We went to Niagara Falls and Great Wolf Lodge last weekend, and it was amazing. No matter where we are, being with my family is like being wrapped in a warm, adorable, fluffy blanket — even when the kids are running around the house screaming, pinching each other in the backseat of my car, or interrupting me (“Mama! Mama! Mama! Mama! Mama!”) when I’m on the phone. I can’t get enough of them, and I never take them and their awesome uniqueness for granted.

As the Rascal likes to say…, “SHHHHABAH!” (?)

So the fact that I haven’t gone to my beloved yoga studio in over a week has meant that I’ve had a little more of that early-morning special time with my cheaty little monkeys — when they’re quiet, still, not wreaking havoc, and it’s just love.

The exact same thing happened this time last year. I stopped going to yoga for about three weeks last January/February. And at the time I thought I’d lost my motivation because my teacher was away in India.

But now I know that I’m a bear.

Journey behind the Falls….

I seem to need this time every year. Yoga studios are packed with people resolving to get lean and zen, and it’s so cold and dark out that early in the morning. I just want to be home and quiet. Don’t want to explain anything or make any excuses, or even really to blog about it. Just want to be quiet and contained. Like a bear.

Or like a yogi in a cave, my own silent retreat.

I’ve been having a love affair with yoga for almost thirty years. My mom used to practice yoga (à la Hittleman) on her bedroom floor every morning, and she’d take me to her weekly class at the Yoga Centre of Toronto now and then. I used to laugh when the ladies chanted ohhhhmmm. I did my first splits in that class all those years ago…. My brother and sister could have cared less about the yoga, but I was fascinated. And I haven’t lost any of that fascination.

But yoga and I are on a break, at least until this private, quiet “hibernation” spell ends, and until the dust of all the changes around here begins to settle.

So, my yoga right now has to be sun salutations in my bedroom, drinking hot water with lemon in the morning and eating a salad a day. My yoga is getting the kids to school and to their programs on time. My yoga is witnessing my thoughts as I walk to the store to pick up the toothpaste we ran out of, as I try to wiggle the Monkey’s loose tooth without squirming, as I wipe the Rascal’s ever-flowing fountain of snot, scramble to meet editorial deadlines, avoid Starbucks and get to work on time. My yoga is bathing my dog, cleaning dishes, cooking dinner, making lunches, grocery shopping, and not swearing at Maaarge for meowing for food every time I walk by her (feline hypothyroidism, FTW!).

I’ve gone straight to seventh series, it seems, and I’m hardly halfway through primary. I’m a bad, bad Ashtanga yogi, and it’s OK for now. But it also sucks because, in another sense, I’m exiling myself from people and a place that I love (another bad habit of mine of which I’m well aware; I hope they’ll take me back).

But still….

I’ll return to my dedicated daily yoga practice when I’m ready, when my family’s ready, or when Pattabhi Jois appears in my dreams again, telling me, “You. You practice,” and to go find something “yellow” (?).

In the meantime, I’m OK with failing at a something. And, honestly, that in itself is some kind of achievement for me.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Love….

xo Haley-O

Photos by Haley Overland/Cheatymonkey.com

Yes, these days, since I blog 3-4 times a day over at Today’s Parent, sitting down in the evening to write this blog, I gotta say, takes some effort, extra stamina, and vegan gummy bears. And the only reason I have vegan gummy bears in my pantry is because the Rascal loves them. I personally think they’re disgusting, but I had them here, you know, because he loves them, and one thing led to another and before I knew it SCARF…. Ew, seriously. Fingers crossed the “organic juice” they’re made with has an iota of nutritional value.

Arrgh.

Now I’m trying to blog here, and Josh-O is talking on the phone. If you only knew how loud he talks on the phone. And he takes up the whole house with the pacing. What’s with the pacing?

GO DOWNSTAIRS, I’m mouthing to him, waving my hand ferociously (lots of post-gummy-bear adrenalin pumping through my veins). TOO LOUD. Seriously, I can’t hear myself think. Where was I, even? I guess, then, whatever I write now, I am NOT responsible for. I will say, though, that it’s been harder than ever for me to sit down to write this blog, go to yoga, get up in the morning, divide my attention equally between my dog Betty White and each of my two cats, MAAARGE and Minden. It’s been harder than ever for me to HEAR MYSELF THINK BECAUSE he’s on the damn phone.

