Every morning, I come downstairs and do the same thing: look out the window and greet the mountains, put on a pot of coffee, flip open my laptop, check the weather, scan my email.
The first letter I see today is from a reader, a mother who had written me some months ago with what I considered the highest of praise: she called my books “yoga for the brain.” Of course I’m delighted to find her name in my in-box again.
“I have a personal question for you,” Sarah’s note begins, “and please feel free not to answer it.” I read on, intrigued. “If I have a bad parenting day,” she continues, “or if I’m stuck in a rut, I pick up one of your books and it calms my spirit. . . . Your words exude a deep sense of calmness, and a connection to your spirit. Where the heck do you get that from? Really, I want to know.” Her letter ends with words that bring me up short: “I just feel like you have what I WANT.”
Someone out there wants what I have? How strange to think that, while I’m struggling along here, feeling neither wise nor terribly calm, and certainly not very sure of myself, someone else seems to think that I have things all figured out and squared away.
The truth is, I’ve spent most of January sitting in a chair, trying in fits and starts to write a new book proposal and judging every paragraph. I spend an hour on a sentence, then throw it away, certain it’s not worth reading, wondering why my writer friends seem capable of knocking out great stuff without breaking a sweat while I agonize over every word. I look around the house at all the tasks that are undone: the pile of stuff on my desk that I promised to plow through before the end of the month; the exhausted paperwhites, deep in their post-holiday forward bends, dropping petals all over the floor (way past time to throw them away and get the vacuum out!); the blinking light on the piano pulsing “tune me”; the pile of laundry in the basket, waiting to be folded. I think of the friends I’ve been meaning to call, but haven’t, because I’ve been glued to my desk, feeling the pressure of my own self-imposed deadline.
I think of the painful conversation I had the other night with my husband, his admission that he feels a little lonely these days even when he’s with me; his accusation that I’ve been oblivious for weeks, so focused on my work that I seem to have checked out of my life. Each day of this cold, snowy month, my neighbor Debbie has come by my house, quietly doing one good deed after another: replenishing my birdseed supply, taking Gracie for a walk, leaving me her copy of Yoga Journal, even hauling the snowblower out of the garage and doing our walkways after the last storm. I keep meaning to write her a thank you note, to invite her out for blueberry pancakes at our favorite cafe. But I haven’t done either.
All these lapses, my own failures of presence and attention, leap to mind as I read Sarah’s letter. If only she knew how easily I lose sight of the beauty of the world. How easily I wander off track, get lost, and flail about, rather than staying balanced in my own quiet center. If only she knew how overwhelmed I often feel myself.
I gulp down a bowl of cereal and head downtown to yoga class. Alexandra greets every one of us by name as we enter the room and roll out our mats. Her humor, her grace, her presence never fail to lift my spirits. Today, I’m so soothed by her quiet way, by her stillness leavened with a kind of inner light, that I find myself thinking, “Well, I want what SHE has.”
We began in a reclined hero pose. Long experience has taught me to move into this one slowly, and with care. So, while my classmates plop their butts down easily between their spread calves and lay back, I futz around: a block under my rear end, a bolster beneath my back, a slow progression through my tight hips and thighs and calves, to a supine position. I don’t know if I’ll ever be flexible enough to do this pose without props; what I have learned, though, is that if I’m patient with myself, if I take it slow and breathe my way down on to my back, I’ll be ok.
And so, I set up my little arrangement — block, bolster, blanket — and ease myself toward the floor. One breath, two. Allowing rather than doing. Letting go rather than holding on. Laying there, listening to Alexandra’s quiet instructions, I feel something I’ve been holding on to for days begin to release.
Why have I been making this all so hard? For weeks I’ve been muscling my way into Writer Pose, trying to force words onto paper, while ignoring the protests of my spirit. And what do I have to show for it? A very few pages wrought at considerable expense — I’m tired, frustrated, insecure, behind in everything, and on top of all that, I’ve hurt my husband’s feelings by being so wrapped up in my own.
