It's Okay To Not Be Okay

On March 14th I entered into voluntary solo quarantine after discovering I’d been in close proximity with multiple people who might have Covid-19 (the full story about what led up to that moment can be found here).

It might be hard to recall now, but those days were filled with a nearly breathless collective panic. To remind you, here are a few things I scrawled in my journal March 14-17th:

-       March 14th: At the grocery store (before I knew I needed to go into quarantine). Many of the cleaning products, dry goods, and frozen food shelves are nearly empty. People are panic buying weeks of food. A clerk told me that the distribution center had stopped returning their calls a few days before. They were supposed to get new supplies but they never came. She thinks the store will be largely cleared out of food tonight if nothing happens. 

-       March 15th: received a text from a friend. He’d driven past a gun shop. The line had stretched for blocks. He asked if I was prepared if looters attacked my building. Other friends sending videos about preparing for martial law.

-       March 16th: the stock market had its single largest drop in history, 12%. My 401k, which is mostly in the stock of my old employer, has nearly halved in value over a few weeks. This afternoon, X (a close friend and hedge fund manager in New York), someone who I’ve long viewed as the model of complete emotional stability, called me out of the blue. He was distraught in a way I’ve never experienced in 15 years. That may have terrified me. I’ve always relied on him to be hyper rational and to calm me down when I get frightened about the direction of society... Tonight, Y called me to tell me Z attempted, and failed, to commit suicide… 

-       March 17th: W called to tell me she was let go of her job of 18 years without warning. So many friends have lost their jobs this week already. 

Throughout those early days, two weeks before our state went into a lockdown, I was locked inside my apartment, unsure whether I was about to get really sick, and afraid that if I went outside I could accidently hurt someone else. I remember often looking out my window and thinking how incomprehensible the whole thing was. Outside the birds were singing as they always did, impervious to our human pandemic. Every morning I was woken up by the sun rising outside my window, and at night as I looked east its fiery reflection lit up the windows of skyscrapers facing west as it had every clear night before. 

After a few days of waiting nervously for something, really anything, to happen in my body or on the street below, on March 18th I received another text for CJ. She’d gotten the test results back. She and her family were all positive for Covid-19. I was on the phone with another friend when I got the news. I said I was fine and that it didn’t surprise me. This changed nothing I told her. I was young, healthy, and already quarantined. But within a minute I found my mind completely disengaged from the conversation and I told her I had to go. 

Soon thereafter, I lost my appetite, developed excruciating headaches, swollen lymph glands, a sore throat, a mild dry cough, and lungs which felt like they were on fire. Most days, until the late afternoon, I found it hard to breathe deeply. It felt like I had a bag of weights over my chest. I could move them, but only with great effort. I checked my temperature neurotically. But it never got above 98.6. Weirdly, it was typically between 95.5 and 96.9F. I tried to reassure myself that my symptoms were probably either imagined or the result of stress. 

Ultimately, since there are still no tests in the US except for patients in the hospital, I don’t know whether I had “it” or not.

~~~

Though the physical symptoms of whatever I had were scary, the psychological impacts of the disease have hit me much harder.

That surprised me. For the last 12+ months, I’ve been without direction except what I make up. I’ve regularly been alone or in the wilderness away from society for extended periods. I didn’t have a job before. I still don’t. I went to countless hours of meditation and yoga workshops. It’s hard to imagine a regime that could have theoretically better prepared me for an extended solo quarantine.

And much of the time, it seemed to work to buoy my spirits. I limited my news consumption. I’ve put my attention on the unique opportunities of the moment. I’ve wrote pages and pages of journal entries about all the things I feel grateful for. 

And yet, on other days, I’ve felt beaten down, and angry for feeling that way. After all, I scolded myself, you have so much to be thankful for and are in a better position than so many others! 

When this first began to happen, my discomfort manifested as a generalized sense of fear. 

I’ve learned a lot about fear this year, and I tried to apply my learnings and energy to overcome it. 

Firstly, I’ve learned that when I get frightened by one specific thing (a drugged-out man approaching my car, a bear in the wild, a hard conversation with someone angry at me), I can tip from a state of general confidence, to general fear. Suddenly, everything around me and every interaction seems like something that could lead to loss. 

While shut in, I tried to apply this learning by reminding myself not to take rash actions, that I’d had this kind of reaction before, and that I probably wasn’t in nearly as much danger as I thought. Then, rather than fighting all the fears at once, I focused on examining each one. And indeed, one by one, I saw my fears were greater than the actual immediate danger I faced. 

After doing the work of speaking to and examining my fears (rather than reacting to them) I felt much better… sometimes… and for a few hours, or perhaps a whole day, even as my body was still weak, I’d feel great – full of gratitude, optimistic about the future, and focused on helping others (even if only digitally). 

But… then for no particular reason, at some seemingly random moment, I’d feel myself fall to pieces again. I couldn’t understand why, and it made so me angry at myself for being so weak.

Which brings me to my second learning about fear – sometimes when I enter into a consuming state of depression and generalized fear – it’s a sign that something deeper is happening. Yes, my fears are real, but they can also simultaneously be a self-generated smoke screen protecting me from having to face deeper feelings. 

In retrospect, it’s interesting in re-reading my journals from those first days in quarantine. On the one hand, I did so many of the “yoga” and “mindfulness” things I learned this year to manage periods of tumult and anxiety. I cut out negative stimuli from my life. I put my attention on my gratitudes and opportunities. I had tons and tons of phone calls with friends. I even started a mediation group, in which I led meditations for friends and strangers alike. When I went to bed I turned on positive podcasts and audio books which I fell asleep to.

I also notice what I wasn’t doing. Even though I was locked at home alone, I wasn’t meditating myself. I wasn’t reflecting deeply in my journaling; mostly I was capturing the “facts.” I wasn’t saying no when friends wanted to talk. In sum, I wasn’t creating any space for silence or stillness. 