Ohhhhmmmmmmm….

He is the loudest phone talker ever in the history of phone talkers.

Ohhhhmmmmmmm….

Better.

I’m fading. More gummy bears. NO. I’m still on that 21-day cleanse. Lemon water in the morning is still going strong. Except for those few days last week when got blasted with a nasty flu, which threw me so off course that I ended up at a Starbucks.

And then Josh pushed me so far off the rickety wagon when he brought me a tall soy-no-water tazo chai latte the other day (ENABLER), that I’m still cleaning the sweet-cinnamony puddle I landed in off my pants, which are getting tighter again already.

But it’s OK. I’m writing a blog post right now, and I made it to yoga this morning (and both Betty White and Minden are curled up on my lap…). I only did half of my practice, but that’s all I planned on doing. No backbends, no twists, no deep adjustments. Josh was leaving early for work again this morning, so I needed to take it really easy. Besides, as one of the designers on Project Runway Allstars said in her thick Australian accent last night, “I feel like I’m in a pressure cookah.” I don’t do yoga to chill out, but a chill practice is definitely what I need for the next little while. Especially if my generous, patiently persistent teacher insists I keep getting on the mat no matter what.

After practice, and after racing to get the kids dressed, fed and to school on time, I ran in to the Macrobiotic Centre of Toronto to pick up some of their Floating Ashtangi Juice and breakfast. For lunch I enjoyed one of their delicious rice triangles at my desk. And for dinner, I filled my canned lentil soup (I was too tired to make the real thing) with oodles of napa cabbage and green and purple kale. And so I had some gummy bears. At least you have something to read today, Gorgeouses, so don’t complain. Heh. Even if that something is gibberish (who even knows).

So back to Josh, and then I’m going to bed.

Josh got a new job. He went from being a work-at-home dad to going to the office early in the morning and coming home late in the evening. We have to get a friggin’ DOG WALKER now, and he’s given me full license to scowl at him when he comes home (ENABLER) for the next month or so.

So I’m tired. I am dog tired.

And I’m asking everyone to bear with me as I make this transition — like, if I babble on too much at the schoolyard, if I don’t respond to emails or your precious comments, if I suddenly start to giggle uncontrollably, wear my shirt inside-out to work, write gibberish, obscenely long blog posts, etc., etc..

It’s just that I was just so used to having him home all the time:

“Josh, can you pick up the kids from school? I am SWAMPED at work today!”

“Josh, can you take the Monkey for lunch today? She seemed sad this morning.”

“Josh, can you pick up some rice milk for me, oh, and ‘goji beans’ for the Rascal? I’m not going to make it to the school in time if I stop on the way.”

“Josh, can you take the Rascal to Karate today? I am BEAT.”

There’s none of that anymore, Gorgeouses. I am on my own. And I have an empty box of gummy bears and a gibberish blog post to show for it.

At least there’s a blog post at all. Right? See you soon.

Ohhhmmmmm….

Savasana….

Good night, Gorgeouses!

Love!

xo Haley-O

I try to be a good mother.

I try to be a good wife and daughter and friend and relative.

I try to be a good person.

I try to be a good student and employee and coworker.

I try to write well.

I try to entertain and delight.

I try eat well.

I try to practice yoga. Every day.

I try to exercise.

I try to breathe and meditate and be spiritual.

I try to look presentable.

I try to be compassionate.

I try not to eat or wear animal products.

I try to keep a clean house.

I try not to lie, get mad, eat too much sugar, skip meals, spend too much money.

I try to manage anxious thoughts, stave off panic and ride waves of depression without slipping back into the deep.

I try to keep my plants alive and my pets fed.

I try to support and help others.

I try to be green and heal the planet.

I try to keep my family happy and healthy.

I try to set a good example for my kids.

This holiday I stopped trying.

I took a holiday from parenting and everything else at my parents’ cottage. I ate a lot, slept a lot, relaxed, gained weight. I let my kids eat cookies for breakfast, spend the day in their pajamas and watch Star Wars.

