My intention for 2023 is the word Stable.
I can tell by the absence of writing in here, that I didn't acquire much stability in the last year. I started thinking about what stability means and what it looks like.
Initially I felt stable meant routine and consistency. I crave that. I imagine if I can just know where I'm going and what I'm doing, I won't feel so frantic, time will slow down, I can find time for stillness.
Reality hits when I realize that my life at this stage doesn't flow with routine. There are some things that are the same each week, but many things that are in flux. The ideation that some day things will clear up and schedules will settle is truly just a fantasy.

After a flurry of instability and exhaustion leading into the New Year, something about January and February became stable. It wasn't routine. I didn't end up going to the gym every Monday and Thursday like I imagined. There are still weekly events and projects that chip away or plow through any consistency.
Instead, I signed up for 2 courses, one was 4 weeks, one was 6. Even that consistency got blown up with a snow storm and a covid closure. Still, I had to be at a certain place at a certain time every week, and I paid for it. Both these courses were immensely nourishing to me. Both things are activities I can do on my own, without signing up for a class. How can I keep this going? How do I prioritize things that nourish me?
AGAIN I want to stick things on the schedule. Me, someone that can't even remember to take a vitamin every day, want's to try to force a routine.

Instead, I go back to the word stable.
1. Stable, as a place to live, a home. I love my home, I will use my word stable as a reminder that is where I want to prioritize my time. There are so many things I enjoy about home, as a collection of projects (neverending) as a place to share with my family, as a place to rest and relax. I want to remember that I want to be home, in my stable.

2. Stable from the words "to stand," or more closely, "a standing place." Close to the meaning of "steadfast" and "to make firm," but not quite. I wanted to make a lock-tight stability based routine. But now I want to make a standing place. (Or more-so a sitting place). At the beginning of each week I try to sit and perceive the week ahead. I write things down, in no particular order. I categorize some things, I have lists, I have sketches, I have whatever I can sense coming my way in activities, in ideas, in things I want to look up, things I want to let go. I write it all down, and I sit a little bit in my standing place. In my stable.

It's mid-march. January intentions are easily dissolved by this time of year, but even the forgotten ones can still be revived. A stable can continuously be built and abandoned and reconstructed. Here's how I think about building a mindful stable:

1. Clear a space, mentally to do the sitting (or standing).
Yes, it's optimal to do it the same time same day each week, but practice an abundance of forgiveness if that doesn't happen in your timeline of chaos.

2. Visualize your week (or day, or month)
This is the part where I like to write things down, but you don't need to! Simply bringing to mind what's happening, what's ahead, where is your head all helps. Let EVERYTHING come to you, don't push any thoughts aside, or think they aren't good enough for your stable.

3. Sit with it.
When you think pretty much everything has come through (or you wrote it all down). Just sit. Sit with your eyes closed, and don't try to do anything. Don't try to plan or coordinate or insist. Let all the ideas and schedules integrate and clear away. Give yourself a moment.

4. You're done!
You can do whatever you want with this sitting session. You can put parts of it in your to-do list or you can communicate relevant parts to others. You can burn it all in a ritual fire. Your stable is not in the writing or the ideas or the thoughts, it's in the sitting.

Five years ago my partner and I started a backyard prairie. My education in prairie tending is slowly progressing, and one of my favorite things is to look for young plants arriving in the spring. I love to go searching for happy little bursts of life after a long Wisconsin winter (this is fun out in the kettles, too!). Every year I recognize a few more plants in their baby-state. Early spring growth often starts out reddish purple because of all the sugars needed to sustain growth this time of year. They are chock full of potential, and taking the brave step to poke out of the ground on cold, wet, and windy days. Spring 2022 has had a slow start, this has been a practice in patience and anticipation.

I think most of my life I spent anticipating what's next, which makes it very challenging to be present in the moment. Typically, if I'm waiting for something to happen I go deep into imagining what it will be like, I am living in the future, future conversations, future ideas, future results or consequences. I will sometimes plunge myself into preparation, which can build into worry and anxiety. Or if it's a good thing coming, I will say things like "I can't wait to see you!" When I'm being mindful, I'll say something like "I'm excited to see you" or "looking forward to it!" I don't want to wish away time, and I don't want to live in the future  place of my mind that isn't appreciating time where I am right now.

