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Bold colors, drips

Openness and Play

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After a very brief bit of soul-searching, I decided a few weeks ago to take a job leading backpacking trips for the YMCA in Seattle this summer. The training we’ve done for the program, along with a bit of traveling and an epic frisbee tournament, has got me thinking a lot about relationships, communication, openness, and play. Mostly about how wonderful all those things are, and how little emphasis we put on them in everyday life.

The backpacking training came first, and it was hands-down the best orientation I’ve ever had for a job. We basically went out into the woods and mirrored the experience we would be facilitating for our participants later in the summer. We spent five days building groups, playing games, talking about emotional intelligence and generally having an awesome time. There were about fifty to-be instructors, and every single one was down to create a fun environment and get real with some pretty deep and important conversations. By the end of the five days, the incredibly supportive environment had allowed us all to bond together as if we’d been friends for years. And I’m pretty sure I will be friends with some of those folks for years to come.

I went straight from the orientation to Boston and then Vermont to visit family, especially my three-month old niece. We had a really great time making eye contact and sticking our tongues out at each other and napping. A different kind of bonding, but maybe only in the sense that it’s broken down to its essentials and not yet cluttered by all sorts of baggage and language and anxieties. I also had some really good time to hang out with slightly older relatives and friends, which reminded me again of the difficulties of choosing a coast. For the moment I’m still sticking with the west, though.

Two weeks in New England and I flew back to Seattle in time to go rock climbing in Squamish, British Columbia for a couple days (Side note: holy crap. This place is amazing. A climbing dreamland.) before heading to the biggest and best and silliest frisbee tournament in the country, Potlatch. I’ve been to Potlatch about seven times, and it never ceases to amaze me. There is such an incredible wealth of goofing around and great costumes and old friends and new friends and dance parties and bagels with peanut butter. It is not unusual to call a time-out for the sole purpose of setting up a slip-and-slide or having a picnic on the field. Team bonding and community building happens quickly and effortlessly.

But now I am back in “Real Life”, where people do not spontaneously burst into song or dance or wear face and body paint or play games where you make animal noises because you need a let off some steam. The world here seems to run on different energy, or with different priorities. There is a little bit more sarcasm, and people have thick skin. I’m not necessarily pushing for costumed-silliness 24/7, but I think there are some important values that these experiences highlight, and which are often overlooked in our day-to-day routines. Play is big one. Being open, authentic, and real is another. Being supportive and silly in a group, being honest about fears and dreams. These activities may only appear to be passing moments pasted into a larger reality, just vacations we take to “get away”. But they are actually the things that allow us to create strong bonds of friendship and love, and those are the things that really matter. All the physical stuff we acquire along the way is not the point, and I think in a lot of instances it actually makes it more difficult to build relationships and community.

The frisbee community and the outdoor community are groups that are serious about having a good time, making cool things happen, and building strong relationships. It takes love and generosity and openness to create a space for all that to take place, but it is one-hundred percent worth it. These are the things that make life so precious, rewarding, and fun, and I think we could all use a little bit more of that in our day-to-day lives.

Goats rock.

Competition, Comparison, Vulnerability

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I just spent a beautiful long weekend in Stehekin, WA, aka Magical Dream Fairy Land. It’s a town of about 85 full-time residents, accessible only by 50-mile ferry ride or a long hike through the North Cascades. There is not much happening in town aside from a kick-ass pastry shop, and it’s surrounded by gorgeous peaks and hiking trails in every direction.

Normally when I go out in the woods like this, I have some big goal: summit a mountain, cover a lot of mileage, climb some difficult cliff faces. This time, not so much. With the support of my group of friends, I approached the weekend with a distinct lack of major ambitions or goals to achieve. Instead, we decided to focus on being present, being open to adventure, and taking things as they come. This is something I think about a lot, but have a hard time doing in real life. The weekend was great practice. Even without having a plan, we managed to camp in beautiful places, go on long walks, eat delicious food, meet new people, have really enjoyable interactions with all sorts of characters and wildlife, watch the sky change color, find animal shapes in the clouds, do sunset yoga, clamber around rock formations, play music everywhere, deepen our friendships, talk about life and the universe, breathe deeply, race sticks down rivers, lose ourselves, find ourselves, forget about cellphones and email, be amazed, eat more, walk more, find a healthy dose of peace of mind.

On the car ride home from the ferry we listened to a podcast featuring Brené Brown on vulnerability, and it summed up wonderfully a lot of the thinking I had been doing. My natural state has always been to be ambitious, competitive, and a bit (ok, maybe a lot) of a perfectionist. In general, this has treated me pretty well so far. I’m good at a lot of things, so I can usually do well enough to be satisfied with my performance. I’ve done a lot of cool things that I’m glad to have done, and I almost always function well in society. But this is a dangerous path, and ultimately not the one I want to follow. It means deriving happiness from comparison with others, either by raising my own status or lowering theirs or both, creating an unhealthy feeling of self-importance and ego. This works really well for a lot of aspects of life, and it’s strongly encouraged by our society and capitalism in general. It doesn’t work, however, for cultivating happiness.

Here’s what I haven’t learned to do yet, but this weekend reminded me I need to be working on:

Being vulnerable

Putting myself out there, especially emotionally

Being okay when things don’t go as planned

Being okay with not being the best at everything

Asking for help

Letting the universe point me in new directions

Failing a lot

Doing what feels right

Taking things slowly

Getting hurt

Forgiving myself and others

Listening

 

It’s not a comprehensive list, but a good start. If you’ve got suggestions, let me know…

Marathon Running, Shifting Expectations

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I ran my first marathon this weekend. This is something I’ve always thought I would do, but I had never really considered a realistic possibility until the last couple years. Before three years ago, I don’t think I had ever run more than about 6 miles in one go. Since then, my perceptions and expectations about running have gradually shifted, and I finished the race in 2:56:27, about 20 minutes faster than I had planned.

My thinking about running started to change when I trained for a half-marathon with friends a couple years ago. The idea was to build up mileage slowly until 13 miles didn’t seem like a big deal. We started with a 5 mile run on the weekend (along with a couple shorter runs during the week), and added a mile to that each week. When we got to 9 miles, I couldn’t believe how doable it was. Not necessarily easy, but nowhere near as bad as I had expected. (Around the same time, I got a new pair of running shoes which almost immediately eliminated joint pain I had always experienced running. There was obviously still muscle soreness, but that is way more manageable than knee and hip pain. This was a revelation.) Then 10 miles, and 11, no big deal. I ended up even doing a 13.5 before the 13.1 race, so I knew what to expect.

I used a similar strategy for the marathon, but started with a stronger base and went further. My plan was to start at 8 and add a couple miles each week until I had done a 22 mile run. This sounds like a crazy distance to run, but I gradually taught myself not to be afraid of it. I knew I could do 13, so when my 14 miler came along, it wasn’t such a big deal. 16 isn’t that much more than 14. 18 isn’t that much more than 16. The bottom line here: we can get used to anything, it just takes time. I might also be kind of a freak. Except then my training schedule got derailed a little bit and I didn’t end up running anything longer than 18 before the marathon. I figured it would be fine, though. The biggest problem I’d had on my long runs was getting really hungry and thirsty, which I would manage a lot better at the race. I was also doing a lot of yoga, rock climbing, and weight lifting for cross training, so I thought that might help.

The run itself turned out to be fantastic. It was the Eugene Marathon, which is really flat (as opposed to hilly Seattle where I trained). I had the added bonus of being familiar with (and nostalgic about) the course because it was all along the trails I ran and biked on when I lived there for grad school. And the weather was perfect: overcast and 60 degrees until the last stretch. I did a really good job of eating well, staying hydrated, and sleeping in the days leading up to the run – no coffee for 3 days, no alcohol for a week, 7 hours the night before despite 5 am wake up. Race morning I had a solid (but light) breakfast, had a well-timed bowel movement (crucial), and caffeinated just the right amount (best performance-enhancing drug).

I put a lot of focus on mental preparation as well. I know from experience (ultimate frisbee, mostly) that I perform a lot better when I’m happy and psyched. Leading up to the race, I was excitedly nervous for several days. I concentrated on the excited part of this and let the nervous part drift away. I wrote “HAVE FUN” and “PRACTICE GRATITUDE” on my hands before the race, and I made sure to thank all the traffic enforcement along the way (until mile 24 when I couldn’t do anything). I wore pink knee-length tights under my blue running short-shorts, neon-yellow mesh tank top and shoes, and a red, white, and blue headband, which all got a lot of cheers from the folks watching the race. All these things kept people smiling at me, which kept me smiling and happy and excited. I meant to make a duct tape name tag reading “VELOCISAPIEN”, but couldn’t find duct tape at the last minute. Somebody’s stereo was blasting Macklemore’s Thrift Shop at mile 19, which gave me an extra boost because most of my outfit actually was from Goodwill.

This all worked pretty much perfectly, and most of the run went smoothly. On the shuttle to the start line I met a guy celebrating his 60th birthday with the full marathon. Super inspiring. Once we got moving, I was a little worried about coming out too fast when people around me started talking about the pace, but I felt good so I didn’t slow down. At 11 miles the full and half marathons separated, so there was a lot more space. I ended up PR’ing my half marathon time by four and a half minutes, and still felt good. I met a guy running with me who was doing his twenty-third marathon. Holy crap. He was skeptical that I was doing this pace for my first marathon, but he said that I was keeping it consistent, which was a good sign. That guy was great, and I tried to keep him in my sights as long as I could (he probably finished a minute and a half or so before me). Miles 14-18 were euphoric. I had the total sensation of “runner’s high.” My legs didn’t hurt, I was just filled with excitement and happiness and gentle tingling. I kept eating gels and trying to drink two waters at each station and had a banana.

So eventually I found myself at the 20-mile marker having kept almost exactly a 6:39 min/mile pace throughout and feeling really happy about where I was (I wore a watch to measure my speed, but couldn’t figure out how to get it to display min/mile, so I was actually looking at miles/hr the whole time. Luckily by mile 20 I had figured out what that meant). My long training runs had been at a 7:30-7:35 min/mile pace, which I why I was aiming for about a 3:15:00 finish, but secretly I thought I could do it faster. So, after 20 miles I was on pace for about 2:54:30, and I knew I’d clear 3 hours as long as I didn’t blow it.

But here’s the thing: the last 6 miles of this run were REALLY hard. Like, one of the hardest physical endeavors I’ve experienced. My legs were done. I wasn’t getting any spring from my muscles, just drag. My stomach was really confused and I was constantly on the cusp of being out of breath so I couldn’t take the time to drink water from the stations. I ended up just throwing it in my face and on my head, which actually felt wonderful. My smile started to turn into more of a slack-jaw, and I can’t imagine I looked very good (my number 2 goal, behind actually finishing the race).

But I kept going, and started focusing on a meditation technique I had practiced. Basically, it is a Tibetan Buddhist visualization I read about in Matthieu Ricard’s Happiness, which involves engulfing yourself in a sweet, healing nectar. As your own pain and suffering diminishes, you are better able to spread this cessation of suffering to others. I modified this slightly to visualize myself being pushed by a river of healing water, sweet and cool and calming, whisking me along effortlessly. Maybe it is cheating or sacrilegious to use this for running. If so, apologies! It didn’t make the run easy, but at least it distracted my mind and kept me going. My top priority at this point was to not pull a muscle or have to stop for any reason, even if that meant going a bit slower. I felt like I slowed down a lot, but found out I had only decreased my pace to 7:00 min/mile for the last 6 miles. I didn’t have any energy for a kick at the end, except maybe the last 50 meters which ended on Hayward Track where I used to do track workouts with the Oregon men’s ultimate frisbee team.

After I crossed the finish line, all I couldn’t think about was how happy I was to not be running anymore, and how shocked I was that I broke three hours. I drank three liters of water and still didn’t need to pee for two more hours. Then I had a beer with some friends, and started trying to eat again. Now it’s about 36 hours later and my stomach is just starting to feel normal. My legs are totally beat, and a flight of stairs is a daunting endeavor (going down is worse), but all the pain is muscle soreness, and I didn’t hurt anything, which is fantastic. I’m not sure that I’ll do another marathon soon, but I’m really glad to have done this one! Maybe as my perceptions and expectations shift I’ll end up doing 23 of them like the guy I met, no big deal. Or 100-mile ultramarathons. For now, I’m definitely not going to run again until at least Thursday.

Swirling Colors

Easy Decisions

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A friend just sent me this article, and it’s really great. Definitely worth a read, even if you aren’t a freshman in college anymore and didn’t go to Stanford. It’s never too late to be who you’re meant to be.

I especially relate to the section on “going with the flow,” the idea that we often choose a path because the decision is easy, even if the path is not. At a number of points in my life, I have chosen to do a specific thing (graduate school, traveling abroad, working in construction and then consulting) not because it meant my life would be the most comfortable, but because the choices were. It’s easy to go to graduate school immediately after college, and it eliminates a lot of hard decisions like where to live and what to do with your time and what to do about money. Deciding to travel was easy, too. I had friends who had gone to Europe to work on farms, and all I had to do was apply for an internship and buy some plane tickets. Not that it wasn’t an incredibly valuable experience; it was life changing. But it was an easy decision.

Deciding to quit my good office job and strike out on my own was a harder decision which opened up all sorts of previously decided variables (location, where to focus my effort, and again, money). But at the same time, it felt right throughout the process. Maybe I had already internalized some of what the author is laying out here, and maybe I’m optimistic enough to think that everything will work out no matter what I do. But it was definitely not the same kind of decision that kept me going on the common path I had already followed to grad school, traveling abroad, and working at an office. It took time and emotional processing and a lot of encouragement to make the decision. Now I am immersed in a world that works much differently than 9-5, one which demands boldness, creativity, and authenticity rather than stability, security, and risk-aversion. I’m still figuring out how to navigate it, and probably will be for the rest of my life. Suggestions are welcome!

Also, I’ve been painting a lot. Check ’em out!

Internet at Home

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I just got back from a 10-day road trip around southern California, which was fantastic. A good mix of visiting with old friends, making new ones, and wandering alone through the desert. The twist: I lost my phone on the beach in Santa Monica on about day 4 (apologies if you’ve been trying to reach me. Email is the only way for the time being, and I didn’t get your message). So far this has been pretty fun and interesting, and I’ve generally been glad to not have something always ready to vibrate in my pocket and pull me away from the present (although approaching an unfamiliar city with no way of contacting the people I’m supposed to be meeting is admittedly somewhat stressful). But more than anything, it has got me thinking about communication in general, how we interact in this world of WiFi and smartphones and text messages and Skype &c &c &c.

There are books to be written about all this communication (they probably already have been), but I just want to focus on one thing: internet at home. Having internet at home is pervasive and expected and apparently innocuous. A lot of the time, really helpful. But here’s what I’m going to suggest: life is better without it.

I live with two roommates in an apartment in Seattle, and when we all moved in together last May we decided to forgo an internet connection. We were all curious about what that would do, and were happy to save a few bucks in the process.

A few of the consequences of an internet-free house were as I had expected. I spend less time surfing the web, which is pretty much synonymous with wasting time. I read more, cook more, play music more, and hang out more than I did when I had the internet. Pretty obvious. I only check my email for one block of time each day (this can vary depending on work situation – right now I’m never in an office), which has reduced my stress enormously and caused me to miss approximately zero important events and messages.

The things I didn’t expect, however, have turned out to be much more important.

Thing one: sleep. I sleep so much better when I don’t look at my computer before bed. Finding an important email right before bed when there is nothing I can do about it only makes sleep more difficult. It drifts through my mind, waking me up and causing me to stew on the response/intention/miscommunication held within. These things are meant to be dealt with during the daytime. A clear mind at night leads to a restful, dream-filled sleep.

Thing two, and this is the one that I feel is the most important and subtle: community. This one has been floating around my mind for a while, but didn’t gel until a friend on the road trip commented on it explicitly while I was describing my house. Here’s a typical scene in a house with roommates: somebody is hanging out in the kitchen, maybe making some food with a friend. Someone else is sitting on the couch in the living room, absorbed by his computer but present enough to maybe throw something into the conversation when he hears some keyword or is addressed specifically. This works and seems functional, but it sucks. What’s missing is the most valuable resource we have to offer: attention. This guy’s attention is on his computer, so although he is physically there, and therefore satisfying some emotional want or need, none of the relationships are growing from the interaction. With the internet, I do this all the time without even thinking about it. It’s an addiction, and it’s too powerful to avoid by simply trying to not use the computer at certain times. TV, I realize, does a similar thing, but I haven’t had a TV for anything but movies in years, so I sometimes forget what it’s like.

Without the crutch of easy attention-absorption, everyone in the room is present and accounted for, able to fully invest their focus in the conversation and the subtle emotional cues that come with any face-to-face interaction. This just isn’t possible if someone is staring blankly at a screen. This level of engagement has helped our house build a sense of community and strengthened the communication that takes place there. Of course, it helps that my roommates and our guests are people with whom I do want to build community, and that I love to go to coffee shops for internet-centric things like posting blogs, and that both of my roommates have smartphones for emergency/last minute email sending. But it’s the routine, rather than the exceptions, that makes the difference.

Our parents were right when they told us to turn off the TV during dinner, but nobody is going to tell us to turn off the internet. I’m glad I did.