It’s here!

You know – IT. The happy secret I was so tortured about keeping. And now I’m tongue-tied all over again. But that’s just as well, because you can finally just come visit and find out for yourself. Yayyy!

So what will happen here?
I know I’ve been super quiet lately. Part secret-keeping, tongue-tied. Part Distillery-building-Hopscotch-playing. Part cranking away for a few awesome people doing my right-hand-girl thing.

And I really do miss writing. And I’ve been wondering myself what this here blog might become.

Most of my worky-type writing (which I unexpectedly love doing) will happen over at the new digs. So what I’d really love is to write (more!) here about daily life stuff.

To write more often, but about less, if that makes any sense at all.  And to write about simple little everyday things – what I’m cooking, reading, wondering, doing. In some ways, I’d like to write more often for the sake of writing itself — deep practice and all that.

We’ll see when I actually start writing more. Ha. I’m guessing that I’ll be swimming in all things Hopscotch Distillery for awhile. (Note the hopeful description of Swimming rather than Treading Water. Because life and things are busy, but good busy. Critical distinction.)

In the meantime… hope you’ll come by, hang out, throw confetti with us. See you there!

I keep getting memory flashes that all share a certain hard-to-describe quality: this easy, glowey, vacationey state of mind. Which is lovely, yes, but also tinged with a bit of bittersweet nostalgia.

Some of the memories are of seemingly ordinary moments, cast with an inexplicable hindsight of appreciation. Something like a commute to work through Southern California traffic. What! Fun!

And yet I’m nostalgic for the experience. For that moment (that feeling?) right after I picked up coffee — just driving, sipping my cup of cozy comfort, and listening to NPR.

Other memories are of moments that should have been amazing, and instead I was totally miserable. Like a first day in Rome, May and sunshiney, wandering through the open air of Vatican City.

Three weeks into a backpacking trip, after a total nightmare trip from Florence the day before, I was not impressed. At least not at the time.

But for some reason these flashes and their flood of wistfulness are giving me a second chance.

I wonder if this is actually one of the prerequisites for nostalgia: Being so completely out of touch with the present moment that you’re unable to appreciate it the first time around.

Which makes me wonder about rituals for remembering to feast on whatever is happening now.

(First-ish Tangent)
Whenever I’m trying to consciously appreciate a moment, I flash to Hawaii during Spring break of my senior year of high school. (Oh, that all flashbacks could be so charmed.)

That trip became my touchstone for present moment awareness, less because Hawaii is easy to love and more because that Spring I had discovered Thich Nhat Hanh and Peace is Every Step.

No, I definitely wasn’t any kind of enlightened at 17. I had found Buddhism through the most cliched of avenues – teenage angst and its dance partner, heartbreak of first love loss. I would’ve turned anywhere for comfort, and it was pure dumb luck that I ended up here.

I remember so many of those Maui moments, because I kept repeating:

“Breathing in, I calm my body. Breathing out, I smile. Breathing in, I know this moment, breathing out, is a wonderful moment.”

At the beach, on the boat, at the luau, on that nauseating Road to Hanna. I was there for all of it.

Now I’m wondering what all of these other fleeting flashes are about. I’m constantly wishing for an easy, glowey, vacationey state of mind. And why do I keep catching glimpses of that quality in moments where I didn’t initially recognize it? Guessing I’m also missing out on it now.

(Second-ish Tangent)
Back when I lived in San Francisco, I usually walked to work – from my apartment on Russian Hill, through North Beach and down into the Financial District.

Some days, especially on elusive sunny Friday mornings, Columbus would be buzzing with excited tourists heading in the opposite direction, making their way from China Town to the Wharf.

And I would be all jammed up with jealousy. I wanted to be on vacation. I wanted to wander aimless and excited, without a care in my holiday-oriented head other than what kind of Ghiradelli fudge I’d be devouring for lunch.

Sometimes it would strike me that in that exact moment, there was really no difference between those tourists and me. The sun was shining on all of us; the energy of San Francisco was pulsing through all of us; we were all free to be excited and carefree and eager for the day to unfold.

(And… end Tangent stream.)