No wonder Sarah’s letter makes me feel uncomfortable. What I have, after all, is nothing special. In fact, I know all too well the trap of assuming that what’s hard for me is easy for everyone else, whether it’s writing an essay or flowing through a vinyassa in yoga class. I look around the room — at my lovely teacher in her self-contained wisdom, at the young women whose limbs are as flexible as pipe cleaners, at the friend who has just lost fifteen pounds and looks great — and recognize a familiar old emotion in myself. Inadequacy. The sense that who I am, what I’m capable of, is never quite enough.
And yet, lying in my fully supported hero pose, I know that my challenge in this moment is not to get my bottom onto the floor, but to quiet the noisy buzzing in my mind and tune in to my own body instead, to trust that who I am really is ok, and that, contrary to that negative, nattering voice in my head, I already have everything I need — to do my version of hero pose, to write my next book, to live my own good life.
“Be content with what you have,” wrote Lao Tzu in the Tao Te Ching, “rejoice in the way things are. When you realize nothing is lacking, the whole world belongs to you.” The quiet center, the calm place I seek — it has been right here all along. I can tie myself up in emotional knots, trying to write from sheer force of will, judging myself for what I haven’t done, comparing myself to others and coming up lacking every time. Or I can ease back into my life the way I’ve finally learned to ease my middle-aged body into this most challenging yoga pose: by offering myself the kind of compassionate acceptance I so easily extend to everyone else.
Perhaps the only way to achieve wholeness is to embrace our own fragility, to acknowledge our weaknesses and broken parts, and to minister to those parts with tenderness. And perhaps our real work as humans is not to become more like someone else, not to look at what another person seems to have, and try to figure out how to get it for ourselves — but rather to discover that which is unique and precious to us, and to lovingly attend to that.
And how lucky we are, to have the support of the universe as we embark on this transformative work of caring for our own souls: books to inspire us on our journeys, role models who can point the way, poems that give voice to the words in our own hearts, teachers willing to meet us where we are, friends who appear at our sides offering encouragement and companionship, loved ones who patiently wait for us to look up and to remember that we are loved.
It is, in fact, a great honor to know that something I’ve written has shone a light on someone else’s path. What I want, what we all want, is to feel that our gifts, whatever they are, have been of some use. Our lives become meaningful in service to others. First though, we must be able to see, and to honor, the light within ourselves. Perhaps today, as I do the dishes, fold that laundry, sit at my desk waiting for words to come and then, later, reach out over dinner to take my husband’s hand, I’ll remember that nothing is lacking, that the whole world already belongs to me, if I can simply allow myself to receive it.
“Perhaps the only way to achieve wholeness is to embrace our own fragility, to acknowledge our weaknesses and broken parts, and to minister to those parts with tenderness”
This captures more beautifully than almost anything I’ve ever read the pernicious, persistent voices of inadequacy and the terrible trap they represent. We are all broken. We know this intellectually, right? But somehow that is lost in the emotional whorl that can overtake us. At least me.
Thanks for a moment of being seen, known, and for shedding a light on my path – not just today but every single day. You do. Yours is the brighest light.
xox
Today, right now in my life, this is what I needed to read. So thank you for sharing, for being honest, for offering grace with your words. When you write: How easily I wander off track I nod and think yes, this living, this quest to be mindful and pay attention takes constant work. When we for a minute forget, allow ourselves to become wrapped up in something outside ourselves, it can be easy to lose our way. Oh how I needed this revelation. Thank you again.
“And how lucky we are, to have the support of the universe as we embark on this transformative work of caring for our own souls: books to inspire us on our journeys, role models who can point the way, poems that give voice to the words in our own hearts, teachers willing to meet us where we are, friends who appear at our sides offering encouragement and companionship, loved ones who patiently wait for us to look up and to remember that we are loved.”
