Thoughts on Mastery

In our society, we spend much of our time watching and admiring others who are masters. From master athletes to master musicians, master actors to master chefs, we are captivated by other human beings who can accomplish more than ourselves, and seemingly with pefection and without effort. I have observed many acquaintances admire a master, while holding back their own talent. The excuses are many, many I have used myself: I won't look good, I'm not coordinated, I feel stupid, or, the worst of them all, I just can't. How do we overcome these negativities and allow ourselves to get on a path? Where does the hobby end and the lifestyle begin? When does a new path morph from "trying something new" to an endless journey one cannot leave for an entire lifetime? These are all things that were floating through my mind this evening while attempting to do the T'ai Chi solo form at the studio (as a side note, I kept making mistakes because of these thoughts and how far they were from the immediate task at hand).

George Leonard has a fabulous book called Mastery: The Keys to Success and Long-Term Fulfillment that elaborates on the mastery path itself. Leonard discusses the shape of mastery's journey in that there is always progress, the inevitable plateau, backward movement in progress, and a return to the first step. The difference between the first and the last step being that the subsequent bursts of progress, or "breakthroughs" result in a higher level of mastery than the earlier breakthroughs. The theory is sound and when I first encountered it the world made sense. And it got me thinking: what are the things I love enough to tolerate a plateau and backwards progress, in order to master? For myself, as I'd imagine the case for most of us, these things are far and few between.

The problem is patience. According to Leonard, Western culture is poisoning us against the plateau by showing us image after image after image of masters pursuing their craft perfectly. Commercials, advertisements, and virtually everything we take in via the media hones in on the perfect shot or the perfect note. Furthermore, in my observation, when there is imperfection it is something to be made fun of and not something to admire at all. There is a reason why we enjoy watching the bad singers on American Idol: they are not perfect and we get a good kick out of watching them fall on their faces. Never mind admiring their courage for attempting to follow a dream, or going before judges who are brutal, or risking having a reality show make a spectacle of them when they fail. I know there are some who simply don't know on what level they truly are, but for each one who is arrogant of their own skill I wager there are several more who earnestly pursue music as a dream. And for those, I applaud their courage and willingness to stick out the audition and reality show process.

But I digress. We need to be willing to recognize that becoming a master at anything requires we love the plateau stage, as Leonard says that is where anyone on the journey will spend the most time. This is why a person cannot become a master at something they hate doing. It's possible to spend years in the plateau phase, so if you plan on being a master bed-maker you'd best enjoy the process of putting on the sheets and straightening the pillows, not just the end result. Sometimes that means practicing when you don't want to, or sticking out a tough phase. But in the end, patience with the process, along with a love for the process, will lead to fulfillment. Mastery may be a pleasant side effect.

As Leonard writes in Mastery: "The achievement of goals is important. But the real juice of life, whether it be sweet or bitter, is to be found not nearly so much in the products of our efforts as in the process of living itself, in how it feels to be alive."

So, how does it feel?

Thirties and Childless

The single, childless life of the 30-something female has been a romantic comedy focus since at least Bridget Jones Diary, perhaps earlier. As I get older and find myself in that category of women, I am pressed with a mixture of feelings. On one hand, I am secure in who I am, proud of the life I have established for myself, and content to never have to worry about a little grubber eating my cookies or getting into my porn. On the other hand, it's hard to deny the biochemistry of hormones and the strange fantasy of wanting a "little me." I have learned that I will only know many friends through the growth of their children, as our communication is more or less limited to the Christmas cards that only show the little grubbers, and as each one gives themselves over to the breeding lifestyle I know that is one less person I can call on a whim to have a cocktail and watch a rated-R movie.

I don't judge anyone's life or decisions to have children. It's a respectful and wonderful thing and I often wonder if I am selfless enough to raise them at all. But there is sometimes an attitude out there that those of us who have not begun to breed somehow have nothing to do and our lives and comittments are of lesser importance than those who have. Case in point: a rather snotty co-worker of mine and I were chatting one day and I was telling her about some of my life's activities outside of the office. Her reply was a very short, chippy "Well, you must not kids then." It wasn't so much the words as it was the tone. It was a tone that implied that if I had children, I would have better things to do than run distance and practice martial arts. A tone that implied I could have better things to do than enrich my own mind. A tone that implied it was silly for me to dip out at four when there was no smiling face for me to pick up from school, or dance, or hockey. A tone that carried a mixture of judgement and pity.

