giving blood, sweat, or tears (or expertise, or time, or money, or...)

I have never really felt like a “normal” person. While I can celebrate this now, in the days when normal seemed like such an admirable distinction to achieve, I felt a mass of complicated feelings about my self. As a result, much of my childhood was spent feeling conflicted. Directly to this issue, I spent a lot of time, as a 16 and 17 year old, planning my 18th birthday and telling no one about it. When the day arrived I was giddy with excitement. I got up early, ate a huge breakfast, and chased it with 4 mammoth glasses of water. Hydrated, heavy enough to meet the minimum requirements, and anxious to execute my plan, I arrived at the blood bank a full 15 minutes before they opened. Yes, you read that correctly. My biggest dream at 18 was to give blood. Given the 24 month build up, it would have made sense for the experience to be anti-climactic. It was, however, not. I saddled up to the post donation “snack and drink” station beaming! I had finally “arrived.” I scheduled my next appointment and vowed to myself that I would give blood every 8 weeks, no matter what. This was too important not to commit to and I was good at commitments.

Two years earlier, a child that I had cared for regularly was hit by a car. It was a horrible accident that took place as my community of love/family/support was departing from Bible Study at Wally and Carol’s house. Adam was rushed to the hospital where I arrived a few hours later not because I thought I’d get anywhere near him or his family but because I simply couldn’t not go to where he was. I’m wired for hospitals and waiting rooms and the middle of the night vigil shift. In the 24 hours that followed I spent a lot of time caring for Adam’s siblings, phones rang (no such thing as email or text chains back then), meals were brought, and all of the grown ups in the community who could give blood gave it. I tried everything I could think of to get to be in that group. I had been raised to look for creative solutions to obstacles but nothing I could accomplish could make me the legal age for blood donation. So, time passed, Adam recovered, and life went back to (mostly) normal. Deep within me, however, was an unresolved conflict with time, rules, and the Red Cross.

I thought of Adam (and Modesto and Alpha Omega and my love/family/support community from childhood) today as I gave blood. As the donation staff registered me in the system I warned them that, at some point, tears would likely flow. These would not be related to the pain of the prick or the process but because I was facing into a lot of disappointment with myself and a lot of feelings about the day. I was giving blood in honor of a certain person* and in solidarity with a specific community whose building housed this particular blood drive on this important date**. I felt passion and emotion akin to what I experienced at 16 when I had craved the opportunity to contribute to Adam’s healing in a critical way. Along with all that passion was a heaping dose of disappointment.

Here’s why: I no longer have to stuff myself to meet the weight requirements for giving blood and no one scrutinizes my license to make sure I really am the age I claim to be. I have a highly needed blood type and could donate as often as every 8 weeks. Giving takes less than an hour and costs me nothing. There are blood drives near my home weekly and I get calls and emails offering donation scheduling that is so simple that it is nothing short of ridiculous that I don’t make the appointment. Even still, today, I realized, was my first donation in 11 years. My 18 year old self would be ashamed of me.

For reasons simple and complex only around 35% of the U.S. population is eligible to give blood. Of that 35% only 6% donate regularly. It takes approximately 20 minutes to determine eligibility and the need for blood is profound. There are so many reasons (and very easy ways) to give and I still put it off. There are, in fact so many things that cost so little to give. Recently, my friend Cassie introduced me to the bone marrow registry. It costs nothing to enroll (if you are between 18 and 44) and gives a person the power to directly save a life. The assessment is sent to your home and requires nothing but a cheek swab. It seems to me that there is no reason we aren’t all swabbing our cheeks (at least those of us under 44) (for full information click here).  In addition to the pure logic of need and abundance, a wealth of research exists thattells us that volunteering can reduce the symptoms of depression and a new study out of the University of Rochester reports that performing an act of kindness leads to increases in feelings of happiness and calm even when the act goes unnoticed (a part of the study I particularly love). When these forms of giving can be so easy and so rewarding it is stunning to me that I don’t give more.