This just sings to me. Thank you. I have been giving all my life and at 50 I am determined to refill my soul. You are giving me light. Thank you.
absolutely spot on. I am always amazed how yoga teaches us so much about life. I am copying down the Lao Tzu quote for sure.
Well, that’s a great way to start my day. Thanks for that.
This is just what I needed right now at this moment. It feels like a gift from a higher being that I was brought here now. Thank you for sharing this gift. Your words reach farther than you’ll ever know!
BOY do I ever relate to this! It feels like the story of my life. On fact, I think I wrote a post on this topic many months ago, my struggle to emulate those I admire without tuning into my own voice. And just recently I read a similar post from a blogger who us a visual artist, reminding me that what will ultimately make any creative endeavor unique and successful is ME: http://kellyraeroberts.blogspot.com/2011/01/secret-ingredient-is-you.html
I love this notion of Writer’s Pose! I have been struggling for weeks to make some much-needed changes to my own site. Nothing I wrote felt worthy enough for my audience — no matter how modest — and so I wrung my hands and kept putting it off. I finally sat down one day and just wrote from the heart, knowing it’s not perfect, but giving myself permission to change it at any time (the value of electronic media!). It felt good to get my words out after so much mulling, to just be me, but I can’t help but feel sad that the most natural thing in the world is sometimes such a monumental task.
I’m a bigger fan of your writing than I know to express, truly- and I’ve passed on your work to many others. I tell folks you somehow reach into my mind, heart and soul and express the best of me in better ways than I ever could. 🙂
I use a quote often, don’t remember where it came from, that was brought to mind by your (much more eloquent) writing today- “don’t compare your insides to someone else’s outsides.” It’s tempting, but it’s a trap-
If you haven’t read my past praise on my blog or amazon.com review, I loved both of your books.
I recently finished reading the highly controversial book The Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother by Amy Chua. As I read it I realized how different I am than Tiger Mother and how more like you I am, like the opposite ends of the pendulum.
I also kept thinking how your writings in ‘Gift of an Ordinary Day’ are on another level altogether: deeper, more in touch with feelings, more thoughtful, and other good stuff. Perhaps what got me through reading the ‘Battle Hymn’ book intact was knowing that I’m not alone and other kinds of mothers like you are out there. I’m not alone. Thanks.
Can’t wait to hear what you are planning for a new book.
Katrina, your posts are all wonderful, but I think this is my favorite. It seems we’re in a circle of learning from, and supporting each other as human beings, as women, on a journey. Sarah’s honest letter prompted you to share your deepest feelings with us, and some of us will now pass it on to others. Personally, I’ve gained the most joy, peace, and self-acceptance (a work in progress) through my growing faith, as well as from words of wisdom from yourself and others. You truly have been given a gift, and I’m grateful to you for sharing it with all of us. God bless.
I loved the idea of forcing yourself into “writer’s pose”. So true. We all need to allow the unfolding more often.
“Our lives become meaningful in service to others”. Your struggle to find the perfect words, Katrina, has yielded two books (so far!) that have reinforced countless numbers of people who are sharing the journey of life. The value of this service is immeasurable. The challenge for all of us is to discover our gifts and share them in some way with those who will recognize and reap rewards from their value.
Your words are food for my soul. I am grateful for your sharing your gifts.
For someone who’s experienced crippling feelings of inadequacy throughout my life, this post is very much like a soothing hot soak in a tub.
It comes as such a comfort to know that even you, someone who has accomplished so much professionally, personally and spiritually … also wrestles with these feelings every day.
It reminds me that no matter how much I don’t think I have already done, or will ever be able to do … I have to remember that all of us, everyone struggles with this. If you do what you can today, and continue to try again tomorrow to be that “perfect” version you have of yourself … eventually you’ll realize that person already exists. The perfection lies in the effort, not the result.
Thank you again for your incredible insight. It’s truly like a gentle shake waking us up to what has always been right in front of us. You continually remind us what’s important … and what isn’t.
I always want to cry when I read your posts. I’m hoping that doesn’t mean I’m on the verge of some kind of breakdown. I think really what it means is that you write my heart and soul — it’s like you are me! I bet you’ve heard that before. That is your gift — you write a universal truth that simply opens me up inside and makes me breathe yes. Thank you for that.
The line that screamed out to me from up above in your beautiful post: “…by offering myself the kind of compassionate acceptance I so easily extend to everyone else.”
Oh, if we could each of us self-critics in this world just master that.
Oh Katrina. Oh wonderful friend, your words brought me such needed peace right now. And I believe, if I quiet, I think my inner light shines brighter after reading the gift of your most insightful, honest words. I struggle…no, wait, I am struggling with these very strains of life. Thank you. So. Much. xo
I’ve also struggled with my share of envy and I’ve simply learned not to give it a bad rap. What if we were to look at envy as a sign post leading us to what we really, really want?
As you wrote, the most important thing is to be kind with ourselves about the feelings.
I just try to look for the thought that feels better. “I hate feeling this way.” or “I know that this thought is trying to lead me in the direction of my dreams. I know I’m on my way. I’ve already made so much progress and the rest will come soon if I keep focusing on my actions and not on other people’s outcomes.”
Which thought feels better? I rinse and repeat as necessary. 🙂
Hi Katrina,
I have never thought as inadequacy as an emotion. And just thinking about it in this way makes me look at it differently.
Thank you!
Clare
Today was the…not sure, lost count, FIFTH? snow day that my kids have had this month. I confess I stole an extra 10-15 minutes after folding the laundry to sit and read a bit of “Ordinary Day.” Just needed some centering, some peace, some reminder to embrace and celebrate the ‘ordinariness’ of this day and not give in to the frustration and restlessness of children who are tired of the snow and the cold. Thank you Katrina, because today not only did your book give me what I needed, but your blog did too!
just what I needed to hear today as I start my little blog and search for a part time job. It’s already all here! Thank you for this.
Thank you, Katrina, for sharing yourself so openly–your strengths and struggles.
What you write about is universal and when those of us who don’t write read it–we feel acknowledged.
And I love the new phrase-“Writer’s pose”. xx
Life always looks easier from someone else’s point of view.I feel I’m at a crossroads in my life but yet I feel it’s almost too late to change things all around.Familiar is safe, uneventful, but safe. As a mother of a twenty-three year old daughter who has already left the nest and a fifteen-year old daughter, my days are no longer as busy as they once were. Sometimes we get so used to the routine of our ordinary days that it feels as if we are just floating through life as if on automatic pilot. Lately, there are so many times I look back at the chaos of my ordinary days with my 2 girls and realize they were the most fulfilled moments in my life– and what I keep searching for has already passed. So as I reluctantly loosen the ties that keep my youngest daughter from soaring, I realize I need to redefine my ordinary day. It’s just so strange to realize that today is all about me–something I’m finding hard to get used to. Your book is helping me through this transition. Thank you.
Katrina, I appreciate the way you recognize and honor the people who reach out to you, connect with you, in posts like these. You are thoughtful, kind and gracious.
You show us what we all want, with your words, with your writer’s pose.
Thank you.
Thank you, Katrina, for being both giving and also vulnerable—a model we can both follow and connect with. I relate to your hero’s pose journey, as that one made me nearly cry for months until I got the same thing you got: the here and now of the yoga. Now I’m having a parallel journey through Hanuman… like water on stone, slowly things change. Namaste
to receive is key for me. i’m going to figure out how to allow that.
thanks.
Very eloquently said. I admire your courage for speaking your truth and telling it “like it is”. Thank you!
This post is a gift, thank you. Beautiful .
Beautiful post and such a refreshing reminder to myself that things do not always appear as they really are. We too often forget this obvious truth.