For what totally eludes me. Obviously, my choice to not have children has been rather deliberate. With my relationship experience, I could easily have made a baby by now, but the choice to the negative was because I am not willing to raise a child alone. And despite my hormones, child rearing is simply too much work to go at it solo. So why judge my ability to use birth control? I can't even reason out the pity, except to say perhaps someone like her who had a child at a very young age has never known her own life and maybe she thinks I'm lonely or something. I admit, sometimes the house is a bit quiet, but it's a quiet I enjoy.

This little rant is not to say I will never reproduce. If the right man came along and it felt right, I'll go for it. But in the meantime, I love my life.

The Undisplaced Fracture to My Radial Head

A week ago today, I was happily walking through the cardio area of my gym, excited to indulge in my first workout since before Christmas. As I rounded a corner to head toward the treadmills, I noticed a ring of CAUTION tape, a ladder, and a couple of dislodged ceiling tiles. "Water damage" went through my mind, while my toes hit a rowing machine that I failed to notice in my path. I hit the floor, face first, elbow second, and my ego shattered like broken China all over the place. A couple of "concerned" women on the step mills asked if I was OK, and I told them I was more embarrassed than hurt. I must have been slow to get up, because shortly thereafter another woman approached me and again asked if I was OK. By now I was well aware of the blood gushing from my lip and I checked my teeth to be sure none were loose, and they weren't. I asked her for an ice pack, thinking all that was wrong was a bloody lip. She alerted the gym staff and I just sat on the floor, seeing stars, babying my fattening lip. Then, when I attempted to have a sip of water, I found my right arm refused to bring the bottle to my mouth. It hurt, a lot. I then realized I could not turn my hand up or down, and simply holding onto anything was next to impossible. Luckily, I was able to reach a friend to bring me to urgent care, which thankfully was nearly deserted, and I was in and out within two hours, donned in a sling and carrying X-Ray copies. I was told by the doctor that I was to be in a sling for ten days and I may experience some stiffness thereafter, and I needed to contact my primary clinic as soon as possible.

Thankfully, I have wonderful people in my life and I recruited help that evening for the uncompleted housework that I had been saving for after the workout. Only a very good friend will change the litter boxes and put sheets on the bed for you, and help out in the grocery store. Work was another challenge, though, and up until yesterday my typing prowess (normally a swift 55-60 WPM) was reduced to left handed hen pecking. Eating was yet another challenge, and I've concluded good way to diet would be to limit intake to your non-dominate hand, as I would always lose patience before I had the chance to over-indulge. Yet I amazed myself at how quickly I could adapt to using my left hand, and upon visiting the physical therapy clinic on Thursday, I realized how minor this injury is. I'm not in a cast, I'm not on crutches, and aside from the inability to lift and turn my right hand, I'm nearly back to normal. Nearly.

When I contacted my primary doctor, she stated only three days for the sling, a whopping seven days less than the old fart at the urgent care clinic, and I should begin physical therapy immediately. I have only needed physical therapy twice before, and both times I hated every second of it, but as the physical therapist I saw said, more work now means easier healing later. She assigned me a battery of boring exercises, four to six times a day. She measured how far I can move the injured side, and after just one set of the exercises my mobility improved. She advised me to still stay away from cardio exercise, but yesterday I couldn't take it anymore. What harm could it really do? It didn't do any, albeit I didn't try to run, just did some biking and elliptical stuff. I'm not able to put my hand behind my head for proper crunches or do planks (planks are my favorite core exercise), and certainly the sun salutation sequence in Yoga is out of the question for a while. But I can do cardio, and I can do T'ai-Chi, and today, I'm typing.

I am also going to try to conquer housework. I have three cats, and it doesn't take long for fur and other stuff to build up around the house. Laundry needs doing, trash needs taking out, and I just can't sit around anymore and watch it all build. So we shall see.

Fighting the urge to wallow

When I was a child, I did not understand how anyone could possibly be depressed during this happy and gleeful time of year. Out of town family buys you presents. Santa comes. The streets are filled with twinkling lights and there is talk of being loving and giving. All things that are seemingly NOT depressing. As an adult, I find myself fighting the downward spiral to that depression and start to see how much work the adults had put in to make the holidays a magical time for us ignorant children.

