Self Doubt Can Suck It

In my first days of practicing yoga, I was consumed with self-doubt.  Everyone on the mat was better than me. Surely they were laughing at me, that annoyingly accomplished clique in the corner.  I would never stick my foot behind my head. I was shit.

I recognized the self-hatred silliness in it enough to persevere and pursue teaching, which of course brought up more self doubt.  Again and again I've been confronted with this girl who shadows my fabulous self.  You know her—she's the one who always gets it right; makes magic with the flip of her wand, flips her hair in slow motion and never, ever has anything stuck in her teeth.  In other words, my own mythical unicorn.  In reality, however, I stand (in my self doubting mind) before the world with matted hair, with my foot in my mouth (rather than elegantly behind my head), and probably on the floor because I've just fallen over.  I want to beat my shadow self senseless.


Yet, she never goes away.  I can't push her to the back of the closet, or excise her from my being anymore than I can excise my own shadow. And trust me.  I have tried.


Fast forward to today and I receive an email offering me a teaching opportunity which will expose me to a much broader audience.  Guess who wants to respond to the email?  You guess it—self doubt girl.  Why does she always show up at the worst times? My own personal Tom Riddle/Voldemort in a school of talented wizards.  Here I am, right where I started all those years ago.  Have I made no progress at all?  Well, I have, but not in the way I had originally hoped.  I figured that the more I lived my yoga, the less of the awkward self-loathing girl we'd see.  She'd vanish into vapor.  Apparently not so much.  Fabulous.


What actually happened over the past ten years, was that I learned (from John Friend and Douglas Brooks) that I can't (and shouldn't try) to get rid of my shadow self. It is as much a part of me as my highest self.  To shove part of myself away, because it's unattractive diminishes my power for growth.  A LOT.  Douglas Brooks teaches us that the brighter your light, the darker, denser and longer your shadow is.  It's attached to you.  Get it? It is you.

So what to do?  What to do?  The answer, which really works for me, is to welcome it in.  Offer my acceptance of the shadowy, dark and awkward parts of myself.  Radical.  Imagine if Tom Riddle had been welcomed into the fold? Self-acceptance has that much potential.  Those "shadows" are nothing other than me.  What I do with them is where the real magic occurs.  Remember how his mothers love enveloped and protected Harry when he challenged the great all powerful evil?  It's like that.  If I can't accept the darkness, then I also can't fully accept the light. Dorky girl and fabulous girl need to become BFFs.


This may the most challenging part of yoga for me. Self acceptance of those parts of myself that are not so lovely does NOT come easy.  I am lonely Tom Riddle consumed by darkness and I am Harry enveloped in the bright light of love.  I can't stand on either side of the fight because they're both me.   Self doubt (or whatever your own shadow call themselves) will always be there.  There will always be shadows next to light.  And the compassionate embrace of love and acceptance envelopes that darkness and actually allows you to shine brighter.  Good luck.  Don't forget your wand.  You're going to need it.

Compassion in Action

For someone who moves very quickly through things, the effect and lessons of the Anusara Grand Circle have been sticking around like dandelions in the yard of my head. (Don't tell anyone, but I love dandelions.)  Someone gave me a description of ahimsa as an unwillingness to do harm to yourself or others.  Ooh, I've been thinking about this non-stop.  Unwillingness to do harm to myself.  This ties in to the idea of the spiritual circle (read a few blogs back for that thought) and what you will allow in to the spaces closest to your heart.  I recently drew a "goals" circle on paper.  Guess what?  More suffering was not in the circle.  I am unwilling to allow things that harm me into my circle.  

Taking that a step further has brought me to thinking of compassion with the same intent.  If compassion is the act of relieving suffering, then to practice on myself, I must refuse to allow suffering within my self.  Just as I won't let harmful things into my circle, I am unwilling to allow suffering in.  John Friend has often said to us that pain is a fact, but suffering is optional.  Read it again. Pain is a fact, but suffering is optional.  You know?  I didn't know that.  I thought they were the same thing.  and they're not.  If something's optional, I have a choice.  I can practice my new favorite virtue:  taking responsibility.  Here's where the theory gets powerful in practice.  If there is suffering in the inner sanctum of my heart, then I have allowed it to be there.  Me.  No one else.  Uh-oh.  What have I done?  Yet, I can do something about it.

