feeling adrift, hard goodbyes, being home

This time last week I graduated from Bowdoin College, moving my tassel from right to left as i stepped down the granite museum steps. There were tears, hugs, congratulations, and far too many cameras- and that afternoon, although nostalgic and emotional, was also joyful and brimming with accomplishment. A week later I sit at home in Alaska, feeling adrift in life. The feeling was something I couldn't prepare for. I knew all semester, all year, from the day I started at Bowdoin, that I would eventually graduate and begin something new, and despite periods of fear and misgiving, I have mostly been excited to move on and become an adult, living in a world that isn't bounded by dormitories and dining halls. Unfortunately, moving on isn't all that simple. I don't feel different from before- my diploma didn't transmit any superpowers, or even any directive sense of certainty. Instead, i feel far less certain than when I had my direction handed to me by professors and college career advisors: write a paper on this topic, make a kick-ass resume, achieve a respectful GPA. Bowdoin, for three and a half years, was my home, and a place where I learned how to think, question and also how to simply be. Bowdoin was also a place that handed me goals and structure, and life feels much more challenging without those. If i had to fill out any tax-forms today I could no longer circle "Student", now i need to switch to "Unemployed".
The identity and direction I found as a student is easier to say goodbye to than some of the friends I made along the way. In the last year I became more aware of how suspiciously I approach my friendships, of how difficult it is for me to rely on people that I am not in romantic relationships with. This realization led to some changes, and to much deeper connections with individuals I felt really knew me. I think many great relationships develop close to the end, because we finally realize how little we have to lose by sharing ourselves with others. There is also less fear of rejection, and this increased understanding of the potential and worth of the people around you upon realizing that they won't be there for very long. When I first came to Bowdoin I was hardly homesick, it wasn't until I went to Nepal that I really experienced that emotion. Upon leaving Maine, and the many people I came to love there, I feel their loss sharply.
This isn't to say that Alaska hasn't sunk deep hooks into my heart: I love the mountains, the long summer days, my dad and my sister who live in my childhood home, a manly bearded man, and many other old and new friends. None of them have shared or are a part of the community that was my primary investment for the last 4 years, but I know that I will re-connect with this magical space over time. I have never been particularly patient, and generally deal with sadness with a heavy week-long dose of young-adult fiction and homemade popcorn. I know that, above all, getting involved in Alaska and it's community, finding a job and getting to know new people will all help with this transition. Being present is so challenging- it is easy and tempting to disappear into insubstantial distractions like the internet and cable TV- but engaging in Alaska, truly and comfortably, will take effort and awareness. I've mentioned before how I wish I could get tattoos to remind me of important realizations. This poem of Rumi's I have used many times, i'm sure i've quoted it here. When I need to remember the magic of living, to be present in what surrounds me and appreciate it, this poem always helps:

Today, like every other day, we wake up empty
and frightened. Don't open the door to the study
and begin reading. Take down a musical instrument.

Let the beauty we love be what we do.
There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground.

labyrinths, walking, space

Today is wonderful. Putting up the labyrinth and watching others use and love it released all the tension from my body and soul, leaving me feeling cleansed, empty and peaceful. I love walking the labyrinth, but equally I love seeing how other people use it. Some rush through, barely stopping in the center before leaving again. Some are fighting to concentrate, but thier eyes search the room, avoiding eye contact. Some exaggerate each movement, turn thier walk into a dance, a performance. Some step gently and slowly, with great purpose, each step the same as the last. Some are playful, changing rhythms and speeds on a whim, seemingly wrapped in the sensation. And some are lost completely in thier heads. In everyone I see steps taken with care and awareness, sitting in the center people smile, grimace or relax completely (some even fall asleep). Interestingly, it is easy to see how deep an impression the labyrinth left on people by how the leave the room: those who let the door swing shut behind them have already left the labyrinth behind them, and those who close it gently and quietly are still somewhat lost in that greater awareness and thoughtfulness.
I started this post during the walk last week, and am finishing it after the last labyrinth walk of the year, but the experience of tending and walking the labyrinth always seems somewhat timeless. Last week a surrpise came around 8:30 when many people came to the labyrinth at the same time. At one point there were 10 people at once in the labyrinth, both coming and going, something that happened again this week with 8 people. In some moments the walkers were all somewhat congested on one side of the labyrinth. From the outside I could see the flow of people, seemingly random but in fact incredibly singular in thier paths. It was a model of a city, of our lifetimes and paths and thier separateness and interconnectedness as we walk. Some people did not like this crowded space- they seemed uncomfortable and distracted by the pressure of other's movements. Others seemed to embrace it, taking it as an opportunity to just be and move with others in the moment. When there wasn't enough space in the middle some went to sit by the fire to meditate, and then walked back out of the labyrinth upon finishing, while others, feeling rushed, started back without pausing. I felt like I was watching an intimate ritual steeped in prayer- not directive prayer but instead a recognition of the communal connection that we all have in common.
Many of my walks at Bowdoin have had this introspective, existential quality where I see my place in a whole, see myself and my loved ones with a greater love and perspective. My last walk at Bowdoin was different- a unique but hopefully not singular experience. Instead of contemplating, or examining my breath and movement, for the first time I just relaxed. I lost the awareness of walking, and yet I was still able to follow the path. Several times I looked up and realized I had no idea how I had gotten to the other side of the room. It felt like I was sleep walking, immersed in sensation without effort or control. This experience was easier for me to reach because of something that happened several nights ago. At 2am I went on a bike ride with a friend through the light rain. My glasses were continuously coated in mist, adding to the ghostlike visibility on the empty road. As we followed the endless road we left the streetlights behind us and suddenly it was difficult to tell if I was awake or dreaming- was I really on this dark road, with wet and cold hands and my glasses slipping down my nose? Or was I on an endless road, a path that seemed straight but was in fact just another section of labyrinth, sometimes invisible to my eyes with the occaisional glimpse through the mist? When I walked the labyrinth last night I had the same feeling of vertigo, of dissapation and immersion. I came out of the labyrinth struck dumb by the experience, relaxed and empty. This might be the first time I ever really emptied my mind without striving. Now that I've found that place- of relaxation and acceptance- i think i can find it again, something that makes me incredibly happy.

Rumi on Learning

Today I've been thinking a lot about learning, both because of my "Analysis of Teaching and Learning" essay for Adolescents in School, and because my days dedicated to learning at college are limited. This thought process brought me across two lovely poems about learning, teaching and growth by Rumi. So much of his work I wish I could tattoo behind my eyelids, as reference points throughout my days and years.