~~~

Perhaps that surprises you? After all, I’ve written a lot about stillness and my desire for it in this blog. 

In one post this summer, I wrote about my first extended wilderness backpack. Midway through, my guide told how she views consciousness as a ship crossing a lake. Most of the time winds and currents are whipping up the surface. We think we only have enough energy to fight to stay afloat. When we look out at the violent sea, and mistakenly believe that all water is waves. 

In the wilderness, something strange happened. Cut off from the external stimuli of the normal world, and forced to sit with my thoughts without distraction for days on end, it at first felt as though the storm has become a hurricane. And yet, in time, I found the winds lost their hold and suddenly the surface became still. I realized not only just how much energy I was spending just to stay afloat, but that I had made most of the winds! Then, looking down at the still surface of the water, I saw into the deeps, and discovered I floating on a thing far vaster and more beautiful than I ever imagined when I was only fighting the waves. 

In that moment, the metaphor and experience, filled me so much joy and hope. I vowed to carry the wilderness inside me and return to still waters of my mind whenever I found myself feeling like I’d entered a storm not of my own creating. 

And yet, despite this experience just months ago, faced with new category 5 hurricane outside, is this what I did? No, not at all, I tried to fight the storm with every weapon in my arsenal. Until I gave out – not out of wisdom, but exhaustion. 

I reached that point a week after my physical symptoms began to subside. I was feeling okay that day, but I was tired of being cooped up. So, I decided what I needed was fresh air. Thankfully, I live in a pretty quiet neighborhood, and in the middle of the day I thought I could go for a walk without risking coming into contact with anyone. 

My walk was going fine until I saw someone else coming toward me. As I saw him look at me, I froze. I thought I saw fear in his eyes. Without waiting for him to react further, I scurried to other side of the street, cast my eyes down, and hurried home. 

Even though I never got within 50 feet of him, I wondered, was I careful enough? What if he ended up getting sick and died? Why was I so selfish? Did I really need to be outside? When would this ever end? A vaccine is 2 years away, maybe. In the meantime, I’m unemployed, unsure of my future, and have failed so many people these last few years. Honestly, what value am I even providing to society? Holed up in my apartment, I’m adding nothing to anyone. I’m just consuming resources, and anytime I go out, I’m risking the safety of others. That man had seen the truth – in my blood and breath I carry brokenness and a certainty of suffering for anyone who gets too close. 

I knew these thoughts were melodramatic. I felt like a drama queen, and yet in deeper sense as I looked at them, they felt both absurd and also true. 

When I got back home, I curled up on my couch. I was supposed to have a zoom call that afternoon with a group of friends. Then, I did something I never do. I bailed. At first I said nothing. Then, 15 minutes later, I sent a text saying, “sorry… something came up.” I rolled back onto my side, and began to scroll through my social media feeds. Then, I stopped even doing that.

~~~

Shame. Regret. Fear. Despair. How could a simple, innocent glance from a stranger trigger so much and send me spiraling?

I imagine many of you may have experienced similar moments the last few weeks. Perhaps you feel fine, having found a new groove despite it all, and then suddenly, you are brought to your knees and you find yourself face-to-face with your oldest insecurities and regrets. 

In that moment, I saw I had so many unhealed wounds, and I despaired. I had no energy to constructively journal. I didn’t want to talk with friends. I just sank deeper and deeper in self-loathing. 

But then something strange happened. The longer I sat in stillness, I found that it wasn’t shame and despair which were at the bottom of the lake. There were feelings deeper still. 

At first it was anger. I felt angry I was locked inside. I felt anger that it seemed like our politicians have no idea what they are doing. I felt angry this could go on for years. I felt fury at the people who I wronged and misunderstood me in 2017 and 2018 prior to me going on my travels. I felt rage at myself, for the stupidity of many of the choices I’ve made during my life.

My anger burned through me, literally consuming me in the silence, until I felt like I’d been transformed to mere ash. Then I found exhaustion. I had no more energy to curse politicians, the people who hurt me, or even myself. I had no energy to fight my fears, to support others, to transform my negative feelings into purpose, or even to censor myself for feeling bad for feeling bad because of all the privilege I enjoy. 

Then, completely spent, I began to feel the pull of sadness. I wanted to cry, and I couldn’t understand why. In the stillness of that afternoon I felt wave after wave of sadness that I was too tired to resist. I felt sadness for my failed marriage, for my part in it, and all the love that was so good but which is now forever lost. I felt sadness for all the sacrifices I made to pursue a job I knew I never should never have taken, and which didn’t turn out. I felt sadness for so many of my friends now in such distress, and who I knew I couldn’t help. I felt sadness for the plans I’d painstakingly made, but which in a week had now become impossible to live out.

When I had no more tears to cry, I found stillness. By this, I don’t mean I found happiness or healing. I still felt a general sense of melancholy. My wounds were still there. But the vibrating anxiety and need to do SOMETHING that had been ever present since the quarantine started had gone away. 

And as I looked out at myself with my brokenness, and out at the sick world with its indefinite lockdowns stretching into the seeming infinity, I realized all my fighting was getting me nowhere. No, I wasn’t giving up. On the contrary, I felt a new sense of resolve to turn my attention away from the mountains I couldn’t climb and the people I couldn’t save, and instead toward the healing myself. 

And in that moment, I saw too that I needed to start not with action, but surrender. I needed to give myself permission in the midst of the storm to sit in stillness, to not be okay, to not know what to do, and to not try to immediately fix it. I needed to let myself be with myself as I am, not as I want to be, and find acceptance even there.  

Since then… well, to be honest, it’s been a work in progress. And I’m trying to be kind to myself about that too.