We played a lot of Sorry! (the Rascal’s our Sorry! champ!)….

We made a (sorry) snowman….

I slid down a hill on this Spider-man sled over and over again and laughed….

We went snowshoeing….

We danced and did our thing….

And I bought a sparkly pompom hat and scarf, fell in love with Ryan Gosling, baked cookies with the Rascal, read books, coloured and went for fairy walks with the Monkey, played tons of soccer, gazed at the stars, the moon and the nearly-frozen lake….

I’ve quoted this a bunch of times here in this blog and I’ll quote it again. My wonderful former yoga teacher, Monica Voss, said this about an asana (yoga pose) during one of our classes a few years ago: Sometimes we have to collapse the structure so we can gradually rebuild. I’ve never forgotten it.

And I’ve done it again.

I’ve collapsed the structure — The Structure of Trying — in which, like a guinea pig, I try and I try and I try to attain goal after goal and I’m just running and running and time is passing, wheel is spinning, and I’m getting nowhere. And I’m still heavier than I’d like to be, getting heavier. And still anxious. And perpetually tired. Endlessly busy, and buying, and sitting, and doing, and pushing, and giving, and hungry, and full, and struggling.

I’ve collapsed the structure. And I’m very gradually building a new foundation — starting with me.

I’ve found a really gentle guide on holistic nutritionist Meghan Telpner’s website called 21 Days to Health. It’s an ebook that involves making small daily changes to your life, like drinking lemon water in the morning (Day 1), flossing every time you brush (Day 2), going to bed 15 minutes earlier (Day 3), and so on. I do a lot of these things already (like flossing!), but I’ve been feeling such a sense of accomplishment, simply because I’ve managed to drink lemon water every morning for the past 5 days — never mind the fact that I haven’t been inside a Starbucks in five days either!(!!)

That easy, daily sense of accomplishment is golden for someone like me.

At the same time, I’ve been energized enough to make all my own meals, feed my family well, eat greens, take a lunch to work, eat lunch, avoid sugar, drink more water, and stay away from Starbucks!(!!)

And, so, for my yogi readers: I haven’t been to yoga. I’ve gone from my daily, trying Ashtanga practice to effectively ZIP. But I feel good. I’ve been taking my practice into my own hands, laying down the necessary foundation of a good diet (and general self-care), on which to gradually build a proper yoga practice — and everything else. The yoga just wasn’t working: I was gaining weight, not sleeping, feeling anxious. But then again it was working. It’s now forcing me to make space for yoga in my life (as my current yoga teacher might say) by cleaning up my diet (but, as you know, he would definitely not condone not practicing to make the space…!). And cleaning up my diet, for me, has meant limiting strenuous exercise. At least for now. I will be in class tomorrow, though, and probably a few times next week. Eventually, I’ll build my practice up to where it was, but I’ll be stronger and healthier and lean enough to progress in it and, finally, to be assisted in twists without shame, crying (or laughing!). It’s worth a try.

So it seems 2012 is starting quietly, calmly, privately (hence the lack of blog posts…), pensively, lightly, (somewhat) effortlessly, deliciously, healthfully, joyfully.

I brought a delicious casserole I made and an orange to work today….

Happy New Year, Gorgeouses…!

Love!

xo Haley-O

I WAS supposed to interview Heidi one-on-one; but to tell you the truth, celebrity interviews are nerve-wracking…. So it was just perfect for me to sit back and watch a real pro, Tracy Moore, do it so naturally in front of a live audience. It’s not like I wasn’t nervous, though. I really didn’t know if they were going to pull me out of the audience to do a quickie interview after the show, drag me to the Eaton’s Centre (where Heidi was headed next), or what. When the interview was over and Heidi stood up to leave, I finally took a deep breath and enjoyed the rest of the show…. Makeovers!

As the Monkey likes to say, well anyway, the interview was quite fascinating, and it was really hard for me to take my eyes off her. She’s that stunning. Read all about it (lots of good deets!), and check out the pics on my Celebrity Candy blog HERE, and see if you can spot me in the audience in tomorrow’s show — CityLine, CityTV, 9am and 2pm EST (I’ll update you with the online edition here ASAP, in case you miss it)! I’ve never been in a studio audience before. It was REALLY FUN!

