Working woman.

It’s weird for me sometimes having two blogs.  My other blog is typically just for yoga talk.  This blog tends to house all of my other thoughts.  It works, but sometimes I struggle to figure out where to write certain things.  Yoga is such a huge part of my life, it’s rare for me to write anything without mentioning it at least a bit.  But the variety is nice, so I guess it doesn’t really matter.

I’ve been really enjoying  Matt’s new blog.  It’s great, you should definitely read it.  And comment, and join in the discussions.  Go now, I will wait.

Anyhow.

I have a job.  How weird is that?  I have spent the past eight years of my life basically unemployed.  Prior to that I worked for YWAM Denver.  Which, depending on how you look at it wasn’t really employment per se.  So now, at the age of 29, I have a real job.  Except, well, it’s the best.. job… ever.

Being a yoga teacher, for me, is..  well…  perfect.  It’s the perfect job for me.  Really.  It’s been funny to suddenly be on a schedule, getting paid (OK that part is more awesome than weird or funny), and having to be on time for work.  I don’t mind, I’m a grown up, and I love teaching.  But seriously, I have a job.  A real job.  Nice one, mamma.

Working has been good for me.  It’s given me time doing the thing I love, teaching yoga, and some time to be alone a bit.  But there are a few interesting things I’ve learned and observed lately about myself, working, and having a job. (I am shamelessly stealing this list making idea from Matt, thanks Matt)

When you have a job, alarm clocks take on new importance.
I am obsessed with being on time, and I’m almost always early.
A good cup or maté, or a good cup of coffee is essential when working before 6 am.
Being a “Yoga Teacher” solicits a LOT of interesting responses.
I have the BEST work wardrobe ever.
My “office” is really hot.  But it’s supposed to be.  I like it.
Having a good relationship with your boss is really important.
A warm cup of tea in the middle of the afternoon can really fix almost anything.
Feeling good about what you do for a living might be one of the biggest keys to being happy in life.
My kids love it that “Mommy works at Yoga.”
Spending a whole day away from home makes those ‘welcome home’ hugs and kisses even better.
Working is rewarding.
Working can be exhausting.
Working is sometimes boring.
I like having a job.
Sometimes a granola bar and a cup of soy milk is enough for dinner.
I don’t go anywhere without a bottle of water.
Having access to unlimited tea, Kombucha, and coconut water is awe-some.
I have the best job ever.

Gravity and the New.

What is it about New Year’s?  Even I, in all my ho-hum pensiveness, cannot escape the inevitable draw to reflect and look forward at this time of year.  So here I am.  It’s January 1, 2009.  I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about the importance of this date.  Of course, it’s a new year, day one.  But at the same time, it’s just another day.  This day found me much the same as the past few days have found me.  I woke, ate, showered, dressed, went out.  I took a yoga class, came home.  Not much is really different.  But there is some sort of strange gravity about this day, and I kinda like it.

I’ve had a killer year.  2008 was by far, the best year of my life..  ever.  I accomplished things this year that I would never have even thought were possible.  I never like overly quantifying things, especially good things, because I think it somehow devalues them.  So, I’m not going to say, “this was the best thing, and that was the second best thing..”  It doesn’t matter.  It was a good year.  I made some incredible life changes this year, climbed some amazing mountains, dealt with huge things, and gained some very important perspective on my life.  I grew up, got healthier, took control of my life, and did things I’ve always wanted to do.  It was a good year.

I was reading Matt’s recent post on his New Blog (which I love) and was inspired to think of all the New things in my life.  I have a New Job.  I am a New Bikram Yoga Teacher.  I have a New Life, New Body, and New Hope.  I have many New Friends, who have become like a precious family to me.  I have New Patterns and New Dreams.  I want even more New Things for 2009.

I am not the type to make New Year’s Resolutions.  I think they’re fine, for what they are, but they have never served me well.  I don’t make lists of things I want to do.  Instead, I set my intention on making changes.  This year I have a few major changes I want to make.  They are things that have already been set in motion over the past few months, and even years.  I look forward to seeing them come to fruition in 2009.