These little sprouts are the embodiment of anticipation. They are full of all the potential growth to become a tall prairie plant that grows above my head. It's easy to dream of long summer days and the season of lush growth and bountiful flowers, but this is where it starts: Small little purple leaves pushing through the damp spring soil and emerging past the dried stalks of last year. I'll try to be mindful of this moment: appreciate the courage it takes to be small, experience the excitement of starting fresh and start to emerge myself out of my own dormant winter.

What are you anticipating?
Are you a patient observer, or do you like to cut to the chase?
What helps get through the long drawn out stretches of cold rainy days?
Are you chock full of potential and ready to strike out into spring, or do you need some more time to prepare?

February was Self-Care month at the Yoga Co-op. The lesson in self care is always that one needs to have something in their own cup before sharing with others. It often comes with misguided feelings of being selfish or feeling guilty for doing something for yourself. But it is nearly always the opposite. Those that would feel guilty when taking time for self-care are typically people that care for others 95% of the time. It could be at home or at work or both, most people are in service of others, whether they want to be or not. But one cannot give if they have nothing left to give. And how often do we get to the bottom of the barrel, feeling fried, or frayed, or afraid of even looking at oneself in the mirror. Someone in that condition cannot effectively give care to others. 
Unfortunately, a lot of self-care takes work. There's effort in spending time or spending money or spending energy organizing what needs to happen in order to feel taken care of. There is even the figuring out of what DOES make one feel taken care of. And it doesn't always look like a spa-day or a beach retreat. Sometimes balancing your budget is self care. Cleaning out a closet is self care. Making a doctor's appointment, or a mechanic appointment, or a therapy appointment might be self care. 

​I knew what my self care for February was going to be, but I did not know how profoundly cared for it would make me feel!
I enrolled in a 6 week clay class that started in February and ends next week. I got registered before all the spots were filled (no small task) I paid for it. I arranged childcare. And I committed. I didn't set a lot of expectations for myself, except to enjoy my time. It has been wonderful to get my hands in some "mud" as they say, even in the dead of winter. It has been wonderful to interact with a whole set of classmates outside of my isolation chamber. It has also been wonderful that the social contract begins and ends on Wednesday mornings--we're all there to enjoy our time and then we can say "see you next week."
I love creating things. This has been a really satisfying form of self-care, which makes it all more meaningful than things that are "supposed to" be good for me.  The first thing I made were these little boats. I'll imagine filling them up with any little thing that nurtures me, including the memory of making them,

What makes you feel cared for? 
What does it feel like when your cup is full?
Do you have self-care in your routine in some way or another?

I bought myself a piano for Christmas. Well, it was a gift for "the family", but I bought it with the intention for me to play again. For me to practice again.
I'm really grateful my parents signed me up for lessons when I was just 6 or 7. I took lessons all the way through senior year. It was something I enjoyed, it was something I felt I was good at. That is, until the new kid in 3rd grade showed up. He was (and still is) a virtuoso, and he blew everyone away. I was a little shocked and a lot jealous at his ability to sit down and bang out tunes, fully memorized and emotive and fun. 
My innermost third grader self knew: I'll never be that. I'm not a performer, and I'm not all that fun when I take something seriously. But if not to have fun, I really enjoy to play, for myself. I enjoy learning to play. And now that I'm just an adult in my own house, and with a keyboard that I can turn the volume down low or put in headphones--I can play for myself more than ever before. 
As I start again in a mindful practice, I find it so helpful to be practicing something like an instrument along side mindfulness in the day-to-day. It is such a reminder of how to practice, and to feel the skills improve, and the muscle memory set in, and to know that everything about being a mindful, compassionate and grateful human also takes practice, and builds muscle memory, and it gets easier, though there will always be hard days in between.

My piano practice looks different from when I was a kid. I'm not taking lessons, and I'm selecting my own method books. I'm not preparing for a recital. It is now nearly impossible to play an entire song without some sort of distraction. Though that is frustrating, it is very akin to meditation in that way. And just like meditation, I am reminded to start again. 

Do you have anything you practice that has a lot of method to it? Whether it's scales or athletic drills, there's a lot of value to repetition, to getting good at the basics, and to give a practice your full attention. Perhaps there is something you used to do that you could try again, or you want to learn something entirely new. There's no expectation to it, no one has to be born with skills in order to enjoy doing something, or even to become good at something.

Good luck!

I turned 35 this week. 🎈 It's not a milestone birthday. I feel neither young nor old. I don't know that I've put a lot of weight around birthdays, except for when I turned seven, because that was the year I decided I could be brave enough to go down the 3 foot slide that threw kids into the lake. Nevertheless, birthdays are nice times for reflection, as is the turn of the new year.