Two Kinds of Intelligence

There are two kinds of intelligence: One acquired,
as a child in school memorizes facts and concepts
from books and from what the teacher says,
collecting information from the traditional sciences
as well as from the new sciences.

With such intelligence you rise in the world.
You get ranked ahead or behind others
in regard to your competence in retaining
information. You stroll with this intelligence
in and out of fields of knowledge, getting always more
marks on your preserving tablets.

There is another kind of tablet, one
already completed and preserved inside you.
A spring overflowing its springbox. A freshness
in the center of the chest. This other intelligence
does not turn yellow or stagnate. It's fluid,
and it doesn't move from outside to inside
through the conduits of plumbing-learning.

This second knowing is a fountainhead
from within you, moving out.


You Are the Only Student You Have

You are the only faithful student you have.
All the others leave eventually.

Have you been making yourself shallow
with making other eminent?

Just remember, when you're in union,
you don't have to fear
that you'll be drained.

The command comes to speak,
and you feel the ocean
moving through you.
Then comes, Be silent,
as when the rain stops,
and the trees in the orchard
begin to draw moisture
up into themselves.

a day of silence, public spaces, expectations

Yesterday I took a day of silence.
Well- not quite a whole day...
I woke up at 8 to get ready for a job interview in bath, and proceeded to mime my way through breakfast and destination questions by my roommates. Except a couple words spoken right after waking (hard to remember silence while in that state) I maintained silence until I got in my car to drive to Bath. Surprisingly, even that brief 2-hour window of silence seemed to make me more aware of speaking, and more inclined to choose my words with consideration and listen deeply. Thus the job interview went well- I did not feel nervous at any point, and enjoying our conversation about the teacher and students in an educational system that prizes attitude, hard work and effort far more than ability, intelligence or talent. I had several errands to run for multiple classes and stopped by cooks corner afterwards to get supplies for photo and more paint for the labyrinth. These were spaces where I did not want to inconvenience others by maintaining silence- it seemed far too difficult and frustrating for everyone, so i tried to maintain silence unless necessary.
When all of this was over, a little after noon, I settled into a more pure silence for the rest of the day. This was initially frustrating. I had just had this amazing job interview and I wanted to talk to my roommate and loved ones about it, ask for advice on how to proceed. Thursday night had been a little surreal (live folk music at the pub with the entire drunk hockey team participating and a broken bike) and I wanted to tell my roommate about it. Instead- I got home, arranged some flowers, made a post about my mindset the last couple of weeks, and decided to go outside and enjoy the (still somewhat weak) sun. I packed my backpack with Rumi poetry, Thich nat hanh, my old journal and a blanket and headed out to the quad.
While I don't want to say this was a mistake, it was very odd to be in a busy public space but silent. I felt periodically like I was doing ethnographic research on social life at Bowdoin College, relaxed in the sun, and isolated from everyone. I had sent out an e-mail about my day of silence to closer friends, and wore a button that said "I am taking a day of silence". Most people, however, didn't know how to handle this change in social roles, probably especially because I am a talkative person.
My biggest surprise was the questions: So many questions!
As soon as people found out about the silence- from my roomate, to good friends, to acquaintances- they would try and engage me in conversation. Usually by asking me questions like "what is this for?", "Have you broken it at all? How?" or various other things virtually impossible to answer without words. It felt like being trapped in a never-ending silent game of 20 questions. My roomate, excited about some romantic developments tried to talk to me about them to the mounting frustration of both of us. "That's a good sign right?" she asked as I nodded emphatically and tried not to pound my head against the wall. "Can we talk about this tomorrow morning?" I typed into my computer. Thus, being in public places, and interacting with people was extremely frustrating- it felt anti-mindful to be in those situations, despite what I learned about myself (I am not good at answering questions with merely 'yes' or 'no'). Several friends were very content to just talk at me, and some were happy to just sit in silence on the grass or read some poetry. Ironically, passing around the frisbee was the easiest. I threw with some friends for 30 minutes or so without needing to say anything- although I often verbalized sounds to show sympathy or approval for catches and misses. These noises were integral throughout the day- I never realized how much we DO communicate without words and the tone used in that form of expression is hugely meaningful- more so than the words used to verbalize the tone.
The best moments in my day of silence were mindful practices: Vinyasa yoga and walking the labyrinth. After a bit of frustration on the quad I was excited to go to yoga, release those negative feelings, and focus my attention on my body. The hour and a half class was wonderful, and left me feeling far more calm and comfortable. After dinner I went and walked the labyrinth, an experience that brought a lot of emotions close to the surface. I did not know the high school physics teacher well, or ever have a class with him, but he was a sweet and friendly man and had taught my sister. This week he died while glissading in the mountains, leaving behind a 3-year-old daughter and his wife. I haven't known how to react to this information. As I discovered with my grandmothers death in december: being far away always makes it harder for your emotions and body to understand the reality of loss. Walking the labyrinth and meditating in the center I began to think about my family and other loved ones and how tenuous our grasp on this world are. We are never secure in our happiness or our families against disaster. There could be a tsunami or an armed conflict or simply an accident that causes death and destruction and rocks my family to the core. This doesn't make me afraid- there will always be the unknown and unexpected, and there is little we can do to have a full life and mitigate those fears. However, it made me grateful. It made me appreciative. It made me want to give them love and health and safety, to be a positive force in thier lives.
I don't know how to characterize my day of silence- it definitely wasn't a simple experience and I didn't end my day in a state of 'zen'. However- it was a powerful tool of self-recognition helping me understanding my roles and relationships. It also brought me to another glimpse of that universal humanity that we all share- our deep similarities as people on this planet.

As annie dillard said in "This is the Life":
Say you have seen something. You have seen an ordinary bit of what is real, the infinite fabric of time that eternity shoots through, and time's soft-skinned people working and dying under slowly shifting stars. Then what?

failure and gentleness

This last week I recieved many assessments back from professors- and many, while positive, were not without criticism. This is wonderful- but develop it farther. I liked what you did here, but perhaps you could answer this question as well. I found myself increasingly frustrated by this lack of pure affirmation. Wasn't I, for the first time, truely engaging with my learning, undestanding my classes as a space for my own growth and understanding? Wasn't it still enough?
These sentiments seem to resound everywhere these days. My carefully crafted resume, listing years of accomplishments, attempts and versatility, was unsuccessful at finding me a job. To be honest I haven't even applied to that many jobs, perhaps for the same reason I am struggling with my grades: failure.
This universal fear has been nibbling at my confidence recently, making me doubt my intelligence, ability to work hard, and especially my "hireability" (whatever that actually means). Lisa, our meditation teacher last semester, once told me to be gentle with myself. This is a hard thing to do when I feel a constant pressure and desire to be better. Ironically now I even feel some measure of failure in the area of 'self-gentleness'. Katie, my education professor, pointed out that part of the transition out of college is this new kind of critique. The times when I turn in a paper, get a grade, and forget about it are gone. Instead, criticism is the norm, and nothing will ever reach perfection. Especially me. With this in mind I am trying to strive with gentleness. To treat myself patiently and with respect for all that I do accomplish. This is not easy for me- in fact, it is far harder than beginning meditation or holding my temper ever was. Self-doubt and self-blame, the right and left hands of failure, manifest slowly and insidiously. That is why practices like meditation and yoga need to be a daily part of my life by allowing me to have a greater awareness and forgiveness of self.