Even with all the New things in my life, even with the goals I have set for this year, I still find myself mostly just grateful for right now.  2008 was an incredible year for me.  So, in light of that, I will share a list with you all of some of the things I am most thankful for from the past year.

I am thankful that I am healthier today than I was one year ago.
I am thankful that I am still doing Bikram Yoga
I am thankful that my family is healthy and whole.
I am thankful for the love Dave and I share.
I am thankful to have the ability to maintain the boundaries I have set in my life.
I am thankful to have met so many amazing new friends this year.
I am thankful for the strength I have found inside.
I am thankful that I was able to do Teacher Training.
I am thankful for the support that I have to pursue my dreams.
I am thankful for my home studio, my job, my bosses, my fellow teachers, and the amazing community at BYTW.
I am thankful that I can share yoga with others.
I am thankful this year brought me hope.
I am thankful to be healthy and well.
I am thankful for every blessing.

I wish you all an amazing New Year.  Remember to give thanks always.

Namaste.

Checking a few things off of my list, and flying away to Acapulco.

Yup, it’s time. I’m leaving in three days. I am flying away to Acapulco for Training. I will miss you all but am TOTALLY STOKED about finally doing this. I’m checking a few things off of my *list* by doing this. YAYY!!!

If you get to thinking about me, or missing me, or just want to know what the heck is going on with me for the next nine or so weeks, please read my Bikram Blog.

I hope you all have a lovely Fall and I look forward to seeing you again in November!

Namaste.

How to buy a High Efficiency washing machine.

Perhaps the most pivotal detail in finding your perfect High Efficiency washer is the critical first step of needing one. Let’s say you have a washer that’s just over two years old that you’ve been repetitively abusing for the majority of those two years. Let’s just say, also – for conversation sake, that that sweet little washer wasn’t maybe the best washer you could have gotten. Not really even a great washer, more just a washer that fit and you could afford when you bought your house. Just for conversation sake, OK??

So, that sad little Whirlpool has been dutifully washing your filthy yoga mats for years. It’s already been repaired once, replacing something to do with the spinning action. Let’s say the repairman who came to fix it warned you against washing “heavy large items” that could “damage the spin belts..” And let’s also say for conversation sake that you didn’t so much listen.

So now you have an almost useless top loading washing machine. It’s leaking water all over your (thank GOD) ceramic tile and making hideous noises when it spins. You continue using it praying it will keep going, and then one day, poof!! it’s over. Your sad little washer says no more, gives up, and commits suicide. Let’s just go with that.

You are now left with the painful decision of whether you should hire someone to fix it or replace it. You decide given the fact that the repair will cost almost as much as you originally paid for the machine that replacing it is a far better idea.

Now you at least need a new washing machine. So, obviously you must have a Cadillac, right? You’ve learned your lesson about cheap washers and are sick of the drama. So you immediately bury yourself in reviews of the best HE washers on the market.

Now, one thing that I will lovingly share here that I didn’t really know about the process is that you can read a billion reviews and they will make you insane!!! Unless the machine gets truly awful ratings, you are going to want to know more. So I found that it’s helpful to know that there are a few different categories for HE washers. Here are the three that I found.

Category 1 The Beauty Queens: These are your designer washing machines. They’re red, blue, silver, black. Most of them are seductively nice to look at but returned slightly below average ratings for overall functionality.

Category 2 The Knock-Off’s: These are your deceptively inexpensive HE’s. The pricetag is tempting, but one quick review of their noise ratings should send you running the other way.

Category 3 The Workhorses: These machines are expensive and they can kick your ass. They make zero apologies for only coming in white and will happily remind you just why spending close to three month’s mortgage on a washer isn’t such a bad idea.

Now in my brief experience (2 days research), I found there are a few in-betweens, but they’re hard to find. Your best bet is to stick with a workhorse. Pick something big, 4.0 cu ft. capacity will happily tackle enough for a family of five, and don’t cheap out.

