.  I’m ending my summer with four days at Asilomar for the Symposium on Yoga Therapy and Research (SYTAR).  I’ve never been to Asilomar nor have I attended a SYTAR conference and I’m excited to be doing both.

The following weekend teacher training begins at Avalon Yoga Studio.  Although I’ve been teaching for almost twenty years I’ve decided to complete this six-month teacher training to add to my knowledge of yoga and to fill any gaps in my education.  I’m looking forward to the new vocabulary one gains with learning.

Of course a girl has to pay the rent and so while all this is going on I’ll still be teaching my usual schedule.  I hope you’ll join me.

California Yoga Center:

With the exception of the Monday night Yin class, which is a fantastic practice for anyone, my classes at California Yoga Center are considered Level I/II – most suitable for beginners and continuing beginners:

  • Monday evenings from 7:30 to 8:45 – Yin Yoga
  • Tuesday mornings from 9:00 to 10:00 – Iyengar Influenced Slow Flow
  • Friday mornings from 9:00 to 10:00 – Iyengar Influenced Slow Flow

You can find more information about these classes on my website or here.

Avenidas Senior Center:

As long as you are over the age of fifty you may register for classes at Avenidas.  The space is basic and we don’t have the same amenities as a yoga studio but you can’t beat the price.  You can find out more about Avenidas here.

  • Monday afternoons from 1:00 to 2:00 – Beginning Yoga
  • Tuesday afternoons from 5:00 to 6:00 – Improved Beginner
  • Friday mornings from 10:30 to 11:30 – Beginning Yoga
  • Friday mornings from 11:45 to 12:45 – Improved Beginner

I am also happy to work with you on a one to one basis from the comfort of your home.  This is a good choice if you’re recovering from illness or injury, new to yoga or simply can’t find the time to travel to and from the yoga studio.  Working one to one gives us the opportunity to design a program specific to your needs and goals.

Breaking News: The World is Not Inside My Computer

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Funny thing happened yesterday morning.  The alarm sounded at 6:00.  I hit the snooze button three times (per usual) and then leapt from bed at 6:15 with a song in my heart.  I sprang (yes, I’m a morning person) over to my desk with a skip in my step and opened my laptop with eager anticipation.

And waited…

waited some more…

Where are the bars?  Where are the little black bars?? 

This was the point where panic began to set in.

WHY ARE THERE NO BARS!?!?!  WHAT DO YOU MEAN CONNECTION TIMEOUT!?!?!

The Internet had abandoned me.  I was a woman alone on an island with no means of discovering what had happened in the world while I was asleep.  I began to blame myself.  What I had done wrong?  Did I stay up too late last night?  Did a crumb of tabouleh fall between the keys?  Did I forget to pay my bill?  My bill…that’s it…I forgot to pay…

I paced for a bit and considered going back to bed but the kettle was ready to boil and the Tazo Black teabag was in the mug.  I sent a text to a friend – the one with whom I have early morning Facebook chats with when I should be…wait a minute…when I should be writing.

Huh.

Well.

I guess I could write.

Great Caesar’s Ghost what a novel idea!

With a cup of fresh brewed tea and a few notes I managed forty-five minutes of sustained and even somewhat lucid sentence construction.

But then I remembered Pete’s Coffee.  Why, didn’t I drive by a Pete’s (if I took the slightly more circuitous route) on my way to my first client?

I arrived at a curiously empty Pete’s with an hour to spare before the real workday began.  I traded tea for the Coffee of the Day (with room for milk) and sat outside in the gorgeous morning sun, opened my laptop and…

Please enter your access code.

What access code?  WHAT ACCESS CODE???

Yes, I know that all I had to do was step inside and ask.  But then I realized:  it was a beautiful morning, the sun was warm, the coffee was good and I felt alive.  Something about breaking the routine; something about feeling the earth beneath my feet and listening to the commuter traffic one hundred yards away. I felt connected to the world.  A part of something.  Something my morning dip into the Huffington Post and scrolling through two hundred Facebook updates has never managed to do.

I closed my laptop, and then my eyes, and sighed.  It was a good morning.

Dancing with My Heart

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Woman at left is painter Suzanne Valadon

Image via Wikipedia

“Open your heart.”

What does he mean, open my heart.  My heart is already open.  Isn’t it?

I would describe it as a modified version of the classic closed-eyed-swaying-amoeba dance from 1967.  I was definitely moving.  I was even managing a steady rhythm although I can’t be certain whether it was to the music flying through the air or the music in my head. All I know is that my body swayed. It might not qualify as ‘dancing’ but I was having fun in my own ‘I’m just fine where I am’ way.

My friend, on the other hand, arced across the room. I watched him shift from the cerebral to the intuitive as he left behind convention and expectations. He moved like a planet abandoning its orbit, half satyr, half nymph.  A shooting star.

He was not alone.  The large studio was filled with men and women giving their bodies like offerings to the music.  There was nothing pre-ordained in how they moved.  It was a pure call and response.

I had yet to pick my feet off the floor or move my arms or walk more than two feet away from the safety of the sturdy wall at the back of the studio. I was happy near the protection of the wall. I was safe and content to continue my swaying amoeba dance.  I figured it was a miracle I was moving at all.

So I don’t know how it happened that I was suddenly in the middle of the room with my friend.  We were spinning and I was trying not to fall over and praying I wouldn’t stomp on his toes.  We whirled around one another, ducked under arms, turned forward and then back again.  A few minutes passed and then he leaned toward me and said,

“Open your heart.”

And when the track ended, my friend moved on and I moved back to the consolation of the wall.

What did he mean – ‘open your heart’?  Wasn’t my heart already open?  Just because he can leap around a room and not care who’s watching and I can’t doesn’t mean my heart isn’t open.

A chance encounter a few days later helped me understand what my friend meant.

I was at the Cal Train Station in San Francisco on Sunday with an hour to kill.  A family with a young boy of about four walked into the station and sat on the bench beside me.  The boy and I made eye contact and I asked him about his souvenir cable car filled with chocolate.  His brown eyes were lit with adventure.  He could not sit still.  He wanted to chase pigeons.  I watched him race back and forth with his dad, arms outstretched, laughing louder and happier on each pass.  His contagious joy echoed through the station. We all smiled as he ran with his shoulders rolled back and his spine arched.

And then I had the “aha moment.”  The little boy chasing pigeons at the train station was doing what my friend had hoped I might do. The boy was running with his heart leading the way.

It wasn’t the mythic heart my friend was imploring me to open.  He knows me well enough to know I have a seeker’s heart. What he wanted was for my body to help my seeking heart on its journey.  My friend simply wanted me to create space in my heart center so the mythic heart would have room to breathe.  Room to grow.  Room to laugh.

So this week I’m making a promise – to give myself space and to move through life just like that little boy at the train station who danced with an open heart.

Listen to Your Mother!

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Me and Mom

“Do what your mother says – enjoy NOW.”

This was my mom’s response after an email exchange where I bemoaned the fact that I would really love to purchase this Sparrowharp. Except that its purchase would put a pretty big dent in my budget.  It’s not that I couldn’t do it, it’s just that – well –isn’t giving myself this gift just a wee bit self-indulgent? What does one do with a Sparrowharp anyway?  Besides, there’re starving children to feed, homeless folks to shelter and animals to rescue. And don’t even mention the debt ceiling.  We’re in the middle of a fiscal crises and I’m thinking about purchasing a custom-built Autoharp?  Why?  I should be investing in my future, not buying musical instruments I can barely play.  I should be donating to charity, not blowing my savings on a hobby.  I should be saving the world.  I should be…I should be… I should be more responsible.  Shouldn’t I?

Or maybe, just maybe, if I want to save the world, I should think about saving myself first.

Sometimes it’s hard to remember that joy begins at home.  We need to remember to nurture our own spirit and embrace what makes us happy.  When we understand how to bring joy into our own lives, we’ll find the strength to be a source of joy for others.

Am I going to buy the Sparrowharp?  I’m still thinking about it.  Playing music is a source of joy for me – it takes me out of head and into my heart.  For that reason alone, a Sparrowharp sounds like a pretty good investment.

Besides, a kid should always take her mom’s advice, right?

ps…if you want to hear me pluck out a wee tune on my guitar click here, and then click “Girl From the North Country.”

