Ancora Imparo. Still, I am learning.
In order to learn, we must first be humble enough to listen.
In order to stand with someone, we must first sit with them.
In order to change something, we must first recognize there’s a problem.
We can hear the cries and protests, but are we really listening? Listening diligently enough to learn, stand and change?
Ancora imparo.
(100% of all proceeds from my art during the month of June will be donated to Black Lives Matter Global Network)
Encountered a huge rattlesnake on today’s run which prompted me to reroute and explore an entirely different path.
Following a different trail and route led to these stunning views…
Sometimes the greatest discoveries happen when you willingly venture off the designated path and purely follow your curiosity. In podcasting, the best interviewers are those who can release their own agenda and go where the story is more interesting. In music, new harmonies and rhythms are discovered only when the artist is open to deviating from the melody.
If something tugs at you and seems intriguing, be brave enough to follow that childlike urge and explore where it leads you. You may stumble on a fascinating new storyline, career path, business solution, or poem. You may inadvertently be paving the way for others to follow in your footsteps. Or you may, at the very least, discover something fascinating about yourself or the world.
Interesting people stay interested. Go where the path leads you. And every once in awhile, step off it.
Quinoa-all agree that enough is enough? #blacklivesmatter
Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things,
feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth.
What you held in your hand,
what you counted and carefully saved,
all this must go so you know
how desolate the landscape can be
between the regions of kindness.
How you ride and ride
thinking the bus will never stop,
the passengers eating maize and chicken
will stare out the window forever.
Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness,
you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho
lies dead by the side of the road.
You must see how this could be you,
how he too was someone
who journeyed through the night with plans
and the simple breath that kept him alive.
Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.
Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day to mail letters and purchase bread,
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
It is I you have been looking for,
and then goes with you everywhere
like a shadow or a friend.
-Naomi Shihab Nye
“Ancora imparo” were Michelangelo’s last words on his death bed.
“Still, I am learning.”
I hope to always embrace this posture of being the humble and hungry student, eager to learn and staying wide-eyed with wonder.
Even to my very last breath.
Tree rings have always fascinated me. Broad and evenly-spaced rings represent seasons of plentiful rain and sunshine, while narrow rings denote seasons of drought or insect infestation. Every tree stump tells a story and maps out its own unique history. All contain a full spectrum of broad and narrow rings, similar to our lives. There are seasons of abundance and seasons of lack.
I created this card as a reminder that a rich, full life is comprised of both wide and narrow rings. The difficult dry seasons build strength and resilience which make the plentiful years feel that much sweeter. So keep going. Keep growing. Your story isn’t over yet.
“Why are trees such social beings? Why do they share food with their own species and sometimes even go so far as to nourish their competitors? The reasons are the same as for human communities: there are advantages to working together. A tree is not a forest. On its own, a tree cannot establish a consistent local climate. It is at the mercy of wind and weather. But together, many trees create an ecosystem that moderates extremes of heat and cold, stores a great deal of water, and generates a great deal of humidity. And in this protected environment, trees can live to be very old. To get to this point, the community must remain intact no matter what. If every tree were looking out only for itself, then quite a few of them would never reach old age. Regular fatalities would result in many large gaps in the tree canopy, which would make it easier for storms to get inside the forest and uproot more trees. The heat of summer would reach the forest floor and dry it out. Every tree would suffer.”
The moment when the lush metaphor of trees inspired me to write this. Huddart Park, Woodside.
25 Zoom calls last week. I was pushed to my limit mentally and physically- staring at a screen and emotionally needing to dig deep to provide the best care for my patients. We’re all tired. Struggling. Exhausted. Over it. The novelty of neighborhood walks, home workouts and home-cooked meals, puzzles, and making sourdough bread have long worn off, and my patients look to me for new inspiration and ideas. Last week I cancelled Zoom lunch dates and Zoom happy hours as a mode of self-preservation. I felt bad, but I know my body well enough to recognize when I’m on the edge of burnout. As healthcare providers, we need to keep our own cup filled to best serve others.
So on Saturday, I ran. Ran off the stress and the overwhelm. The frustration. The Zoom fatigue. My feet found solace in the soft pine needles as a welcomed relief from the pavement. I inhaled the forest air, and noticed the towering trees above me, all standing in their own magnificence, yet together creating a community and interconnected canopy.
We’re like trees in a huge forest. We grow independently but need the support of the community to flourish. When a tree breaks, neighboring trees communicate through the soil fungi and deliver nutrients through the root system to feed and nurse it back to health.
This week I was that tree. Weary and on the verge of cracking. Working remotely can feel isolating at times, but each day I received a jolt of kindness and immediate help from my team when I needed it most. On Wednesday I received an email with four patient survey comments that were filled with encouragement- each one uniquely validating my work. My thirsty roots drank them all in, so grateful for the timeliness they were received. Opening handwritten cards from friends after a long day were unexpected surprises that filled my heart with joy.
We may be siloed, but we are not alone. We’re intricately connected like the root system of the forest. Nourishment often delivered discreetly and invisibly, but critical for our survival. Alone we die. Together, we thrive.