Giving blood may not be your jam. Heck, you may even labor under the assumption that giving (in general) isn’t your jam. That’s o.k. I’d just like to direct your attention to the feelings you experienced the last time you offered the thing that you are best at/most accomplished in/comfortable with/have an excess of to someone or something other than your self. Remember that time that you did that which was easy (or at least possible) for you and it benefitted someone else? Can you recall the time that, without really thinking about it, you ended up making someone’s day (or saving their life)? That time you smiled at someone and they ended up weeping, so in need they were of kindness? Or when, walking by the retirement home you saw a woman fall from her wheelchair and you ran to help her up and find someone to care for her injuries? Or the time you held that young single mother’s wailing baby on the plane because she was traveling alone with three children under 4? Or the occasion you anonymously sent cash to someone who was about to be evicted? When you pulled over in the middle of snowy nowhere when you really had a place to get to in order to help the family who had just spun out on the ice, totaled their car, and were bleeding? Or when you sat in a recliner for 15 minutes, were showered with gratitude and goodies, and gave blood, saving three people’s lives? Remember how good that felt?

Neither of us can give everything. We all, however, have things that are easy, cost us very little, and can make a huge impact on the world. For some of us it’s blood (or platelets or kidneys), for some of us it’s time, for others it’s money or a listening ear and steady shoulder, and, for the special few, it is the unbelievable gift of bread making. I know of a person recently who divested a grocery store of their excess egg cartons to give to a farm that provides eggs to families in need. I have friends who play music at Altzheimer care facilities, others who read with kindergarteners, and some who collect rain water in an effort to leave more for others. There are people who stuff envelopes for their favorite non profits and people who mail checks to theirs. In Portland there is an organization that will glean whatever fruit you don’t want from your trees and give it to those who need it.

Everywhere around us are stories of need. Complexity and conflict abound. The news is (usually) bad. Emotions are high and we are pulled in many directions. We are weary. And yet (actually, let me try that again) AND YET we all have so much for each other. I believe (I HAVE TO believe) that every person on this earth has something that the world needs and that it is only when we all stop looking for someone else to offer it that everyone will have what is needed. I must look deeply inside my own being and see what it is that is mine to offer. Then I must offer it without either feeling it is insignificant or feeling certain that it is the most significant. When each of us offers what is uniquely ours to offer (be that blood, sweat, tears, a shoulder to cry on, money, time, expertise, a knowledge of what is a weed and what is not and the willingness to rid the garden of the former, or a loaf of warm bread) and does so on a regular, affordable schedule everyone benefits and everyone belongs.

If you need help finding ways to give that fit with your unique being, here are a few questions that might help you:

What do you hear others complain about having to do that you find either easy or fulfilling?

What do you enjoy doing so much that it would be easy for you to double your efforts in order to give some of it away? Cooking and baking fits in here as does gardening (making starts or giving away part of your bounty). Knitting, crocheting, and sewing are all hobbies that can be engaged in for the purpose of giving away. Are you a reader? If so, there are plenty of people who can’t read who would love some of your time. Look to senior centers, schools, and libraries. And speaking of libraries, if you adore the feeling of them you could always add an hour there by volunteering to shelve books.

If you had a large sum of money that could only be used by giving it to a “cause” or particular “population,” what would that be? After you answer this, brainstorm what this cause or population might need that intersects with what you can offer. Don’t stop too fast. Push yourself to think about how your unique being might benefit this cause or people/animal group. For example, most non profits have some sort of office space that they cannot afford to have professionally cleaned. Doing this even once for them may just be a huge gift.