On a daily basis, we forget that our hearts are not suffering.  Our hearts are free and joyful.  Un-suffering. I have recently committed to living in service.  Mostly, I practice that by serving my family and community.  Recently, Scott Marmorstein  (incredibly gifted energy worker and author) said "Set your self straight first, and watch whatever happens to the world with love and compassion." I choose to set myself straight with compassion.

If there's one thing I've learned from helping others, is that you have to be strong to relieve pain.  To be strong enough to hold a space of healing and growth.  This is not for the feint of heart.  If, as Scott recommends, you start with yourself, then getting stronger my starting point. Gurumayi once said that it takes great strength to have a soft heart.  If I'm uncommitted or forgetful of my un-suffering heart, then I encircle that light in darkness.  I can't allow that.  If I live in compassionate remembrance of the light of love within, then I must also commit to revealing that light through my choices and actions. that takes diligent commitment that I must uphold.

I invite you to make a compassionate commitment to your un-suffering heart.  Build strength.  Stay in remembrance, and be unwavering in your commitment to compassion in action.  Live in service of your own heart.  Start with you and then watch what happens to the world around you.

Hanuman? Really?

It's not that I don't like Hanuman.  I do.  Really.  I mean, who doesn't like monkeys?  It's just that I've always been a Kali/Durga kind of girl.  With a little Ganesha sprinkled in (I mean, who doesn't like elephants?).  So, when I was at the Anusara Grand Circle at Wanderlust, I took Kenny Graham's Hanuman class because I really wanted to play with hamstrings and hanumanasana.  I wasn't looking for a change of heart (if you'll pardon the pun.)  But, as they say, "Life is like a ...." Well, you get the picture.  

As the class began, Kenny talked about the Hanuman story, which I knew, and we got moving.  My heart had already been blown wide open over the previous three days by John, Hareesh, Elena, and the powerful Solstice.  I was ripe for the picking, apparently.  At the end of the class, we had kirtan, chanted for Hanuman and that was the end of me.  My  heart ripped open, and I saw the entire universe within.  Ok, well, not literally, but it was that big of an opening.  You get the picture.  Tears. Smiles. Embarrassment.  When the entire room broke out into dervish riot, I hopped up, and joined in, laughing at myself for feeling self conscious, and dancing away anyway.  How could I possibly feel so much joy?  How could my heart feel so open?  The kirtan got completely out of control, and the sweetest moment came when Kenny simply looked at us and said, "Oops, sorry about your savasana," which was nowhere to be seen. It was perfect.

All the next week, I felt blown open and full of joy.  So I tested this hold Hanuman had on me.  I chanted on my own.  Tears. Joy. Busted open heart.  Hmmm.  Let's try it while driving.  Tears.  Joy. Again, you get the picture.

Ok, maybe you don't pick your ishta-devata.  Maybe it picks you. Clearly, I've got to look into this relationship.

In the Ramayana, to demonstrate his devotion, Hanuman rips his heart open to show that indeed, Sita and Rama are within.  If Sita and Rama are fabled embodiments of Shiva and Shakti, then the entire universe is within his heart. 
So simple.  By serving Rama, Hanuman serves the world and all its potential.  Likewise, if we serve our hearts with the qualities of constant remembrance, fierce devotion and steadfastness, then we too serve the world.  When my heart expands, the universe expands.  When I remain loyal and dedicated to deepest self, my heart opens up. 

What I love about the Hanuman stories are that no matter the task, his intention is simple.  Serve Rama.  So much of life really is simple if we remember what's important to us.  It's just not always easy.  But it's really worth doing. 
 
This might be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

More Circles...