In other news I’m pretty sure I’ll be stalking Jessica and Ashlee Simpson this weekend. I got a vague invite to an event they’ll be at, and I’m dragging the whole family with me. Hey, it’s a Saturday! I insist on being with my family on the weekend, even if it means they go to work with me!

So we’re back in the celebrity swing of things. High energy. Lots of events. Tomorrow, I’m taking the Rascal to the worldwide debut of the “Canuck Monster Truck.” Funny little Rascal, he went right to bed this evening because he couldn’t wait to wake up for the show in the morning: “I’m goin’ right to bed, Dada! I’m goin’ right to bed.” I was warned on Facebook that I need to bring some earplugs for him. So we’ll be running out first thing in the morning to get those earplugs.

But before that, reeeeally early in the morning, I’m going to yoga.

In the meantime, I have to feed Betty White her rice….

It seems we’re both on the macrobiotic diet…. Well, I am, thanks to my gorgeous friends at the brand new Macrobiotic Centre of Toronto (website to come). Looking back at my life so far, I can’t really believe I have friends who run a macrobiotics centre. Nothing in my life really ever pointed here. But here I am. Hovering among celebrities, Monster Trucks, rice, school pick-up, fairies and Ashtanga yoga. Kind of an amazing place to be.

Oh, and Betty’s not really on a macrobiotic diet, FYI. She has DIARRHEA. The macros would cringe at that instant white rice the vet insisted on (in the photo)!

Let’s just say Betty’s hungry. She’s really, really hungry.

Arf! She’ll be back on her regular food tomorrow. Fingers crossed for no more crap! Heh. Poor dog is so exposed on this blog. But we all love her and want the best for her, right, Gorgeouses?

Love!

xo Haley-O

PS: Check out my Twitter feed (@cheaty) and Today’s Parent’s Twitter feed (@todaysparent) for live Monster Truck action tomorrow morning!

Maybe it’s because I’ve been sick for 10 days with a virus that was having an identity crisis — one day a sinus cold, the next the stomach flu.

Maybe it’s because I didn’t sleep at all during the stomach flu parts.

Maybe it’s because I haven’t gone to yoga in five days because I was too exhausted from the virus to make my kids breakfast, let alone bend over backwards on my mat.

Maybe it’s because I’ve missed some of that unconditional acceptance I feel when I walk into the yoga shala every morning.

Maybe that’s not the best photo for melancholy. I wanted a picture of fall leaves, but it felt too cliché; so I went with this horribly cropped photo of Betty White looking longingly out the front window, not to go outside — hells no — but to bark intimidatingly at a squirrel or ‘nother dog from within the safety of her own home.

Whatever the reason, today was a melancholy day.

It wasn’t a bad day. It was a really good day. Which is strange because it was a melancholy day. It was definitely a strange day.

Maybe it’s because I practise yoga, or maybe because I’m extra tired, or because I’m a little introspective by nature, spiritual, a dreamer. But I didn’t let the melancholy eat me up as it easily could have had I plunged inside. I didn’t get depressed or dark and twisted, anxious as usual. I got pensive, peaceful. I accepted it. I liked it.

It was a good melancholy. The kind that gets you closer to yourself. The kind that makes you feel so alone that you can almost touch your soul. And if there is no soul, no self, then I mean you feel so alone you can almost feel — really feel.

As I wrote last week, Dr. Laura was right when she said motivation is BS. But she was wrong about just doing it. That may be enough for a skinny, shrilly radio host who could care less about feelings (as she herself would say). But for many of us who are often overwhelmed by life, doing something as massive as losing weight or quitting an addiction goes much deeper than feelings — italicized feelings, whiny, woe-is-me feelings. And if there is no depth then it’s just much subtler than that, more symbolic, abstract. Wherever acceptance is.