I'm reminded of the mental exercise to imagine your own funeral. Some people imagine their 90th birthday party, which is a little more cheery, and a little more within the theme of birthdays. But, maybe some of us all already 90, or some of us don't like big birthday parties. So, the funeral exercise is not about designing your funeral, picking the music or the readings or the menu. It's for perspective in what people will remember about you and your life.

I like to imagine the afterparty, instead of the funeral itself. Beyond the formality of a eulogy and the tears of a service, there is often a lot of cherished memories shared over a cup of coffee or a glass of champagne. (Do people generally have champagne at their funerals, or only a lucky few? )

This year I experienced a really distinct change when I revisited this exercise. Many years ago, I remember writing about what I had done, accomplishments, success stories, like a legacy. What did I contribute to the world? What was my impact? People talked about how well I treated the planet, and probably said something about my mindfulness empire, and changing people's lives for the better.

Now, I am longing for people at my funeral to say things like, "Kaitlynn was always having such a good time!" and "She really enjoyed her time here on Earth." They're not talking about what I did at all, just that I had fun doing it.

So I'm now working on enjoying my time. I'm slowly trying to incorporate activities I truly love to do. I'm putting less pressure around accomplishments and perfection and things that don't matter all that much. It's a fine line, because I do really enjoy being productive, but it's so easy for productivity to be tied to the stress of getting things done, and I'm being mindful of letting that go.

What will people say about you at your funeral (or your birthday party when you're really old)? Will they remember things you've done? How you treated them? The grudges you held? Your beliefs? The potluck dish you always brought? The twinkle in your eye?

We had to say goodbye to a beloved part of our household this week. Grief and loss affect everyone so differently and at different times. There are countless mindfulness practices around those topics, but what keeps coming to mind today is a loving-kindness practice.

The Metta meditation is a buddhist practice of sending positive energy outward and directing it towards others. But how do you send out positive energy if you can't find any? What happens when you are so low and so dark that there's simply nothing to give?

This is where pets come in. I always remember while teaching a yoga training, one of the trainees lead a loving kindness meditation,and offered this tip: First, bring to mind someone that is easy to love, someone that you instantly feel a warm feeling of loving kindness, if no one come to mind, perhaps a pet, notice the feeling of loving kindness that arises when you bring you think of your pet.

It happened to be at a time when I was harboring a lot of resentment, frustration, disappointment. And anger, probably was in there too. And when I thought of my pet I felt none of that, or I did, but the pet was like a balm, that only wanted to be near me and let me know that everything would be okay.

We can learn so much about unconditional love from our pets. At that same time I was reading a book about attachment theory, and it referred to pets being a great model of a secure attachment. In a relationship with a pet both of you are allowed to make mistakes and still feel loved. You step on a tail, your pet destroys your favorite sweater, neither party will hold a grudge or resentment, at least not for very long. Neither you nor your pet assumes the other behaves in a way that intentionally hurts or overlooks the other. We typically engage with warmth and kindness, even if we had a bad day,Yes, in the way we love our animals, but also in the ways our animals demonstrate love. 

You may not think animals have the capacity to love like we do, and that's fine (?) It's true they may not experience the complexities of relationships the same way as humans. But they are so good at showing up for you. They are an embodiment of comfort. Their reassuring presence follows you through some of life's most challenging or abrupt changes, and every day they will be there for you. And you will be there for them.

Loving Kindness Practice:
Sit comfortably and rest your eyes.
Bring to mind a beloved pet, or an animal that you have known and loved.
Notice the feeling of warmth or light that arises when you give this beloved creature your full attention. Maybe it's the the feeling of a smile when you greet each other, or the feeling of a sigh when they put their head on your lap,or the feeling of comfort being tucked in at night. Your pet is personal to you, so bring them into full detail and notice the response you feel in your body. That response is Loving Kindness.
Imagine the Loving Kindness as a light that might start as a small feeling you recognize in one part of your body, perhaps around your heart. Begin to breathe into that feeling, and imagine the light spreading slowly with each breath. Breath by breath, the light can spread across your body, until you are alight in Loving Kindness, even if that light is very dim.
If you lose some of that feeling, redirect your attention back to your pet.
If you are able to imagine the light growing fuller and brighter and feeling more Loving Kindness within yourself, continue to let that feeling grow, breath by breath.
Sit in that feeling of loving kindness for a minute or two, or as long as it might last.

