On living with intention....

I go to my yoga studio three to five times every week. Hey, you tell me unlimited classes, I'm going to take as much advantage of that as I possibly can...despite the fact that some have told me that's "too much yoga." Is there really such a thing as "too much" yoga? Doubtful.

Anyway, every time we start class, the instructor asks us to set an intention for our practice. I imagine that's just a standard yoga teacher thing. Regardless, I always try to think of something that I need to focus on for myself. Most recently, it's been either strength or peace. I often combine each of those with something else, kind of like a main course and a side dish. I mean, it's my practice so I'll take from it what I can get. Usually, I combine them with something that's seemingly opposite, but really it's complementary. With strength, I also focus on beauty. With peace comes joy. And it almost never fails me. Focusing on things that are good and "breathing out that which no longer serves me" has helped me in huge ways over the last few months.

The levels of stress I've competed with in the last two or three months (to say nothing of the last two YEARS) have really thrown me for a loop. I mean, I'm a pretty hard core adrenaline junkie, but these loops have been way more than I ever wanted to be thrown for. I stopped being able to sleep through the night and I was constantly worried about something (usually finances). Things would wake me up in the middle of the night that I either couldn't control or that I could deal with in the morning. But awake I would be and awake I would stay. My finances got completely out of whack, which is something that - in all honesty - has NEVER happened to me before.

Then, sometime back in January, I read the book "The Secret" and it changed something in me. I stopped thinking about all the negative in my life. I started using as much positive talk as I could come up with. There's something profound and powerful in removing negative words from one's speech patterns. It changes the way I approach so many situations in my life now. I try, as best I can, to find whatever silver lining is available. Sure, there have been things that have thrown me and I completely forget to do this (like my move, for example), but on the whole, I try to keep a positive outlook. I remember looking at my finances, completely overwhelmed and disappointed and angry about it, and I said, "I just need [this much money] to get things under control." I did what I could, but the money never came. I tried getting a job at a bar. I did some secret shopping. But the amount that I needed just never came. So that lofty plan went on the back burner and I just plugged away at my debt as much as I could.

I started doing yoga in April and it changed my life. I learned to breathe and I learned to do it with intention. My teachers always remind us during class that, so often, during the day, we simply get too busy and forget to breathe. How is that even possible? I don't know, but now that I'm aware of it, I find myself intentionally breathing during the day. It's helped the way I run. That zen and peace that I found so many years ago in Japan, it's slowly making it's way back into my life through yoga. I'm realizing that maybe I should be more proactive about "setting my intention"...maybe it doesn't just have to be about yoga. Maybe I should wake up, breathe a little, and set an intention for my day. After all, I'm really the only one that can control how good (or bad) my day turns out.

So I'm going to try that out. I'm going to wake up in the morning and set the course of my day. As for day one, it's working out pretty all right so far.

Last week, we sold the house. For a massive profit. It didn't really even hit me until this morning, but the amount that I said I needed back in January was almost exactly the amount that I got from the sale.

Intention was set. Intention was sealed. 

On living the good life....

Denver, Colorado has been my home for the last 33 years. I've never really lived anywhere else, at least, not substantially. There was there year I lived in Calgary, Alberta and my heart certainly found a new "home" there for a time. I loved every second of living in Canada and every time I go back to visit, I fall in love a little more. But that was just one year away from home and I lived in a dorm. Then there was the year I lived in northern Minnesota. I'd be quick to argue that was the worst year of my life (until recently...and it still ranks fairly high on my list of horrible, rotten years) despite the fact I met my best friend that year. She makes that year worth remembering. But, again, it was just a year away from home and I lived in a dorm.

On September 2, 2013, I will officially be leaving my home in Denver and setting up shop way out east. Like, REALLY living somewhere else. New grocery stores, new church, new trails, new favorite restaurants, and most importantly (and most terrifyingly), new friends.

So with a mere three months left in my home, there are probably a LOT of things I need to accomplish. I'm trying to make a list and sometimes I get overwhelmed, so I'm going to ask for some help. Here's what I've come up with so far (with some recent additions from friends):

1. Casa Bonita. Sure, the food sucks and the acting is shockingly worse than the food, but is there anything more definitive of Denver?

2. Shopping on 16th Street Mall. Not that I haven't done enough of that already...and I certainly don't need more clothes or shoes...so maybe I'll just go with the suggestion of playing chess with a homeless guy or tickling the out-of-tune ivories.

