2017: A Declaration

Hello 2017,

Normally I wait until the end of the year to hash it out, but I’m feeling really serious about you, so I wanted to get off on the right foot. 2015 and 2016 were kind of a drag, so I’m expecting a lot out of you. We’re a few days in and I already know you’re going to be good. I’ve planned all my races and set all my goals. Thanks to 2015 and 2016, your less kind siblings, I’ve learned where I need work and where I kick ass. I’ve learned a ton more, but we’ve talked about that enough. I’m ready to move on.

I’m also ready to learn. To learn how to be a better parent, how to be a better teacher and practitioner. I’m ready to learn how to relax and take care of myself too. I’m ready to ask for help when I need it and I’m willing to admit that that doesn’t make me less capable, it just makes me human. This may be my biggest challenge in 2017, but, like I said, I’m ready.

When I look around on social media I notice a trend – I see more people standing up and stating undeniably that this year they will kick some ass. So, to those of you standing, I’m with you. Let’s collectively get our shit together and take back our lives. No more saying “tomorrow” or “I’ll do that when: I have more time, more resources, more money…” more, whatever. You fill in the blank, you know what’s holding you back. If you aren’t standing yet, but you’re flirting with the idea, ask yourself “why?” If there’s one thing I’ve learned since I’ve had kids is that time doesn’t slow down, it speeds its nasty self up. Each day that passes is a day lost and at some point you’re going to discover that there are more days behind you than in front. So, stand up. I’m with you.

Last year around this time I wrote this:

“In the hip world, they call it a tribe. Like-minded people going the same direction with the same intention. I really think to make it through the end of January and beyond with your resolutions (ahem, goals) intact, you need a tribe. You need the support of people willing to do what they can to help you succeed. You’re worth that. So, go out there and surround yourself with people who want to see you achieve your grandest plans, people who want to watch you soar to nose-bleed heights. Find people who are reaching for their own set of stars so you can find inspiration in each other when shit gets rough. Because you know it’s going to. It always does.”

I have never believed in this more than I do today. So, in light of all the divisive craziness that’s gone on in this country in the last few months, the least we can do is decide to stand together. So, I say it again: I’m with you.

Now let’s go kick some 2017 ass (sorry 2017, I mean this in the kindest way possible). Let's do it together. Because I’m ready. Are you?

Lots of love,

Kate

2016: A love letter

Dear 2016,

I had so much fun with you this year. Okay, not really. If 2015 was the year of near crippling self-doubt then you were the year of epic failure and outstanding achievement. You were not the worst on record (I still think 2015 takes the cake there), but you came close. You showed me rock bottom, but also allowed me to see that sometimes even when you’re all the way down there, you can look around and see the blessings that surround you and somehow still feel lucky. When there isn’t much left to lose, you get the rare opportunity to see what’s left and thankfully, what was left for me was what truly mattered.

I cried a lot of tears in the last 360 some odd days. I cried for the loss of people I didn’t know: Prince, Carrie Fisher, and Alan Rickman. I cried for the loss of those I did: my beloved violin teacher Laura, Nick’s Aunt Margie, my Uncle Mike, and most recently, Nick’s mom Joyce. I cried at the death of my biggest dream: Cycle Swami. But I also cried when I swam my first panic-free open water swim, when I crossed the finish line at my first triathlon and again when I finished my second one in a faster time than my first. I cried on our first century ride and I cried in the studio when I finished tough rides I thought I’d never be able to finish. If you haven’t guessed it yet, I’m a crier.

2016, you’ve taken a lot from all of us. You’ve taken our loved ones, you’ve nabbed our dreams and you’ve shaken our faith in humanity. You showed us that truth and justice don’t always prevail – sometimes the bad guy does win. In the same instant, you showed us that grace and humility still shine brightly and courage always trumps fear, even if it doesn’t seem so on the outside.

Sure you kicked my ass a bit 2016, but I can honestly say that as I wave goodbye to you, I’ve never been happier. Not because you’re finally ending your bloody reign, but because I’m actually happier. Sure, I’m not teaching yoga at Cycle Swami anymore, but I do have a sweet little space in my house – a space that is exactly what I dreamed it would be. Cozy, filled with natural light and with no goddamned brown carpet. It’s perfection wrapped in loveliness. Somehow, I’ve ended up exactly where I needed to be, I just needed to fail a bit (okay, a lot) to get there. And don’t we all? 2016, I’m not saying you’re a failure, I’d never do that, but I am saying that it seems we all need to fail a bit to recognize that our best plans may not be the ones that are actually meant to be.

So, 2016, thanks for showing me (rather roughly) how to get out of my own way. Without you, I would be stuck in the same place I was: with everything I thought I needed, but nothing I actually wanted.

