River Rules

I've been spending more than a little time in the West these days. It's an amazing landscape and the ultimate playground for those who love being in the wilderness. But this brand of nature can be rugged —and even turn deadly in a heartbeat. I've come to appreciate its power and beauty.

Last weekend, I floated on a raft down the Colorado River for the first time. My boyfriend, Greg,  and a gang of our friends packed lots of snacks and beer and prepared for a fun afternoon. All were veterans on the river, except me. 

 
As we prepped for the excursion, the weather turned out to be a little different than we anticipated. Gusting headwinds blew in and made conditions challenging. But my companions assessed the situation, made a few adjustments, and forged ahead with our planned "float."  

Feeling the wind whip up the canyon, I was grateful to climb into a large raft commandeered by two of my new friends, Emily and Lauren, who are professional environmentalists and river guides. As Emily began to row against the wind, I eyed the turbulent water warily. "What do I need to know?" I asked. "What are the rules of the river?" 

Emily and Lauren laughed and then provided me with the four River Rules they've learned in their collective years of experience as water-women. 

River Rule #1: Always stay with your boat/watercraft.
On the river, your vessel carries you from point A to point B. To abandon it prematurely can cause you —and other people — a lot of harm. There are submerged rocks and debris in the rapidly moving water. It might seem like a good idea to jump in and swim, but that craft is going to keep floating. Pretty soon you'll literally “be up a creek without a paddle.” Oh, just in case you do tumble out, never take off your personal floatation device (aka life vest) while in moving water. 

River Rule #2: Keep up with your stuff.
When you're in a boat, and need your paddle or a carabiner or a rope or a beer, it's really helpful to know right where it is and how to lay your hands on it quickly. Sometimes you don't have a lot of time to scramble around and find that thing that's going to keep you from capsizing. 

Also, allowing your stuff to get underfoot can trip you up — or send other people toppling. A raft doesn't have a lot of floorspace to begin with, so allowing your beer cans or provisions to roll about on the floor can cause all sorts of havoc. 

River Rule #3: Don't be an asshole. 
Being an asshole on the river might include, but is not exclusive to the following actions: throwing trash in the water or violating nature in any way; being loud and obnoxious; creating big waves or a wake that could adversely impact smaller, more vulnerable vessels; enacting any behavior that compromises someone else's safety, well-being or enjoyment of nature. 

River Rule #4: Always pay attention.
Yes, you're there to have fun and enjoy the beauty of nature, but being on moving water requires vigilance about whatever lies ahead. The river is unpredictable. There's a fine balance between remaining in the moment, truly appreciating nature's beauty, and anticipating what's coming up around the bend. The river demands that you hold both presence and vigilance in equal esteem. 

No matter how many times you've been on the water, it's never exactly the same river twice. Hazards can come at you without warning, so paying attention —even while you're partying and having a great time — is essential. Rocks, debris, flotsam and jetsam of all varieties can appear quickly. Other boaters and their stuff (see Rule 2) may create unanticipated issues as well. If you become too distracted by someone else's crap, you can lose your balance —or your way — in an instant. 

At first, I thought my friends were simply imparting etiquette about how to behave on this wild and often unpredictable force of Nature. But then it hit me: These are rules that apply to all of life. 

Life Rule #1. Stay with your boat. 
Ego might tell me that I'm strong enough to make it through life without a Higher Power, without a vessel to protect me from unseen hazards, but that's foolish to believe I can exist without Universal assistance. There have been many times when I jumped out of my metaphoric boat and was too foolhardy to ask for help. I didn't drown, but I was carried off by currents that didn't serve others or me very well. 

The good news is this: If I realize I need that vessel, I might just find it waiting for me in a tranquil eddy. I've had to swallow my pride (and set aside my Ego) more than once and admit that I was in over my head and needed a hand. And there have been times when I've been washed up on shore, seemingly abandoned —only to discover that I was exactly where I needed to be in order to (eventually) move forward. 

Life Rule # 2:  Keep up with your stuff.
In life, my stuff has often gotten in my way, tripped me up, kept me from meaningful purpose. On this journey, I'm learning to leave what isn't necessary on the shore. I want to carry only the essentials necessary to sustain me and others. And I need to keep those things in check. I don't need to allow my misdeeds to roll around underfoot. My experiences in life shouldn't create an obstacle course for other people either. My actions are mine to own and (hopefully) learn from and use to become a better human being.

Life Rule #3: Don't be an asshole. 
This one seems obvious and I hope doesn't need any explanation, but just in case it isn't clear, here goes: Avoid any action that's selfish, dishonest, self-centered, inconsiderate, or harmful in anyway to
others, to nature, or to yourself.