3. Hammond's Candy Factory. The more pressing issue here is that I haven't EVER been to Hammond's.

4. Film on the Rocks. Again, how have I not done this yet? Fortunately there are about a zillion movies this summer.

5. Red Rocks, in general. I go running there quite often with another of my BFFs (yes, I get to have more than one. I'm just that lucky), but it would be nice to go to one more amazing show there...though if I don't, the last show I'll have seen there is Mumford & Sons. And I'll be okay with that.

6. Stranahan's Whiskey distillery tour. I do loves me some brown booze!

7. Scrumptious Ice Cream. I know it's hard to believe, but I haven't been there but ONE TIME in the last year. That's just ridiculous.

8. Patio dining. Oh my gawd, the patio dining. There's not much more I can say about that. Denver has one of the best restaurant line ups I've ever seen. I'm definitely going to miss the abundance of interesting and delicious food.

But more than anything, I just want to spend time with the people I love. No, I'm not moving to another planet or even another country. I'm a four-hour plane ride from Colorado. But all of the things above (and all the things you'll hopefully suggest to me) are important not just because it's "Colorado"...they're important because of the people, the memories, the moments. I have three girl friends with whom concerts - good concerts - become instantly more intimate and precious because they are there. Three of my gal pals are some of the only women I know who share my affinity for dark liquor. There's the one friend with which patio dining isn't just another meal...it's an event, it's something to celebrate because summer has arrived! I have one friend that loves candy the way that I do and while I've never been to Hammond's (with her or anyone else), I know that she'll be among the first to come with me. Red Rocks...good Lord...is there a way to summarize everything in my soul about Red Rocks? I'm not even going to try. If you've been, you know exactly what I'm talking about. Shopping with my Colorado BFF is adventure and experience in and of itself...who else could talk me into a hot pink leopard print dress and then get me to wear it in public...TWICE?

So there you have it. Those are my things I need to do before I leave. In three months. Twelve weeks. Ninety-four days.

What am I missing? 

On temporary pain....

Tattoos are kind of hilarious to me. I'm often perplexed at how emotionally violent people can get about either their love of or hatred of them. I've seen people get oddly judgemental toward people who have them; but I've seen the flip-side, too. I've seen people with tattoos get oddly preachy about the reasons they have theirs...as if one group could convince the other to change their minds. As if it matters.

I have a few tattoos of my own. Four, to be exact. And I love them all. Well, I love three of them. The ugly stepsister tattoo (which was my first) is embarrassing, at best. I need to get it fixed. It was the product of a slightly intoxicated rebellious streak and, because I knew nothing of how to research artists or questions I should ask, I essentially wound up with a paint-by-numbers drawing on my back. Lesson learned, Universe. Lesson learned. [It should also be noted that I credit Miami Ink with teaching me the questions to ask and skills to expect with something so permanent].

So that was my first tattoo. A naked fairy sitting on a rose on my lower back. It's hideous. Borderline white trash. Sigh. It's going to take a lot to fix it.

Despite that catastrophe of a tattoo, I've become addicted, as so many people do. I now have four tattoos with room for nine more and ideas for at least four of them. Each of them mean (or will mean) something special to me. One is my life's mission. Another is my family. The most recent is my strength. The next is how I feel about myself (or should feel, because I don't always feel this way). Another is my past and there will be a matching future. I have a plan for one to display my pride in myself (and my body). I'd like one to display my zen, my peace...but that one will take some time to design.

It's about the most permanent way I can think of to display the things that make me, me. I see some of my tattoos daily and am reminded of so much of the good and magical in my life. It forces me to remember that for all the good and beautiful in my life, it's come with some signficant pain. But more than that, it reminds me that pain is temporary and beauty really can feel like forever.

On learning to love again....

Confession: I have struggled with feelings of hatred and fear for a really long time.
Mostly, these feelings are directed at myself or at situations I find myself in. I hate the high arches in my feet. I hate that my gums are receding. I hate that I have a five-head (and I especially hate the scar on said five-head that is in no way a curling iron burn, but everyone stupidly asks that question). I hate the cottage cheese that's starting to appear on my ass and thighs. I hate that my top half is disproportionately small compared to my bottom half.

Very recently, I took up yoga in a pretty serious way. I went one time with a girl friend about a week ago and have gone every single day since then. Honestly...$75 for unlimited yoga? It was an easy sell for me, even with my very limited budget. I don't know how it happened, but during one of my classes, I just started thinking while I was breathing: "Peace and love in; Hatred and fear out." I think it's become my mantra.