~~~

Whoever you are, and wherever you find yourself today – alone in your apartment, a month since you’ve touched anyone, or living with many others – know that you are not alone. In this time of global pandemic, we are all connected. We are all transforming. We are all fighting great battles: some shared, some deeply personal. 

And when you are struggling, and when you lose heart, I hope you remember it’s not only okay, but important, to give yourself permission to not be okay.  

Smile, It's Just Yoga

Earlier this week I found myself running down the stairs of my apartment building, barefooted and still in pajamas. I was frantically trying to find any building employee who might be able to stop the fire department from rushing to the building. Back in my unit, the alarms were screaming “Fire! Fire! Evacuate!” 

But don’t worry dear readers there was no fire, just a lot of haze -- the result of perhaps too much oil left cooking in a pan for too long, in wait of eggs which I forgot to ever put into said pan. The alarms eventually turned off on their own with the aid of a fan and fresh air. Crisis averted. 

As you can probably tell -- I’ve never been especially talented at cooking. But it’s something I’ve been working on this year (in baby steps). And progress has been significant – though to be fair it’s off of a low bar. I’m still limited to making mostly bland breakfasts and lunches. (Trust me when I say you don’t want to eat anything I prepare for dinner that involves more than heating it up). But I should be kind to myself. Afterall, I am the same person who, when asked by a friend a few years ago to cut up a tomato for some sandwiches, immaculately carved the tomato into 8 equal wedges as if it were an apple.

Learning new skills is hard, especially as an adult. And while I haven’t actually tried particularly hard to become a great chef this year– I have spent a lot of time learning more about yoga. And there, I feel like I have made more progress.

Especially coming out of my Baptiste Training in February, I felt absolutely lit up for anything yoga related. It was more than just how it made my body feel. For me, the physical movement (asana) was only one (and arguably the least transformative) part of the practice. What really shook me were the underlying philosophies, the meditation, and the inquiry work. At that moment in my life, when I felt equal parts victim and irredeemable idiot, it was exactly what I needed to begin my healing journey. Yoga helped me see that if I wanted to change my life, I couldn’t wait around for someone else to save me -- I had to do that work, let go of what I must, and be a yes for making hard changes. I never thought this work would be easy – but even knowing there was a path forward filled me with a sense of possibility and power I’m not sure I’ve ever felt before.   

Since then, I’ve given yoga the serious attention I thought something that has life changing powers deserves. I’ve practiced my asana nearly every day whether I was at home, traveling to another city, or on a multi-week back-packing trip in the wilderness. I’ve mediated diligently. I’ve interrogated myself and my stories every night through my journal, my blog, and conversations with friends. I even added the word “yogi” to my byline on Instagram, to publicly identify the practice as central to my new identity. 

Committing to these routines has had powerful results in my life. Most profoundly, it gave me the courage to enter into this journey on my own terms – and once there experience it from a place of new physical vitality, emotional awareness, and interconnected with others. Even off the road, several key relationships in my life have been transformed thanks to the insights and actions coming from my yoga practice.  

Of course, it’s not like everything in my life is “solved”. As many of you that regularly read these blogs probably intuited, this fall has been equally full of profound discoveries and new connections, AS WELL as moments of intense pain and crippling fear too. I’m still dealing with broken relationships. I’m still trying to grapple the meaning of nearly dying (more than once) during my two months in Alaska. And perhaps more than anything, I’ve been weighed down by a growing unease about “what’s next?”   

All of which is a long way of saying, despite feeling empowered in new ways, I’ve also felt lost. And the last time I’d felt this lost, the thing that helped me more than anything was the community and intensity of completing a Baptiste weeklong seminar. So, several weeks ago, I decided last minute to return to the desert and complete another week of Baptiste training. 