If you really can’t find something that feels unique to you, don’t let that stop you. Don’t just stand there. Do something. Find more “mainstream” ways of giving and keep trying until you find something that “clicks” or feels meaningful. Volunteer for a civic or community event, sort food at your local food bank, mow your neighbor’s lawn, bring someone a meal, do a prayer walk in your neighborhood, donate clothing to Dress for Success, offer mock employment interviews to students or young adults looking for jobs, pick up trash (did you know that David Sedaris picks up trash as a hobby? Seriously, he’s won awards for this.), get trained to offer respite care for foster parents, and, by all means, give blood if you can.

*    The donation I made on this day was to honor the life of Molly (Jamie) Woolsey who died last June and who I love(d). Her mom was scattering some of her ashes that day on the East Coast and I desperately needed a way to commemorate the moment and feel connected to them.

**      I gave blood on June 12th in particular at the Q Center in Portland Oregon in order to both honor Molly (who I met with after her first group there and who was deeply blessed by the community and support she found there) as well as to recognize the one year anniversary of the Pulse nightclub shooting (the largest mass shooting in American history). I am grateful that, in a world where being gay, trans, queer and many other brands of “different” is risky, violence is prevalent, and gun violence common, people work diligently to make sure that places of safe haven and sanctuary exist. Thank you Q Center and NW Bloodworks for providing me a place to honor those whose lives were lost on June 12th last year and for serving your communities like only you can.

Why I Wear Orange (Standing up to Gun Violence)

If you’ve followed my blog for very long you have likely stumbled upon an entry or two about guns. I’ve written about how they seem to make us feel, how violence in the media and in embodied life intersect (and also here), and about how guns have impacted communities. I’ve referred to the quadruple homicide that robbed me of my sister in law and nieces and have offered ideas of how one might honor lives taken by gun violence. I’ve always tried to keep these pieces approachable for people on all sides of the gun debate. As a therapist, a speaker, and, some might say, a "leader," as well as a mother and a lover of people, it is important for me to extend a hospitable welcome to everyone who might encounter me in whatever spaces they do. While I work diligently to meet all people with authentic respect, inviting them into a relationship with me must also include authenticity. I must be authentic about my feelings about gun violence. They are strong.

Last year, on the Sunday morning following the Pulse nightclub shooting, I sat in my church parking lot listening to an account of what had happened. Not one to tie myself to the news in times of crisis, I went in to the church service for a few moments, hoping to find space for comfort and prayer. Something new was happening in me, however, and my anger was rising to the level of my grief. Feeling sick to my stomach and unable to keep the tears at bay, I left the building and walked aimlessly until I could gather myself. All I could think about were the completely overturned lives of those present at the nightclub and their stunned families who were trying to understand an entirely new reality. Whether their loved ones were killed, injured, or emotionally traumatized, I knew, first hand, how the ripples of such violence would wash over them for the rest of their lives. 

Every single time there is a shooting in the news I think of this. The waves of trauma for the victims and survivors. The waves of helplessness and grief for their families. The ripples of complexity that will carry out to generations to come. The complicated, tortured waves of every imaginable pain for the people related to the shooters. It’s all a bit much.

I have boxes in my garage that contain the entire all-too-short story of my sister-in-law and nieces. I have pictures drawn for us by Sarah and Rachel (aged 5 and 3 at the time of the murders) and the baby blanket that my mother in law had made for April. I have Laura’s (my sister in law) journals, her jewelry box, and a box of trinkets that she held dear. Her wedding dress shares space in a well-sealed box with a dress of each of the girls. I save all of this because they were important people to me and to this world and it is all that is left of them. That and the memories. Well, that and the memories, and the trauma of so many people who also share my loss of them. The neighbors who witnessed the entire event. The children in Sarah’s kindergarten class who met her that morning and learned of her death later that day. The many cousins and aunts and uncles who loved them all dearly. My own children whose bodies soaked up the grief and fear and rage and shock and stunned disorientation that lived in their parents and surrounded them in the months that followed. My mother in law who witnessed the murders and lived with courage and unfathomable trauma in the years that followed.