At the Anusara Grand Circle at Wanderlust, John talked about how simple the sacred circle can be in terms of what you invite into your sacred space and what you leave outside, with loving spaciousness.  And it truly was that simple for me.  (read my last blog?  See? Simple.)  These initial teachings from John have impacted me with their grace and simplicity.  And as all things of Grace do, this has been  unfolding into a grand contemplation of how the idea of the sacred circle fits into my life.  When I looked back on my notes, I realized that he also talked about the bindu, the most minute, focused center point deep within the heart.  So I guess if the center of my world, the center of the circle, is in my heart, is must be a point of love.  Stands to reason then that anything within my circle is within the realm of love. 

So how can I overlay the Universal Principles of  Alignment onto that?  How can I take a simple but powerful concept and make it real in my life and meditations?  The way I took it in, Open to Grace, is my system of remembrance of the bindu.  It's a fierce, embracing remembrance of love.  Then, I use muscular energy as a technology to strengthen the heart and its circle. I have to get strong so that I can hold more love, and also be strong enough to hold that which is outside my circle on the other side.  Organic energy is the she-who-will-not-be-denied will of the heart to grow and expand.  When I grow, my boundaries grow, and as they reach, in love, so far from me, I realize that everything is encompassed in love.  And eventually, the boundaries themselves dissolve and I see and feel only love.

I'm not strong enough to hold it all the time, but I've gotten beautiful glimpses of the hrdyam, the truest of hearts, and it hasn't failed yet to rip my heart open like Hanuman and bring me to tears of joy.  I can use the practice in meditation and asana to stay fully commited to the path of love.  Now that's some serious magic.

What's in your circle?

I hardly know where to begin.  I'm just back from the Anusara Grand Circle in Vermont. And as promised, my batteries are recharged for the next cycle.  I feel replenished and invigorated.  Not only by the masterful teachings of John Friend, Hareesh Wallis, Bill Mahoney, Elena Brower and the many talented teachers at the gathering, but also by the friends I reunited with, the beautiful mountains, and not least, the incredible Solstice.  Over the upcoming weeks and months, my little black book of insights will make the rounds as the basis of all that I offer in my teaching.  The beauty of taking such deeply insightful classes, for me, is that I get to offer them back out, and in turn, absorb them once again and more deeply.

If I were to try to fully unfold all that I was offered, it would be a complete mess, much like the dumping out of my suitcase all over my bed.  So it will have to eke it's way out over the next few months.  Don't miss class; there are some incredible gems in there.  Yet,  I can tell you're already itching for a little something—

The biggest gift I walked away from this week with, was an image of a circle.  One that surrounds, enlivens and protects you.  This is truly a sacred circle.  Traditions for eons have been using the circle as a sacred delineation of what is inside and closest to our hearts.  And also, by definition of the circle as a boundary, a delineation of things we choose to keep farther away. 

Through the ever refining practice of yoga (in all it's forms) we skillfully choose what we wish to put in our circles.  This is a very powerful image and unbelievably tactile and useful to me.  If I envision every choice, every interaction, every internal conversation as something that's either in or out, then I can be clear about my actions and the energies I surround myself with. Do I really want thoughts of being "less" in my circle?  Do I want to clutter up my space with negativity and pessimism?  Is that what I want to be supported by?  John was very clear with his wishes for us.  He told us that when we see our own "cloakings", we should just drop it.  Just like that.  If it's not in my circle by my own choice, I'm dropping it.  Sounds deceptively simple.  And that might just be the beauty of it.  Why do our life choices have to be so complicated? The situations themselves might be complex, but within the sacred circle of our hearts, it's quite simple.  Does this choice, decision, cigarette, person, serve my growth and expansion?  That's not often a hard choice. 

I have so much more for you all, and in time, it will be revealed (to me as much as to you!) but for now, I invited you to draw your own heart's circle and under the bright light of this week's full sun, figure out exactly what you want in there, and with gratitude, treasure the circle you've built in the form of your own life. 

The Rising Of The Light

One of the loveliest sanskrit words I know (and there are not many) is Purnatva.  It means fullness.  But not just fullness in terms that the glass is full of water. It's a fullness of the heart.  One that allows us to feel contented, blissful and operating at our highest.  Doesn't that sound like a place you'd like to live?  

