exposed//rebuild

i will never again hear the word "exposed"
without cringing
without feeling a sense of dread
without sensing my defense mechanism kick in


i run to relieve stress
i listen to loud music on my iphone
i run far past the rock sculptures
i keep going


i will never again approve message requests from strangers
without fear of being called a stupid cunt
without expecting to see my own nudes
accompanied by strangers telling me how i helped them cum


i run to escape
i leave my phone behind
it has become a device of torture
i stop when i see two rock sculptures that look like a couple


i will never again wonder whether i can cry for 8 hours straight
my privacy no longer exists
i've been repeatedly assaulted
by someone who loved me; by strangers


i run to move through my emotions
i look forward to the rock couple
they give me hope                            but
all of the rock sculptures have been dismantled by a vandal


i will never again doubt my resilience
my strength
my power
my ability to move forward


i run to prove my strength and determination
to myself
i run by the rock sculpture creator
he is rebuilding--the morning after destruction


he has not missed a beat
as i press play on a new playlist

to-do: GO. breathe. Go. Breathe. go. BREATHE.

i have a to-do list going constantly: i re-realized this when my facebook status included mention of it this morning. but technically, i have at least three to-do lists going simultaneously: in my head (immediate things), on my phone (kinda immediate things i'm afraid i might forget), and in my planner (for things a bit more long term). why so many lists? well, that'd be the fault of my brain. my brain really really really likes to be constantly active. i've traditionally had quite a hard time allowing myself to have time for play.

the more i practice at meditating and yoga, though, and the more reflective i get, the more i notice my mind letting go of its eternal need for busy-ness. that letting go process is scary though.

recently i started back in marathon training, doing a lot of 20-30 km runs with one of my friends. i've always loved long runs: they quiet my mind, they give me space, and they make me really skinny. (i don't want to like long runs for that last reason, but i know that i not-so-secretly love them purely for that reason.) recently, though, since i've been able to find quiet in other ways, and i've started to love and appreciate my not-scary-skinny body, i've found that I've started to become afraid of running.

now i find myself worried about the real reason for me going out to do a long run; about how my brain will react to my body if i lose any weight.

while i can identify this fear, i can't seem to shake it. i've been talking about it with a few friends, and this is what i've come to: my mind is better at breathing now, and it's starting to let up on the GO GO GO DO DO DO (OR ELSE!) mindset. yesterday on a run with one of my BFFs, i kept stopping to walk. not because i was tired or hurting, but because, well, i just didn't feel like running. and my mind wasn't crazily forcing me into it either.

and that's the part that is a little uncomfortable: me getting used to a mind that's not so demanding. i've lived so long with my self-termed "crazy mind" that living differently is actually scary. sometimes i find myself quite surprised that i'm ok with lounging in bed for the afternoon or going with a friend for a drive instead of crossing off another thing on my list.

"what happened to spring?" i wonder. and then i think, "wait. what was happening to spring for all those years before?!"

last week i went to a yoga class and kelli talked about "leaning into an uncomfortable feeling" rather than avoiding it. and, i sobbed. (yeah, yeah, i know, "but you always cry in yoga class, don't you spring?") i didn't know why i was crying last week though until the end of class. i realized that i was much better at feeling the crap i don't want to feel now... but i think those tears were mourning all of the years i spent avoiding my feelings; of listening to my crazy-mind and DOING and THINKING things to actively avoid feeling things.

feeling things gives me the vulnerability and self-awareness to be able to give my mind that space, to let it breathe, to take a break. this is the first week of the "mindful in may" challenge that i'm doing with a few friends: we committed to meditate every day. just a few days in and i notice the difference between meditating a few times a week and doing it every day. i was afraid it would be super hard, but a few minutes a day isn't really asking that much, especially now that my mind isn't quite so cray cray with its to-do lists.

so, included on today's revised to-do list?
1. relinquish a little more control,
2. let go of a little more,
3. align a little more with my dream-self,
4. experience THIS moment more fully.

oh, yeah, and...
5. breathe in.
6. breathe out.
7. breathe in.
8. breathe out.

yeah, that feels doable.

Raining, Pouring, and Being

In our society, we are faced with constant choices. Which is amazing! It is fantastic to be able to choose what you want, when you want it, how much you're willing to pay for it, and (if you live in Australia) how much you're willing to pay for shipping. However, constant choices can also feel overwhelming, and sometimes we default to a previous choice, for the ease and comfort of that choice, regardless of whether that is the appropriate decision for the given time.

Much like the constant choices we find all around us, we constantly need to choose how to experience our surroundings and ourselves. I find these choices to be much harder to make--mostly because I often forget to actively make these choices. I allow the Spring-default settings to take over. I might be late for a train I planned to take; I begin to run. Someone offer critiques on my work; I feel judged and inept. I miss a workout; I feel bad about my day. It starts to rain; I get cranky and look for shelter or an umbrella.

Those don't have to be the choices I make, though. Yoga teaches us that we can choose how to react to everything in our lives. On the mat, when I notice a strong stretching sensation, I breathe through it; I slow my breath, my mind, and focus on being in that moment. Off the mat reactions are much harder for me to consciously make, though.

I was running last weekend. It began to rain, first a little, and then suddenly much harder. I had no rain gear with me, and was only just getting started on my run. I felt the Spring-default settings kicking in as I thought: "I'll just go home, get in the car, drive to the gym, and run on a treadmill. I'll hate it. I'll be cranky. I probably won't even have enough time to run by the time I get there." ...but then I realized I could make another choice. I could choose to be in the rain. And so I did. I chose to feel the raindrops, to feel them on my skin and feel them soaking into my clothes. I felt the cool water pooling in my shoes, smiled at drips hanging from my eyelashes, and enjoyed the soft slaps of my hair whipping my neck and cheeks. Where I expected frustration, I was able to find joy in being present: nothing was so wrong with getting a little wet.

The fact that I chose to be present, and enjoy and experience the rain, was a difficult choice for me to make. But the fact that I made that choice changed the rest of my day. I was happy that I got to run and I was happy that I was able to enjoy the rain. That happiness spilled into the rest of the day and evening and I noticed (with some surprise) that I was able to go with the flow of unexpected plan changes, unexpected train delays, and unexpected restaurant choices quite easily.

Making conscious choices in our be-ing can be hard. We have to choose to create space for these choices. We have to allow for the option of overriding the default settings we've created.

Our choices of how to respond to our surroundings and ourselves may feel easy at times. And that's fine--it's good practice! Because when the next rainstorm comes, I might not have my umbrella, and I want to be ready.