Today, Music is My Yoga

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Maybelle Carter

Image via Wikipedia

My music teacher in elementary school was a big, buxom woman with dark eyes and even darker hair that she kept piled in curls on the top of her head.  She’d go from classroom to classroom, tapping out rhythm, encouraging us to sing, rallying the boys in the back of the room.  I loved her.  I especially loved her on the days that she brought the instruments – a cardboard box full of triangles, tambourines and wooden sticks.  But the best instrument of all was the one that came in the odd-shaped box.  The Autoharp.  I always volunteered to play the Autoharp, and Mrs. Soldridge always chose me.  Maybe it was unfair to the other few who could manage to keep time, but I didn’t care.  I wanted that instrument.  I wanted it bad.  It was heavy and wonderful and all you had to do to make a sound like angels calling was press a button and strum the felt plectrum across the strings.  And there were so many strings they were impossible to count.

By the time I was in high school though, I’d forgotten all about Mrs. Soldridge and her Autoharp.  I was too busy failing in my attempts to play the opening of Stairway to Heaven on my guitar.  The Autoharp was old-fashioned and silly and so were all those traditional folk songs I loved as a kid.

Flash forward more decades than I’d like to count and enter Evo Bluestein.  Evo brings traditional folk music and dance to schools across the country.  His ability to charm even an introvert like me into believing she’s musical is legendary.  I could take a few pages to sing Evo’s praises but it would be easier for you to just click here.  On Saturday Evo offered an Autoharp Workshop at Gryphon Music in Palo Alto.  With my friend Sarah’s encouragement, I signed up.

The workshop began at 1:00 when I pulled a 21-bar Evoharp (Evo’s custom built version of the Autoharp) from its case.  By 1:15 Sarah and I were playing our first song.  Knowing he had two (cough) extraordinarily talented students in front of him he decided on a more accelerated course.   By 2:00 he and Sarah – a music teacher with a classically trained voice and her own 14-bar Evoharp – were playing exquisite melodies while I attempted to keep a steady rhythm (pick strum pick strum pick strum…).  Our voices rang out in three-part harmony.  By 2:30 Evo was introducing me to more complicated strumming patterns and by 2:45 my left arm was ready to fall off.

He ended the workshop by playing a Bessie Smith blues number.  It was unbelievable.

Music transforms you.  It alters the beat of your heart and the way blood spills through your veins.  I walked into that workshop a bit blue and more than a little nervous.  I left two hours later knowing there had been change on a cellular level.

Today music was my Yoga and every cell of my body was filled with joy.

I loved every single minute of that time spent with my friend, with Evo and with music.  I’m no Mother Maybelle, but damn that was fun!

Let the Dust Clouds Settle

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Me. In my favorite chair. Sitting still.

Flummoxed.  I’m flummoxed.

Even though the weather in the Bay Area has most of us convinced it is still March, the truth is we’re six months into 2011.   Hard to believe, isn’t it?  I’d love to say that so far it’s been an exciting, productive one hundred and eighty days (give or take) but the truth is so far this year has been about introspection and healing.  At least for me. And, for now, there is very little I want to share about that.  Except maybe to say something we can always count on is change.  Nothing ever stays the same.

Instead I’ll tell you that I emptied my change bucket on Memorial Day and discovered that throwing the days collection of quarters, nickels and dimes into an old water bottle could yield – after sixteen months – three hundred and twenty dollars. Coin Star took a small chunk of that, of course, but I still had enough for two sessions of therapy and a few groceries.

And I’ll tell you about how I arrived for a hair cut at my favorite corner salon and ran out of it thirty minutes later looking not unlike an East German gymnast circa 1964.  Attempts at home to re-style the odd and uneven razor cut with any gel, mousse and wax left in the back of my closet since 1992 failed.

Fortunately, when I returned to the salon today they happily re-cut my hair for free.  Crises averted.  I thought I was going to have pull out my acid washed mom jeans and Sally Jesse Raphael glasses.

And that’s pretty much it.

I’ve not even checked in with eHarmony for new matches or OKCupid to count the arrows in my quiver.

Instead, I’ve begun to consider the benefits of sitting still.  We spend so much of our lives chasing dreams and goals, stirring up dust, racing towards something that at times is impossible to identify.  I think I’d like to find out what happens if I let a little tranquility roll over me.  What will I see if I let the dust settle?  Maybe I’ll find out everything I wanted was right next to me all along.  I was just moving too fast to notice.