Spring's Skin

The seasons are changing. The last two weeks were kissed with snow at daybreak which quickly melted by eleven in the morning. This week has been slightly warmer but grey and wet. The snow is replaced with rain, sleet, and even just the sense that it has rained without actually experiencing the rain itself. Apparently, this is Spring.?. I don't know for sure, but what I do know is that I wake to the sound of geese and also enjoy their calls at dusk, which occurs at approximately 8pm these days. It's an incredible thing to see the sun leave it's mark on the pink clouds at 8 o'clock at night. I am in awe every single day, sometimes multiple times a day. The mountains stand tall with huge, grey clouds looming above them, threatening to wail any minute. Outside my amazing office window, I see birds I have never seen before... tiny little blue birds that flutter quickly as if twitching impulsively; larger black, grey, and red birds that hop around on the ground looking in the dirt for nourishment.

We all know spring is a time of re-birth and ever-changing life and revival. For some reason, though, on this day, I feel as if I am experiencing Spring for the first time. Perhaps its because of the subtleties of the seasons in Texas which often leave a person wondering whether or not there was ever a winter at all. Fall and spring in Texas seem to be a blurred version of the more distinguished summer and winter.... or is Texas winter a blurred version of fall? I hear people who have lived in Montana for a while (or their entire lives) say that this is not quite spring. It seems to me, however, that when you go from the utter silence of a winter, blanketed with snow and few creatures scurrying around for survival to birds chirping and grass slowly turning green again and moss growing in little ponds of melted snow, that spring has in fact arrived. On a recent run, I became irritated with the songs that randomly played on my shuffle (even though I had specifically chosen those songs for running). In between furiously changing songs, I realized that nature was playing it's own soundtrack. The creek I was running along trickled loudly, competing with the little flying creatures' songs of joy and the rustling of a deer dining in the brush.

Things are indeed coming alive in Montana. As am I.

There have been other times in my life when I have said that I have "shed my skin," and yet, I feel like I am shedding yet another layer as I grow increasingly more comfortable in my purpose here. Those unwanted layers that are present at every life transition are being released back into the earth to be a part of the cycle again. All week, I have felt empowered and confident in my work. At times, I felt anxious, but I successfully came back to the present and focused my energy where it needs to be. I have been very aware this week of what my clients need of me.

I started blogging tonight because I realized I needed my own release. I don't know of too many professions, that when done well, leave a person feeling a sense of shared grief. I left work tonight feeling proud of the intense emotional work my clients are doing but I also grieved for them. My heart feels tender and raw tonight; a feeling that eased a bit as I typed about the spring and shedding layers that hinder oneself from truly being present. I know that after a cup of tea, a warm bath, and a nice night of sleep I will again feel fresh and ready to face whatever season we are in up here in Montana. For now, I will meditate on the healing powers of shared experiences and the courage it takes to be vulnerable enough to discover those who can relate to our human experience on this earth... this earth whose heartbeat is within each of us, keeping us connected through eternity.

And I leave you with a song that is nourishing my heart this night:

Fleet Foxes - Grown Ocean from Fleet Foxes on Vimeo.

">Grown Ocean by Fleet Foxes

Finding My Stride

On May 1, 2011 I'll embark on my first race... a 12K in Spokane, Washington called Bloomsday. People commonly believe that the Bloomsday race gets its name from the Lilac Festival which occurs simultaneously. After all, the Lilac Festival is a celebration of the thousands of Lilacs which bloom this time of year, painting the city, well, lilac! This, however, is incorrect, I've recently learned. Originally Bloomsday was a celebration in Dublin, Ireland of Irish writer, James Joyce in which participants followed a day long pilgrimage that replicates the events in Joyce's book Ulysses. The founder of the Bloomsday race was a US marathoner in the 1976 Olympics. He compares the race to the odyssey set out in Ulysses, in which "ordinary people are involved in heroic journeys" (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bloomsday).

I maintain that I am not a runner and I never have been. I often run with a sense of anger and frustration, cursing every step. I do what I can to try to accept that if I want to run 7.46 miles I have to get through mile 2, 3, 4, and so on. I have made a running playlist, full of otherwise inappropriate music, but music I will grant myself permission to listen to if it makes the hour of misery easier. I give motivational speeches in my head, and I even do the Rocky Balboa when I reach a mile marker... you know you do it too - throwing your hands in the air and running in a victory circle... Dunna duh, dunna duh....http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DCysXR92LpI