As we approach solstice here in the awe inspiring Hudson Valley, a truly magical place to live, the rising of the sun is met by the rising of the mountains.  This Tuesday will be the brightest, longest, fullest day of the year and there is magic in that. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rfs4WzFwb-4 The veils between you and the Divine are thinned, and you can place your "bets" for the upcoming season.  Ooh, I got me some big plans.  As we approach the day of purnatva, this is a magic auspicious time to reach for our own highest, fullest potentials.  It's time to ask for the very sun and then devote our hearts to it.  So, I ask you: What are you capable of?  What is your highest aspiration and potential?  Now is not the time to hide in the shadows, because come Tuesday, there won't be any shadows in the corridors of your heart.  Solstice is a sacred, turn your whole being to the sun, wish for the entire world kind of day.  What are you willing to reach for? How much do you want it?  What are you willing to do about it?  Think about it.  Get back to me.

@anusara @grandcircle

Bring it.

The process of teaching, for me, aside from being lots of fun, is always an opportunity to receive as much as I give.

Years ago, I observed Ross Rayburn training teachers on what to do when you don't feel like teaching.  Maybe you're sad or distracted.  I remember that lesson because today, as I walked in to teach my first class, I was in a fun, a nasty little viper pit or depression, worry and negativity.  I'm not prone to these moods, so I can get pretty far into them before I can recognize them.  So as I grumpily drove to teach, I just wanted to go home and go to bed.  I also knew that the best thing I could do was to teach.  I remembered Ross' clear advice to the trainees.  Buck up and bring it.  Leave your stuff at the door and serve your students.  Right.  And away we go.

Fast forward an house and a half later, and 8 people are on the floor, absorbing their practices and my teachings.  So was I.  I had taught on the power of our core.  That we should seek to know what is true for us when everything else is stripped away, like trees in winter.  What is it that holds up, like tree trunks, when everything moves around us?  With the students in savasana, and nothing more to say, I had time to contemplate just that. And then, by the process of my own contemplation, I opened the floodgates and in rushed powerful remembrance of the truths of my heart.  I am held up, as as we all are, by Shiva  and Shakti, by the creative power of the universe and the very power of existence.  Oh, right.  Isn't that what I wanted my students to get?  To know intimately the power of their own existence?  I needed that lesson, too, I guess.  I'm so glad I followed Ross' advice, brought my best, and left all the other stuff at the door.  I feel better and am endlessly grateful for the teachings of Tantra that remind me that I am never without.  That I am never alone.  And that showing up for life is always the right choice.

What's so Painful about Sparkles?

I have a student that I will call "Sparkles." Anyone who practices at my studio immediately knows who this student is. There's no missing her. She's tall, blond, has two giant full moon blue eyes, and is about the sweetest person you'd ever want to meet. It's almost hard to believe she's for real, under all that generosity, concern and fierce loyalty. But she is. And the best part is that she really does sparkle. Everything she wears has a touch of bedazzle on it. People have, on occasion, applauded when she walks into the studio. Resistance is futile. She's about the brightest spot in my field of vision whenever I'm lucky enough to have her around.

A few weeks ago, Sparkles told me a story about a colleague who intentionally pissed her off and behaved aggressively to her. When Sparkles confronted this woman (I was so proud of her for standing up for herself), said colleague explained that she was glad that she was the one to make her mad because she was too cheery all the time. She didn't believe Sparkles could be that happy and be for real. Now maybe we all live in a sheltered yogic paradise where we find this motive unfathomable, but really—WTF? Someone went out of her way to dampen the light of a sparkle-y star and was pleased with herself about it. Proud even.

So here's my question. Why would a person want to dampen something that illuminates their surroundings? Why are there people like that? What's the deal with that? So I've been thinking about it.

What I've come up with is that for residents of twilights, greys, shadows and darks, the light is actually painful for them. It's like turning on the overhead light when you're dead asleep and being momentarily blinded. To feel compassion for these folks is the yogic way, of course, but for me, it doesn't stop there. That's the easy answer (although not necessarily easy to execute.) What I find most interesting was the response of Sparkles. She refused to be diminished by that woman's efforts and stood tall in her own light.