Once you’ve picked the machine, there’s a learning curve. BE PREPARED for the learning curve. I’ve been a top loader girl for my whole life. Using a front loading beast was new territory for me. YOU CAN overfill it and it will sound like a herd of wild antelope are trying to break into your house. Also, there is a GOOD reason special soaps are available for HE machines. Just go get some and don’t complain. You don’t want to have to wait an hour to rinse and rerinse all that regular soap out of your towels. Also, while these machines DO launder more items at once, they take easily twice the time of a top loader to do a load. An hour per load is standard. Just so you know. You should also be prepared to find that while the machine is freakishly quiet while it washes, it does emit a peculiar airplane propeller hum when it spins. They tell me this does not damage your hearing long term.

The goods far outweigh any perceived bads with these washers. My clothes have NEVER been cleaner. They come out nearly dry because of the freakish spin action. I am also told these monsters use far less water and power to run. I guess only time will be the tell on the “savings” of the machine, but I can say for sure that I am happy with the condition of my clothing.

Whie I probably shouldn’t recommend a specific brand BUY A MAYTAG, I can say that the reviews that I read on my specific machine were some of the highest ratings out there.

So, good luck and happy washing!!

Essil on.

Just enjoy this amazing song. Below are the lyrics and you’ll find a beautiful explanation of the lyrics here. I’ll post more soon about why this song means so much to me.

Essil on
Essil on erifet al
Essil on
Essil on eriftel al
Essil on

I travelled through light
I travelled through light; I am not afraid

Njosnavelin The nothing song. Sigur Ros

On missing someone…

I saw a friend today that I have not seen in almost six years.  We met, together with my family and another friend, for lunch.  The instant I saw him, it was as if I had just seen him last week.  We embraced and it was like no time had ever passed.  He found me a few months ago online and finally seeing him in person again after all this time was incredible.  He has and has not changed, not unlike myself.  It’s interesting to me how we can yearn for a friend, miss someone deeply; then in one instant see them and feel that surge of joy and excitement.  It’s a lovely fulfillment of a longing for the warmth of caring for someone.  I’ve been chatting with him online, even talking over Skype.  But nothing compares to the embrace, the tangible, the touch of a face-to-face interaction.

As I look forward to leaving soon for Acapulco, now less than five weeks, I reflect on what it means to miss someone.  I miss a lot of people.  I miss friends who I’ve not seen in far too long.  I miss friendships and interactions I have had.  But I feel a deep ache in my heart for how deeply I am going to miss my family when I leave.  This is part of the journey of going to Teacher Training, the missing.  It’s part of what will form me during those 9 weeks away.  But it still hurts.  During our year of engagement Dave and I were separated for six weeks.  I went away to (ironically) Mexico with YWAM to staff an outreach team.  I missed him the moment I got into the van.  I missed him all the way through Utah, Nevada, California, and into the Baja peninsula.  I missed him back into Arizona, New Mexico, and all the way back to Denver.  I missed him.  Badly.

I think we throw this term around a lot, I miss you.  I say it a lot.  I think I am saying it more now than I have in a long while.  But it means different things every time we say it.  What do we miss?  Why do we miss it?  It’s not just about missing the person, it’s about us.  It’s about our needs, our wants, our emotions that are somehow left unattended in the absence of the person or persons we are without for the time.  Missing is about not having the hug, not feeling the warmth of the other person beside you.  Missing is about not having the listening ear, the comforting buzz of a text message that reminds you they’re still…  there.  Missing is about me.

When I saw my friend, we both said the same thing.  Man, I have missed you! We both said it, and we both meant it.  I surely did miss him.  And even now, not five hours after saying goodbye to him, I miss him all over again.

In five weeks, I’ll be in Acapulco.  I’ll be preparing for my first full week of Teacher Training.  I will surely miss my husband, my beautiful sons, and my amazing friends.  I will miss my sister and my mom. I will miss so many people.  But if I am able to remember that they will eventually return to me, it makes the ache a little easier.  I will see my friend again.  And in November I will return to my family after Training.  I will see my friends and family again.  And I am sure, that by that time, I will have new people in my life to miss.  And so the cycle goes.

Where I am, where I’ve been, where I’m going…

I haven’t forgotten you blog.  It must seem that way.  The truth is my life has changed 100 percent in the past month and I’ve been so busy holding on for dear life that I haven’t had as much time to write for writing’s sake as I used to.  I am not complaining, of course, just sharing.