I’m so busy with my kids, work, a squealy-barking dog, the loud city, stress, responsibility, anxiety, that I haven’t really been hearing. I may listen, but I rarely open my ears and hear, open my wounds and feel, open my eyes and see, not just look. The melancholy opened me up with great, serene breaths to accept everything that was today. Even the Rascal, who loves a good loud whine. Even the Monkey, who loves a good loud shriek.

So even as I stood in the playground from 3:30 to 5:15 so my children could be children and play and laugh and scream, I enjoyed the silence of my own melancholy, the ease of my own breath, the silence of my own mind. When I got home, I made everyone a nice warm meal. I didn’t react when my kids ordered me to GO GET WATER as soon as I sat down, or when the Monkey rebelliously put her feet on the table, or the Rascal said “ew” at the mysterious beans on his plate. I just responded calmly, from a different place.

Although I’m probably not as fun to be around with the melancholy, I like it here for now. And I’ll do my best to take it with me to the next big feeling.

Maybe it was because I wore the white elephant on my necklace today.

Love…

xo Haley-O

Even though I was supposed to be thinking about nothing (and, for sure, because I was supposed to be thinking about nothing), I relaxed into the yoga pose and started thinking about this veil of fear and how, epiphany, I live under one pretty much all the time. It’s very subtle, so I don’t always notice it; but it’s definitely there. And I suppose with the right dose of psychiatric drugs it would just fall away. But then that would be no fun, would it? And it would be bad news for the lakes, rivers, oceans — to which, bizarre as I sound today, I connect on, like, a visceral, pelvic level. I noticed that, too, the other day, as we drove home from the cottage for the last, *sniff,* time this summer.

So is it just me, or do you live under a veil of fear too? If you do, what happens when you imagine — even just for a moment — lifting it up? It’s like, ahhh…. Everything becomes clearer, no? Is it me? Or do most of us live with this? It is the age of anxiety, no? And with the kids going back to school, a huge transition, the veil’s thicker than ever….

I guess that’s one of the reasons I still can’t shake my chai latte addiction, why I can’t lose this thick veil of weight I’ve been carrying since the brutally anxious days of my pregnancies…. And it’s why I need to go to yoga every day — to wake up at a crazy hour (given how late I stay up working) and enter a room full of others, their journeys, veils. Because there it’s just breath, and being, and learning and floating, and lifting the veil as I bend my knees and fall backwards into a deep backbend, an upside-down rainbow.

Here’s the inspiring teacher who makes me do it — it’s time you guys officially met. In my 28 years of studying yoga, he’s the only teacher who’s gotten me to really practice daily and begin to transform. He is awesome, so check out his new DVD, okay?

I’ll let you know when the DVD becomes available….

I heart yoga.

I’ll be buzzing around downtown Toronto for the next week or so for the Toronto Film Festival. I’m going to the Hello! Canada Magazine red carpet Saturday night (my birthday!); the Monkey and I will be meeting Heather Graham Sunday; and we have some other interviews and fun stuff going on (like an early morning event with the Rascal that will keep me from yoga tomorrow, alas, but it’ll be fun).

In the meantime, the Monkey’s in Grade One, and the Rascal’s entering Kindergarten tomorrow. I guess that’s for another post — except to say that I shed tears, Gorgeouses, a veil of them.

Love!
xo Haley-O

A few weeks ago, I hurried out of yoga class to get to work and stopped to say bye and thanks to my super-amazing yoga teacher David.

“My twists are terrible,” I told him as I slipped on my crocs.

“Awful!” He laughed.

“Terribly awful,” I insisted.

“How’s your diet?”

How’s my diet? At first I was excited that he asked because it meant that some good, motivating diet advice from my super-amazing health and spirituality guru was about to come. But, then I realized, gratefully, what an incredibly brave question that was for him to ask me. As my yoga buddy Jeff pointed out, it really shows the depths of a teacher’s compassion and investment in his students — that he’s willing to risk a slap in the face from overweight female straggler. Super amazing.

“It’s bad,” I told him. “Too many soy-chai lattes, sugar, bread, peanut butter. No time to cook for myself, blah blah blah.”

“That’s not good,” he told me. “You need to feed yourself.”