Because it's her truest nature to shine brightly, she can only do that. When we reside in our own personal truths and light, even darkness cannot dampen us. There will always be people who find the light of truth and beauty to be painful. It crops up as anger, pettiness, jealousy and avarice. Through world history and through our own personal histories, I'm sure you can find no shortage of examples. But I take Sparkles as my own example. Shine with authenticity, no matter what, like a lighthouse reaching out into the darkness. That kind of light is so bright that not even the darkest intentions can dampen it. I might even have to bedazzle something as a reminder.

Re-gifting as the highest offering.

Re-gifting gets a bad reputation as something to be avoided-something we only sheepishly cop to. But Bernadette got me thinking about the gifts we offer of ourselves last week, so I started thinking about it all from a Tantric perspective. At this point in my life, I'm pretty sure that I can't think of it any other way. Tantra teaches us that re-gifting is exactly the action of the Grace of this world. Each of us has come into this world complete with gifts, parts, instructions and all. While we spend a lifetime figuring out how to put it all together (I'm kind of sure my instructions came in Swahili,) we refine what we are and what we have to offer from ourselves. Get it? We receive gifts from the Source and then we offer them back out. We re-gift them. Isn't that easy?

Now, to take it a little deeper, you may say, "but I didn't ask for these gifts. Am obligated to participate in this exchange?" And the answer is emphatically-No. You don't even have to acknowledge your gifts if you so choose. But herein lies the rub, the gifts are still there. In your heart. Do with them what you will. Ignore them, shove them under the bed, or sweetly offer them back out. That's what makes it a gift of Grace. You didn't ask for it, you can't really repay it (not that it's expected,) and the more you pass it on, re-gift it, the more you have. The beauty of this elegant system is that the more you partake of and engage with your own gifts, the more you will have to offer. You don't give it away and get left with nothing. Grace is way smarter than that.

All of the gifts aren't lined up under your metaphorical tree, waiting for you to unwrap and assemble them for the offering, though. Sometimes we have to go searching for them, like I make my kids do for their birthday presents every year. (It's a little torturous for them, I admit, but it teaches them perseverance and the joy of discovery! And it's kinda fun for me too.) But knowing that what you give away of yourself will refill the well abundantly, isn't it worth the effort? It can be painful to give away things that we think will leave us without. No one wants to be without. But when we learn that it's really the opposite, that we receive more than we could ever give away, it becomes an exercise in abundance and gratitude. Now that's a gift worth assembling.

A step back from the Apocalypse: The Three Gunas

Recently, a student told me that my classes were apocalyptic. Yikes. I think he was saying it lovingly, but point taken anyway. I guess I've had a rough month and have really been indulging in the darker side of the practice. In and of itself, darkness isn't a problem. It's just one side of a spectrum of light. I guess my students have been wondering about the lighter side of the spectrum, because today, another student asked me about joy. Could I talk about how to cultivate joy? Ok, I can take a hint. I will take a step back from my apocalyptic blinders and gratefully offer a practice that is more balanced. I'm so grateful for my students for dragging me back from the edge every now and then. It begins like this:


Just because you can, doesn't mean you should (as in, just because there's a whole pie on the counter doesn't mean you should eat the whole thing.) Availability shouldn't be the sole criteria for cultivating joy. Likewise, just because something is hard, doesn't mean you should avoid it. There are many lights in the dark spots that will help us navigate our way.

We meet extremes on both ends of the spectrum, and they have names. On the dark end of the spectrum, we have Tamas. It's heavy, weighty, and oh so dark. On the other side of our spectrum, we have Rajas, which is light and fiery.