Life Rule # 4. Always pay attention.
Thich Nhat Hahn, Eckhart Tolle and many other other esteemed gurus write about the importance of remaining in the moment and taking life as it comes. Life requires the same balance of presence and anticipation as required when floating a river. It can be difficult to allow events to unfold with appreciation and knowledge that shit can and will happen and you have to keep going. 

Just like floating down the Colorado River on raft, life involves going with the flow. You can anticipate the rapids, but you will never be able to manage or control them. The best you can do on the river and in life is to be conscious of the hazards, prepare yourself for the inevitable, and keep moving forward. And of course, it's always a good idea to stop every now for a cold beer and a snack to makes the journey that much more enjoyable.

PS: Need help planning your own adventure in the southwest? Check out my friend Emily's awesome Southwest Jeep Adventures for trip planning services or camper Jeep rentals! 

The Do-Over Life: How I Got Over FOSO

On December 27, 2019 I found myself starting over ... again. In an instant, my carefully curated life tumbled like so many Jenga blocks and my eight-year relationship ended. 

And yet, even in the initial days as the waves of shock, humiliation and sadness rolled over me, I felt a glimmer that the Universe knew what it was doing even if I did not. I read somewhere that when a relationship ends abruptly "God is doing for us what we cannot do for ourselves." Deep-down something told me this breakup was for the best even though I was not bold enough to have initiated it. 

The truth was this: For years I'd ignored the problems. My partner had many fine qualities (top of the list was the kindness he showed my son), and yet, we weren't evenly aligned. By that I mean there were many aspects of our personalities that didn't fit together. And yet, I stayed in this relationship. Why? 

Well, first and foremost, my son loved this man and looked up to him. There were plenty of times when my son liked him better than he liked me. (I was Bad Cop.) It's hard to disappoint a kid who'd already lost one father. But there was a bigger, more selfish reason: I liked the idea of having companionship, of sharing my home and my life with someone, and (harder to admit) I experienced fear of starting over, or FOSO. 

I doubt I would have ended our relationship if the Universe hadn't stepped in and sent me a text meant for my ex's OTHER girlfriend. (Ouch!) Even then, starting over was rough. 

Thankfully, I have a spiritual practice. I jumpstarted my journaling, meditation, and mindfulness practices and re-engaged my therapist. I took up strength training as a physical outlet. I also enrolled in the spiritual direction course that I had postponed for various reasons. And I reconnected with my network of friends. 

While the pandemic made starting over a challenge, I made a conscious effort to remain curious about what might happen next. And on nights when I felt lost and lonesome, I focused on gratitude to combat resentment and self-pity.

Within a few months, my life was remarkably happier and lighter. My son, although saddened and disappointed by the turn of events, showed a maturity, grace and resiliency that far surpassed his 18 years on the planet. Indeed, my world did not end when my ex moved out. In fact, it opened up to possibilities that surpassed my wildest, idealistic daydreams. 

FOSO no mo'!

A year later —almost to the day — I found myself falling in love with a remarkable man who shares my upbringing, principles, ambition, and positive outlook on life. This would not have been possible if I had not let go of my bitterness and leaned into that early glimmer of hope. There was really nothing to fear. In fact, surrendering to this abrupt do-over gave me the confidence to live in greater alignment with what is truest and best in myself.  

And the Do-Over wasn't over ...

Last week, I resigned my full-time job and jumped back into freelancing. Yes, at age 58, I'm in embracing a Big Do-Over in both career and love and I'm happy to report that taking a leap of faith is life affirming. The good news is that at my (e-hem!) age, I've lived through enough disruptions to know that change yields tremendous opportunity for growth and learning. 

Today, I'm grateful, so very grateful, that the Universe pulled the rug out from under me. And I'm grateful that I didn't immediately try to plant my feet firmly on the ground. "The only time we ever know what's really going on is when the rug's been pulled out and we can't find anywhere to land," Buddhist nun, Pema Chodron writes in her book When Things Fall Apart. "We use these situations either to wake ourselves up or to put ourselves to sleep." This opportunity to reside in "groundlessness", as Chodron calls it is the place where personal growth occurs. 

Humans by our nature want the sure thing. We want people, jobs, cars, electronics and economies that we can rely upon. And we are often disappointed. People are unreliable. Employers are fickle. Cars need repairs. Electronics quit without warning. Economies rise and fall. Nothing is permanent or fixed. As much as we try to deny it, loss is part of life. And when loss occurs we have a choice to start over or become stuck.

Perhaps the way to get unstuck is to not look life as having a start or a finish. Starting over connotes that there was a definitive end. There are never really "endings" —there are only next chapters. 

Today, I'm optimistic about what the future holds. I'm no longer complacent about any aspect of my life. I've also learned an important lesson: There's no such thing as stability when you're standing on a rug! Maybe if I remain groundless in what is truest and best in myself, no floor coverings will be yanked out from under me ever again.