I’m not ready yet to write about that second week I spent in Sedona. Too much happened. Too much shifted – almost entirely in life giving ways. No doubt, in the end it will all end up in my writings in one form another. 

But most concretely for the course of my journey, is what’s happened since that I want to share. Specifically, the day I returned home, the owner at UpYoga in South Minneapolis asked me to teach two classes, to realnon-yoga teacher people, at the studio. 

Initially I was fill with excitement and pride. But as the day got closer, I also felt increasingly nervous. I imagined what class would be like over and over, and I had trouble sleeping despite the intense outpouring of support from friends and family. 

On the actual day -- I had no idea what was ahead. In the hours leading up to it, I felt wave after wave of fear. Did I have anything to offer? Would everyone think I was a fraud? Would this all just prove again I’m not really good at anything of substance?

But the truth was – none of that mattered – at all. When I actually did the thing, and got into the studio and saw my students, all those fears about me disappeared. There was no space for my obsessive “me centered” concerns. There were people in front of me who I cared about – even the ones I’d only just met – and from the center of my being, I wanted to share with them this thing, yoga, that’s so changed my life. And so, I did that, in all my imperfectness, using the tools I’ve been learning the best I could. 

The classes hardly matched my mental models. And there are things I wish I could have said and done differently. But both days the sixty minutes flew by in the best possible way. It was humbling, empowering, and thrilling all at the same time. 

When I think back on them, there is one moment that sticks out most. As the students were holding “chair pose” the second class, I looked at the room, and saw many of their faces were grimaced, full of exertion and intensity. I get it. That’s been me. Experience and conventional wisdom taught me that nothing good comes from doing things without seriousness and maximum effort; but in that moment I also saw the absurdity of that belief too. Without thinking, the words, “Smile, it’s just yoga” came tumbling out of my mouth. I saw eyes around the room lighten up. Faces relaxed. Many people audibly laughed. And then, many people, without any suggestion from me, sank lower into the posture. Ease, and forgetting the seriousness of their exertion, gave them access to something new. 

I left the studio both days absolutely charged up – so thankful, connected, and eager to learn more so I can offer more in the future too. 

So, have I figured out “What’s next”?

In some ways yes! And while I don’t envision my entire future being defined just by teaching yoga, for the first time on this journey I’ve found something I know I want to bring with wherever I go next. And that’s most definitely worth smiling about.  

Consumed with Complaints

I didn’t like the guy. I didn’t like the look of him. I didn’t like the way he was talking to other people. I even didn’t like way he was sipping his coffee. 

I was sitting in a coffee shop in Springdale, Utah – outside the entrance to Zion National Park. It was raining. And not one of those cute rains that you’ll see couples holding hands in, swinging their arms, and lovingly looking into each other’s eyes while saying things like, “Oh how delightful,” or, “The world is so enchanted.” No, this was one of those rains where couples un-grip each other’s hands to shield their eyes as they squint while scurrying to the nearest cover. 

I was at doorstep of one of the most beautiful parks in America, and I was stuck inside, consumed with anger for Mr. Patagonia wearing, privilege drenched, climber, latte sipping, strategically placed but unopened journal, pen, and thick pretentious looking novel dude –  listening to him say things to the string of women and men that talked to him like: “Oh this book? Yah… It’s long isn’t it? I mean, I don’t read fiction very often, except for Booker Mann Prize winners.” Or: “It’s hard on rainy days when you live in a van -- even a nice one like mine -- but it’s part of the life style,” or “Me and Amanda, well really it was me, but Amanda came along, I guess, anyway, yes, I broke the record last year for the fastest climb ever of something indiscernible in six … no five …  or was it four hours?”

I couldn’t take it anymore. I packed up my stuff, went back to the hotel, curled up in bed, and put on a movie, even though it was 2pm on a weekday. Maybe some “me time” was the cure for this malaise.

Or maybe not. Watching the movie, I couldn’t rest. A thought kept nagging at me. Why had that guy bothered me so much? 

Earlier this year, I learned a new way for thinking about complaints. Rather than analyzing if they are true, I should try to think about what “goodies” they are giving me. The theory is that if it didn’t somehow feel good to complain, I’d be able to let it go. So, I asked myself, what were my complaints about the coffee shop guy getting me? 

That morning, even before I got to the shop, I was feeling a bit lost and wracked with doubt.“Where is this journey headed?”I wondered.“Is this still a good use of my time?” “Have I gotten everything out of this that I should?” “Am I still affirming my values or just running away from life now?” Seeing the coffee shop dude, and complaining about him, helped me avoid grappling with those questions. Instead, I was spending my energy finding points of comparison on how I was better than him. “I may be lost, but at least I’m not that guy!”