Feed yourself. My gosh. Once again, super-amazing yoga teacher has triggered epiphany. Feed myself. My gosh, I don’t feed myself. I eat, but I don’t feed myself. And I totally 100% eat to numb my emotions. I figured it out on my vacation over the last two weeks in cottage and farm country — i.e., miles away from STARBUCKS. A whole bunch of emotions (even happy ones!) surfaced as a result of not starting my days with a Starbucks sugar rush, and I had no idea what to do with them other than face them head-on or continue to stuff them down unsuccessfully with the sweetest cinnamony syrup I could find.

Practising yoga every day helped. Emotions arose and then vanished after a few poses. And I survived, incredibly.

I kayaked alone almost every day, and I noticed my emotions as I braved some big waves. Emotions ebbed and flowed. Seriously. It was meditation on water. And I survived, incredibly.

I tried to feed myself, as David advised. And I didn’t do that great. I ate chips (which I never eat), the kids’ vegan gummy bears, dark chocolate, peanut butter bagel sandwiches. I wasn’t feeding myself. I was eating.

And now that I’m back from vacation, I’m back on chai lattes.

So today’s the day, Gorgeouses. I’m going to start officially to feed myself. And I know it’s going to be tough, but I’m going to face my emotions head-on without food: anxieties about the kids, the stresses of feeding my family every day, responding to demands, tantrums, needs, wants (never mind my own needs and wants…). I can’t be a perfect parent because there’s just no such thing — I know that — but the stress of doing my best every day takes its toll. And sometimes at the end of the day I just want to veg — lay like broccoli, rather than eat it. I know this now.

Just breathe.

My body is supposed to be my temple. I believe that. And I want to move faster, feel lighter, look better.

I’ve been noticing lately that some women wear scarves around their necks to adorn their bodies. Others ink themselves with awesome tattoos. Others twist shiny strands into intricate ‘dos just to go to work.

I wear makeup — not to adorn my temple, ahem, but to cover up the results of not feeding myself: zits, dehydration, exhaustion, need I go on? As for my hair, I’ll always wash and go….

But I took the kids to the grocery store today. We stocked up on veggies, fruits, all good organic stuff. And when we got home, I took the time to wash and chop everything up instead of letting it all rot untouched in my fridge, as usual.

David suggested that I don’t do anything extreme to feed myself. No raw diets, low-carb diets. Definitely a vegan diet, of course. He likes the macrobiotic way of eating. But he said that if, for example, I can’t find time to make a macrobiotic breakfast (i.e., porridge and blanched greens, blergh…) after yoga practice, that I should have fruit and nuts — “just feed yourself!”

So I’m going back to basics, with the help of this book and this new book…. And then we’ll see about getting macro-fancy. I just need to feed myself, and not eat so much. Know what I mean?

By the way, David did say that I can allow myself my favourite drug drink on moon days — so, I’m looking forward to Sunday….

How about you? Do you feed yourself? How?

Love!

xo Haley-O

But just like I now get on the yoga mat each morning (thanks to persistent, available, compassionately whip-cracking teacher), I’m getting on the keyboard and writing this evening.

Yoga for writers: Do your writing, and all is coming….

Lately I’ve found myself thinking a lot about who on earth I am. I’ve had so much going on: my first TV appearance, celebrity interviews, and more and more celebrity interviews and two trips to New York in just over a month and trips to the cottage and work and…and…and…and family.

And my family, though last on that list of “so much going on,” is at the forefront of my thoughts all the time. When I pick up the phone to Jessica Alba’s very sweet voice, it occurs to me how close in age the Rascal is to her daughter. Does she want to know how much my son will love Spy Kids? Or how the Monkey loves the Little Mermaid, too? She has a Little Mermaid “babing suit”….

She turned six last week. SIX.

Gosh, and I’ve been blogging here since she was 8 months old….

We threw her a fairy birthday party. Tinker Bell flew in and blew the Monkey away. She stayed much longer than she was supposed to (thankfully), went up to the Monkey’s room with all the girls, ate cake with us, took pictures. The Monkey hugged Tink for dear life when it was time to say goodbye. She really believed….