Well that, along with the memories, and the trauma, and the awareness of the breadth of the impact of this event on many many people, and my own determination to do something about this tragic way of losing. I must actively add my voice to the chorus of those across the country asking for a raised awareness of the shattering reality of gun violence in the United States and for common sense gun laws that could save lives.

In the United States an average of 93 people a day are killed by a gun. In an average month, 50 women are shot to death by intimate partners. Further, 62% of firearm deaths in the U.S. are suicides. All of these statistics point to the ending of lives before they are fully lived. This is a public health issue that impacts more Americans than is imaginable. To this end, I find that it’s difficult anymore to identify someone who has not been touched in some way by loss to gun violence. While it may be a political issue, it is first and foremost a human issue. Death by gun violence need not occur.

If you have been a victim of gun violence or have lost someone to it, you understand, first hand, the unique disorientation that results. If you have been the subject of violence of any kind you also understand the life changing way in which aggression seeps into your being, changing your very self and your community. While there is no “cure” for the permanent impact that violence and aggression have, I am learning that being quiet does not help with healing. Being silent is no longer an option for me. I must speak more directly about Laura, Rachel, Sarah, and April so that you can be invited to speak about those that you have lost or about the violence that you have suffered. Last month, mere days from what would have been April’s 22nd birthday (she was 5 months old when she was killed), I testified in support of common sense gun laws at my state capital. This weekend, I will Wear Orange in honor of those that I have lost and I’d like to invite you to join me.

This Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, all across the United States, Moms Demand Action and Everytown for Gun Safety will be partnering with local gun violence prevention groups to host and sponsor Wear Orange events to honor the life of Hadiya Pendleton who was killed shortly before her 16th birthday. Her parents sponsored the first Wear Orange event two years ago on her 18th birthday. I just got off a conference call with the Moms Demand Action Survivor Network where Hadiya’s mother spoke of her bubbly daughter’s beauty and strength and where laughing and crying were referenced as tools for bringing communities together to end gun violence. I am so inspired by this mother’s vision and determination in using her grief to bring about change. Through tears I picture huge groups in cities across our country, decked in orange clothing, coming together to honor and play, to raise awareness and build community, to love well and laugh hard, to cry tears and whisper prayers. I consider how much power we might harness to turn the tides of impulsivity and hatred by simply creating and populating spaces for laughing and crying, for honorring those that have been lost, for bearing communal witness to our frustration about gun violence, and to offer bright creative spaces of love and welcome to an aggression weary world.

You can learn about Hadiya and the Wear Orange movement here (please watch the video) and can find gatherings in your community here. Go to these sites to learn about the important work of Everytown for Gun Safety and Moms Demand Action. For research on gun violence, click here.

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secret sauce (aka the shortest blog post i will ever write)

This will likely be the shortest blog post I have ever written. In fact, I’m pounding it out it while taking a break from working on a piece about what it’s like to be a long-winded word lover in a world of short phrases and elevator speeches. I digress.

I spent this weekend in bed trying to cut whatever bug I have short. I’m not a good patient and I have a hard time laying low. Thankfully, I had three books on hand that held me so well that I had no desire to move. These tomes are wildly different yet move me in strikingly similar ways and I am departing this weekend with three truths pulsing through me. I feel compelled to share them.

1    Every person on this planet has a very special “secret sauce” at the core of their being. This includes all that is special and unique and, in my opinion, “that of God” in her/him/them. This special secret sauce sometimes looks, “tastes,” and feels like “crazy,” bizarre, foreign, and “off.” 

2    Many people are ostracized/rejected/misunderstood as a direct result of their secret sauce. Some of these people come to believe that this very gift in them is actually a fault. With no one to help them discover, understand, work with, and embrace what is unique about them, they face a world of difficulties. They also go through life feeling flawed. (I can’t relate to this at all and bet you can’t either…)

3    It is my responsibility to work diligently to see the unique specialness of others as a gift to the world. At the least I want to be able to honor and respect these traits. At best I want to work to understand and welcome them. I must also work to own, be compassionate toward, and live into my own special secret sauce in order to play the role I am meant to play in the world. 