And it's started helping my understand and appreciate (dare I say, even begin to love) my body more than I ever have. My high arches allow for quick and light footfalls when I run. There's very little I can do about my teeth and gums, but my new dentist is dreamy in a (married) Michael Buble kind of way so I hate going to the dentist a lot less. My five-head looks pretty awesome when my hair is pulled back in a delightfully messy ponytail when I run. My dimpled ass is just a product of me getting a little older, but my legs are carrying me farther than I ever thought I'd go. And while I still don't like that I can't fill out a sundress, I can honestly say there's nothing better than not having to worry about my chest or back aching from that weight while I run.

Yoga is teaching me things I didn't think I could learn. Things like restoration and inner peace. I still have a long way to go on both of those fronts. I'm still a really frenetic, Type A monster most of the time. But for an hour a day, I can relax into myself and my breath and just...be. I think I could easily spend five or six hours flowing through gentle poses and it would probably be the most beneficial thing I'd ever do for myself.

And what makes this whole yoga thing even more relaxing to me is the knowledge that I can take it with me anywhere I go. Granted, I have a lot of learning to do before I can do this on my own. I'm a creature that thrives in structured environments where I'm told what to do...so the idea of going it alone in yoga is a bit overwhelming, but I'm hopeful I can get there. I have dreams of practicing on a front porch somewhere, overlooking the ocean. Or taking my mat camping with me and being a warrior and star gazer in the hills.

No matter where my life takes me, I'm convinced that yoga will go with me.

On the fear of change....

I'm getting ready to move in the next several months. To another state. With more than just a duffel bag and a stereo. Sure, I've lived in another country (Canada) and another state (Minnesota), but when one moves away from home for college, it's not quite the same as moving away from home for...life. I'm about to uproot myself and my dogs and head east for a brand new adventure. New friends. New restaurants. New running trails. New church. New lots of things. I'm leaving my family for the first time in my entire life, but the good news is that where I'm heading, I have lots of other family close by...my brother,  about a billion cousins (it seems), and a few aunts and uncles. To be sure, I'm thrilled about the possibility of seeing them far more often than I have in the last 33 years (holy hell...am I really almost 33?!).

But what I'm discovering in all the emotional ups and downs that comes with moving, is that I'm kind of terrible at keeping friends. I make friends pretty easily. After all, I was always the kid the teacher put the new kids next to in school. Always. It's something my parents sort of held as a badge of honor when it came to me...I was the friendly one. But that seems to be about where it ends. I can make someone feel comfortable and at home, and then I just sort of trail off.

So when I think about moving away, I worry about losing most of the friends I've made during my lifetime in Colorado. I made plenty of friends when I lived in both Canada and Minnesota, but the reality is that I only really keep up with one of them. ONE. Granted, she's my best good buddy, but still...I made lots of friends while I was there. Or so I thought. I'm sure, or at least I'm hoping, I'm not the only one that experiences this feeling. I'm hoping I'm normal.

But it worries me. I've made some really incredible friends here and I wonder...when I move away, will all of that just dissipate? Will it all just go away? Maybe that's part of why I tend to be guarded when it comes to friends. I just panic that at some point, one of us is going to move away and we'll forget about each other and what's the point of really investing? It's a terrible way to go about life. Just awful. I have my very best Denver friend and I panic terribly about losing her. I think about going through our big life changes and how we won't be together for them.

I hate talking on the phone. Absolutely hate it. That's probably a huge part of why I struggle with maintaining friendships. I just don't like being on the phone. I can't really even bring myself to call my grandparents because I hate the phone so much. Thank goodness for Skype and FaceTime! I'm not sure why, but that seems so much less...awful. Frankly, I have an iPhone for email, texting, Facebook, and shopping. I hate using it for a phone. If I never used the phone app again, I probably wouldn't miss it. I dread listening to my voicemail. Seriously. It's like a phobia. Nothing about being on the phone excites me.

I've been going through all this miscellaneous relational madness for quite some time now. I often question who my friends are and if I'm even a friend to them. Compounding the issue, I often deal with feeling like I'm forgotten, not noticed, or simply ignored. It's probably all in my head. I'm sure it is. But it doesn't make it any less real, the way I feel.