I’m sitting here, my entire house silent.  My guys are all asleep.  It’s not even that late, barely 10 pm.  But it’s been the kind of week that makes this day (Wednesday) feel like it should surely already be Friday.  It’s not, by the way.  Here we are mid-week, all of the life lived already in the past three days seem enough to fill several weeks for certain.

I’m on the eve of a massive life journey.  Really, if you get right to it, the journey began years ago.  Ten years ago, to be exact.  I always wanted to be a yoga teacher.  Now it’s finally happening.  I’m learning the Dialog, really, and it’s happening.  I’m going to class SO MUCH.  I’m preparing, thinking, planning, and praying.. a LOT.  This is who I am now.  Karen, the future Bikram Yoga teacher.  It doesn’t even feel strange.  It feels like the next place I put my foot on the road, the next rung on the ladder.  This is all part of who I am, and who I am meant to be.  My body is stronger, healthier, leaner than ever.  I am a yoga machine, and I like it.  In about six weeks I will board a plane and (eventually) arrive in Acapulco, Mexico.  I will then spend nine weeks immersed in this yoga that has saved my lfie.  I will sweat and sweat and sweat and sweat and sweat.  I will cry, and miss my family.  I will work, and learn, and hope, and think, and imagine life from a new perspecitve.  I will change whether I desire it or not.  I will allow the miracle of my God-given blessings to wash over me.  I will be thankful.

But this is all in the future.  And I am forced now, six weeks out from my departure, to remain present in this life.  I am mom, wife, friend, confidant.  I am who I will always be, and not  yet who I will become.  I have inside of me all the potential, and none of the experience.  It’s a strange station, but also a relief.  One day at a time, I am still here.

I am asked often if I miss my normal life.  I’m still not sure what this means.  The only thing I can surmise is that maybe people wonder if I miss the old life, before I leapt off the cliff and went for my dreams.  I can’t figure out why I would miss that, but I suppose it’s something to ask.  The answer is no, I miss nothing.  I don’t miss the old person.  I don’t miss having “more time to myself when I wasn’t going to yoga all the time.”  Nope, I don’t miss that at all.  This is normal to me now, whatever ‘normal’ is anyway.  Normal always sounds a little bit like a cop-out or an excuse people offer themselves for the doubts and fear they carry over living life just underneath their true potential.  But I might just be projecting…

So Where am I?  Right where I’m meant to be.  Where have I been?  I’ve been here all along, but in a coccoon of sorts.  Changing, going through my metamorphosis.  Where am I going?  In the literal, I am going to Mexico soon for 9 weeks.

I will always be here.  I will always be.  But I hope that when I look back, I see new scenery each time.

Questions: The Ending

Part VI

The next morning I sleep through my buzzing alarm clock. It’s cloudy when I sit up in the big bed and rub my eyes. Just across the dim hotel room I see my notebook. I rise, order some breakfast from room service, and grab my notebook. With my laptop beside me on the pillow I read through the notes I have made on this man. The day comes flooding back to me – the earthy house, the warm tea, the cool wind. I remember his dark eyes, his smile, the green corduroys, and the ring.

It’s nearly midday before I notice how long I have been writing. The sun is filtering through the curtains and my phone rings. Uncertain of where I’ve left it I get out of the bed again. I reach into the bag to find it and my hand falls on the small black book. I pull it out and begin looking through its tattered pages. It’s a book of poetry, most of them ancient romantic letters written to who-knows-who. The pages are nearly brittle with their fragility. It’s not a famous book, as far as I can see. They’re not the kind of poems that I recall hearing ever before. I read a few, then put the book down, puzzled. I wonder why he has given this to me to read. I leaf through the book several more times before I decide to leave the hotel room for a walk. Just before I set the tiny book on the bed a small letter falls out of it. The paper is brown and folded into four. I pick it up and spend the next hour and a half reading it over and over and over again.

Part VII

I finish writing my article, in tears, and notice the afternoon is waning. I send it off with very little editing, along with a resignation letter to my boss. Soon I begin to gather the items from around my hotel room and prepare to leave the next morning. I put my sweater and jeans into the suitcase and again, noticed the little black book on the bed. I gather it and walk out of my hotel room.