The first step on that journey was learning that Santa isn't real. I distinctly recall honestly believing the myth, honestly believing the guy at the mall was really him, and honestly believing my mom was a part time elf (that was her answer when I'd asked her why Santa had the same handwriting as she did). The next step down happened somewhere in the teen era, when the gifts from the out of town family became more and more generic, candles and trinket boxes galore. I don't think I actually purchased a candle until I was twenty-three because of all the leftovers from the teen Christmases (no offense to out of town family, I always appreciated the thought and I know it was due to our lack of closeness). Then later I realized all this talk of giving has more to do with keeping our precious economy afloat...sort of like how banks "help" us get homes by charging interest. Stores tell us we are "giving" when we are really "spending."

This year going into public has been a grand challenge. Ever since the night before Thanksgiving when I ventured into a liquor store to purchase wine for our family gathering. No one smiled, no one was happy, and it was basically a large mosh pit with shopping carts (thank God I've never needed a shopping cart in a liquor store, but that's another blog entirely). Ever since that night, going into public has sparked a terrible illness inside my stomach, whether it's to a resturant or just to the local store. Stopping at the gas station has been annoying. Driving down the street has been annoying. I feel like everyone is feigning joy when really we are all just irritated. Or at least, I am just irritated and can't even bring myself to feign joy. I feel like I am simply wading through it all, not feeling a thing other than this irritation, and like there is nothing really different about these days leading up to Christmas than any other winter day.

Around noon today I woke up from my hibernation and realized today is the Winter Solstice, the shortest day of the year. I have spent the last two days hibernating, watching movies, and avoiding public places, and suddenly this abberent behavior made a little more sense to me. Of course I'm hibernating, I'm supposed to! Maybe tomorrow I will miraculously have more tolerance for the crowds and the will power to leave the house. I hope so--I still have at least two gifts to buy!

Five Things to Love about Winter

So many people hate winter, and for good reason. It's cold. Snow presents oodles of inconveniences from slippery roads to shoveling. I myself cursed the Old Man as I endured a long bonus workout with a shovel and large drifts that piled in my driveway earlier this week during our first notable snowfall. At the end of the day, we choose to live in this climate. I grew up in Minnesota, so I know no different. It was not until one year I spent Christmas in Florida and found it disconcerting to hear carols while wearing flip-flops did I begin to appreciate the variety of the seasons. And, as much as it can be hard to admit, there are many wonderful things about winter, and my top five are described here.

Number Five: Outdoor activity. I am not a serious outdoors woman even in the best of weather, but the winter has yielded us with one half of all Olympic games with a variety of athletic challenges that cannot be sought above thirty-two degrees. In sticking with what I know, I do enjoy a good run in the winter. Today I ran nearly six miles in fifteen degrees, sunshine, and just enough wind to cut through my clothing. The cold pushed me in a way warmer temperatures cannot, and upon completing the run I felt more refreshed than I had in months. Not to mention the same old terrain has a totally new look: a sparkling, white blanket.

Number Four: Hockey. I realize this may also be considered an outdoor activity, however, these days most hockey is played in a heated arena where little more than a hoodie is required to stay warm. I am referring to hockey as a spectator sport, sheer blood lusted entertainment. Ever since I went out with a boy who played junior varsity hockey in high school, I have been hooked on watching it, the bulk of which is played in the winter.

Number Three: Hot beverages. In my gene pool, coffee is year-round mainstay. But only when the temps and snow fall do other hot beverages creep into my diet. Hot cocoa tastes so good when coming in from the cold, and green tea warms the soul on weekend afternoons. Even the occasional spiced apple cidar can hit the spot, and let's not forget the Bailey's in our coffee on Christmas morning.

Number Two: Cooking anything in the oven. Cooking in the oven is tolerated when it's warmer simply because of one side effect: it warms the house. So in the winter, the oven can turn into an auxillary heater that also creates wonderful smells and nourishment. For further elaboration on this thing to love about winter, refer to my entry on chocolate chip cookies.

Number One (drumroll, please): Snuggling. Hands down. Whether you have a significant other, a child, a teddy bear, or like me, cats, snuggling is simply better when it's cold.

T'ai-Chi Paradise

Sometimes we do things we don't want to do. Drag ourselves to work. Drudge to the gym. Pick up after the dog, clean the fuzz off the back of the toilet seat. Life is full of it. And I'll be honest, last night I didn't even want to go to T'ai-Chi. I wanted to curl up in the ol' Snuggie, pop in a movie and chow down popcorn. But since I hadn't been to class all week and knew I would not have time to go again until after the weekend, I stepped one foot in front of the other and managed to get to the Studio.