There is so much more I’d like to say. So much more that should be said. There are complexities here that we could explore for eternity. For now, however, I simply want to share these things that have been freshly seared into my heart and mind.

I’ve written many times before, “Be kind to everyone for theirs’ is a difficult journey.” May we all forge ahead into a new week being connoisseurs of complexity, stretching our selves to see value in all the sauces we encounter.

In case you’re curious what I read, I will include the titles here:

Bettyville by George Hodgman

Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott (Finally…people have been telling me to read this for years! They were right!)

Let’s Pretend this Never Happened (A Mostly True Memoir) by Jenny Lawson

a whole lotta sugar (in a salty, salty world)

A few months back, on a particularly stretching and meaningful trip to Philadelphia, I made a new friend. Having spent a jam-packed day downtown with my “extra” son Gage, we sat ourselves down on the train headed for home. We’d talked ourselves out and are comfortable with quiet so we sat in a sort of sanctuary like silence as the train ambled along. I was bone weary, intellectually and emotionally spent. The day had begun with participation in my first ever real civic/political action and had continued with a thorough walk through the city. Every part of me had been engaged in challenging ways. My mind was blown, my heart ripped open, my stomach stretched, my eyes “cried.” and my feet taxed. The schedule had been filled with all the things I love: a big, diverse, loud city; putting my body, mind, and soul out there for a cause that I care about; one of my kiddos; food; mass transit; walking; intense conversation; and learning. While I was deeply happy, I was also deeply troubled. We’d spent a lot of our time talking about racism and bias. Gage had explained to me the important distinction between equality and equity. Already keenly and critically aware of my privilege, the day had left me feeling overwhelmed. It was good to be in a seat next to someone I love knowing full well that we could travel wordlessly while things settled inside. 

While contemplating the beautiful, painful complexity of the day, I noticed the boy in the seat ahead of me making faces at himself in the same window out of which I gazed. For a while I simply observed his inspiring light-heartedness. He crossed his eyes, he stuck out his tongue, he leaned in and said silly things to his reflection. When he did so, everything about him lit up. He laughed. He tossed his head back and came closer in to the window to get a better look. It seemed to me that he felt as fully bodymindsoul energized as I felt exhausted and the sincerity of his playfulness called out to me.

I decided to try to engage this bright light of a human in an appropriate way (I was, after all, a grown up stranger on a train and keenly aware of necessary boundaries). I looked fervently into the window hoping to elicit a glimmer of noticing. Not long after I fixed my gaze, my new friends’ eyes caught mine. I grinned. He grinned back. I averted my eyes while making a slightly funny face. When I looked back his cheeks were filled with air, his ears pulled back with his tiny fingers, and he was striking a caddywhompus smile. I laughed and then I winked. He tried to wink back. Again. And again. And again. Finally, he held one eye lid closed with his thumb and stretched the other open wide with his pinky, covering his entire face with his palm. Soon he was laughing and so was I. Leaning over to his mom, he whispered something which prompted her to look over her shoulder and smile at me. I smiled back silently and returned to making faces in the window. Five minutes later this tiny human hopped up, turned around, and looked at me from his seat. “You’re crazy!” he said. I bowed, thanked him for the compliment and, for the next ten minutes, learned all about what he liked and didn’t like, who was in his family, and how he’d spent his day. I dug up some little trinket “gifts” from the bottom of my back pack for him. We laughed. He taught me some “magic tricks.” Finally, he told me that he was 5 and that his name was Tristan. 

Faster than I hoped, we arrived at our stop and I found myself feeling sad to walk away from this new loved one. Gage and I departed the train, wishing Tristan and mom a good evening. Not 10 seconds later we heard “Hey doreen!” and turned to see Tristan running toward us, asking if he could have a hug. I looked to his mom for the o.k. and she said, not missing a beat, “This one’s a whole lot of sugar! Of course you can give him a hug!” 