I drive the dark winding street to his house. It is late enough for the sun to be gone, but not so late I fear waking him up. I pull the car into the driveway and turned the keys off. I see lights on in the kitchen and front rooms, I knew he is here. My nerves run cold, knowing I am not expected.

Walking up the heavy steps to the porch I hear voices, two people talking and almost turn around. But before I can leave I hear dogs barking and the porch light comes on. I hear the locks turning and the door opens. His face lights up when he sees me. I am halfway up the steps and freezing in the evening wind. He invites me in, but I refuse. He comes out onto the porch and closes the giant door behind him.

I smile, despite my uneasiness, happy to see him again. I apologize over and over for bothering him and intruding on his evening. Nonsense, he says, and brushes away my anxiety. I hold the book between my hands, with the tiny letter on top and look at him. He sees it and smiles again.

I ask him why he gave it to me. I ask him why he would want me to read the letter, and why he didn’t just tell me the story the letter entailed. I realize I sound angry and stop, mid sentence and notice he’s crossed his arms again at his chest – twirling the ring. I tell him I don’t understand. I tell him I probably have no right to understand, but I want to.

This time, he gives me no answer. He takes the book and the letter and tucks the tiny brown paper inside. Setting the book down on a bench by the window he turns his back to me to look out at the sky. I don’t ask anything else. I just stand there, watching him. He stands still for what seems like an eternity, staring, twirling the ring.

We remain silent for a few more moments, then he turns back to me, and I see it. I see the look on his face, the tears in his eyes and I finally know why. I walk to him and embrace him. He returns my hug and I smile again. I can hear him sigh and as I pull away. I look at him and say goodbye. Nothing more, then I walk away, for the last time.

Part VIII

The flight home is short and sparse. I sit beside a window with two empty seats next to me. The past two days sit heavy on my heart and mind. I had missed countless calls from my boss and ignored at least twenty emails. I have plenty to deal with when I get home, but for now I rest. I lay my head back into the seat and close my eyes. I can see his face, standing there smiling at me.

I will never be the same person after meeting him. I will never be the same kind of writer, or observe the way I used to. I will never look the same way at the questions I ask or the responses I get. My mind drifts back to the little letter. I recall the story it told, the secrets it held

Three weeks later I am sitting in my living room when I get a phone call. It’s his manager and she tells me he’s just read the published interview. She says he is interested in speaking to me again and I tell her politely that I would rather not. I tell her to give him my love and thank him again for his kindness and time. She agrees and we hang up.

I have thought of that weekend a thousand times. I have spoken to my husband about it and chewed it over with friends. Questions are things that you ask when you want to know an answer. Some questions are asked when we already know the answer. Some are asked as a way of manipulating or coercing others into giving up their deepest secrets. The questions I asked of him were simple, interview-type questions. But the answers he gave me changed me forever.

Pouring out.

I’m reminded tonight, as I sit to write about all the things on my mind of something Matt said once in a VPost while he was recording in Austin. He talked about feeling vulnerable, having the jitters, and being nervous. He goes on to talk about his emotional attachment to what he does and why he creates the way he does. I connect with this tonight, as I sit down here at the screen, somehow hoping to find some solace from the thoughts I wrestle with today. Matt touches on how he pours himself emotionally into his music, and how this often drains him. He goes on to talk about the ebb and flow of energy and how sometimes the enthusiasm for the things we really do love can change. Even though we love those things, and though the love never goes away, feelings fluctuate. Some days I feel this way about yoga. Some days I adore it, crave it, go after it. Other days, even though I still love it, I feel drained and nervous. I’ve taken this as a good sign of my real relationship with my practice, but it’s not easy.

As I talk about Teacher Training, I feel a mounting anxiety. It’s not an anxiety that I can’t or shouldn’t, or don’t want to go. It’s more of the anxiety a performer feels before they go on the stage. I feel like Training is me putting myself and my dreams on the line. I’ve been dreaming of teaching yoga for a long time, and to finally have my hand on that is a pretty big deal for me. But along with that dream, and the realization of it, comes a responsibility. I don’t mean to over-dramatize it or make it seem bigger than it is. But it makes me nervous thinking of going. Nervous in a good way. Nervous in the way that I know it’s going to demand a lot of my heart and soul, and I know.. I know what that means.