I just discovered this poem by rumi which speaks well to this struggle. As is often the case it was the first i read today:

You may have heard, it's the custom
for Kings to let warriors stand on
the left, the side of the heart, and
courage. On the right, they put the
Chancellor, and various secretaries,
because the practice of bookkeeping
and writing usually belongs to the
right hand.

In the center, the Sufis, because in
meditation they become mirrors.
The King can look at their faces
and see his original state.

Give the beautiful ones mirrors,
and let them fall in love with
themselves.

That way they polish their souls
and kindle remembering in others.

A close childhood friend once came
to visit Joseph. They had shared the
secrets that children tell each other
when they're lying on their pillows
at night before they go to sleep.
These two were completely truthful
with each other.

The friend asked, "What was it like
when you realized your brothers were
jealous and what they planned to do?"

"I felt like a lion with a chain around
its neck. Not degraded by the chain, and
not complaining, but just waiting for my
power to be recognized."

"How about down in the well, and in
prison? How was it then?"

"Like the moon when it's getting
smaller, yet knowing the fullness to
come. Like a seed pearl ground in the
mortar for medicine, that knows it will
now be the light of the human eye.

Like a wheat grain that breaks open in
the ground, then grows, then gets
harvested, then crushed in the mill for
flour, then baked, then crushed again
between teeth to become a person's
deepest understanding.

Lost in Love, like songs the planters
sing the night after they sow the seed."

There is no end to any of this.
Back to something else the good man
and Joseph talked about.

"Ah my friend, what have you brought me?
You know a traveler should not arrive
empty handed at the door of a friend
like me. That's going to the grinding
stone without your wheat. God will ask
at the Resurrection, 'Did you bring Me
a present? Did you forget? Did you think
you wouldn't see Me?'

Joseph kept teasing,
"Lets have it. I want my gift!"

The guest began, "You can't imagine how
I've looked for something for you.
Nothing seemed appropriate. You don't
take gold down into a goldmine, or a
drop of water to the Sea of Oman!

Everything I thought of was like
bringing cumin seed to Kirmanshah where
cumin comes from.

You have all seeds in your barn. You
even have my love and my soul, so I
can't even bring those.

I've brought you a mirror. Look at
yourself, and remember me."

He took the mirror out from his robe
where he was hiding it.

What is the mirror of being?
Non-being.

Always bring a mirror of non-existence
as a gift. Any other present is foolish.

Let the poor man look deep into
generosity. Let the bread see a hungry
man. Let kindling behold a spark from
the flint.

An empty mirror and your worst
destructive habits, when they are held
up to each other,
that's when the real making begins.
That's what art and crafting are.

A tailor needs a torn garment to
practice his expertise. The trunks of
trees must be cut and cut again
so they can be used for fine carpentry.

Your doctor must have a broken leg to
doctor. Your defects are the ways that
glory gets manifested. Whoever sees
clearly what's diseased in himself
begins to gallop on the Way.

There is nothing worse
than thinking you are well enough.
More than anything, self-complacency
blocks the workmanship.

Put your vileness up to a mirror and
weep. Get that self-satisfaction flowing
out of you! Satan thought, "I am better
than Adam," and that *better than* is
still strongly in us.

Your stream-water may look clean,
but there's unstirred matter on the
bottom. Your Sheikh can dig a side
channel that will drain that waste off.

Trust your wound to a Teacher's surgery.
Flies collect on a wound. They cover it,
those flies of your self-protecting
feelings, your love for what you think
is yours.

Let a teacher wave away the flies
and put a plaster on the wound.

Don't turn your head. Keep looking at
the bandaged place. That's where the
light enters you.

And don't believe for a moment
that you're healing yourself.

-- Mathnawi, I, 3150-3175, 3192-3227
Version by Coleman Barks
(Developed from the translation by Nicholson)
"The Essential Rumi"
HarperSanFrancisco, 1995

unexpected labyrinth perks, waldorf, the siren call of nature, yoga or sleep?

The weeks after spring break are always a whirlwind, but these were particularly impressive in the number of things on my to-do list and the number of things i can reasonably accomplish in a short period of time. Foremost amoung them is the labyrinth project, finally reaching the beginning of construction as of saturday. An unexpected perk of the project, and of a lot of self-designed projects i've been working on, is the opportunity to meet and interact with adults. While this may sound like a normal part of life for some 21-year-olds, most of my semesters at Bowdoin held very little quality time with adults other than professors while in the classroom. I have always made an effort to get to know professors better than that, and often used office hours or meetings during meals to have great conversations. The labyrinth project this semester, as well as a photography project about aging with an interview component, both facilitated much deeper and more frequent interactions with professors, staff, and community members. The conversations accompanying labyrinth scheduling, funding and logistic-ing often range to much larger concerns about becoming an adult, getting older, marrying and raising kids. I've found these conversations (some of them actually TAPED) to be invaluable already- a surprising source of guidance for a soon-to-be unmoored college graduate.
On Friday we visited the Waldorf school in Freeport, an experience that immediately made me want to become a Waldorf teacher. The classes were interesting for a college student like me, as many public school classes are not, and the students were constantly engaged, both questioning and answering about the material. When asked during break if they ever got bored everyone pretty much shook thier head, or wrinkled thier foreheads- "Well, not in SCHOOL." said one girl, as if that concept were somewhat crazy. Unfortunately, visiting the Waldorf school required a very early awakening, thus I was pretty tired when we got back to campus- with still a whole list of things to do ahead of me. I needed to interview and photograph Sue from the church for my photography project, grab a meal (I was starving), pick up the canvas from the shop, buy supplies for construction the next day, and make it to yoga from 4:30-6:00. Somehow, upon arriving back on campus, I had a leisurely brunch with Benzvi, and then we went to the quad to enjoy 15 minutes of passing a frisbee in the sun. As the numbers playing grew, my awareness of time fell away... until i looked down and saw that it was 2:30 and discovered a missed call from sue- oops! The sun and the grass, after so many months of snow and cold, is practically irresistable.
After the interview- a pleasant and calming conversation- I had 30 minutes left before yoga, and had scheduled to pick up the canvas at 6pm. Part of me had already considered just going home, showering (it had been three days) and sleeping until dinner. The question became: sleep and a shower or yoga? Which is ultimately more refreshing and fulfilling in the midst of such a busy day? Although at first I really thought sleep would win out, I realized that my mind would probably not feel rejuvinated by a 40ish minute nap, squeezed between two activities. I would probably wake up tired and crabby, wishing i was still in bed, and lose momentum for the rest of the evening. Yoga, on the other hand, would allow me to actively relax my body, focus and still my mind, and spend a little time on my spirit as well. You can obviously tell what won.
So I decided to buy some erasers for the construction in the union, change at home, and bike to yoga... which was glorious. definitely the right decision (and a good thing to keep in mind during busy and exhausting days). Unfortunately, I was so relaxed afterwards that I went straight home, showered, and ravenously headed towards the dininghall for dinner. At 10pm, sitting with some friends in the tower, I sat straight up- Oh shit. I had completely forgotten about the canvas for the labyrinth. My self-distain and horror at this mistake were hard to curb. It's funny how when we forgot something like that- a friend's birthday, an important errand- we have a visceral reaction to it. Our bodies clench up, especially around the stomach, our teeth grind, our eyes open wide. I wonder how similar this 'panic' is to the fight/flight response nature developed for moments of danger. Everything worked out just fine- i picked up the canvas at 8am and there were no consequences of my negligence, but that feeling stayed with me all night until the next morning, despite my inability to change the situation or the usefulness of feeling bad about it. I probably should've done what I did earlier- forgone a little sleep to meditate and clear my mind, allowing myself some self-forgiveness and clarity.