Much love,

Kate

where we go from here

I try hard to make sure everyone who walks through the doors of my studio feels comfortable and welcome. I think people spend enough time being told, by themselves or others, that they are not enough. Not good enough, not smart enough, not _____ enough. So when they walk through my doors, I want them to know that they are already enough – that they already have everything that they are seeking right there, inside them. It’s a wonderful feeling that feeling you get when you belong, when you know you’re in the right place, when you respect and are respected, not for your life achievements or your political views or your personal assets, but for being human; for living, for breathing, for being on this planet at the same time, in the same place. I want to foster that. I want that feeling of belonging to ooze out of your pores when leave my class.

Like a lot of you, I have spent the last couple days on edge. I have grappled with how I feel – angry, disappointed, and yes, despairing. I’ve read a ton of articles too as I work my way through. Some of them are full of fear and rage. I get it. I get it on both sides really. As parents, we talk a lot to the kids about what’s going on, and this is where I get stuck. Walking away from the polling place on Tuesday afternoon Gabriel turned to me and said “Donald Trump can’t be president. He calls women pigs.” He didn’t get that from us. He heard it somewhere else. Maybe from our president-elect’s own mouth, I don’t know. It doesn’t matter really. What matters is that we don’t name call in our house. We don’t watch TV shows where they call each other names. If one of my kids calls the other – or someone else – a name, there are consequences. If they make fun of someone because of their differences there are consequences. If they are disrespectful there are consequences. I’m struggling with explaining to my 6 year old how doing those things catapulted a man into the highest and most respected office of this country. Maybe he wasn’t voted in because of those things, I don’t know, but he did them and he’s still where he is. No consequences. My kids see that. How do I explain that?

I may not know how to talk my way around this one with my kids, but I know what I’m going to do moving forward. I will get involved, I will make sure to be a champion of what I believe and make sure I stand up for the rights of those around me. I’ve been sitting in the sidelines all these years thinking someone else will do the work for me. No longer. If ever there was a time to stand up and use your voice to bring peace and understanding back, it is now. We are way overdue.

I am certain about something else too: that community wins. When people feel a sense of belonging, they feel loved and when they feel loved, they are capable of a myriad of wonderful things. So come out and do some yoga with us. Let’s breathe and laugh together. Let’s heal our own wounds so we can move out into the world with our yoga mat sized band-aids to help heal the bigger wounds that surround us. Let’s make space for ourselves and each other. There is no other way we’re going to get through this, whether it’s the next 4 years or the next 54, there is no other way. So let’s get to it; stand up, roll out your mat. Let’s begin the work of bringing some sanity back to this place. It starts with you and me. One breath at a time.

Namaste.

the beehive inside my heart

Honey of my Failures

Last night, as I was sleeping,

I dreamt – marvelous error! –

That I had a beehive

Here inside my heart.

And the golden bees

Were making white combs

And sweet honey

From my old failures.

-Antonio Macado

A friend of mine sends me lovely little messages every day. They come from a book called The Book of Awakening by Mark Nepo. It has daily entries – poems, quotes all sorts of thoughts and each one is followed by a short note from the author. Two weeks ago, I received this one. It was October 18th – a Tuesday actually. The day after we sent out the email that we were closing the studio.

That Monday night Nick and I sat up later than we normally do going back and forth over the wording of that email. We were both exhausted – I’d been crafting the email for days, but didn’t have the nerve yet to get it out into the world. You see, I was still holding on to some odd thought that we could make this whole thing work. Somehow. So, at the end of our back and forth, when the final copy was decided on, I sat in front of this damn screen – like I have so many times before – and I hesitated. The online marketing system we use has this picture of a big monkey hand (it’s called MailChimp) with its finger getting ready to push a big red button. I watched that big hand try to push that button for 5 minutes or more. Like if I didn’t hit the send button, somehow we would miraculously not have to close. Like my waiting could change the course of things.

When I finally hit the send button, I broke down into sobs. I just sat there on the couch with Nick and cried my face off. These past 2 years have been such a struggle, with things we never even dreamed we’d have to endure and yet, there were bright spots too. So many amazing people have walked through our doors, people we never would have met if Cycle Swami never was.

One of my life goals was to have my own yoga studio. To close the doors on this dream I’ve held so close for so long feels like total and complete failure. Like I wasn’t motivated enough, I didn’t try enough or work hard enough or I wasn’t good enough. Failure, failure, failure, and failure. And then, I got this poem in my inbox. Perfect timing, right? We have all stumbled on this path. We have all failed at one time or another. There is no clear way through life. One day we’re going in one direction, and the next, that path is consumed by wild fire and there’s nothing to do but turn around and try another way. Sure, we all know fires are devastating. What we don’t know is that they’re necessary too. Fire cleans out the underbrush, cleans the forest floor, opens it up to the sunlight and nourishes the soil. Having burned out that low-growing underbrush, the trees that are already established can grow stronger and healthier.