I think of that phrase a lot these days. “This one’s a whole lot of sugar.” I love this as an aspirational motto. I want, very much, to be a whole lot of sugar exactly when it is needed.

My mom tells stories of her dad putting salt in the sugar bowl every April Fools Day. When she reminds me of this, I cringe, thinking of what it would be like to expect sugar and taste salt. It seems to me that the expectation of sweetness would make the sharpness of the salt more extreme. I think of this in relation to my day in Philadelphia. The saltiness of the entire day made the unexpected sweetness of Tristan sparkle and shine. 

We are all constantly bumping into each other, sitting in front of or behind each other, encountering each other as we move through our days. Very often we come to these interactions from sweet or salty internal places. We also have a tendency to expect sweetness or saltiness externally from those we bump into.

Our habits, bias’, and beliefs about life and the world are so well established that we likely expect these flavors from ourselves and others without ever consciously considering them. “This kind of person is ____________.” “That guy is always an _________.” “Those folks are ____________.” “Those millennials ___________.” “Those (fill in the political party) are always ____________.” “I bet she is thinking ______________ about me.” “I know he hates/loves/disrepects me.”

Because I expect (believe) these things, I find confirmation for them, disregarding conflicting data and closing off options to be proven wrong. This closed system keeps me locked into interactions with a self fulfilling flair. We make an assumption or set an intention then look for or establish proof to support it. It’s all quite complicated and exhausting and leaves us at extreme risk for missing out on the Tristans in this world.

I could have written Tristan off. I could have thought “Oh, there’s a whacky kid who clearly has no ability to sit still.” I could have thought “My day was filled with meaningful things and this person’s frivolity means he is out of touch with the problems in this world.” I could have thought any number of things or made all manner of assumptions based on the color of my skin or his, on my age or his, and on a million other variables and could have walked away with nothing but my closed loop heaviness. Instead, by remaining open and taking one small risk, I was the recipient of his sugar. That sweetness redeemed my day.

At a time when the word “divided” is the most commonly used cultural descriptor in America, perhaps our most powerful offering to our neighbors is that of being intentional about how we are in the world. Are we salty or sweet? Positive or negative? Equity offering or oppressing? Expectation filled or grace giving? Certain that we have the right answer or open to discussion? Wall building or door opening? Respect-filled or hate/fear-filled?

Saltiness is wonderful when it is called for. It is especially good in moderation and in combination with other ingredients. (Ask me, sometime, about the time that i accidentally used salt instead of sugar in my buttermilk pancake recipe at a big event.) We need the strength of saltiness in today’s world. We also, however, need the softness, light heartedness, and perspective that sweetness has to offer. We all need a little sugar, and to offer a cup of it to our neighbor when they have run short. 

Tristan, if by any bizarre and wonderful chance you ever happen upon this, know that you made a true friend that evening on the train and that I think about you often and hold you in Light and Love. i hope for you all the sugar you need, exactly when you need it!

coming back to our bodies (with some ideas of how to do so)

In the last week I’ve spent a lot of time reading about the “Internet of Things.” “Smart homes” where lights, heat/air, door locks, and more are controlled by one’s smart phone are becoming increasingly common. At the Consumer Electronics Showcase in January a bulk of internet connected home appliances were revealed, inspiring behind the scenes talk about the security measures that will be needed as increasing numbers of our things become capable of gathering, storing, presenting, and recording information.