In the more expanded version of this practice, we send the Loving Kindness outward. But for this practice, in honoring pets present, and pets past, keep that Loving Kindness within you and your beloved.
If you recently lost an animal, it can feel like you will never experience this light again, but for now you have to find the light in a memory. Be open to feeling it and recognizing it in the future, because even in the heaviness of grief there is light.

These two practices serve different purposes, but they can also work together. We clear space out of a cluttered schedule or idea list, and then zoom in on the things we want to prioritize.
If you don't know this about me, I love etymology. If I bristle at an ugly word like 'business,' I look it up, give it some context, some history, and I often (not always) feel more compassion for the word. This works for people, too, by the way. 

Business: 
Old English bisignes 
14th century "care, anxiety, diligence,"  "state of being much occupied or engaged" 
late 16th century. "what one is about at the moment" 
17th century, "matters which occupy one's time and attention." 

Now this has turned into a practice of setting intentions.

A Mindful Business Practice
As if you were in the business of being you,
use a pen and paper and ask yourself:

• What are my core values?
• What is my vision?
• What is my mission statement?
• What do I need to do to do to follow through on my mission statement, vision and core values?

The answer to the last question is your business. It is what occupies your time. It is how you engage in your day. It's what you're about at the moment. And anytime you meet yourself at the moment, you are practicing mindfulness.
If you feel stuck on any of the questions, you can look up prompts for how businesses bring together ideas. It might start as just a list of words or phrases that are meaningful to you, and eventually you create a coherent and succinct sentence. I'm still working on mine, here: Kaitlynn's Mission
You can write out your business, pin it somewhere you will see it, or memorize the contents. When a decision comes your way, and you're not sure the course of action: how do you adhere to your mission? When you have a message that's been waiting for a response: what will maintain your core values? When you have some free time in your schedule: What activity will follow your vision? (Or is it the absence of activity?)

Last year I had an intention of creating space. Funny enough, this relates to a lost word: busiless, ("At leisure; without business; unemployed.") A Mindful Busiless Practice might be more pertinent to you right now, that's okay!! For me, I needed to clear away excess, to figure out priorities, and conserve energy whenever possible. It took the whole year to feel any significant progress, but now that I can see a little bit of clearing, I decided I'm ready to mindfully add business in the things that I truly value.

A Mindful Busiless Practice

• What can I let go of? (physical, mental, or emotional activities)
• What part of my day can I intentionally reserve to do nothing?
• What activities help me to feel calm or clear, and can I reserve space to do nothing before or after? (hiking, running, playing music, reading, journaling, yoga, doing dishes, etc.)
• Set a timer for 2-10 minutes and literally do absolutely nothing until that timer goes off.
  

I've never made a blog before. I do not find myself too great at consistency. It's easy for me to start something....and then never return: Vitamin regimens, Gratitude journals, cleaning out my car--all started, never completed. Here is another start.

I am just now putting together this site, a representation of myself, in a way, myself as a business. You can read a bit of how I feel about that in my first newsletter as a ReInvented Business Yogi Person. Or maybe that newsletter brought you here.  The intention of these writings is to share thoughts about mindfulness, but I will be upfront and say this is not fully fleshed out.

My life is in a bit of disarray, not all components have a through-line, nothing feels level, and I think that is a perfect perspective in order to share mindfulness. No one needs mindfulness tips from someone that's got it all together. It is WAY too easy to tell people to manage their stress by simply  having less stress when you don't currently have some of life's biggest stressor's in your immediate daily life. (Caring for another adult or child, moving, changing jobs, separation, loss of a loved one, financial/housing/food instability,  only to name a few.)

So to those who interact with me in my yoga-teaching world and think, wow, she's got it all figured out, I do not. For those who have asked, or wanted to ask, "do you ever get stressed?" I do, I can feel stress, even at this very moment, an extraordinarily rare moment where I am in my own home by myself, quiet, a thought to myself, and yet, still a bit  of stress coursing through my veins. 

In closing, I'd like to add that,not only do I not have a practice of writing consistently, I also do not read consistently, I have never continuously followed an author, a blogger, a journalist or an artist of any kind, really. I have no idea who might be reading this. But, to whoever might find their way to my corner of the internet, hello. I hope you always feel welcomed here, I will continue to write, in honesty, and hopefully in kindness.
Until next time,
Kaitlynn