#dooverlife, #fearofstartingover, #FOSO

Post-Pandemic Unpacking

I like to think of life as a journey with guideposts along the way that give us a chance to evaluate, take stock, and regroup before moving along. There are choices to be made before we continue—belongings to pack and unpack. What will we carry with us? 

If ever there was a time to take stock before moving forward, this is it. What will we carry with us? What will we leave behind?

In February 2020, as rumblings of the Corona virus were bantered about by the media, it still seemed a distant threat. Reports from China and Italy were bleak, but I thought, "It can't hurt us here!" (As though US Citizenship makes us immune.) It was foolish and vain. I was in a bubble and that bubble was about to burst. 

Leave it to Thich Nhat Hahn to remind me of reality. 

My good friend Margaret and I planned to attend a retreat at Hahn's meditation site, Magnolia Grove in Batesville, Mississippi. We were both recovering from traumatic losses. Spending four days eating amazingly delicious vegan food, sitting in meditation, and practicing mindfulness seemed just the thing to help us heal. So when an email arrived from Magnolia Grove cancelling the treat due to the pandemic threat, I was incredulous. I thought the good monks and nuns were just being conservative because people traveled from around the world to visit this monastery and they didn't want the liability. 

Foolhardy and a bit desperate for a getaway, Margaret and I kept our date. Instead of spending time at the monastery, sitting in noble silence, contemplating emptiness and meditating, we met in Oxford, stocked up on snacks and wine and held our own private respite. 

In the four days that followed, we watched as the world slowly folded up its doormat and made its own retreat. By the time I returned to Birmingham, the company I worked for had ceased all travel. A few days later, my colleagues in the office were asked to gather up their laptops and go home until further notice. 

Since I already worked remotely, this edict didn't effect me, but it did have an impact. Suddenly EVERYONE was working from home and a thing called "Zoom" became the primary means of communication. Previously, I could write undisturbed for hours on end. Now, my computer sounded like a pinball machine, chiming every few minutes with group Teams messages and endless streams of GIFs. I had to put on make-up and clothes (other than a bathrobe) to attend the video meetings that took the place of good ol' conference calls (remember those?!) 

And when I did venture out to get groceries, I could drive from one end of town to the other without being deterred by traffic. The world was much quieter. There was less airplane traffic and even the interstates were relatively still. The air was markedly clearer and cleaner. What did become congested was my beloved Vulcan Trail, where I walked almost daily. Once a deserted path where I could stroll alone at almost any time of day, was now the town's most popular pandemic activity. 

The hardest part was that we didn't know how long sheltering-in-place would last. There was no precedent for how to navigate a pandemic. As the months went by, the novelty wore off. People finally stopped stockpiling paper goods and ceased hoarding flour and yeast! (Really people, what DID you do with ALL that bread!?) 

And now, a little more than a year later, here we are —spit out into a post-pandemic world. 

As the post-global pandemic world opens up, it might be easy to forget what it was like when we were shut down —for better and for worse. 

A recent excursion to the Saturday morning farmer's market revealed that many people are no longer wearing masks. I assume that the availability of the vaccine has emboldened them. But it seems odd to simply throw down that little strip of cloth that, just a few days ago, was grasped like a binky. Life is returning to the way it was, but is that a good thing? 

Am I ready to leave the mask behind? 

I am looking forward to hugging people with abandon and not being afraid to shake a stranger's hand. I'm looking forward to being unmasked when I go into the grocery store or a restaurant. I'm looking forward to going to the movie theater again and traveling to Europe. But there are many practices that I hope I carry forward long after the threat of this virus has subsided. 

I hope I remember how fragile our eco-systems and economies are and that we are ALL interconnected. I want to remember the feeling I had in the first days of the shut-down as I realized that this disruption that would change the way we did business. There are still so many opportunities to correct unhealthy practices that we've embraced out of laziness. For example, do I really need to fly across country to meet in-person for business? Do I really need to jump in my car and drive to the mall because I'm bored? 

During the height of the pandemic, a greater awareness developed around how our actions impacted other people's health. As practices loosen, it's already hard to believe that Americans were as compliant as we were staying home, donning face masks, shutting down businesses, and curtailing unnecessary travel all because of an invisible (and often deadly) threat. 

There was also social upheaval that —hopefully —left us with a greater consciousness around the issues of race and inequity in our country. Will we remember that, and what we learned from those very dark days? I hope so. 

In many ways, there was an elevation of consciousness when the pandemic was still viewed as a major health crisis. But now that COVID is becoming mundane, will I leave my global concern behind? Will I set aside my appreciation for spending quality time at home with my family? Will I abandon my genuine concern about how my actions directly and indirectly affect other people? Or will I carry forward my gratitude for my health and our earth, and realization of how fragile humanity really is? As I prepare for the next leg of my journey, it's time to decide what to pack.