One reviewer of smart home technologies commented in a New York Times piece that his decision point on whether or not to add digital capabilities to an object is if he needs to stand in front of the object to use it. An internet enabled toaster, for him, is unnecessary because he needs to be in front of it to insert and eat the toast. An internet enabled oven, however, could be turned off and on remotely to aid in food prep when he isn’t home. Similarly, an internet enabled refrigerator would allow him to check the contents while at the store (with the internal camera) thereby helping him determine his list remotely. Other reviewers rave about diaper changing pads that record baby’s weight and stool consistency, tracking it and sending charts to your phone throughout the day. Internet enabled pet collars allow owners to talk with their pets from work as well as check their heart rate and body temperature. It all gets pretty weird, to me, after a while.

So much of our lives, it seems, are already lived outside of our bodies. We maintain our friendships via texting, commonly saying we’ve “talked” to someone when, in reality, we’ve actually typed messages back and forth. We play games in digital spaces, our eyes seeing and brains perceiving any manner of different locations and settings while our fingers/hands feel the same exact controller/keyboard every single time. We sit on our couches with screens in our hands and others on the walls, often being completely out of touch with the feel of the room we reside in. We apply filters to our pictures, blurring the features of our selves and surroundings which we’d like to distract attention from. We look at our phones to know the weather and to track our calories. We rely upon our wearable technologies to tell us how to feel about our night of sleep and how many steps we still need to take. 

There is a technology for everything and push notifications, alerts, and digital reminders attached to objects in such a way that we hardly have to think in order to use them. All the while it feels to me as though we are becoming increasingly disconnected from the message indicators built into our bodies and souls. I believe that it is time for us to do some work to reverse this trend. I believe it is time for us to get back into the skin we live in.

This is not easy. Not only have we allowed ourselves to be intolerant of boredom but we have also trained ourselves to seek entertainment and distraction from outside of ourselves. We have relied upon screens for much of this, foregoing practice at occupying ourselves with only our selves. We perform physical tasks with less awareness of our bodies than of the devices we hold. Our tablets are in the bathroom and bedroom with us, our cars come complete with audio and video systems stocked with never ending entertainment options, our earbuds deliver a stream of music and podcasts tailored to and by our preferences. We order, pay for, pick up, and consume our latte making no human contact and our purchases are delivered to our doors at all hours of the day and night, meaning we rarely venture out to touch and feel and look at that which we are placing in our carts or the humans who make the goods available to us. We scroll through social media or news sites while we eat, barely tasting our food let alone smelling or seeing it. 

I refer to this tendency to live outside of our bodies as disembodiment. I believe it contributes to much of our use of chemical aids to amp us up (caffeine and stimulants) and to calm us down (alcohol, marijuana, and depressants). When we haven’t practiced stimulating or soothing our physiological selves in and of ourselves it is easy to rely on something from outside of us to do it for us. Further, exposed to images of people that have been highly digitally edited, we hold our bodies to unrealistic expectations. As men we might compare ourselves to the hyper masculinized video game avatars that grace our screens each day. As women we unconsciously notice the lack of inner thigh or sagging skin on nearly every image of women we are presented with. Turning from our screens and to our own physical bodies, we expect conformity to standards that are impossible for the vast majority of humans to achieve. Disappointment, harsh self treatment, and sometimes real clinical disorders result making us less inclined than ever to want to invade our own actual skin.

What if we were to live at least a little bit of life from the central space of our very own bodies? How might it feel to reside consciously from the skin in which we live, tending to the message indicators and unique needs and preferences of our actual bodies? What if we checked in with our own levels of tiredness, alertness, receptivity, and focus rather than our inbox or queue in order to determine our next course of action?  It doesn’t need to be difficult or time consuming to do so. It simply requires intentional forethought and dedicated action. 

It is the weekend, giving us a bit more opportunity to practice this kind of living. We might do so by adding consistent, simple, physical check-ins or we might get more fancy and add an embodied experience to our day. I’ll add some ideas below to help you get your creative juices flowing. As for me, I plan to embody my weekend fully and I hope the same for you. If you have creative ideas for doing so, please share them so we can all be inspired.