Today’s run views from Windy Hill Open Space Preserve.
If only I’d known that all the lessons from 2017 when I quit my full-time clinical dietitian job were preparing me for this current COVID-19 chapter. The importance of creating deliberate structure (and space to play) for both productivity and creativity. The ability to find adventure in local trails and neighborhoods (back in 2017 it was due to living lean, while now it’s due to travel restrictions from SIP). Dealing with uncertainty. Living alone and learning how to self-soothe in moments of anxiety and fear.
I reread old journals dating back from 2016 this past weekend in an effort to Marie Kondo an entire bookshelf of journals. There were many pages that didn’t ‘spark joy’ and I did my best to highlight and pull pages to keep for future poems and writing pieces and recycle the rest. Journaling everyday since 2013 has become a way for me to hold up the mirror and look inward whether I wanted to or not. It’s also provided clues to my next steps.
In 2016 after I had coached my first client I wrote, “I left our session feeling so alive. THIS IS THE WORK I’M MEANT TO DO IN THE WORLD. Promise to always remember this feeling. This is my true calling.” It was the first time I felt a strong visceral sense of my purpose. It was a signpost guiding me into the direction I was meant to head.
In another entry I wrote, “I promise to document everything so I’ll always remember.” And remember I did, as I flipped through pages recording the details of a conversation I struck up with a stranger in a cafe, who later introduced me to a mentor I’ve met with weekly for the past three years. Nothing is coincidence. Revisiting those journal pages was like meeting an old friend- someone rich with ideas and excitement but fraught with fear and massive self-doubt. Someone who embraced risk and curiosity and yet equally experienced self-loathing and closed doors.
Trust and surrender were themes throughout all those pages. If I could rewind the clock and tell myself one thing, I’d gently whisper, “You are already on the path. Get out of your own way.”
By documenting the details of our lives- even the seemingly meaningless and monotonous ones- we begin to notice the richness in our everyday lives. Themes will emerge. You may discover you have a secret desire to learn guitar, or visit Italy, or reconnect with your childhood friend. You may discover feelings you have about someone in your life. Writing puts us in touch with our intuition. With our own voice. Through writing, you meet yourself in a simple and profound way.
Over time, each entry acts as a single thread in the loom of life. Perspective and time allow us to see our lives from above, where we can fully appreciate the tapestry that our experiences have seamlessly and beautifully woven together.
When something is taken away from you, like your vacation or graduation or wedding plans for 2020, or even the trappings of a normal life- you grieve. When you lose something like a business, on which all other dreams and ideas were built upon, you grieve. When you can’t have a proper memorial service for a loved one- you grieve. There are five stages of grief: Denial. Anger. Depression. Bargaining. Acceptance. I’ve toggled and weaved in between all of these stages for the past month and a half.
A friend shared with me a few weeks ago that what is not grieved cannot heal. As an optimist by nature, my default pattern is to ignore the sadness and instead embrace the positive. But last week I took the time to write down everything I was grieving on a subconscious level. Hugs. Swimming in the pool. Get togethers with close friends. Ocean sunsets. Bike rides with friends. Intimate dinner settings. Picnics on the beach. Sitting in a quaint cafe with a friend. Summer weddings. Local trails. By naming these things, I acknowledged my grief for the first time. Accepting that some things would never be the same.
Some of my favorite trails opened up last week that fell within the 10 mile radius of my home. Returning to them felt like a homecoming- but my deep appreciation for the dirt paths lined with wildflowers, the stunning views, the warm sun kissing my skin, the fog hovering above the tree lines and the steep climbs was amplified. When something’s been taken away and later given back to you, there’s a bolt of joy and unwavering gratitude that shoots through your entire being. An unspoken promise to never, ever take anything for granted. I still miss hugs. But for now, I’ll accept the magnificent open sky and miles of single-track, running and singing and feeling alive in this beautiful and broken world.
Today’s newspaper blackout poetry.
“When you hit a wrong note, it’s the next note that makes it good or bad.”
And if you’re lucky, you may discover an entire new melody along the way. Progressions aren’t just confined to chords.
Imagine someone in your life who is difficult and challenging. They may be passive aggressive, manipulate you, push your buttons, respond without thinking (or fail to respond at all), act without integrity, betray your trust, or gossip behind your back. Have someone in mind?
Good.
Now take a deep breath (or two).
Repeat very slowly-
JUST LIKE ME, (name of this person) desires to be loved.
JUST LIKE ME, ______ wants to be accepted and fully understood.
JUST LIKE ME, ______ wants to be seen and heard.
JUST LIKE ME, ______ has deep-rooted hurts and hidden fears.
JUST LIKE ME, ______ is trying his/her best.
I learned this exercise two years ago, and I often return to it when I’m confronted with challenging individuals. It provides distance between the acute negative emotions I feel and moves me closer to them as a fellow human being. Even with sharp differing political and cultural and societal views, this exercise in empathy puts me in their shoes. I realize by stripping everything else away, common humanity and truth remain. We are not so different from each other.
At the end of the day, it’s no longer ‘us’ versus ‘them.’
It’s just ‘us’.