Now, Rajas and Tamas, like two ends of a see-saw, have a middle point. A point of delicate balance where both sides balance each other out. This point is called Sattva. Sattva is the middle point of the spectrum that has all the perspective to see out to the edges. It's the place where joy and contentment arise gracefully. Have you ever sat on a see-saw? I remember that the first thing my partner and I would do, would be to shimmy forward and back, until we found the point of balance—that sweet spot where you could both balance your 40 pound bodies on the board and lift your feet off the ground. It was magical and always fleeting. Sattva often appears like that. When we find the balance between the Rajasic and Tamasic energies, we balance in Sattva. It's sweet. It doesn't always last, but we always remember it and continue to seek it. Seeking balance is a practice of awareness that requires steadfastness, determination, and compassion. It's exactly the cultivation of these practices that are the act of cultivating joy. Joy doesn't just drop in your lap. You have to work at it. (When we live in that place of joy, we eventually move even beyond sattva. But that's a whole other blog.)

If our viewpoints or actions are off center though, mired in the polar ends of the spectrum of sattvic light, we can't see the dharma, or the most life enhancing choices. We can't see all the way to the other end. When we're in the middle, however, we balance between the opposite ends of the spectrum. As seekers of the sattvic middle, we can't avoid the ends, or we throw the whole thing off balance. Kind of like one kid abruptly getting off the board and sending the other one flying to the ground. Not much fun, I assure you.

Now that I've stepped back from my apocalyptic ledge, I feel a little closer to the middle.

Little Silver Charm

As I spent a weekend in Florida, away from my husband, children and friends, I knew that I should enjoy the responsibility-free time, being grateful for uninterrupted breakfasts and only having to wipe my own nose. It's amazing how the little details of life increase in importance once they're gone. Instead, I felt like Dorothy in the middle of Munchkin land, a complete anomaly who no one knew quite what to do with lest I drop another house out of the sky. This surely wasn't Cold Spring. Over the three days I visited my grandfather with the women of my family, I may have even clicked my flip-flops together a few times and muttered my own personal mantra, "Let me go home, where people don't think I'm weird."

Somewhere in the distance between New York and Florida, I gained enough perspective on my life, to find not only deep gratitude for my present life in and of itself, but I also to acknowledge the fact that this wonderful life was one I had created not been born into by chance or karma. I couldn't look into a snow-globe glass at my own life without marveling at how well it fit who I was at that very moment. For the first time in my life, I felt a safety net of support, not only in my immediate chosen family, but in my friends, who wouldn't roll their eyes at my compost pile, the women who not only didn't think cloth diapering was a silly idea, but some had done the same. The seemingly insignificant details of my life now became magnified in that strange land; the washed out Ziploc bags, the non-hydrogenated snacks in the cupboard, and the friends who thought I was funny and not weird. Or at least they were as weird as me. This was a life worth living and I had constructed it myself. I amazed myself with the fact that I could do such a thing — my life wasn't accidental — it was a family, with most elements chosen by me, and some thrown in by random good luck. For the first time since having my children, I didn't feel that I had escaped; I wanted to go home. Like Dorothy, I had to go on a journey to realize the value of home, and I didn't even have to get thumped on the head with a window to realize it. Lucky me.

For the rest of the weekend, I answered my family's curious questions about my life, shrugged off my mother and her cousin giggling as they watched my yoga practice on the patio, and maybe, no, were those flying monkeys out there over the man made lake? Must have been my imagination. At the end of the weekend, as I gratefully packed up my bag and headed back to the airport with my family, I felt a relief spreading across my entire being, not that I was leaving my childhood family, but that I was going back to my snow-globe world. I could enjoy the last of my time alone with my mother and sister, enjoying the women who helped shape me enough that I could make the choices leading up to my present life. I was ready to return to my own life, and I guarantee, they to theirs. I returned, not only with gratitude for my own ability to create a fulfilling and rich life, but also for everything leading up to it. Let them think I'm weird; they love me regardless and I love them too. Along with the souvenirs I brought home for my kids, I bought myself a little silver pair of flip flops for my charm bracelet to remind me to constantly have gratitude for my small world. And sometimes, If I feel the lesson slipping away, I put on my charm bracelet, slide into a pair of flip flops, and survey my surroundings; it's then that I know that there is truly no place like home.