Speak to your senses. Eat food or drink something you have never eaten or drunk before. Ask others (or use a search engine if you must) for recommendations of restaurants from far away lands. Indian, African, Central/South American, Japanese, Chinese, Vegan, Raw, and more. Pay attention as you walk into the location. Smell the smells. Ask the server for suggestions and really listen. When the food arrives, take time to look at it and notice it. While eating feel the textures as well as tasting the tastes. If you are choosing the drinking route, tea is a fantastic embodied drink. Go to a tea house or good tea shop and look at the leaves/buds, smell them before and after brewing. Feel the steam. 

Create a mood. Tending to the sounds and sites within a space can profoundly change the feel of the room. Turn off overhead lights and place lamps at seated eye level. Sit on pillows and wrap up in blankets rather than sitting on the couch. Make a fire or light lots of candles. If you don’t have scented candles or an essential oil diffuser, place a small sauce pan on the stove with a bit of water and cinnamon, cloves, and even a slice or two of citrus and let it simmer or brew a pot of aromatic coffee or tea. If you love music, choose it with intention to create the feeling that matches the mood you are going for. Sit in the space and simply take it in. Notice how your body feels in a room you have tended to for comfort and peacefulness or alert wakefulness (whichever you were going for).

Make a fort. Be simple or elaborate in creating a small(ish) space to get cozy and away from the “real” world in. Toss a blanket over a table so that the edges of it reach down to the floor and add a few pillows, a lantern/flashlight/candle and you’re set. If you want to get more elaborate use chairs, blankets/sheets, and clamps from your garage. Leave all screens outside of the fort and, instead, bring paper books, journals, or a friend in and notice how it feels to be in a small/otherworldly space free of responsibilities and distractions.

Set a reminder. Set a reoccurring alarm on your device (or an actual alarm clock). When it sounds take a 3 minute breathing break. Stand up and feel the ground firmly under your feet. Rock back and forth and side to side gently, working to notice your center. From here take 10 deep breaths, inhaling through the nose (“smell the roses”) and exhaling through the mouth (“blow out the candles”). At the end of these breaths reach your arms up high above your head and stretch up lowering slowly down to a forward fold. Return to standing and thank your body for being present to you. Return to normal activities.

Take a (realistic, safe-enough) physical risk. This does not need to be a herculean task. You don’t need to summit a mountain. Instead, think of what is a growth inducing risk for you specifically. You might turn opera music up loudly and try to sing along from the depths of your diaphragm. Heading into a new and unknown restaurant, like suggested above, might be the risk for you. Spending time in a new geographic location in your town might suffice. Walking an extra half mile or running during part of your walk might be it. Taking a new class at the gym or pulling out your jump rope/hula hoop/free weights and giving them a whirl might fit. Hit balls at a batting range, go to your local trampoline spot, do karaoke, or more...just give your body the chance to have a new experience.

Get in some eye contact. Gazing at, and being gazed at, changes us. There is something about eye contact that profoundly affects us. When the gaze is loving and gracious it has the power to heal. When it is harsh and critical it hurts. Either find someone willing to play along and gaze into each other’s eyes for 3 to 5 minutes without talking or grab a mirror and do the same with your self. It sounds goofy but it has the power to refuel and heal. Work to look past the initial criticism or self conscious discomfort and settle into truly seeing into the eyes of a body that is human and worthy of love and respect.

If you are in need of touch, find a way to get some (in healthy, consensual ways). Most cities have massage therapists, manicurists/pedicurists, and even reflexology centers where touch is part of the offering. My personal favorite is reflexology which typically includes an hour of fully clothed, acupressure treatments, foot soaking, and full body asian style massage for a very affordable fee. Other options include partner acro yoga (google search acro yoga jam and the name of your city and you’ll likely find listings for meetings in the park…all levels welcome), contact improv dance, dance lessons at bars or studios, or facials. The need for touch, for those who are kinesthetically inclined, is real. Seek it out in ways that are healthy and satisfying!