Does this happen to anyone else? Do you ever miss something that you didn’t even like back when you were in the midst of it? Ideas for bring more vacation sensibility into life right now?

Sometimes I have a moment when I remember that there are so many ways to make an certain experience happier. And for whatever reason, I don’t choose to take advantage of those ways.

There are these little, tiny, almost insignificant steps that can bring more ease and joy to an activity. Steps that aren’t difficult or time-consuming. So why I don’t take those steps way more often?

Maybe part of it has to do with just how tiny and insignificant they seem. Like, why bother?

This morning while I made breakfast and chopped vegetables for lunch, I put on music and even, um, twirled around the kitchen a bit. (Bonnie Raitt in case you need the full, embarrassing picture.)

Usually I go about this part of my day quietly which is also perfectly nice. But adding music changes things, changes me, even if just for those few minutes.

Maybe I’m waiting to sing and dance around my kitchen until all of the Big, Important Things are just right. But of course that never happens — there is always something between here and there.

And waiting is so nonsensical, because all of those hoped-for changes are only designed to make me happy. And I can be a little bit happier just by singing “Luck of the Draw” while I make a smoothie.

Maybe when I’m already feeling cheerful, I’m more likely to take these steps. Which comes first?

I guess I don’t really want that to matter. I want to remember to choose the happifying steps either way. Because just acting cheerful is so stunningly effective.

Now I’m wondering how to plant reminders, something that says: Hey, remember how much more fun it is when you take the time to play a song? And maybe creating rituals around the tiny steps.

And I wonder about all the other little tweaks that can bring more light and fun and grace to my day.

All of it has these words of Thich Nhat Hanh swirling in my head:

Sometimes your joy is the source of your smile, but sometimes your smile can be the source of your joy.

Do you ever notice this or forget to do the little things that make you happier? How do you remember?

I woke up this morning thinking about taking the leap, choosing your own adventure, answering your hero’s call. And that it isn’t supposed to be easy.

People say living from your heart and steering toward your best life feels like paddling downstream.

You get this image of leaning back on your raft with the sunshine on your skin and a serene smile on your face.

Oh, Sweetie. The truth is you can’t even climb into the boat the first few times without tipping it over and soaking yourself in freezing water.

And you forget that paddling downstream still involves paddling. And it requires using different muscles. Muscles you’ve never used before which means tearing down and rebuilding. Upheaval.

Your stream is probably flat in places, and then you have to paddle a lot. And it winds through a canyon where sometimes the walls are so steep, you can’t see anything around the next bend.

Your vision is totally limited to this one single stroke.

Oh, and there are rapids. And eddies and holes full full of fear and doubt and what-ifs. You have to keep paddling. And bail water when your boat fills up. And scout the terrain ahead.

And of course you knew all of this. You chose this route precisely because the landscape is rugged and pristine and freshly carved. Which equates to uncertainty and confusion and many wrong turns.

You don’t choose it because it’s easy. You choose it because you can’t not.

And so you say yes to your hero’s call and you leap into your saga. And you find yourself repeating the mantra of my teacher Martha Beck: This is a lot harder than I expected, and that’s okay.

A lot harder. And all worth it because you’re moving downstream, in the direction of your life. Your life. The one full of serendipity and freedom and growth. And possibly a sprinkle of bliss.

And you feel this incredible relief when you remember that it’s okay for things to be hard. You stop taking the challenge personally. You meet yourself where you are. You say yes to this moment.

Except once you allow it to be hard, then you enter into this twilight space. Where Hard and Easy pull some ridiculously impossible kung fu manuever and dress up in each other’s clothes.

Sure, the old you might think this is all a bit reckless. But the new you knows that there’s nothing harder than drowning in abandoned hopes or suffocating from lack of inspiration and possibility.

This is all exactly the kind of absurdly obvious epiphany I’m always having from Dance of Shiva.

The kind of truth you can read about and you can hear people you admire explain 793 times. But none of it matters until you hit that moment when your jaw drops and you suck in your breath.

OH! I get it.

And you try to explain it, but people just roll their eyes because you can never express the intensity of your new understanding with the corresponding eloquence. And so you just keep saying:

No, really. It’s supposed to be hard. And it’s all so perfect. And isn’t it absolutely glorious?