Lately, when I get on the mat, I feel centered. My mat is my safe haven. It’s neutral ground for me. Even when I have a tough class, I feel safe, secure. Even as the butterflies come and go, I feel grounded. But there are days (mornings, nights) when I sometimes feel like I leave a little too much on the mat. At times I feel that I give so much and pour out so much emotion in my class, it leaves me feeling empty. I am sure this is part of my process. I am sure I will learn to harness this, and I will learn to be more judicious with putting out emotional energy in class. But tonight, with early class ahead of me, I dunno. I feel nervous.

Matt says, “It’s not about it being easy..” He’s right. Practicing isn’t about it being easy for me. Neither is Training, or teaching. I have every confidence I can learn to teach and do it well. For me it’s about doing it with my heart, but still being able to function afterward.

So those are my very disjointed thoughts right now. I must be off to bed soon so I can get up early for class.

Re-birth

I haven’t been writing here much.  Mostly because I’ve been writing so much on my yoga blog.  And truly, the Challenge has been taking up a lot of my energy.  Both in the area of blogging and just overall.  But I felt like I should take a little time to write something that had little to do with sweating, or postures, or dialog, or Bikram.  Just something from me.

I had a conversation yesterday with a dear, old friend whom I had lost contact with.  It was lovely to speak to him again.  He and I went to high school, church, evertything together.  Kind of like a brother to me, really.  But as life goes, our ways parted for a long time.  But what has been interesting as I speak with him is how eerily similar our lives have been.  All these years gone by and we’ve had very similar life experiences.  We spoke about Faith, growing up in stringent religion.  We discussed our disillusionment with the status quo and how we both had to reach a real crisis before we could come back around to what we believed and who we really were.

We spoke very frankly with one another and I appreciated his candor.  I sometimes feel nervous to talk to people from my past, afraid of what they’ll think of what my life is now.  This is not to say I am in any way ashamed of who I am or the life I lead.  But there’s a shift in reality when the past Karen and the present Karen somehow merge in one interaction.  I often avoid these interactions, dreading the awkwardness that will ensue.  But speaking with Nic is the exact opposite of awkward and there’s a mutual understanding and respect between us that makes me thankful to have him back in my life.

Perhaps the most amazing thing drawn from our conversation was this idea of Re-birth.  I believe Nic and I have both experienced a veritable re-birth.  On many levels we have both shed a shell of a former identity, and emerged a new person.  Nic and I spoke about tolerance, compassion, and love – and the stark contrast between the way we identified with those things ten years ago and the way we do today.  We both agreed that “hitting bottom” spiritually is sometimes the very best thing that can happen.  But the real triumph is getting back up and being strong enough to find your way again.

I’ve never really understood fully why we have to go through these struggles to find truth.  But I know for sure that without shedding, dying, and re-birth – life gets incredibly stale.  We are constantly re-examining the Whos, Whens, and Whys of our life.  Isn’t that the point??  My dear, sweet friend Sean wrote a while ago,

Life isn’t just a cycle. It’s like a long run of parallel narratives, stories we keep telling with our days and our actions and our relationships, our diets, our brilliant plans, our mistakes, and even our successes. We never stop trying to live what we will be, what we want to be, nor do we stop living what we were, what we always have been.

So maybe in all of this there is a parallel truth. That we can become new and fresh. But we always carry the person we are and have been and will be. They’re all the same person. Even when the old one dies off and the new one is born. So, as Nic found me and we re-connected, we found that we were totally different people. Different and exactly the same. Maybe it’s the constant change that makes us identical. We both changed. Neither of us stayed the same. So in that, we were alike.

But at the end of the day, it’s comforting to have a friend like that. It’s comforting to know that we aren’t alone in our change. Change can feel isolating and scary. But having someone to lean on, to talk to, and who will listen is irreplaceable. And as the cycles of our lives, the births and deaths of self come and go, we can find common ground and know that regardless of the past and present we are ever connected and always the same.