Don't go to sleep one night
What you want most will come to you then.
Warmed by a sun inside, you'll see wonders.
-Rumi

the breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you.
don’t go back to sleep.
you must ask for what you really want.
don’t go back to sleep.
people are going back and forth between the
door sill where the two worlds touch.
the door is round and open.
don’t go back to sleep.
-rumi

my first retreat, clocklessness, less rigid lifestyles

On thursday night my mindfulness and practice class went out to the coastal studies center for an over-night retreat in which we would have a protracted period of silence and lead/participate in certain mindful practices. This is a journal entry I wrote in the morning while we were there.
(Friday April 1st)
"Sleeping without an alarm was strange- I had trouble tursting myself to relax because I could not depend on my alarm to awake me. Although Katie is reliable and promised to wake us with charms, having the wake-up be not only outside of my control but a mystery in the middle of the night (have I been asleep 2 hours or 6?) was hard, it made me somewhat restless. Even when sleeping beside Sean I feel responsible for getting myself (and him!) up and starting the day. I know there are many things to do, even on a weekend. I hope I can learn to let go of this compulsion and, without anxiety, embrace a scheduless day every once and awhile. Before today I hadn't realized how much I rely on clocks- particularly my watch, something required over the summer by our crew boss (and adopted permanently since then). My scheduling is directly linked to the artificial hours and minutes with which we catalogue the day. Nepal was a much more relaxed, disorganized, and clockless society, although I had trouble appreciating it. My guess is it would've been easier to embrace my experience there if i had had more grounding or been part of a program. This is why sean and I must travel and live somewhere abroad after graduation- get out of the clock-filled world for awhile.
A good life-goal is a week without clocks, not on vacation in another place but at home, perhaps during a break (organized or natural) from required routines- work, school, kid's school, etc.
Is there a way to have a watch without becoming married to it and a need to follow it's guidance?
I hope so."

at the shooting range, power yoga, mindfulness in alaska

It is important to be mindful when there is the potential of death or destruction. Although I'd never really considered it before, shooting a gun is actually a very 'mindful' activity. Today Sean took me, five guns, and a bag full of ammo to the shooting range so I could shoot a gun for the second time in my life. The first time was up at my cabin, where we have a shotgun that was only used that one day. My father wanted each of us to be able to use it in the case of a bear attack. He instructed me to shoot out into a relatively open clearing, and I immediately shot a nearby tree which began smoking and he confiscated the gun. Needless to say it wasn't my most 'mindful' moment. My experience at the gun range today was altogether different. Shooting requires finite attention to have any accuracy, and even more than that the consequences of being careless require awareness and attention to the rules of the shooting range. Number 1: always think of a gun as loaded. I like this rule because it is oddly complimentary to the thoughts I've been having about how to interact with others, particularly students (I do not mean SHOOTING them). Rather, that you should always give a student the beneft of the doubt. Not knowing where they came from that morning, or what happened to them, always have your mind open to the possibility that they are 'loaded' and treat them accordingly- with respect.
The meditative feeling of shooting targets surprised me. Each time I shot there was an intense concentration down the barrel, trying to quiet my hands, balance the gun and line up with the bullseye. I maintained that rigid posture while I simultaneously tried not to flinch before I shot, not to anticipate the kickback from the gun or to close my eyes against the noise and rapport. While I don't know if i'm a shooting range convert, I am glad I tried this, both for my increased knowledge and skill (in case of zombie attack or hunting) and because it offered me a surprising glimpse of what many of the shooting range junkies must feel- meditation via firearm.
My other most memorable mindful experience of the week was also somewhat paradoxical: Power Yoga. My sister has always disliked 'normal' yoga, which she deems yoga overly focused on sitting and stretching. Being a rather intense and physically fit person, she prefers something active, and has trouble getting her strong body to loosten up into yogic knots. Thus, she brought me along to her power-yoga class, a 75 minute relaxation-workout, which began with some light meditation in the sitting position, progressed into aggressively athletic pilates-yoga fusion, and then slowed back down into a child's pose and breath awareness. Although I was a little skeptical of the new-age-trans music playing in the background I have to admit that I loved the class. Although I wasn't sore the next day my muscles felt good- toned and used. Even more, my back was crinkling and cracking not because I had strained it, but because the muscles were actually looser- more relaxed- allowing my spine some unexpected freedom. It was a crunch to make it to yoga in time and I arrived at 6:45pm with only two pieces of toast for dinner. By the end I was smiling and in a wonderful mood- I haven't felt so good after a workout in awhile. I remember thinking to myself "I want to do this for a living"
One of my favorite parts of coming home for spring break has been the realization that there IS a mindfulness movement in Alaska, and especially in Anchorage. There are multiple meditation groups- a free meditation session monday nights, and a $5 cover on wednesday. There are lots of yoga and dance classes, countless outdoorsy activities (teleskiing is just skimming the surface of the possible), food-growing and local craft cooperatives- even Taiji and QiGong. Growing up I knew that Alaska had many "yuppie" activities like yoga or lots of hippie fair-trade stores. I never really explored any of these opportunities for myself though, and I'm learning that being an Alaskan in my 20s is way different from my high school experience. Most of my close friends here now aren't from high school, and my interests and hobbies have changed as well. Although I am worried about the financial insecurities that come with graduating from Bowdoin, I am suddenly invigorated with what new experiences and discoveries Alaska's community holds for me. I would like mindfulness to be a practice that informs, guides and balances the rest of my life, and apparently Alaska is a space that can help nurture that desire.

ease, Alaskan mountains, family

(Written Thursday, March 17th)

When I arrived home under the stars of an early morning, exhaustion overtook me. Since returning to school in the fall I have felt exhausted many times. This is a different kind of exhaustion than I experience on the trail crew, where my body was honestly sore and begging to lay itself down. The exhaustion I find at Bowdoin comes from over-production, denying my body's needs in the face of my stuffed schedule, class syllabi and social tendencies. So arriving in Alaska, with two weeks (relatively) open in front of me, I finally gave in to that exhaustion as I haven't in months. And I slept for three days. I mean, really, I practically did nothing but sleep. Even now, although not ill, my body recognizes this respite, a period of ease which it responds to by relaxing with a spine-clicking sigh of relief. What is amazing about this “ease” is how difficult I usually find it to relax, to “let go” of my goals and needs and instead focus on the present. This semester I’ve spent an unprecedented amount of time learning how to just “be”, even if only for a few minutes of meditation or an hour of exercise and now I am more able than ever before to expand that mantra to my lifestyle. As Lao Tzu said, “fill your bowl to the brim and it will spill. Keep sharpening your knife and it will blunt.” I think the lesson here is that expecting and trying to do too much will make your undoing. I know my “Bowl” had been brimming over for quite long enough before I arrived at home and finally stopped trying to fill it for a couple of days.

After three days of almost pure sleep, movies, and lounging I finally roused myself to Alaska and got away into the mountains with my sister. Fiona and I have had trouble getting along for the last year or so, but this trip has been decidedly different. We're communicating well and honestly, conversations aided by cross-country skiing beneath the majesty of snowy cliffs and ridges, or tele-skiing down slopes with a view of the ocean in the distance. I have been trying to understand what somehow allowed this sudden change in our relationship, our lack of fighting or frustration with each other. A wise professor once said "You do what you value" and this adage has been bumping around in my head recently. This spring break, for the first time in a long time, I have made a strong effort to spend time with my sister. We've made plans, communicated our schedules and needs, and found activities that are mutually exciting to both of us. Our house brims with energy. Last night the whole family walked along the frozen mudflats of the beach with our two old sled dogs wandering around in the trees. She burst into a ho-dance to her own little song, aggressively hipping me until I suddenly began a scattered harmony and some sweet sidestepping. My dad giggled at us for 10-15 seconds and then started dancing along with us up the path. We probably looked like lunatics, but it felt so good to have that kind of experience with my family, especially because we have struggled so much to connect over the last several years. Perhaps we are all getting better at letting go of the past and “being” in the present- even if that means dancing in the snow along the beach.

“In dwelling, live close to the ground. In thinking, keep to the simple. In conflict, be fair and generous. In governing, don't try to control. In work, do what you enjoy. In family life, be completely present.”
-Lao Tzu

tending and walking the labyrinth, living like weasels (or perhaps like otters)

On Monday we brought a labyrinth from the First Parish Church to Bowdoin College. Before the set-up began the labyrinth existed as an 8-hour block in my calender, a box from 3-11pm marked "LABYRINTH" right after "8:30-10:30 MiP", "10:30-12:00 Edit Paper & send" and "12:00-2:30 Robin at Jr. High + notes". Mentally, the physical presence of the labyrinth, and the mindful practice it entailed, ceased to exist. Instead, it felt like one other commitment, with hardly enough transition time to give it thought or enjoyment.
Luckily, the labyrinth proved me wrong. It surprised me, and relaxed me and awoke me. Sue, the coordinator for the church who supervised and organized the making of the 30x30' labyrinth that we used, is an incredibly positive and calming presence. She seems very wise to me, although I'm sure she'd deny this, and to be filled with patience and understanding. Over the course of the event she came to the BOC no less than 4 times, first to move the canvas, then to fetch brooms from the church for sweeping because housekeeping had not cleaned, then to bring us a boombox because the stereo did not work, and finally returning to help us re-fold and transport the labyrinth back to it's home in a church cabinet. At no point did she seem frustrated, anxious or inconvenienced. Instead she emanated peace and goodwill- I hope someday I can discover a similar stability and perspective.
Tending the labyrinth was an equally calming, mindful activity. The music, low lighting, and muted whispers all created a safe space in which to let go of the anxiety and schedules shadowing my dreams for the last week. The presence of the fire was equally felt- from the moment I coaxed it into life it emanated warmth and comfort throughout the room, and the act of kindling and feeding was a ritual. I enjoyed the level of contact shared between visitors to the labyrinth and the tenders there- because I knew many of those who came I also shared many lingering hugs, genuine smiles and squeezes to the arm. So much can be communicated through touch- I am always amazed.
After several hours I walked the labyrinth myself, comfortable leaving the tending to Katherine and Chanoong while I walked. Initially I got a little anxious because I realized that the fire had gotten quite low and didn't think anyone was aware. Although I tried to let go, this thought kept pressing back into my awareness. When I was close to the fire I stepped out of the labyrinth, placed several logs behind the screen, and then resumed my walk. By taking care of what was ruffling the waters of my mind I was then able to calm it. Although I do think meditation can be a solution for a distracted mind by providing discipline, in this case I am glad that I took the time to remove a distraction that was easily dealt with and satisfying to resolve.
My fist labyrinth walk was very centered on life and death and the paths that we each walk. Although this metaphoric way of using the labyrinth was what I needed at that time, this walk was centered around relaxation and goodwill. Walking was time to just 'be', to notice what my body was saying to me. To relax my knotted shoulders by rolling them around, and tip back my head until I hear that light 'click' that brings so much relief. I stretched my thigh muscles, sore from Teleskiing, and felt the clarity of my newly-healed lungs. Before I knew it I was at the center- the walk had flown by.
I sat and did a short loving-kindness meditation, sending love to my family members, myself, a loved one and someone who had proven difficult recently. It felt good to send these thoughts out, and I also recognized my 'limit', signaling a close to the meditation. Leaving the labyrinth was likewise very physical, focused and calming. I left the path with a sense of peace and happiness that certainly hadn't existed before.

My friend Sean sent me Annie Dillards "Living Like Weasels" essay, which really speaks to that idea of 'mindlessness' and living in the moment off of your immediate experiences. Although I think such moments need to be balances with periods of thought and introspection, her description is so lovely and apt that I thought I'd include an excerpt. I think I would choose to live like an otter instead because of their playfulness, but I suppose otters and weasels are related enough.

"That is, I don't think I can learn from a wild animal how to live in particular- shall I suck warm blood, hold my tail high, walk with my footprints precisely over the prints of my hands?- but I might learn something of mindlessness, something of the purity without bias or motive. The weasel lives in necessity and we live in choice, hating necessity and dying at the last ignobly in its talons. I would like to live as I should, as the weasal lives as he should. And I suspect that for me the way is like the weasel's- open to time and death painlessly, noticing everything, remembering nothing, choosing the given with a fierce and pointed will... I could very calmly go wild. I could live two days in the den, culred, leaning on mouse fur, sniffing bird bones, blinking, licking, breathing musk, my hair tangled in the roots of grasses. Down is a good place to go, where the mind is single. Down is out, out of your ever-long mind and to your careless senses. I remember muteness as a prolonged and giddy fast, where every moment is a feast of utterance received. Time and events are merely poured, unremarked, and ingested directly, like blood pulsed into my gut through a jugular vein. Could two live that way? Could two live under the wild rose, and explore by the pond, so that the smooth mind of each is as everywhere present to the other, and as received and as unchallenged, as falling snow?
We could, you know. We can live any way we want. People take vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience- even of silence- by choice. The thing is to stalk your calling in a certain skilled and supple way, to locate the most tender and live spot and plug into that pulse. This is yielding, not fighting. A weasel doesn't "attack" anything; a weasel lives as he's meant to, yielding at every moment to the perfect freedom of single necessity.
I think it would be well, and proper, and obedient, and pure, to grasp your one necessity and not let it go, to dangle from it limp wherever it takes you. Then even death, where you're going no matter how you live, cannot you part. Seize it and let it seize you up aloft even, till your eyes burn out and drop; let your musky flesh fall off in shreds, and let your very bones unhinge and scatter. joosened over fields, over fields and woods, lightly, thoughtless, from any height at all, from as high as eagles.

5 minutes to live.

"almost anything- all external expectations, all fear or embarassment or failure- these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important."
-Steve Jobs

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w14v4vGUDdg

This 5 minutes clip is student short film for the Emory Campus music fest. Although I don't face the same daily crisis, the quote and the film reminded me that we should "do what we value", hopefully living our lives and delegating our time based on what is most important to us.

a beautiful quote

"A sign of God is that we are led
to a place we did not intend to go.”
Anonymous

the growth of love over time, when and where anger comes from, finding ways to bolster self-love and universal compassion

Martin Luther King Jr. once said:
"Mankind must evolve for all human conflict a method that rejects revenge, aggression, and retaliation.
The foundation of such a method is love."

It would be nice to think that babies know no evil- that they are free of guile, treachery or bad thoughts. It seems pretty clear from studying thier expressions that they know about wonder, about discomfort (a wet diaper, absent parent, hunger), and about happiness. A good question is whether or not thier discomfort leads to sadness or rage- does the latter only develop as children age? Perhaps the best one to answer this question to Paul Ekman, the 'expression guru' who studied emotion by mapping expressions and ultimately created facial-recognition for 7 'universal emotions'. This question interests me because anger (or relatives/descendants such as rage and jealousy) seem to be the direct opposite of love. Not only is anger often incited by those we love the most, it is also the most able to overcome our desire for peace- to enable us to kill or injure others.

Perhaps the real answer to the question is that the ability to hate grows with the ability to love. When we are born we are primarily self-loving. Babies want all of thier own needs met right now, regardless of the lack of sleep this may cause thier parents (or the neighbors who live on the second floor). As they grow up they learn to love and appreciate thier family, and to have non-relatives (friends) that they also love. I think adolescence and young-adulthood together form the time in western culture during which people grow a new ability to love- a greater compassion for mankind in general, and even a new perspective on thier love for thier parents (my mom is a person?, thier friends and their community.

Erik Erikson created a theory of psychosocial development in which different phases of life have different crises/struggles which we seek to resolve. They seem oddly consistant with my new 'theory of love-development' in which we go through different periods of focusing our attention and perceptions on different layers of care for ourselves and others. Erikson's first struggle (lasting from birth to one year of age) is trust v. mistrust. If a child fails to trust her caregiver, if her basic 'self-love' is not met, then her orientation towards the world is one of 'mis-trust', a bad place from which to try and develop a love for others. I wonder if mistrustful infants have trouble forming strong, reliable attachments with others as they get older- i feel as if it would prove a factor, although a surmountable one.

According to Erikson I am in the lingering shadows of the "Identity v. Role Confusion" stage and on the doorsill of "Intimacy v. Isolation". This make sense given extended dependence on my parents throughout college, resulting in a longer period of identity development and an extended need for parently guidance and resources. However- the relationship I am currently in is certainly of a different caliber than my first high school relationship, or even my early college relationships. This new love has been on my mind and while I continue to question what I want to do with my life and how I want to approach it (identity searching) these questions are suddenly joined with: How do I want to live? How does one preserve love, passion and companionship with a lifepartner? Does puppy love really have to end? How exactly do you raise children? How to you accept thier independence from you?

I believe my new ability to love a partner is also joined by a new love of my family. For the first time I have experienced the death of a close relative, my grandmother, and am finally recognizing the consequences of my mother's move to Tennessee from Alaska. Along with a recognition of loss comes a new desire to appreciate my family and to cultivate thier presence in my life. Friends and mentors too have taken on a new light as I examine the influence others have had on my life and learn to commit to these relationships in a new way. All of these are part of the struggle erikson is talking about- a search for and deepening of intimacy. The older I get the more I seem to seek and find this intimacy with strangers, with people I haven't even met. When I searched "compassion" on google the definition was "a deep awareness of and sympathy for another's suffering". This is interesting because I think of compassion more like empathy, as a new recognition of someone's humanity. Of how familiar they are to you in both thier happiness and suffering.

In the last day I had two notable moments of intimacy and empathy with strangers. The first started innocently enough: I went to get a mid-day cup of coffee at the Gelato Fiasco during an 8-hour photography workshop. While approaching the register I made eye contact with a woman standing there and smiled. In "Born to Be Good" Dachner Keltner describes the smile we often give to strangers as 'tight' at the corners- a not-entirely-trusting smile. The smile I gave to this stranger was real, for some reason she called it out of me, and the smile she gave me in return was also real- crinkling her eyes at the corners. When I reached the register I realized I had no cash to pay for my $2 coffee and fumbled with my change, hoping to avoid paying such a small amount with a credit card. When I apologized to the person behind the counter the woman standing next to me asked "How much is it?" When I told her the amount she took $10 out of her wallet, handed it to the woman behind the counter and refused my protests. When I thanked her and told her she had made my day she told me it had made hers too and walked out the door. I flushed with pleasure, shaking my head. She blew me away. $2 is a small tip, the price of a fast food item, a relative pittance to most Americas and yet she had bought an incredible change in my mood and awareness for the day.

The second incident occured earlier this afternoon in the lunchroom at Brunswick Jr. High school. So much of what occurred at that table was an exagerrated drama- kids bragging, shaming each other, pushing themselves into other's attention. The boy next to me, a small boy with freckles and glasses who is simultaneously friends with (and crushing on) the girls and friends with (and somewhat belittled by) the boys. As he threw his bids for attention down I was at first bemused and sometimes a little irritated by him. In a moment of silence I looked over at him, at his childish profile in his oversized coat, and saw a child- thought of him as my child. I looked around the table and suddenly I imagined all of those students as a child that I had born and raised. Suddenly instead of irritation and bemusement I felt sympathy- that who they really might be at home needed to be covered up in this social battlefield, that thier bids for attention came from a need to know themselves socially. I wanted to really get to know each one of them, to appreciate them free of their self-consciousness. Later, as I was leaving the classroom the freckled boy was playing around with a taller dramatic girl he seemed to really like. As he swung his arm past I saw a vertical scar on his wrist beneath the hem of his sleeve, a somewhat recent but definitely healed line trailing away from his hand. I'm not sure if it was a skateboard accident or something darker but I do know that seeing that mark opened my mind to the possibility of a darker suffering. When I look at this boy from now on I will seek to see much more than the flat portrait that the lunchroom revealed. Everyone is always so much more complicated then I could know and sympathy is always a preference to anger or confusion. I like loving kindness meditation because it helps me practice abd remember to have such sympathy. I hope I can send some good wishes to that boy tonight- of health and happiness. Here is a traditional loving-kindness phrase to be used first with oneself and then expanded to others:

May I be free from inner and outer harm and danger
May I be safe and protected
May I be free of mental suffering or distress
May I be happy
May I be free of physical pain and suffereing
May I be healthy and strong
May I be able to live in this world happily, peacefully, joyfully, with ease.
-The Activist's Ally, pg. 29

saying No, why being sick is good for me, appreciation.

My new mantra for the last couple of weeks has been "Just Say No". While this sounds like a simple thing to do I find it to be incredibly challenging. The saying was created to tackle my seemingly compulsive need to do anything and everything that sounds interesting. Here are some examples of how this tends to play out:

Sweet lecture on Thursday? I’d better get tickets.
Frisbee practice Thursday night? Couldn’t miss the chance to play.
Make dinner as a house on Thursday? Definitely- we’re never all together! In fact- I should invite some other friends over as well.
Oh, wait- Live music at the pub, Thursday at 11? I am SO there, I’ll meet you guys outside.

Suddenly my evening is thoughtlessly a big block of time, say from 4pm-1:30am, that is instantly filled with things to do. Each moment, alone, could be wonderful- that entire list is temptingly interesting and fun-filled. Unfortunately, when piled together in a big lineup any pleasant evening turns into a rushed evening. Each event or activity is overshadowed by what will be coming next as I hurry to meet my own promises and expectations, without letting myself or others down.

Thus- the mantra.
Just say no.

This is difficult for me to do- in the past if I was out of town for some wonderful party, or heard friends describing a great evening they shared together I could feel myself getting disappointed. I would think “why did I have to miss that?” or “Why didn’t they call me, that would’ve been great!” Not only is this a negative, self-defeating outlook it also diminishes what I was actually doing- whether it was spending time with another friend, going to a concert in Boston, or simply getting a little more sleep for a change. “Just say no” is another way of saying “appreciate what you are doing” and “choose wisely”. There is a limited amount of time to live all of the amazing possibilities that exist, and I’m starting to become more in-touch with what I enjoy the most, what is fulfilling for me, and what I need present in my life to have balance. While I could certainly be social from 4:30pm-1:30am, would I personally benefit, and would the whole evening benefit, from having some moments alone- to reflect on the present and the past instead of focusing on the future? I think so.

With this in mind I am trying to appreciate something that I can’t say “no” to being sick. I certainly did try to deny it. I covered it up with positive, energetic thinking, by taking Mucinex and carrying around a handkerchief and by assuming that it would get better after a week or so. What I didn’t do was change my routine so I could get significantly more sleep. I didn’t stop exercising or stop traveling over the weekends. Even worse, I didn’t try and be present in my ill body and focus on the symptoms it was whispering to me. Lo and behold- the whispering then turned into a scream as the cold lasted longer and longer and got more and more serious.

During moments of meditation I tried to further deny its demands- focusing on my breath while smothering my coughs, walking meditatively when my body felt exhausted. I am starting to learn, and hoping to remember, that my body getting sick is my body trying to talk to me. It is telling me that I am ignoring it, draining and straining it, that I am failing to meet its needs. And even further, it is reminding me that I don’t control my body nearly as much as I think. This consciousness that I spend so much time using, that schedules and demands, is not actually a full ‘me’, it can’t actually control my runny nose or my foggy brain. What I can do is to try and hold this realization and remember that the paradox of our mind and body is that they are a combination of control and powerlessness. Instead of struggling with the paradox I want to appreciate my body and my mind in both sickness and health. This appreciation is also necessary to choose how to use my time instead of shallowly rushing through the engagements and tasks that fill each day.

Health is not valued till sickness comes.
-Thomas Fuller

paradoxes, self-appreciation and apologies

Appreciation is a funny, double-edged sword. How can you simultaneously appreciate and want to change something? How much time do we typically spend doing one in comparison to the other? I recently realized that self-appreciation is something that I rarely consciously do. I mean- isn't college about making yourself better? Shouldn't I be constantly thinking about increasing my knowledge of subjects, my awareness and sensitivity to others, my ability to communicate, craft, organize and find balance? While those are all goals with many merits I want to try and take moments to appreciate who I am now, what I have already accomplished or learned. This is a rather paradoxical endeavor for someone who habitually creates 'self-betterment projects' because I become ironically disappointed in myself when I fail to give myself a break.
The reason all of this has been on my mind is the tenor of the past week. Oversleeping through Teleclass on sunday was just the beginning of a week-long cycle in which the common theme was lateness. Small and big things in my schedule slipped through the cracks, and for some reason I couldn't seem to get it all back in control. I felt overwhelmed by the seeming mass of unconquerable mistakes that were hardly permanently damaging and yet didn't seem conquerable. I felt inept, unreliable, uninspired, and (especially relevant given the application process I am going through) insufficient. Interestingly, this description makes the week sound like a terrible void of happiness or enjoyment, and this is far from the case. I had many illuminating conversations, a few adventures, and lots of laughter. However- the flavor of the week was one of stress and anxiety and when I feel overwhelmed my default mode is to tense up. I rush from place to place with a strained expression, hoping someone will cut me a little slack, excuse me for my mistake but always declining to do the same internally. I'm starting to realize that no kind of external forgiveness can replace that. Just like an apology to another person starts within and is expressed outwards, forgiveness must originate in me before I can begin to believe it and then accept it.
The truth is, the worst moments of failure are always those that let other people down- moments that are neglegent and create inconvenience or unhappiness. Without a certain amount of self-forgiveness an apology for that kind of failure is not about sincere regret for the persons inconveneince. Instead it becomes a defense or a justification for the personal failure- it is selfish desire for pardon. These are distinguished primarily by who you are trying to make feel better: the other person or yourself. In future situations in which I fail myself or others I hope to recognize the factors involved in my failure and take personal and public responsibility for them. That foundation provides me with the support to create true apologies and the ability to leave behind failures instead of carrying them with me throughout the week (or even longer).
I'm not advocating that we stop feeling remorse, that there shouldn't be partly selfish motives for apologizing or that self-forgiveness is a simple equation for each situation. However, I hope that this perspective will help me be easier on myself, especially because stress, failure and disorganization all feed off of each other and build into piles that seem insurmountable. It will take patience and appreciation to overcome such moments with health and humor- not stress or self-flagellation.

If I cannot forgive myself for all the blunders
That I have made over the years,
Then how can I proceed?
How can I ever dream perfection-dreams?
Move, I must, forward.
Fly, I must, upward.
Dive, I must, inward,
To be once more
What I truly am
And shall forever remain.

-Sri Chinmoy

compare and contrast, the double nature of schedules, attempts at mindfulness, there are so many ways to kiss the ground

Reading over my months of Nepali blog posts I am struck by how radically different my life at Bowdoin is from that environment. No wonder I was so disoriented upon arriving in Kathmandu! Being at college is like running a race in all the different parts of your lifse at the same time- my overachieving productivity-seeking personality can't help but gorge itself on all the incredible stimulations that Bowdoin offers. For example- this semester I'm taking a Telemark ski class every sunday for 6 weeks, begin pottery classes next tuesday, have a full course-load, am tutoring and mentoring junior and high school students...etc. Most Bowdoin students could tell you the exact same story, although thier activities might be a little different the refrain of the song is still the same. The benefits are that I'm rarely bored, constantly gaining new knowledge and skills, and surrounded by wonderful, motivated people. The consequences are that I rarely sleep enough, often get sick and feel overwhelmed, let assignments, bills and occaisionally friendships fall through the cracks, and struggle to defeat my tendancies towards anxiety.
In contrast I look at my life in Sankhu where there was absolutely no need for a Calender Organizer- in fact, i don't think I laid eyes upon such a thing the entire stay in Nepal. I may have, in a burst of habit, brought a small calender with me in which i mapped out broad weeks of my stay, but it was more for a sense of comfort than anything else. While living in the village I routinely slept for 8-11 hours, waking up at 6ish am to read classics in bed, and going to sleep most often before 9 or 10. While I certainly organized the photography program and the logistics of that, I probably spent only 5-6 hours a week on the computer, a rough contrast to Bowdoin where it's likely at least 2 hours a day. Obviously the lifestyle in Nepal also had it's downsides- despite the extra sleep and minimization of future carpal tunnel syndrome. The lack of top-down organization left me floating like a stringless kite. Unused to setting my own destinations I had trouble guiding myself through the days and often felt flaccid, bored and useless.
Looking at these two radically different lives, and what was satisfying and frustrating about both of them, yields some important conclusions: there is a necessary balance to strike for happiness, one which requires free time to contemplate, process and unwind but also time to learn, move, and interact. These two times are best seperated into "To Be" and "To Do". There is no way to permanently fix such a balance- time always creates change around and inside of you, leading you to then create or find a new balance.
What I am trying to remember, and the hardest thing to remember, is to be kind to myself. Navigating such changes and creating a balance will always require mindful attention to my own needs and emotions. This is especially hard in an environment like Bowdoin where the scattered threads of my Calender Organizer often have my shoulders clenched in stress. I just need to remember that 'making myself better'- the self-centered foundation of every college education- will never be satisfying unless I learn to appreciate who and where I am in the present moment.
Recently I became aware that impatience dominates my thirst to learn. I want to know how to craft things (from hard cider to pottery), be able to run farther and faster, to be completely prepared for post-graduation, to finish all of my readings and assignments and to be a good and valued friend. And i want to be able to do all of that right now. A lot to ask from myself, isn't it? But do most people ask much less?
As an illuminating example: I am supposed to be Teleskiing right now. It is the second class of six, but even knowing that I needed to be at the bus at 6:15am I still went to bed at three. I awoke at 7:15 from the sun pouring through my window and realized with a jump that that I had completely missed my opportunity to spend the beautiful day outside with a wonderful group of people. Leaping out of bed I could feel my heart beating with frustration, my cheeks flushed and hot as I stalked around the house, shaking my hands meaninglessly in front of me. Googlemaps informed me that it was a 2.5 hour drive there, easy on the bus when you can sleep with your head pressed against the icey window, much harder with only 4 hours of sleep driving all alone (not to mention the gas money!). In my self-directed anger it took at least 15 minutes to calm down and accept that I wasn't going to go. I tried to convince myself that I had plenty of work and chores to do anyway (true) and that I could still have a lovely day that didn't involve Teleskiing (also true). However, what truely allowed me to move on and leave the anger behind was forgiveness. I am learning to remember that dwelling on regret, on what I should've done or who I should've been in a certain situation, only further removes me from being present NOW and experiencing something new and positive. This is not to say that unpleasant emotions are bad to have- how would I ever learn without being angry, feeling regret or embarrassment? Does a part of me really think that I should be infallible?
With this thought I would like to wrap up this entry of intro-spection and perspective. This poem by Rumi seems most appropriate:

The Guest House

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of it's furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.