It was a multi-level solo form class, where sometimes I am asked to tutor, sometimes we have a lesson, and sometimes we simply practice the form. Last night was one of the latter, and it didn't take long for me to be grateful I had made it out the door. Sure, I could have done the solo form in my living room, but there is something about the group energy generated when you have a group of folks doing the form together that can't be done alone. This energy, coupled with my own need to mentally get away from life and focus on everything and nothing all at once, brought me to a whole new world that, in my experience, can only be realized in a group form.

As I went through the postures with my classmates, each shift and turn was its own focal point. Brought together, these focal points became a mecca of sensations that relax the body and calm the mind in a way no other exercise that I have done can do. I was both alone and among others: content in the journey to nowhere taking place only inside of me all the while sharing the feeling with those around me. When I get to this place, this T'ai-Chi paradise for lack of better way of putting it, there is nothing else. There is no job to hate, no house to clean, nothing to worry about. I have no name, no needs, and no faults. Everything is perfect.

When class is over and I need to step out of that space, into my aging vehicle and back to my messy house, none of that is important. Yes, the brakes need to be fixed. Yes, the dust needs to be wiped from behind the toliet seat. And those things will not go unattended, in fact rather the opposite. T'ai-Chi paradise is with me for all those tasks and other motions of life, bringing a calm to daily living not even Yoga can match.

Women & Spirituality Conference

Last weekend I spent my free time at the Women & Spirituality conference Minnesota State University, Mankato. I was honored with leading a session on Tai Chi Chuan and Meditation, plus being able to partcipate in the rest of the conference. Although this conference is nearly thirty years old, I had never been. So when the opportunity was presented to me through my Tai Chi school to lead a session, I chomped at the bit.

It had the standard conference formula: a key note speaker, workshops, and opportunities to socialize. The key note was an Indian lady who studied global agriculture and spoke on the necessity of keeping our nourishment sacred. She said that women are the "sacred seed keepers," that seeds hold the essence of life within them until conditions are right for growth. She spoke about corporate farming, seed patents, and the impact of corporate farming on third world countries. This topic was new to me, and as she spoke I began to realize that I have less control over what I put in my body than I once thought.

Lunch was an interesting adventure. Minnesota State has partnered with the likes of Taco Bell and Chick Filet for its students, sort of ironic that hundreds of conference goers went from hearing the evils of corporate food to eating Taco Bell! I settled for a special-ordered turkey burger from the burger place which was of little consequence. I sat with two women I had never met named Linda and Emma (or maybe Eloise). They were putting on a workshop on trance dancing. Linda was a small gray haired white lady with horn-rimmed reading glasses wearing a tie-dyed tee shirt. Emma was an overweight cheerful black lady with curly hair. They were very friendly and quite the pair, but could not convince me to try trance dancing.

My session was in the first time slot. I only had four partcipants, but I went with the flow and allowed it to be more conversational than classroomy. We had a relaxing meditation, and they all took to the Cloud Hands posture fairly easily. I was able to make sure they got the attention they needed and the group chemistry was on point. While I was teaching, I found myself being more and more at home in my own skin, like leading these ladies in Cloud Hands was exactly what I was supposed to be doing at that point in time. I lost myself to each moment, peppering our exercise with quotes from the Classics and reminders to tuck hips and drop shoulders. The words flowed from my mouth as naturally as the Mississippi flows south, and I am thankful to have had that experience.

After my session was complete, I was free to indulge in what others had to offer. Of the three I attended, the class called "The Energy Anatomy of Relationships" was by far the most telling and most insightful to my personal situations. I learned about how we slip into survival mode in our adult relationships, residual from our child-parent relationships. We can also end up co-dependent by allowing the person we are in a relationship with to take our energy without ever returning any of theirs. That was a familiar story to me, and I learned that when I offer anything in any relationship, it must come from a place of love and/both wisdom in order to discern the difference between truly supporting the other and being preyed upon.

All in all it was a telling weekend for me. I felt at home, and with friends. It was a conference where words like "chakra" and "aura" are thrown around freely and where nearly every face smiled and said hello, at least. The energy was positive and light and I felt at ease the whole time I was there, and I look forward to going again next year.