But on deeper level, I felt lonely. Yes, traveling alone has opened up so much for me as I’ve written about before. Yes, I love getting emails, texts, and calls from friends and family far away. Yes, I am learning to find sufficiency in myself. But I don’t aspire for just self-sufficiency in my life. I aspire to have a life grounded in confidence in my own worth, AND ALSO defined by lived connection with others. Life is undoubtedly richer when experienced within a loving community. The truth is, as much as I need to do it for myself right now, traveling and sleeping alone day after day can be very lonely.  

So, turning back to my coffee shop man, and seeing him (him of all people!) seemingly making connections so easily while I was feeling alone hurt. Demonizing him was helping me justify my own sense of isolation, and my decision not to be more proactive in combating it. “If that’s who I have to be to connect with others, I don’t want any part of it!” or “If that’s who these people are, I’m better off being alone!”

Once I’d identified why it was so pleasurable to complain about him, I tried to think about what that complaint was costing me.  

First, it was costing me my power. Specifically, it was costing me my power to choose the course of my afternoon and my life. As I mentioned, I’d identified several crucial fears about this journey. Getting answers to those questions will fundamentally change how I choose to spend the next months of my life. And yet, instead of grappling with them, I was letting myself get carried downstream in non-action and judgment of someone who should have had no control over my life.  

Second, it was making me feel physically ill. One of my insights about myself this winter was that when I think negative thoughts about other people, or when I compare myself to other’s success, the costs to me are both psychic and bodily. This time was no different. I realized that despite the rain I’d gone into the shop feeling happy, but I left feeling angry about the rain, physically exhausted, and my head throbbed. 

Third, it was preventing me from having the opportunity to fight my loneliness and potentially connect with anyone else at the coffee shop. I was so busy justifying why I was alone, that I didn’t see that I was playing a big part in that. After all, who is going to come and introduce themselves to the guy in corner judging everyone? Or, how likely am I to take initiative and introduce myself to a stranger who I am thinking negative thoughts about?

My mother used to tell me, “You can learn something from everyone.” I always thought that was one of those annoying mom-isms. But on this journey, again and again I’m learning how true it actually is. 

Here was a man who was on his own journey. Like me, he looked like he’d once been a yuppy but left that world (but not the uniform) behind. Like me, something about the west had deeply resonated with him, and he’d clearly spent months of his life exploring it. He had probably grappled with many of the same questions I was struggling with now. It’s very possible that I would have disagreed with all of his conclusions, but think how much I could have learned hearing him talk about how he made them. Moreover, think of the wealth of knowledge he must have had on places to see, people to meet, experiences to have in this part of the world.

For all I know God (or the Universe, or whatever your worldview is), may have actually put this man in my path. But instead of following the nudging of the universe, I separated myself from him, observed him like a scientific specimen, dissected his faults, and ensured that we never spoke. 

Despite that personal failure, the more I thought about it, the funnier I found the whole situation. For goodness sake, on a superficial level people might have mistaken me for him. I can imagine an exchange between two strangers that observed us both going something like this: “Oh honey, did you see the clean shaven, non-bohemian 30 something dude, wearing a Patagonia jacket, and boldly pronouncing to the world he wasn’t working so he could explore the west and climb mountains during the week…” “Which one, honey? The one in corner in the blue jacket or the one in the other corner in the green jacket?” 

The last step of analyzing complaints is to ask: Now that I know my real need, the need that made complaining so satisfying, can I let the complaint go? Can I take my power back, and take charge of fulfilling my needs directly?

I scrawled in my journal: “Stay with work. Don’t be a victim to loneliness. Take initiative. Don’t judge. Only connect!”

So, I thought, how can I change the course of today? What small act can I do now to take back my power?

A thought came to me immediately, find a yoga class, introduce yourself to some strangers. So, I opened up google and searched for a yoga class. As I scrolled through, my eyes did a double take, there was a studio forty minutes away that was affiliated with Baptiste Yoga (the type of yoga I got certified to teach in). I called the number listed. A woman answered and said there was a class in an hour. 

The studio was beautiful. Nestled into the back of a small mountain ridge, attached to the owner’s home, up an outside staircase, across a patio, and into a sun-drenched, high ceilinged, space for 12. Andrea, the owner, warmly welcomed me with a wave from atop her perch on the patio as I drove in. I was the first person there. But only a moment later, and to my shock, two women from my teaching training appeared!

And not just any two people. One of them, Ronda, had been one of the most impactful people for me in my training in February. We had completed an exercise together where we had to stand in silence and look into each other’s eyes for somewhere between 15 to 20 minutes. (I will spare you the details of why it was so impactful until a later post). But for now, let me just say, I had no idea she lived in Utah, and I never thought I’d see her again. 

Beyond the sheer joy I felt unexpectedly seeing Ronda and Tara again, I loved everything about my afternoon at the yoga studio. The practice was physically demanding, and was an affirmation of community. Andrea’s style of teaching made me feel so connected with everyone else there, despite the fact we were all finding different expressions of each posture. We breathed in unison. She asked us to share our feelings with the whole room at different points. And lest you think this was some exercise in forced positivity, it wasn’t. I was struck when one man at the beginning told everyone he didn’t want to be there, and that he was feeling “somber.” At other times, Andrea let the whole class know when someone had made a breakthrough, and everyone cheered for them. However, my favorite moment was near the end of class when Andrea read a provocative quote and asked everyone (one by one) what they thought it might mean. When she asked me I was upside down in shoulder stand. Given this, I had trouble getting my answer out. So she asked me to repeat myself, twice. Perhaps at another time I would have found this frustrating. But that moment, and in that state, it made me laugh.