Last week I listened to the loveliest, most delightful interview with Dr. Stuart Brown of The National Institute for Play.

(!! Yes, that is apparently a thing. I know!! And a little note to my current clients: When he realizes how much I support him and his playful endeavors and decides that The Institute can’t go another day without hiring me, I will probably go. But I will do what I can to squeeze you guys in. Also, if that doesn’t work out, I am willing to take him on as an adoptive grandfather. Imagine the fun!)

Mmmm, science.
He talked about the importance of play, obviously. And he was so very thoughtful and scientific about it. Highly helpful when you’re trying to convince a bunch of intellectual, achiever-bees that play makes everything better – creativity, connection, productivity, everything.

He explained how playtime engenders empathy, problem solving, resiliency… all kinds of good stuff. We have actually evolved to be playful; we need play as a powerful form of learning and relationship building.

On a non-scientific and random personal note.
I keep thinking about his explanation of the way animals play and roughhouse in the wild. Monkeys and lions and the whole wondrous kingdom. And he said that one thing that differs between wild animals and humans is that the monkeys and lions aren’t competitive when it comes to play.

They will actually handicap their own ability and let their playmates catch up in order to allow the play to continue. And this is maybe probably okay, definitely me oversimplifying and making excuses for my own behavior… But, I couldn’t help but think that we have evolved to root for the underdog.

So that’s why I cannot bear to watch the end of a sporting event. Especially any game where the victory depends on just one person – a goalie or tennis player or whatever. I get so overly empathetic, imagining how sad they’ll be and how they’ll beat themselves up. It slays me entirely. I usually have to leave the room, the stadium, the court.

And now I know why. Because animals evolved to keep the game going for the sake of fun and meaning and growth. Not to beat each other. Not to strip each other of dignity.

Anyway, that’s my new (ridiculously oversimplified) theory. And I am inappropriately hopeful that the sports-fanatical guys I’ve dated get a chance to listen. And to hear this: I am not the crazy one!

Anyway, I recommend listening to the interview – it was fantastic. I had a wheelbarrow full of epiphanies and I plan to listen to it again. Is play something you prioritize? Or is that an oxy moron?

Next Wednesday, June 10th, I start life coach training with Martha Beck.  I am crazy excited and nervous and a total bundle of energy.  I was just reading through an old journal, and found an entry from last year on June 9th and the crazy serendipity of it just blew me away. This was before I knew that Martha trained prospective life coaches.  I am basically speechless at this hypothetical letter, and even more shocked that I had forgotten writing it.

“Dear Martha Beck

I hope you’ll read this letter as two parts fan mail, one part request for your sage advice.  

Some background – I’m 27 and having what I’d consider a quarter life crisis.  I’m writing to you from my cubicle in corporate America which often feels like a mime’s “invisible box” routine. 

I started college pre-med, majoring in psychology (still my favorite subject) but something in me panicked and jumped ship.  I guess my craving for excitement ultimately won out and I switched my major to…drum roll here…accounting!

Oh, holy yawn.  Here I am, 5 years in, essential self suffocating, but not before I trudged through my masters degree in business taxation and earned my CPA license.  Said CPA license languishes in its shipping tube under a pile of shoes in my cubicle coat closet.  I take this as a teeny hint that its value to my true life’s work is similar to the way my famished wild child feels about collard greens.

I’m currently reading Finding Your Own North Star, Steering by Starlight, and The Four Day Win simultaneously.  This is probably not your intended sequence, but it gives me time to do the exercises and soak up the fundamentals little by little from each, while gobbling up the knowledge like an IV drip.

Today I was reading the Hear, Here chapter from Starlight, and something in my mindset suddenly shifted perceptibly from “Gosh, this will be useful in my career discovery” to “Holy freaking cow, this is so captivating I want it to BE my career.”  

So my question to you: where do I go from here? Graduate school?  Life coach school (is there such a thing)?”

Here I am, exactly one year later, eager protégé, and I think it’s safe to say I’m on the right track.

From a poem I can’t get enough of by Li-Young Lee: