Where The Day Takes You

The C.Y.P. Challenge

Emboldened by yesterday's post about making small changes, I made another change last night: I tucked my mobile phone into bed in another room (not my bedroom).

I've gotten into the habit of keeping my phone with me, up until the minute I turn my lights out, then plugging it in to charge on my nightstand. This ritual allows for one last look at email and facebook before I check out of my day, and it enables an immediate check-in the next morning. And sometimes, if I can't fall asleep or if I wake up in the middle of the night, perhaps I'll grab a look then too, because it's so convenient and tempting.

What's at stake here? Well, for starters, I'm not decompressing with my own thoughts in the last moments of the day, as I'm still open to stimulation and input from the outside world. If I come across something interesting during that last look, I might stay up later than I had intended, because I'm still engaged, or because my brain is amp'ed back up again with new considerations. In the morning, reaching for the phone seconds after my alarm goes off--before I'm even lucid, really--means that I'm bypassing a valuable wake-up/warm-up phase during which I could think about how I'm feeling, how well I slept, what I want to do with the day ahead. Without an intentional temperature check and some self-centered (in a good way) goal-setting, I'm allowing external factors to weigh in during a vulnerable state of being, which doubtless impacts the feelings I have and the directions I take as I embark upon my day. I have so much to gain in reclaiming this time.

So last night the phone stayed in my office. I had tried this previously and there were positive outcomes, but I hadn't stuck with it. I'm going to try again to change the pattern.

Today I slept in (my headcold is finally on its way out!), was cleaned up and dressed with Dash on his leash before I even glanced at a screen. I saw that a few emails and facebook comments had come in, but I didn't sit down at my desk and get comfortable and distracted. I scanned and then I left the phone on the desk and went to the park with Dash. We had some fun with puppies, I thought about a run I'd like to take later in the day, and I started crafting this post in my head. Another beautiful, sunny day here in San Francisco that I'm enjoying more because I eliminated some methods of interruption.

After writing yesterday, I decided to think about this endeavor as "changing patterns" rather than "breaking habits." Habits tend to be classified as "good" and "bad," and when we decide they're "bad" it's time to "break" them, to ditch them forever. It all sounds so harsh and judgmental, like hard work, deprivation and punishment, and shame-on-you for having them. Patterns, on the other hand, are activities and behaviors we tend to repeat, incorporate as ritual. The activities and behaviors might be meaningful, productive, and even necessary, but perhaps in the way we've created patterns from them they stop working for us as well as they might. For example, I'm not trying to disconnect from the world by ignoring technology. My phone is an essential device that supports my business and personal needs, including values like staying connected to loved ones and exploring my new city (map in hand always!). But somewhere along the line I evolved into thinking I couldn't do without it, even for the briefest time, and I developed patterns that allow it to be the boss of me. That's the part I want to change.  

The C.Y.P. Challenge is about Changing Your Patterns. Think about the patterns in your life that aren't working for you anymore and how you might--to return to yesterday's terminology--change one thing and see what happens. See if the pattern starts to look different. You're allowing the activity or behavior to remain in your life, but in an evolved and more intentional way.

I'm not suggesting you change something every day. Change one thing and see how long you can stick with it. When you're comfortable, try another. I've got my two for now (#1: Technology-free park visits, and #2: Phone sleeps alone) and I think I'm good for a little bit working on these. When I get settled into a new pattern I'll decide what else to explore. There's something about this approach that seems very gentle and non-judgmental. Because, seriously, who needs more judgment in their life??

I'd really love if you joined me in the C.Y.P. Challenge. We might all learn something if we do it together, and I'd really enjoy knowing what others experience through it. Would you be willing to share your one small change? What pattern would you like to shift? When do you feel most challenged to stick with it? How does it feel to have a new pattern? How will you know when you are ready to change one more thing?

It's easy to sign up on typepad to post comments here (which I would prefer to facebook, so the comments stay associated with the post). Can I count you in?

Change One Thing

Last Tuesday I returned from my birthday week trip to New York. I'm still sorting through my thoughts and emotions around that visit--how it felt to be there and then how it felt to return to SF--so you'll have to stay tuned for a future post on that. 

In the meantime, though, I've been thoughtful per usual these days about habits I've developed that I'm ready to lose. It's part of the Marnie Makeover (a.k.a. my spiritual retreat) that is now a few months underway.

To name one, bad eating is a top bad habit. I posted about this already a few weeks back and set an intention to evolve, with a healthier grocery list and nurturing of my novice cooking skills. And then I promptly fell off the wagon. There's always a list of excuses (the winner this month is "I went to NYC"), but the excuses are getting tiresome now that I've noticed how they repeat weekly, monthly and annually. 

Time management is another area of my life that continues to frustrate. Very little has changed since I declared a "non-resolution" about it in January. I get the work done for my freelance gig (because that's where the paycheck comes from, of course), but then I struggle with managing my time outside of that. I habitually meander off-road over the course of a given day, with the result that I fail to accomplish essential tasks (for example, those that will help get my coaching practice off the ground faster) or that I feel like precious time was wasted when I could have been doing activities I enjoy more than whatever distracted me.

Needless to say--because we've all been here--it's hard to change habits. I just really want to figure out how to commit to lifestyle changes that will pay off in feeling better, in body and spirit. 

I'm pleased to report that today I had a minor breakthrough.

I've been thinking a lot lately about how to be more present, more "in the moment," and less susceptible to distractions. I feel like moving in this direction will help me with my time management issue, and it will undoubtedly make me feel more peaceful too.

One insight that I've had is that technology makes it hard for me to do this--to be present. (No surprise there, right?) Just when I start to gather clarity and focus around something, a sound or visual interruption will jolt me out of it. It seems like I'm in a permanent state of A.D.D. It's driving me crazy actually.

So I took Dash out for a walk today at noon and I left my phone at the house. I was headed to the park to let him run around, and I was determined to stay out for at least an hour. My goal was to just BE at the park, to be part of whatever was going on there and nowhere else. Without a phone to ring, vibrate or compel me to browse, I was simply going to be a girl at the park with her dog.

Maybe it sounds like the dumbest little thing, but I would challenge you to think of the last time you INTENTIONALLY went somewhere without your phone. You (like me) probably don't do it intentionally... ever. Why is that? What are we afraid of missing? How signficantly is it changing our experiences to allow those interruptions to come whenever they feel like it? Why don't we try harder to control the interruptions and just be present? What might we gain by changing our patterns?

It's a gorgeous day here today. As Dash and I roamed the park, I felt the sun on my face but also the chill of the wind on my arms. I heard dogs barking and children laughing and a few really amusing conversations (e.g. "...my ex-husband's nanny is 300 lbs and feeds the kids processed foods, but it works for his lifestyle so why should I care...?"). I saw dozens of sailboats in the bay and some really determined sunbathers in bikinis (seriously, it's not THAT warm, ladies). I smelled the freshness of the spring air. I pet some fluffy Labradoodles that came our way to play with Dash. I even traded numbers with the walker of the fluffy dogs, so that we could make plans to bring our dogs together to play sometime next week. Spontaneous conversation and human connection, what a novel idea. These things don't happen, this opportunity for multi-sense engagement with the world, when we stop paying attention to our current coordinates within it.

I changed one thing today. I dared myself to break a pattern and take a different approach. I feel like I was rewarded for this effort, which of course compels me to want to do it again. I'm wondering if (and hopeful that) this is how habits get broken and/or re-engineered into more productive ones: keeping it small, making one change for the better, and observing the ripple effect. Do you think I'm on to something?

My (Accidental) Spiritual Retreat

There was a time when I thought my San Francisco life would look a lot like my New York City life. Sure, the set would look different, with varied landscapes and weather. And the cast would change, with new and previously cameo roles allowed to take center stage. But otherwise I had imagined that a few years of creative effort in CA would lead to a certain outcome: similar pace, lifestyle and priorities, simply playing out somewhere else. 

It makes perfect sense to have believed this, right? After all, the new play cast the same lead actress. Uprooted and transplanted 2,500 miles, but still the same me made from the same stuff. 

Four months into my adventure, it's safe to say: This isn't what I'd expected.

Indeed, that's a good thing. It just took me a while to figure it out. 

January and February were the key indicators that things would be different. I spent an inordinate amount of time alone and wasn't at all happy about it. I would think about how busy-and-social I had been in New York and wonder how long it would take me to attain similar busy-and-social status in San Francisco. When friends would call or email to see how I was doing, I would deliver the litany of reasons why I felt isolated and stuck in my new situation. It was my disclaimer for the solitude I felt had been inflicted upon me; it was important to explain that it wasn't my choice. I couldn't tell you why, except that choosing to be alone more frequently seemed to fly in the face of what I knew or expected of myself and what I thought my friends knew and expected of me. We are so quick to equate alone with lonely--an uncomfortable, undesirable state. In January and February, I was trying to escape the Alone.

And then, in March, I changed the rules. Changed my rules. Possibly forever.

I decided to embrace solitude. It started with reminding myself of all the times in New York when I was so busy I couldn't catch my breath. Couldn't get enough sleep. Couldn't do as much yoga as I wanted. I couldn't take care of myself and my body in very basic ways. I thought about how hard it had been to fit in some of the simple pleasures I enjoyed, like reading. I recognized that I became a bad eater partly because I didn't have the time or patience for slowing down to make better choices. In my New York life, in so many ways, being that busy was self-destructive. 

With these realizations in mind, I began to fill up my time with the things that I'd persistently edged out. I bought a week-long yoga pass and went seven days in a row, trying classes I'd always wanted to try. I planned new running routes and got out the door every time I intended to. I read hundred and hundreds of pages of a book series that struck my fancy, and I read late into the night because my lighter schedule allowed it. I went grocery shopping and cooked a few simple but healthier meals, and I cooked for friends who came for dinner. In short, I filled up my days with activities I'd nearly squeezed out of my New York life, with activities that were 100% about taking care of myself, body and soul.

Best of all, the time has allowed me to think. I have embarked on a deep exploration, some really profound thinking around what I'm doing here, what really matters to me, who I am, what I want to get out of life. Surprisingly--or perhaps not at all--I'm coming up with some new answers, perspectives that feel more evolved than those I've historically carried with me, unquestioningly. The world looks different. And that's not because I've changed my scenery here in CA. It's because I've changed my lens. And because I'm giving myself more time and space to look around. It's fascinating what I'm seeing and feeling. 

I've heard of people running off to Thailand or India for spiritual retreats, to more closely examine themselves and their lives, to sort issues out, to find more inner peace. One friend, to whom I was describing my recent weeks, remarked that my experiences sound a lot like the story Eat, Pray, Love. It does feel like I'm on a similar journey to the one the author took. I just didn't travel so far to start discovering, and my self-discovery is happening within my life instead of a vacation or sabbatical away from it. So it's not actually a "retreat" from anything. It's how I'm choosing to live.  

 

You Are What You Eat

My terrible eating habits have come up randomly in discussion a few times over the last week. On Friday, I had a consultation with a new acupuncturist, and we spent at least an hour talking about various facets of my health, including diet and nutrition. On Saturday, while running with some new SFRRC girlfriends, healthy eating was the topic of choice for most of our 7.5-mile trot (this should be no surprise, of course, as runners spend an inordinate of time talking about food). And, prior to those events, I had been working on a "goal setting" workbook for my coaching program, during which I tackled a section on health and had shamefully given myself a 5-out-of-10 satisfaction rating for my current eating habits.

I say shamefully, because it's actually embarassing to talk about how badly I eat. I think it's because in so many other ways my lifestyle is considered healthy:

• I exercise. A lot.
• I get good sleep. Moreso than ever during the last year and a half.
• I don't smoke.
• I drink alcohol infrequently, and moderately when I do. (Yeah, I'm a cheap date.)
• I don't drink coffee or other caffeinated beverages. 
• I don't eat fast food, and I hardly ever eat fried foods.

But, seriously, my diet sucks. I eat tons of carbs (cereal, pasta, granola bars), an insane quantity of cheese, and only negligible amounts of fruits, vegetables and proteins. Plus, I have a crazy sweet tooth. My routine in recent years has been to graze throughout each day on whatever is handy, without thinking about the composition of my total intake, and without considering the potential for smart food choices to make me feel healthier and to complement (vs. counteract) my other healthy choices.

Well, the time is now. This week's synchronicity suggested to me that I am desperately in need of a change. I've probably made a resolution to eat better every year of the last ten without ever making an earnest attempt. But today I'm saying it again, and today I swear I mean it. I've been feeling okay lately, but what if I could feel great? More energy? Sign me up! In two separate conversations about my habits, both my acupuncturist and my friend Laura reiterated what I already know but have consistently tried to deny or ignore: What you put into your body affects everything you do and also how you think and feel. Hearing that again now and finally taking it to heart, it's simply inconceivable that I could undertake this journey of self-exploration and not properly fuel my car for the trip.

So today I took my first steps forward in this endeavor: I went to the grocery store and bought every vegetable I love, plus all my favorite proteins. I bought no sweets and almost no carbs. When I got home, I wrote down my whole inventory of healthy foods on a piece of paper and put it on the fridge. My plan--when I get hungry or need to plan a meal--is to go to the list and select from that inventory rather than stare into the fridge or cupboard and allow myself to be swayed by what I see. 

Sound like an odd plan? (I honestly have no clue where the idea came from. I just know that I eat impulsively.) Perhaps it is. I think it might make a difference, although of course that could be because any step forward from here is a good step. I'm going to roll with it and keep you posted. And, in the meantime, if you have a tip or just want to send encouragement to a Reforming Crappy-Eaterholic, I'd love to hear it. 

Recovery in Self-Discovery

At some point during the last few weeks I turned a corner. I couldn't tell you exactly when or how it happened. I only know that I managed to put enough distance between myself and my L.F. ("Lousy Feeling") that there consequentially occurred a moment, as I slowed and glanced over my shoulder, in which I could no longer sense it. 

Of course, I knew the L.F. was still there and might remain closeby for a time, lurking about and hoping to catch up with me, but somehow turning that first corner and briefly losing sight of it provided me with some relief. And the relief freed up some energy to keep moving. And movement gave me hope that the L.F. might eventually drop back or give up.

It's an interesting thing about turning corners: It never happens in the moment that you first recognize your desperation to experience a change. There's no chance for it while you're running and flailing and trying to dodge the L.F.'s that appear in your path. You have to push to the point of overwhelm and exhaust yourself. You have to sit down on the curb and accept that an L.F. is going to sit down next to you and cozy up. And then, when you finally surrender to the fact that the L.F. may become your B.F.F., that's of course when the Universe shows you a corner. 

That's my take on it anyway. It's been a tough few weeks and I'm now finding myself on the other side of the worst of it without knowing how I got here. Oddly, though, I think I'm okay with it. On a good day, I might go so far as to say that I wouldn't change a thing. Quality time with my L.F., in spite of (or perhaps because of) the loneliness and discomfort I have been experiencing, has resulted in a heightened self-awareness that I would never want to give up. I've gained these remarkable new insights about myself, and I really want to see where they'll take me.

I've been on road of self-exploration for the last few years, but suddenly I have much more information to work with. My life will be better for this time, I am certain, proving that even dark days serve a purpose. If I can truly reconcile with this idea and allow life's inevitable L.F.'s to more freely come and go without a fight, I can only imagine what else I may learn about myself.