By the end of class every face was glowing, even the man who’d come in feeling somber. And after class nearly everyone stayed outside on the patio to talk, laugh, and share their lives. Some people (like me) for over an hour.

The whole experience felt like such an affirmation of my insights from earlier in the day. “Stay with work. Don’t be a victim to loneliness. Take initiative. Don’t judge. Only connect!”

Yes, more of this in my own life, I thought.

As I drove the forty minutes back to my hotel I felt so full – full of energy, full of joy, full of community, and full of life. What a transformation from my drive back to the hotel earlier that day.

And I thought, I’m so thankful that I saw that man in the coffeeshop. Mom was right (even without talking to him) he sure did have a lot to teach me. 

~~~

Post script – if you are enjoying these posts, I’d love to hear what is resonating with you. Just send me a note or post a comment directly onto the website. And if you think someone else would enjoy them, please consider inviting them to read along as well. It’s been such a joy to share this journey with a growing community of old friends, new friends I’m meeting on the road, and strangers who have decided to follow-on too.

Underneath A Juniper Tree

When I woke up there were two turkey vultures circling so closely overhead I could see not only the whiteness of their under-wings and the redness of their beaks, but I could also hear the sound of the wind passing between their feathers. 

“Hey, I’m not dead!” I groggily shouted at them. 

I was propped against a juniper tree, enjoying its shade. I checked my watch. It was 5pm, and I’d been sleeping for an hour. I didn’t know where I was exactly, having wandered about 30 minutes into the chaparral away from the nearest trail to this spot earlier in the afternoon. But the longer I sat there, the happier I felt. So, I just kept sitting, breathing, not moving. In that silence, I watched a Pinyon Jay land on another juniper. Then a second. And soon a flock – iridescent blue, fingered feathers – flitting tree to tree, branch by branch. Like a desert wind they floated into my world unexpectedly and shook me, but as quickly as they appeared, they were gone. Later, a herd of antler-less elk appeared. I wanted to hold my breath to steal a few extra seconds with them. But, one saw me. Looking at me quizzically, he craned his neck, snorted a little, and turned, leading the others away in a half-hearted canter. 

I was alone in the wilderness, and I’d rarely felt so full.

When I started this journey, someone told me he didn’t understand why anyone would travel alone. “I don’t see the point of experiencing something if you have no one to share the memory with. It’s like if a tree falls in a forest and there’s no one to hear...”

I understand where he is coming from. Completely. I’ve felt that way in the past too. I remember traveling alone several years ago and feeling an acute sense of isolation after just two days. After having spoken to literally no one in 24 hours except waiters, I remember eavesdropping on nearby tables at my hotel in case there’d be some moment I could jump in. How embarrassing… 

And yet, this time, it feels so different. Of course, there are moments when I feel acutely lonely. Of course, there are moments when I’m griped with sadness. But my commitment to traveling alone has been opening up so much for me. I think it is because traveling alone has given me the space to redefine my relationships with 1) myself, 2) the natural world, and 3) others.

At first, in the hours of silence, I had to face myself, as I am, not as I want to be seen. As an unconscious people pleaser and a flirt, it’s been easy for me to contort myself into whoever I think the person I am with wants me to be. It’s been easy for me fall into despair if I wasn’t being adored. 

But when I’m alone for hours and hours at a time, out of cell service range, no music in my ears, free of distractions and people to please, that is a much harder trick. This can be excruciating. In the worst moments of shame and fear I can want to desperately find reassurance elsewhere – but miles off the path, amid the chaparral, the hawks and elk aren’t likely to tell me I’m beautiful. There’s no one to comfort me, but me. I must stand with myself, as a I am. In time, if I sit with the discomfort long enough, it always goes away. I’m enough. As are you. I don’t need to pretend, and I don’t need to be afraid of being alone. Nor do you. I am learning I am capable of finding peace with myself when I alone, and it’s been extremely empowering.

From this place of confidence, I’m also beginning to see how much control I have over my emotional well-being too. For instance, while I cannot control when I feel sadness, I can control my reaction to it. I can wallow in it. I can succumb to hopelessness. I can try to let it go. Similarly, I cannot control when I feel happy, but I can cultivate a practice of gratitude, even when I’m feeling sad. In this, I’m finding traveling alone isn’t just making me feel more confident, it’s making me feel more powerful. 

Traveling alone has also taught me to live in the radical now. By illustration – how many times have I been on a hike and midway through my mind wanders or I check my phone? It’s so hot. How long do I have to go? When will I hit those the hills we have to climb? I’m so hungry. I wonder how I’ll ever patch things up with my friend? I have so much work, I need to get back and do it. Do I have service yet? Do I have any new emails or likes to my post? … How often? More than I wish to admit. But stepping back, I see now, it’s not just on the trail, but it was also in my office, in meetings, on phone calls, on my yoga mat, and at dinners with friends I care deeply about… 

