decisions and routines

one of the first rules parenthood teaches you is that human beings like routines. we humans like patterns and predictability, we like knowing what comes next. we have a tendency to lean into our activities so far that we fall into habits, where we become comfortable and accustomed to the order.
this is not necessarily a negative.
my routines structure my life, and I find that the predictability eases my decision-making, which in turn eases my entire life.
and this is why the past two months have been challenging me: my routines get out of whack during spring and fall, when my rides are so weather dependent. thanks to the flexibility of my work, I can ride when the weather is best and work when it's rainy or bitterly cold or dark, or any combination of the three. but this adds uncertainty to my life, a variability, which leads to a sense of instability. and the need to make decisions.
freedom is liberating, but constancy is soothing.
and a reduced need to make decisions is absolutely divine.

my life has now returned to certainty. which results in fewer decisions to make.
every morning except saturday I now get up, pull my cycling clothes on and head off to class. mondays and fridays I go to the weight room after an hour of class and cycle through my weight room routine. wednesdays and sundays I blissfully get to go straight home. tuesdays and thursdays have a 90-minute class, after which I also trudge home.
and then I'm done for the day.
no wondering about and waiting for the weather.
no getting too busy and not finding time to ride.
no decision making at all.
because sometimes it's comforting to just flow, without too much thought, through our daily schedules. without too many decisions to make.

do you remember the line about starbucks in the movie You've Got Mail? Tom Hanks' character describes the coffee shop in this way: "The whole purpose of places like Starbuck's is for people with no decision making ability whatsoever to make six decisions just to buy one cup of coffee."

I like getting up at the same time every morning and heading off to a routine where my decisions are made for me.
and when I go to starbucks, I order a small cup of decaf.
because I'd just as soon not have to test my decision-making abilities any more than I have to.

those who I know

the other day I realized that I know quite a few people.
and quite a few of those people I know are taking power camp this year.
quite a few more aren't, but I've been (pleasantly) surprised to see so many faces I know.
when I did this 3 years ago, I knew no one except a slight acquaintance who signed up, came half the time for the first half of the program, and then gradually disappeared.
of course many of the people I now know are those I met during that first year. but an interesting number aren't: they are people I know from other phases of my life, or that I have met through fellow cyclists.

my circle of acquaintances is widening. stretching. expanding . . . I visualize this elastic and liquid boundary that easily absorbs others of its same makeup. like a small puddle of water that moves toward a droplet of water then slurp! the droplet becomes one with the puddle, joining and mixing in to create a new body of water.
there was a time in my life where I didn't want any more friends. I felt I had enough: I was actually overwhelmed by how many friends and acquaintances were circulating through and around my life. we were constantly socializing, having people over, going places with others, talking, scheduling, gathering . . . I was filled, overflowing, unable to expand any further to accept anyone else.

I still have limits as to how many others I want or need to be in my inner circle, but I find that my outer circle can hold more than it has been able to, and it holds them differently than it used to. they are held more gently, viewed with more wonder and appreciation. perhaps this is aging. perhaps those others are becoming more important as kids grow and get closer to leaving home; perhaps they are viewed with more respect for the myriad and varied experiences they've all survived.
what I do know is that I value them all. the man whose name I used to hear on the Nordstrom paging system 25 years ago, the woman I've always admired since we worked across the aisle from each other those same 25 years ago, the woman I socialized with at various parties but never knew well, the woman who married my good high school friend.
the circle is widening yet drawing nearer, and its nebulous form is ever-shifting, gracefully allowing for ebbing and flowing and acceptance of those from the past as well as those from the future.

scintillating

I promised scintillating, didn't I?
not titillating: get your mind out of the gutter.
scintillating, sparkling, brilliant . . . coruscating . . .

I fear I will let you down again.

here is the truth: this week has taken its toll on me. ridiculously early morning awakenings, no increase in caffeine intake, too many sweets, kid things here and there and now over there as well, phone/email/fax, mental musings, and those never-ending errands, have all joined together to create a melting pot of too much.
well, too much to leave me time to ponder and create coruscatingly brilliant writings. scintillatingly stunning essays. sparkling, brilliant and witty prose.

instead, this is what I've been writing this week:

• please excuse my daughter's absence from school as she . . .
• please dismiss my son at 1:45 today for his appointment with the doctor . . .
• enclosed please find your check for . . .
• please accept my apology for taking so long to get this to you . . .
• enclosed please find my daughter's application for your program . . .
• yes, my son has my permission to be given the H1N1 shot . . .

and most significantly, I have been writing an X in the spot by my name each day this week in the power camp roster.

phone calls I've made this week:

• to my son's doctors and school.
• to my other son's bus company and nurse.
• to my daughter's potential school.
• to my other daughter's other potential school.

and a phone call every evening, to the 3rd district court to see if my number has been called to report for jury duty. thank goodness, the answer each evening has been no.

thoughts I've had this week:

• I'd sure like a nap.
• I wonder if more caffeine would help.
• is it time for more ibuprofen yet?
• I think maybe I'm caught up on everything. oops, never mind.
• I wish I were riding my bike outside.
• I don't care for the weight room.
• gosh I ache.
• am I really 3 years older than last time I did power camp?
• is 7:30 too early to go to bed?
• I'd sure like a nap.

so perhaps sparkling, witty musings will pour forth tomorrow.
because, you see, tomorrow I get to sleep in.
no alarm, no power camp, no weight room, just a leisurely arising whenever I darn well feel like it.

may you have the same.

sigh

yes, I know I blew it again.
this time I can blame it on power camp.
except that would be me not accepting personal responsibility.
I, me alone, forgetful me, just blew it.
so I promise to think of something absolutely scintillating and be back soon.

after my nap.

power camp update

two days into power camp, I have the following information to report:

• I am tired.
• spin bike saddles are not like my favorite on-the-bike saddle. in other words: half of my class time has already been spent in, well, discomfort.
• at least 37 of my muscles are screaming at me, as hitting the weight room is part of the program. I barely remembered how to use the free weights, and they've moved the machines around so that I didn't recognize half of them. what are lateral rows, anyway? and does anyone out there really like doing lunges? hard to imagine.
  
• I am tired, and
• that alarm at 4:40 has already become my enemy.

yes, two days into power camp.
sigh.
and goodnight.

imperfect offerings

one might not bicycle every day, but one can be every day. this one is about being.

Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in.

this stanza has been running through my head these past few days. I was first introduced to it at Liz Johnson's memorial service 15 months ago, when her sister read these words of Leonard Cohen's. perhaps they've been front and center because last night was a fundraiser for the company Chris Johnson directs, the company with which Liz was traveling when her life was so abruptly ended.
regardless, these words have been floating within me, and they jumped up, shouted, and rung vibrantly when two days ago I read the seven social sins once proclaimed as how not to be by mahatma gandhi:

wealth without work

pleasure without conscience

science without humanity

knowledge without character

politics without principle

commerce without morality

worship without sacrifice

bells rang and clattered and rejoiced when I read this, imperfect bells, all. we are all made with small cracks and slight imperfections, but we are also all given the ability to stretch beyond what we believe to be our limits. to live by simple truths, and to recognize the pulling power of guidance informed by wisdom, not ego. to seek and find those subtle and often invisible maps that delineate our paths, and to accept the challenge to be who we are meant to be.

what we are asked to do, more than any other thing, is to remove our bushel baskets and veils and masks and let our inner light flow forth and out and beyond. to listen to our inner truths and dig down deep within our souls to find the answers we seek. to proceed with courage and dignity and help others release their own versions of the same.

to ring our bells, to let light shine, to be blissfully imperfect and welcome the humility that comes with that realization.

to find our own way, guided by that crooked and sometimes fragile but always present light that slips in through our cracks.

I send much love with my friends who are boarding a plane tomorrow that will begin their journeys to nepal, to the visionary souls at Choice Humanitarian, and to Liz, who is watching over us all, smiling and gently, gently, prodding.

symphonies and silence

this morning:
alarm at 5:19 am.
out of bed at 5:22.
into bike shorts, top, heart monitor and socks by 5:27.
ipod out of charger and strapped on bicep by 5:29.
water bottle, bag with towel and shoes, car keys, license, phone: out the door by 5:33.
spin class season is officially here.

indoor workouts are the only time I use my ipod, and each fall I am once again grateful for that tiny little computerized music system.
there is something both soothing and exhilarating about having your own private stereo connected to your ears. you can be in your own world, having your own internal experience, and no one need know it or be bothered by it: what a gift our ipods give us.

what I lose, however, is my outdoor riding silence.
I know many cyclists (and joggers, runners, walkers) use their ipods while riding (jogging, running, walking) outside, but it doesn't work for me at this point. maybe someday. but for now, I love my ability to hear the universe speak to me, whether it's through nature's sounds, human voices, or mechanical beasts. I want to hear the wind and feral cats and scampering chipmunks. I want to hear crickets and barking dogs and my own heavy breathing.
and even more importantly, I need the opportunity to disappear within my own mind. it's challenging enough to do this in silence; given music, I will sing along and change the lyrics and think entirely too much about the first/last/best time I heard each song.
disappearing in my mind, that meditating thing, is a crucial part of my riding.
a friend reminded me of this today, of how my cycling sessions enable me to turn the thinking off for great chunks of time, chunks that I sometimes don't even realize I've had.
this is a gift.
I do not meditate well, sitting on my couch.
but sitting on that saddle, working at the point I can no longer keep and hold threads of thought, allows a certain slipping of consciousness that qualifies, at least in my book, as meditation.
and meditation allows a reordering of our internal selves that leads to peace and harmony.

as in everything, I'm once again confronted with trade-offs. I can have my own private symphony, or I can claim my silent chunks of meditation.
the best thing of all is that I have the desire and the time in my life for both.