Failure is like that sometimes. In the onset it seems like all is lost, like everything you’ve ever held dear is going up in flames; the ground shifts and all at once, you’re standing in the rubble of something you worked so hard to build. But, if you stand there long enough, in the cinder and the ash, you will soon feel the warm sun on your face. And, if you look around, you can see the strength in the things that the fire didn’t destroy.

As Mark Nepo says in his book: “Just know, when everything is falling apart, that you are preparing the ground of you for something ripe that can’t yet be seen, but which, in time, will be tasted.”

The sweet honey of your old failures.

Letters Home

Earlier this week I went to my parents’ house to clean out some old remnants of stuff I’d left behind when I moved out. There was a ton of old paperwork; they’d saved all my report cards, even my first grade ones with Mrs. Lathrop. There were old letters strewn in there too, old notebooks filled with writing and drawings I’d done, and, perhaps best of all, old school pictures. The school pictures were the kind that you wish you could scrub from your memory, the kind that make you feel awkward for the kid in it. Mostly though there were boxes and boxes and boxes of my old photography prints, from high school to college. My senior thesis was in there too – a 20 ton box of square color prints on big chunks of plexi.

My mom and I sat up in my brother’s old bedroom (a closet now) for hours (my dad too, when he wasn’t chasing Sebastian around) and we laughed at all the ridiculousness that was there, we reminisced too as we read through old papers – some of which were my brother’s (don’t worry Jon, we saved those for you). It was like a trip down memory lane and a trip into my most intimate moments all rolled up into one. While I was driving home, my 2yr old in tow, I thought back on the girl I was. The girl who wrote those desperate poems, the girl who drew all those images, the young woman who struggled to find her voice through crazy self-portraits in empty hotels. Where did she go? It felt as if she’d vanished, or maybe she’d just been eaten up by a life in constant forward motion.

As I shuffle through those same pictures now, I want so much to reach into them, to grab the girl inside and shake her. I want to tell her so much. So I’m going to try now:

Dear Kate,

You cannot possibly begin to understand the life you have before you: the promise you hold, the potential, and the limitless opportunities. You don’t see it yet because you’re too wrapped up in trying to be something to everyone. You believe that you are what people think of you. You work so diligently to keep quiet, to be steady and non-disruptive. You strive to gain the respect of those around you, but don’t demand that they require yours in return. I know. You may not think anyone does, but I do. I know you struggle. I know you laugh too, and I know how you shine – but not too much, can’t shine too much. I know you wonder if you’re ever going to find your voice and if you’re going to have the courage to use it when you do. I know all your quiet heartbreaks and your amazing mistakes.

I want to tell you something: I see you. You may feel alone, but you are not. You will step out into the world and against the advice of people you respect and love, you will find work that will lead you to a position of leadership and though you may hate it at the time, it will make you the money and give you the time you need to chase the life you want – the one you only think about when your head is on your pillow late at night. You will marry a man who loves you – the whole messy package – and he will be the support you need when things get tough, and believe me, they will. You’ll have a baby! Two, in fact. You’ll have the courage to leave the security of a good job to take care of your son and pursue your passions. Through hard work and love you will be successful.

When the time comes, you’ll have the courage to once again leave what is comfortable to forge ahead into a better future, not just for you, but for the family you love so much. You will once again work to realize a dream you’ve kept quiet in your heart. Hold on tight, because it’ll be a bumpy ride. This time however, hard work and love will not be enough and you will watch your dream fall apart and everything else around you will start to slip. You may think it is the death of everything you’ve worked so hard to create, but it is just a reorganization of the way things are meant to flow. This is a conclusion that will take time to sink in, so be patient. Ask for help because you’ll need it. Take all the hugs that are offered, cry into the shoulders of the people you love and then strap on those work boots and get back to it.

You are capable of great things. You are a wonder to behold. You are stronger than you ever imagined. You are enough. I wish I could reach out to you, give you a hug and tell you that over and over again: you are enough. I can’t wait for the day when you realize it for yourself.

I know I threw some spoilers in here, sorry! Just keep putting one foot in front of the other. You’re on the right path so have courage. You’ll make some ridiculous decisions – try to laugh them off when you realize the scope of the ridiculousness. You’ll make some great ones too, so stop second guessing yourself. Have faith in your intelligence (I read those report cards!) and you will end up right where you should be.

Oh, and let loose a little every now and again, the world won’t fall apart if you do, but you may if you don’t.

Ever yours,
Kate