In contrast, traveling alone has given me the space to practice observing what is emerging before me right now, and simply staying with that. This is the opposite of how I lived my entire life up to this point – with obsessive planning on how to create happy outcomes elsewhere, later. Or obsessive checking for additional external stimuli elsewhere. When I do those thing I often fail to see the complexity and enchantment that’s always already been at my feet (even amid the awkwardness, hunger, brambles, and the sand storms). I’m seeing now that I’m often surrounded by serendipity, it’s just I didn’t sit still enough through the discomfort to see it; didn’t hold space for it to emerge in its own way. 

When I simply sit still -- confident of myself, free of the need for attachment, holding space for whatever (or whoever) is before me, as I did on the juniper’s trunk -- I’m finding fantastical, irrational, imprudent, overflowing reservoirs of wonder, love, and joy. So much more connection is available in this moment than can ever be planned for tomorrow. The world is so much more beautiful and complex than any dreams I am capable of fathoming on my own. 

Traveling alone is giving me chances every day to practice this. And though I still often fail – more and more I’m finding myself found in rapturous enchantment with strangers and the world alike.

Caption: Moonrise over The Grand Staircase Escalante

Caption - new friends I met on a trail (1 of 3). This couple (Oliver and Harriet) shipped their army style camouflaged camper from Berlin and are touring the US for a full year. Asked why now, Oliver said their daughter is gone for the year on an exchange program. As Oliver said this, Harriet made a fist pump of joy.

Caption - new friends I met on a trail (2 of 3). Gail (on the left) retired 2 years ago and has been exploring the US in her camper ever since. She’s driven 50,000 miles and hiked 9,000 miles since her retirement party. Her friend Elizabeth (right), is visiting her this week. She was wearing Williams headband (my alma mater) not because her son went there, but because the purple cow “reminds her of Swiss chocolate… I hate logos, but I LOVE chocolate”. She noted (half proudly, half-ruefully), that her son had just left his job too. “They must teach you to live a life full of meaning at Williams…”

Caption - new friends I met on a trail (3 of 3). I helped encourage (and hoist) both of them up the entrance into Peek-a-boo canyon after she was about to give up. After she’d made it to the ledge, the woman began to tell me all about her son and how last year when they visited him they went climbing together. He set up routes for her. She said she climbed a 90 feet wall that day. She couldn’t believe it, but her son knew she was capable of it - when her feet touched the ground at the end she burst into tears - but she did it. She paused, no longer shaking, a wide smile across her face: “You remind me of him.”

My 2019 Sabbatical - Reasons, Goals, Plans, and Early Learnings

Friends and family - I have exciting news! I’ve left my job and embarked on a year-long sabbatical. I feel energized, joyful, nervous, and hopeful for what lies ahead. I want to share with you my reasons, my goals, my tentative plans, and what I’ve learned so far. I also want to let you know how to best support me during this time. (Keep reading below…)

Reasons:

I’m more than a decade into my career, and I feel so grateful for the jobs I’ve had. I’ve learned so much, been challenged intellectually, and met so many brilliant colleagues, bosses, and leaders. The work has been rewarding in many ways, including equipping me to serve several non-profits I am passionate about, especially the Minnesota Orchestra. 

However, over Christmas when a friend asked me what I was hoping for in 2019 (both at work and more broadly) – I went blank. As I reflected, I realized I’d have been equally nonplussed if he’d asked me, “What are you hoping for in the rest of your life?” 

Why? Yes, 2017 and 2018 were full of setbacks. However, I thought I’d weathered them and responded with grit. When my two mentors quit at work, I doubled down, earned new responsibilities, higher pay, and a new title. When some of the most important relationships in my life fell apart, I was devastated, but I worked hard to make new friends. When my grandmother was diagnosed with cancer, I tried to make the best of it, and made sure to see her 1-2 times per week. When I felt my body and mind were getting weak from obsessing on work, I recommitted to piano lessons, running 15-20 miles every weekend, learning to rock climb, and reading several books per month. My CV for 2017-2018 was full, and these experiences helped me grow. However, as I reflect now, I realize my ways of thinking and being were the same as before – as were my goals, dreams, and fears. I was fundamentally the same person, just further along “the achievement path.” I was tired, but onwards I went – soldiering on, working hard to find and earn the next affirmation.

Until January -- everything changed. In the aftermath of it all, especially my grandmother’s death, a number of things became clear to me. One, I too will die. Even if it is decades away, it will come soon. Two, my “achievements” felt hollow. Three, at the deepest level I was not happy – not in general, and certainly not with myself. Four, I knew so many people wanted to care for me, and yet I felt trapped in my loneliness and isolation. Five, I was exhausted. Yes, I could probably keep on keeping on, but increasingly I was asking myself, “why bother?”. And lastly, I knew I should be overwhelmed with grief, but I felt emotionally deadened, and I couldn’t find any tears. 