I think about the fact that until I had children, I felt pretty good about myself. Of course there were lagging insecurities, but all so manageable compared to what I would face as a mom.
Since having children, I have repeatedly doubted myself and even beaten myself up over big and small mistakes. In my own eyes, I never to seem to be good enough at this mothering thing, let alone actually good. Even when I can claim to have a great mommy moment with confidence (ceasing an opportunity for teaching, for fun, for joy with my children), I criticize myself for the fact that such moments are not frequent enough and that they involve such effort on my part. It has always seemed to me that other moms not only do a better job at this mothering thing, but they do it more naturally and easily and they enjoy it more. I suppose these assumptions are based on all of my insecurities as a mom. I can see that I have created a standard that inevitably has me stuck in a place of never being good enough!
It is the comparing of myself to others, based on my assumptions about others, that has me stuck. I have a haunting feeling that the dialogue on motherhood is often warped. We are uncomfortable admitting the difficulties aloud and to others. And so the inaccurate comparisons continue… Because if we don’t share our struggles with others, they may believe they don’t exist.
Certainly there are moms who are more natural at this than I’ll ever be. And there are probably some that find it comes even less naturally than I do. With nearly every comparison, you can meet your foil.
I vaguely remember long ago, before children, as I struggled with infertility and feared that I would never see that dreamy pink line on a test, I felt so very alone. I didn’t know many who had faced what I did. But I learned that when I was honest and open with others about my difficult journey to motherhood… so were others. All of a sudden people I had known for years revealed their own struggles with infertility and stories of miscarriage. I felt alone and had been because so many people did not share their stories… until I opened the gate. And I wonder if we often keep our gates closed, concealing what we see as unique or view as an inadequacy? And when we do, we perpetuate the idea that others know and do better.
Katrina, By telling your truth about struggles, you help to dispel misconceptions. Maybe this truth-telling all around can make us all feel a lot better about ourselves, our struggles and shortcomings included. When I read this post, I couldn’t help but recall a prior post of yours–
The Other Side of The Sweet Side (https://www.katrinakenison.com/blog/page/11/). Sometimes we provide snapshots, as you say in that post, and inevitably a photo or even a small collection of photos in an album never reveal the whole picture, the true panoramic view. And so, by recognizing the limitations of snapshots, we see that what we perceive as the truth, in others, is just a slice of reality. It is one single snapshot that may be as flawless as my photo-shopped wedding day photo or as embarrassing as my junior high-school yearbook photo. I wouldn’t want to be defined by just one of those; that I know!
thank you Katriana and thank you Meredith R. You don’t know how much your blog and comment have helped me. I feel so fortunate to have found your site.Thank you for reminding me of the forgiveness and compassion we must remember to extend to ourselves. Thank you, thank you. You feel like a dear friend. I apologize if that is presumptuous but after reading your words and returning to your books, I feel like I have been embraced by a dear friend.
It seems to me as though what you’ve just written IS the book you are meant to be writting. I’ve printed it out and placed it in my journal to read again and again. This spoke to me strongly too, as it did to other posters.
Thank you for sharing your thoughts.
I am often envious of you too, your beautiful home, your “illustrious” career, your apparent “success” in so many of life’s “departments”,but I must tell you that I do that Reclining Hero Pose without props and it is my favorite yoga pose. When I read what you wrote about this pose I laughed and told myself quite cattily, “I admire her quite a bit, but I’ve got one thing on her!” So, thanks for inadvertantly making my day.
Always glad to help!
Oh, something tells me that your next book might be a departure from the two previous? (For example,I would love a memoir of your career in publishing.)
Your writing has brought me smiles & brought me tears. Thank you for awakening all of these emotions & making my journey feel not so solitary. And yes, Margaret & Dani say ‘Hello’.
your words pack my senses to overflowing!!! thank you thank you thank you.
a mom …. and then some.