It makes me wonder, because of this, if the life I'm about to embark on is what I was always meant to do? I'm not entirely sure. But the reality is, I'm sure I'll be moving more and more as the years go by. Friends will come and go. I will come and go. And was my entire life leading up to this just preparation? It's strange because I've always been the one to stay put while everyone else went away. And for the first time in my life, I'm the one that's leaving everyone else behind.

It's all very new. And scary. And incredibly exciting.

On the first signs of love....

So I'm reading this book right now, Captivating. I honestly never thought I'd pick up a book like this. I'm not usually one for the churchy, Jesus-y books. They tend to be more than a little cliche, overbearing, and, well, judgmental. At least, that's my experience with this type of book. But it came on recommendation from someone whose reading taste I trust, so I decided to go for it. I rented it. And now...I want to own it. In paperback. So I can mark the crap out of it. It's been a pretty empowering read for me.

But a conversation I had last night is what's really sparking this post. And since we're less than twenty-four hours from Valentines Day (a day I have come to love and appreciate), this one is about romance.

There are some of us girls that were (and are) very lucky. We grew up with the World's Best Dad. He's probably got shirts and mugs and ties and posters and cards from years and years of his daughters thinking that. And it's not just that we *think* he's the best. He truly *is* the best. More than a few of us who have this dad probably, between the ages of three and five, asked our dad's to marry us. He's the coolest, strongest, smartest, most amazing dad ever, right?! Dad is the first place we really learn what romance is. Pure, uncomplicated, unconditional romance. Dad gave us flowers and took us out on "dates" and twirled us around when we wore our pretty party dresses. Dad told us we were the prettiest, smartest, most special girl in the world. Not because he had to. Not because he wanted something in return. He did it all just because. Because he could and he wanted to. That's why so many of us girls that have great dads tend to marry men just like him. I see the way my dad is with my mom and that's a lot of what I want. She's a powerful woman. A force to be reckoned with, to be sure. And my dad loves every bit of her and just sort of lets the hurricane that is my mother do what she's going to do...and he's been known to be disaster relief from time to time. But he loves that woman. And he can fix stuff and make stuff pretty and he's crazy smart. He's funny and talented and generous. He's passionate about his work, his life, his family, his faith. He's a leader in every facet of his existence.

I remember learning from my dad the way a boy should treat me. He should open doors and bring me flowers and take me to dinner and show. And he should do it all expecting nothing, but hoping for my thanks and adoration in return.

And isn't that what true love is? Isn't the act of loving someone supposed to be pure and simple? There should be no conditions. There is something strong and beautiful and unbreakable when love comes to us in its cleanest form. It seems, then, that if we expect nothing in return for love, we're basically guaranteed to get everything.

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On missing the words....

Is it weird that I'm unnerved by the lack of writing going on around me? I have so many writer friends and so many of us are just, well, not writing right now...or any more. It's sad. And I honestly hope it's just a season we're all in. I miss reading the recipes, the quotes, the poetry, the rants, the advice, the goings-on, the reviews...I miss all of it. It's few and far between that I see one of us writing and even farther that I find myself writing. There's plenty to talk about, plenty to discuss. So why aren't we?

There have been a lot of things on my mind lately, some important, some absolutely pithy. So maybe as a diving board, I'll just put everything out there, in hopes someone(s) will jump in and we can start writing and talking again.

• Can it really be that, for so long, we (the royal we) were more interested in the Manti Teo nonsense than Benghazi? Or the fact that Hillary Clinton kicked some serious ass on the Hill the other week?
• Am I the only one that actually felt a little emboldended by Beyonce's halftime show? That was impressed when I saw nearly 200 people on stage and all of them were women?
• It's just a little sad that every day, when I read the news, there's nothing happy happening. Someone is always getting killed, killing, or just doing something stupid. I wish that news, for one day, would report nothing but good news.
• I'm on a mission to remove all negative words from my thought and speech. It's harder than it sounds, but when I actually get down to it, you wouldn't believe the shift my mental status makes. It's incredible really.
• There are too many books that I want to read and not nearly enough time to read them all. I picked up a "Jesus-y" book the other day which was, I assure you, a surprise to me as well. So far, I don't hate it. I need more books titles to read.
• Being a DINK was awesome. I want to be a DINK again. Sigh. If you don't know what that is or what it means, it's not really that important.

So there you have it. That's a sampling of what's been on my mind the last several weeks. So, dear writer friends, please...regale me with your own thoughts. I miss you!