These were not happy revelations. And initially I didn’t know what to do with them. Thankfully, a number of unexpected conversations (with strangers, friends I hadn’t spoken to in years, and mentors) changed that. In these conversations I learned many of their stories. In many of them there was a moment when the bottom dropped out and that person chose (or was forced to choose) to make a radical break from the path they had been on. For those that embraced the invitation to change – the person often ended up taking 6-12 months away from “life as usual”. Some explored new passions, some healed, others went deeper into their old passions in new ways. For all of them this “time-away” led them to re-examine themselves, dream new dreams, and try living differently than before. Some came back to their prior field, some moved on. All of them said the experience transformed them. 

Hearing these stories struck a chord for me, and immediately I knew that I needed to take a sabbatical. Moreover, I realized I have the time, health, resources, and lack any immediate responsibilities to do it now. So, I asked myself, if not now, when?

My Goals for the Sabbatical

I realize how rare this opportunity is, so I want to be intentional about how I am using this time. Below are the goals that have emerged for me. I am using this list to determine how to spend my time:

·     Heal: grieve what’s been lost, take responsibility for my mistakes, and regain my physical and emotional vitality 

·     Reflect: cultivate greater self-awareness and compassion for myself and others 

·     Explore (my passions and the world): say yes to activities that give me life and are different from what I was doing before in my work -- creatively, physically, spiritually, and intellectually 

·     Re-imagine: who I am and what is possible in my life

·     Discern: where I’m going next

What I’ve Done So Far and My Plan

· Winter: one day this winter my yoga teacher approached me and suggested I sign up for an intensive Level 1 teacher training with Barron Baptiste. Historically, I would have dismissed the idea outright (… the time, cost, impracticality, and I’d never heard of Barron!). However, something in my gut told me to “say yes”; also, as I analyzed it, it fit with so many of my 2019 goals (healing, reflecting, and exploring). The training was only a week away and I didn’t know if I could still sign up. I decided – why not try. So, I called asking to be let in. They said yes. So, I got a ticket and flew to Sedona days later. 

I’m so glad I did! It was the most transformational experience I’ve ever had. Taken together -- the meditation, inquiry, discussion, practice teaching, and asana practice --helped me to see patterns in my life that were invisible to me before. At the core of it, I realized that I have long believed that “I don’t deserve to be loved.” I see now that that story has been silently shaping my life choices, self-talk, and how I have been present with others my entire life. I also now understand why it’s been so hard for me to let this belief go and what it has cost me – including years of self-imposed loneliness, lack of pride at my accomplishments, broken relationships, unnecessary conflict, fear-based decisions, and alienation from people who wanted to support me. Seeing this was very painful at first. However, once I realized its absurdity, and that this doesn’t have to be my story anymore, everything shifted. That is who I was, it is not who I truly am. Who I truly am is caring, joyful, open, and confident. This realization has made me feel more empowered, energized, and joyful than any time I can remember. 

[I also came out of the training certified to teach yoga – so, if anyone wants a private yoga lesson I’d love to teach you :) ].

· Spring and Early Summer: As I brainstormed what projects to pursue next, my old dream of hiking every National Park and National Forest in the US kept coming back to me. The more I thought about it, the more it felt right. While on the road I will develop artistically (photographing and writing), intellectually (history, geology, ecology, biology, and environmental conservation), and physically (hiking, climbing, and camping). Doing it as a multi-month trip (similar to when I walked the Camino with my family) really appealed to me as well. When I move slowly and give ideas space to emerge I see the world in new ways – and that’s exactly what I want right now. Lastly being on the road for so long will change me in unexpected ways as I connect with old friends, meet new people, get lost, discover new paths, face unexpected danger, confront old fears, have time to reflect, and discover new vistas. I did a trail week on the road a few weeks ago, and now have fully committed to it after leaving Minnesota again earlier this week. 

· Late Summer and Fall: I realize that even in the next few months I may see only a portion of our National Parks. So, as the summer goes on I may continue with the project, or I may shift my focus entirely to something different – perhaps volunteering at a nonprofit or a presidential campaign, taking a long trip through Asia, or doing something I haven’t conceived of yet. I want to hold open the space to see what emerges and feels right as I transform.

How to Support Me During This Next Phase

·     If you live in the west: I hope to see you. 

·     If you have traveled in the west: recommendations for hikes, climbs, experiences, and people I should meetalong the way

·     If you consume social media: let me know what you think of my photographs and reflections. If you like what I post, please encourage others to follow my page

·     If you are religious: prayers for safety and discernment 

·     If you call, email, or text me: please be patient if I’m slow to respond

·     For everyone: if you ever went on a similar journey of self-discovery – I’d love to hear your story and how your adventure changed you

Conclusion

Joseph Campbell once wrote: “If you can see your path laid out in front of you step by step, you know it's not your path.” Before January, I imagined I could see the path I was on and its shape all the way to grave. Now that I’ve jumped off to make my own path, I don’t know what lies ahead – but here we go… thank you for walking beside me as I venture into this new, exciting and still unknown world of possibilities.