With so much going on, when I hang up the phone with Jessica Alba, when I leave work for the day, when the TV camera switches off and I’m wondering how I did, when I’m standing on my head at the yoga studio, when I crawl into a foreign hotel bed, I am all about my kids.

“Ooo, look at the upside down rainbow!” — my brother and his wife taunt me when I practice yoga at the cottage….

From the moment I crawl out from under the Rascal in the morning, to the time I pick them up from camp, they’re in my thoughts — emerging and retreating as my focus on other things waxes and wanes. How are they doing at camp? Is the Monkey wearing her hat? Is the Rascal asking his counselor for “Mama”? Is he eating his snack? What will we do together after camp? Hair cuts? The “fairy store”? The park?

I’m thinking about my family. That’s who I am. And I’m thinking about career and life and what I’ll make for tomorrow’s lunch when I finish writing this post. I’m thinking about my dharma.

Last night I dreamed of a cave and a guru. Another guru dream. There were no answers, nothing full or finite. Just open arms and a smile.

Love….

xo Haley-O

Watch for old patterns.
Consistent effort is the path to transformation.
See you tomorrow! — David Robson, email, July 10, 2011

I don’t think I’ve said enough about my yoga teacher David Robson lately. *Cough.*

The thing is in the midst of all the crazy stuff I’ve had going on lately, he’s actually managing to help me get grounded (which is really hard to do for me whose feet are perpetually, though extremely wide, hovering floaty above the ground, laaaaa). Well, so far. I DID show up to yoga this morning.

At first he didn’t say too much when I stopped showing up to daily early-morning Mysore practice — except that if I had to let anything go in my life, it shouldn’t be my yoga practice. “You’ve worked so hard,” he said. I didn’t know how badly I needed to hear that. See? Brillers teacher.

After he said that to me, I went back a few times, and then I stopped showing up again. So I emailed David at the shala . I wanted to let him know that my intention to practice was still there and that I just had a lot going on. I guess he realized that what I was really doing was asking for an extra push from him, and that’s when he emailed me that little GEM quoted above.

“Watch for old patterns.” Hmm…, let’s see….

Old pattern #1: Not only have I not been waking up early to go to yoga, but I’ve also been going to bed late. Really LATE.

Old pattern #2: I’ve been starting my days not with yoga but with Starbucks soy no-water tazo chai. Grrrrr…..

Actually, I start every day with a heavy, blond, very round head on my lower back, and a white, fluffy, furry head on my feet. PINNED. And then my CAT couldn’t be more excited when I finally do wake up. It’s like Dino and Fred Flinstone. Wiiiiiiiiiilmaaaaaaaa!

Old pattern #3: I’ve been eating and drinking NOTHING after my chai — until the evening…. Eeeeeek, I know! And apparently I have hypoglycemia, to make matters even awesomer.

Old pattern #4: I’m a nervous stress case.

Old pattern #5: I stopped cooking for myself. Good thing it’sgrandma makes a mean salad at the cottage….

Old pattern #6: Let’s just say my house has seen tidier days….

So I don’t know what happened. Or, well I have a theory: school ended for the kids; they started camp; I took on a few too many assignments at work; I went to New York, ran around a lot…; and then I slipped — like Cinderella did, but all the way down the stairs, only not as graceful, and like I said, wide feet, phoom phoom phoom. I slipped off the wagon (many wagons) and just stopped taking care of myself. Yoga wasn’t the first to go. But, as David wisely, and possibly psychically, pointed out in that email, my skipping yoga was a signal that I was falling back into old patterns.

Addiction. Comfortable there.

It was a good thing he sent me that email. The timing was impeccable. Because it was that same day that I actually convinced myself I was going to DIE from the chai I chugged that morning. My anxiety was at a record high….

So I’m just about to do my “drop backs” this morning. David takes his usual place in front of me, looks me in the eye so there’s no looking away, even though (for me) it’s obscenely early in the morning to be socializing in any capacity, and reminds me that I “need a practice.” Because it’s the one thing that will keep me grounded and going, that will “push me through” all the changes so I don’t get lost in them and all overwhelmed.

Like an empty water bottle lost at sea, toxic and carried by endless waves of change.