Optimism park

Last week, as we drove around North Carolina after the Anusara CTG, I was deeply involved in a conversation with my boyfriend about self honoring, not as a concept, but as an every day sadhana, or practice. The point of the conversation was that I have a very hard time practicing what I preach. As an over-achiever, I strive for my best constantly, and like most perfectionists, think I'm falling short at every corner. I've been told I never miss an opportunity to shoot myself down. True enough. I get caught up in a fearful space of not being the best, or not getting what I want, so I fall into my default safety zone of pessimism. If I don't hope for anything, then I won't be disappointed, right? One certified teacher, named Paula, put it very well, "the inner core is the sharpest edge." Ouch. I realized that I had been living on that sharp edge for a while.

At the Certified Teachers Gathering, John Friend told us that words can have an emotional or physical charge. We must be skillful in how we decide what to put out there because it will build strength as it moves out into the world, especially when we unthinkingly repeat self defeating words to ourselves like mantras. John said, "Lay every part of yourself down with devotion." This clearly does not say, "Lay every part of yourself down with trepidation and clenching fear." If I want to live fully in the light of the Self, then I must be willing to be hopeful. I have to be willing to entertain the possibility of success. This way, I build a matrika that shows my Self the highest of respect. When I honor myself, I also honor the Self, the highest aspect of existence.

As this conversation got deeper and deeper, I vowed to myself and my boyfriend, who keeps me honest, that I would be more skillful in the matrika of optimism, rather than building the possibility of disappointment.

At this point, we realized we had overshot our destination and turned into a side street for a U-turn. Lo and behold, a sign directed us to Optimism Park. Seriously, Optimism Park? How could we resist? We accepted the invitation from Grace, and drove up to a small town park with trails, a pool and tennis courts. Hardly a place I would imagine making a vow to the universe in. But this wasn't a coincidence. It was a message. A funny one, at that. So we parked just long enough for me to close my eyes, and make a commitment to myself—to the compassion and respect that go hand in hand with it. It seemed right. Just like the adage, "You are what you eat," you are also what you speak. As a new resident of Optimism Park, I say this from my heart.

Pretty Pink Shoes

Note, this was written four years ago when my kids were younger, now I'm a no-frills mother of three children under 12.

In my everyday life, I'm a no-frills mother of three children under the age of 7. Just your standard making lunches, breaking up toy wars, wondering when my last shower was kind of stuff. Some days, I really pull myself together with a shower and mascara and just as many days, I don't. I've learned to forgive myself for those days that I knowingly leave the house with a stained shirt, planning on blaming a recent cup of coffee for those unsightly blobs. Or the days that I can smell myself when the wind blows in the wrong direction.

I have one (maybe a few) indulgence though, that makes all the difference in the world. Nothing rare — just your standard shoe fetish. Like Clark Kent emerging as Superman, slipping on my new pink Stuart Weitzman sandles transforms me from domestic goddess, into Cleopatra, Grace Kelly and Princess Di, all rolled into one. I no longer walk — I glide. My posture improves. I'm the fantasy of every man, woman and child I pass. My sons tell me my shoes are beautiful and my daughter sneaks them into her room and attempts to break her ankle in them. Who can blame her?

I'm convinced that fabulous shoes have a potentially transformative power on the universe, and every time I look at them, they make me smile. Does it matter that when I wear them, my t-shirt states, "we like tha moon!"? or that I have retained a bit of morning cream cheese under my nail polish chipped pinky nail? No, my friends, once the leather soles connect to the floor and the heels click click click against the tile, it all fades away and I once again begin to channel Jackie O. I can almost feel the pillbox hat materialize on my head as I go to break up another fight over the latest McDonald's toy. Yes, yes, these shoes are self help books, therapy and anti-depressants all rolled into one. I may sleep in them tonight, just to start tomorrow off right. I'll fall asleep, smug with the knowledge that in my world of downwardly mobile breasts, lack of adult conversation and horror of all horrors, 2 minute showers, the powers that be, have blessed me with pretty toes, high arches and a closet full of pretty leather ego boosters. I now understand the phrase "mother's little helper." For each of us it's different. In the fifties, it was a good stiff cocktail, in the sixties, it was Prozac. For me, the 21st century has brought Stuart Weitzman. In my world, I'll take what I can get.