I'm more of the yoga/meditation type. I enjoy subtle (and even strenuous) challenges to my flexibility and balance. I love trying to maintain stable breath while twisting my body and finding stillness. Running, huffing, puffing, and cardio stamina just aren't my thing. So, you might ask, "why would a person who hates running choose to run one of the most heavily populated races in the US?" Well, my motivation has many layers. My two sisters each ran a half marathon last Saturday. This was the second 1/2 marathon for my oldest sister, who ran her first one slightly more than a year after giving birth to her third child. I was in awe of her (and still am). Eight or so years later (last Saturday), my sisters ran together, challenging mind, body, and spirit. My other sister ran this race a mere six months after giving birth to her first child. Wow! I have the blood of heroines running through me! My sisters are inspirational to me in more ways than their physical strength, and I have the fortune of running Bloomsday along side one of my sisters who will join me in Spokane and run beside me, motivating me the whole way. My second motivation is the girls I work with. Many of them will embark on this same race in addition to their continued bravery in self-discovery and growth. They challenge themselves in ways that would make Balboa look like Steve Urkel (metaphors aren't my thing, but you get the picture). If they can run this race, so can I! More than that, what an opportunity to show a group of teenage girls that some adults will put themselves up against similar challenges to join them in their journey. My third reason is, well, me. This race seemed to be the perfect opportunity to challenge myself and create a routine here in Montana. I view it as an opportunity to settle into life and reach for something that has never felt attainable to me. I want to know what it feels like to physically challenge myself and reach my goal! I want to feel strong and stable. And, let's face it, I've got time on my hands living in a small town!

The last two Sundays I ran 4 miles. Two Sundays ago was the first time I've ever run this far. I maintained a steady pace, running for four minutes and walking for one. There are different theories and recommendations on the best way for beginner runners to train for a race. I've found the run/walk method to be the most fitting for me, though I try to run at least 4 times the amount I walk as opposed to only 2 or 3 times. This method makes the run bearable, especially when most days I'm running on a treadmill because the weather outside is ridiculously cold, rainy, or icy. The brief walk gives me a break, and to be honest, some days 4 minutes feels like 2 hours. I felt so triumphant as I slowed the treadmill down at mile 4 and allowed myself a nice slow cool down. "I can do anything," I thought to myself.

Last Sunday, I had the fortune of running outside on a sunny Montana day with a new friend who is also running Bloomsday. The hills killed me and took my breath much more quickly than I anticipated. I felt embarrassed at how winded I was. Together we each needed to walk from time to time to catch our breath. We ran up hill consistently for 2 miles and finished strong running about 1.5 miles without walking at all at the very end. It was a great run, having the support of a friend, the company of her dog (and one loose Great Dane who wanted to join us), the mountains ahead of us, and the bright blue sky. On top of the accomplishment, it felt like Spring was near. Birds chirped, cows mooed, and snow continued to melt.

Then, today I found myself again on the treadmill. I did not start in the best of moods. I did not want to be there and I did NOT want to run. My knees were a little achy from the hills and my day was off to an irritable start. As I started running, I noticed to my surprise that my breath was steady and my legs were strong. When I arrived at the time for the first one-minute walk, I pushed myself to keep running. Soon, I looked down and had run 25 minutes without walking once. And, that was it. I was determined to run the entire 4 miles today... no walking. As I neared my goal, I felt an increasing sense of strength and confidence. When I finally reached mile 4, with no one around to celebrate with, I offered myself a silent high-five and immense internal gratitude. I feel quite proud of this accomplishment, and I will say that as I focused on my goal, I never faltered. I felt strong throughout the whole run. I felt tired toward the end, but I never felt weak. I always knew I could do it. I didn't even experience my usual superficial complaints and whines. I just kept running, like Forrest Gump... well.... sort of. It was an amazing feeling to be covered in sweat and weary from challenging myself. I know 4 miles isn't much to many people, but for me... this really is a big deal. I realize as I write this, that perhaps I have found my stride in running. Perhaps I have reached that point that runners talk about where the body just keeps moving, unfazed by the work and effort. Perhaps, this is the point at which, I learn to have faith in myself and my strength and stop telling myself "I'm not a runner." I may never be a marathoner, but today's effort constitutes a little bit of faith in the fact that I might just have a heroine within me too.

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As the locals tease me about not getting too excited for Spring just yet, I realize that I'm settling in to life in Montana. I feel as though finding my stride in running is not all that different from finding my stride in my new existence. Winter has been a cold, lonely time for me as I learn the ins and outs of my job and fumble to understand the cultural nuances of living in a rural town in Montana. For the past 5 months, I've been settling in to this job. Understanding the expectations and getting back in touch with my style and way of relating and helping, has been a slow process. Each day, however, my comfort level grows, and I feel more at ease balancing the necessary firmness with nurturance. My compassion overload is ceasing and I am gaining a clearer, truer perspective of who I am and how to fit that into the work I do. I am learning to be patient with myself and with others. I am continuing to practice accepting my experience as it is without judgment. I am finding my stride.

I am aware that winter is not quite over, and while I wish it was, I'm ok with the possibility of a June snowfall. I've noticed with the sound of the birds, as the forest around me seems to be waking up from it's slumber, that winter is a time for peace and self-reflection. It is a time to turn inward, a time to bunker down and learn to be with oneself. So perhaps, with this glimpse of Spring, I can be joyful and grateful, and look forward to the possibility of another (hopefully brief) time of peace and (continued) self-reflection.

And, at the end of the day, perhaps I am an ordinary person involved in a heroic journey.