Today I didn’t have a chai latte. This might explain any incoherence, rambling, typos or bizarre, out-of-nowhere metaphors in this blog post. Instead I made a simple green smoothie. And, as my team (nay, family) at Today’s Parent reminded me to do, I brought my lunch to work — some simple miso brown rice and vegetables and hummus. I’m building new patterns.

I’ll never forget what my teacher Monica Voss said years ago when we were discussing a yoga pose: sometimes you have to “collapse the structure so we can gradually rebuild.”  And it looks like that’s what happening here.

So, huge thanks to David Robson for nudging me so perfectly to rebuild. As he himself said, “It won’t be the last time.” Ha! But at least I know I have him and my friends at the shala to catch me when I slip or, better yet, to pick this toxic water bottle out of the ocean and plant some flowers in her. Yikes?

So, Gorgeouses, what are some old patterns you slip into when life gets overwhelming? And do you have some kind of “practice” or hobby to keep you steady and grounded?

Love!
xo Haley-O

How DOES she do it?

I love them. And I fed them for her sake — because I can’t imagine what it’s like to have nine children. And, of course, they kept coming back for more. In the end they were swimming with us, side by side. Quack quack quack. Until Betty White jumped in. She didn’t bother them or anything, but the mere presence of such a SCARY BEAST was evidently enough to send the ducklings and their mama quacking away for a few hours at least….

Ooooooo…. Scary beast. RAWR!

Or maybe it was my Justin Bieber towel that scared them away….

If you can help it, try not to comment about how dirty and disease infested ducks are. I’ve been fighting some serious sun anxiety/OCD lately. I spent an entire paycheck buying every mineral sunscreen I could find in the store, and that doesn’t seem to be enough for my (and my sister’s) fair beauties in the heat of the cottage sun….

Cousins…. They did wear T-shirts most of the day…AND their beloved life jackets.

Brothers….

Obvious: I love the cottage. I feel like a kid again when I’m there, only better. When I was a kid, I was terrified of the lake, hated the outdoors and ran the other way when anyone yelled “WATER SPORTS WOOHOOOHOOHOOO!” Now, here I am jumping in the middle of the lake to rescue a lost hat, kayaking….

WAKEBOARDING…!

I got up on the wakeboard, and I made it around the lake, bouncing off choppy waves and whipping side to side. Totally awesome, dude…. And I went crazy water tubing. Here’s Josh-O hating every minute of our saggy water tube….

I love it. I love the cottage. The nature, the play, the togetherness. and I hate to leave every time….

So thanks for the emails, Gorgeouses. I know I’ve been MIA here lately. It’s okay. I haven’t even been to yoga much lately either. And I’m kind of disappointed in my apparent laziness. But I am long overdue for this thing called “play,” which I’m surprisingly rediscovering at the cottage.

I think my last yoga practice taught me something about this just the other day. I was really struggling through the poses — probably because I’d eaten too much the night before — and just spontaneously decided to stop working so hard. I let my muscles go a little flaccid, rested a little between poses, relaxed inside the poses (all of this a no-no in Ashtanga yoga), breathed a little more freely. And it suddenly occurred to me that I do EVERYTHING TOO HARD. My “flaccid” yoga was for sure someone else’s 100%. I consistently work too hard in every single aspect of my life. I put too much pressure on myself to go all the way and do everything perfectly. Eureka! Maybe things would flow better for me in general if I just let go a little…. Ride the wave….

Parenting, writing, working, parenting, cooking, yoga, dieting, parenting, running, running, running like Lola.

It felt good to let go in yoga, and it feels good to let go a little in life. To play without guilt or holding back or fear. Without fear without fear, for two seconds without fear. I got up and around the lake on a wakeboard for the first time in my life. You missed it all, Fear.

Now I just have to find that healthy balance between work and play, push and pull, order and chaos, freedom and control, yin and yang.

My arms still feel slightly torn out of their sockets from wakeboarding, but I should make it to yoga tomorrow (and I will work hard). It’s pretty crucial. I have the greatest, most inspiring teacher out there, who, like wakeboarding, reminds me that I can do anything.

Ahh, life.

Love!
xo Haley-O