FEEDING THE KITTY

FEEDING THE KITTY

This morning I got myself to yoga class.

I have a hard time with making time for yoga (and anything else that might be deemed “self-improvement”). When I make my mental list of priorities, I have a tendency to put such activities at the bottom of the list. And then, too, I have a fear of becoming a Hollywood cliché – the self-indulgent woman in the sunglasses, totally obsessed with her own navel.

On the other hand, whenever I do go to yoga class, I find it extremely centering, relaxing, and reassuring. I don’t necessarily think it makes me a better person, but I don’t think it makes me self-indulgent, either. We have to take up time in our lives doing something, so some of it might as well be something that makes us feel better.

I have another motivation for going to yoga class, and that is my health. Evidence seems to point to the health benefits of yoga practice for everything from reducing high blood pressure to strengthening the immune system. Being a cancer survivor, I am especially interested in strengthening my immune system. That alone may be justification enough for taking time for taking this class twice a week.

But isn’t it interesting that I’m writing about it in an effort to defend my choice. There is a little voice inside that just hammers away at me saying things like, “You are so selfish”, and “What are you accomplishing, can you tell me that”? and “Who are you kidding? You can’t do yoga! You’re not spiritual enough” and “Even if you were spiritual enough, you would never be a) strong enough b) graceful enough c) persistent enough”. And, “Don’t you realize how many really ‘important’ things you could be doing – for someone else – instead of this”? And the ever popular, “What a waste of money”! There are probably a lot more such statements that go on just below conscious awareness.

My yoga teacher says that you can “invite that critical little voice in to tea”, instead of trying to suppress her. He says you can have a dialog with the “shadow side”. That rather than try to get rid of all those negative messages, we should embrace them as a part of ourselves. The idea is that if you try to put a lid on those thoughts and feelings, they’ll just grow underground and become more powerful. That makes sense to me, and yet it’s very hard to get my mind wrapped around the idea of “embracing” such a nasty persona.

But maybe I could answer that voice by saying that there’s room in my life for all of it. For being a good friend, a caring daughter, a loving sister, a wife to my husband, a writer, a dreamer, a citizen of the world, and a student of yoga. There’s room in my life for a lot more than that, too. But – remember that wonderful old game, Monopoly? You can’t even begin to play until you “feed the kitty”. The “kitty” is the fuel. Without that, you can’t even spin the dice. So in life, we also have to feed the kitty! If you starve the kitty, you won’t be any good to anyone!

May I suggest, dear reader, that you, too find some way to “feed the kitty”, whether it’s a quiet walk, reading a good book, taking a swim, or gardening. Or maybe, taking a yoga class. Namaste.

© 2005, Robin Munson

FRIENDS – A GREAT INVESTMENT

FRIENDS – A GREAT INVESTMENT

They say that friendship is a lot of work. Sometimes, I admit, it does seem that way. Friends require that you check in with them on a fairly regular basis, hold their hands when they need it, hold your tongue when you must, forgive when they disappoint you, and thank them when they come through for you. Friends require that you remember their birthdays, send cards or gifts at Christmas, sympathize for their losses and help them to celebrate their victories. Friends require a modicum of honesty, but not brutal frankness. Friends require caring when you’re just too tired to care.

Maybe that’s why some people turn into hermits. People who are termed “schizoid” in psychological jargon tend to keep to themselves. They are the “loners”, the “workaholics” who stay long after all their colleagues have gone home to family, and often they are quite successful and may be described as having “tunnel vision”. They stay away from distractions – like other people. I guess you could say that such people find the necessity to protect themselves from possible hurt more urgent than the need to nourish their souls.

But good, true friendship – the kind that prevails over time, distance, and even memory, is a treasure worth fighting for. This morning Art and I spoke with a dear friend whom we have known for many years. Even though she lives halfway across the country and we only might see her once a year, if we’re lucky, the feeling between us is always one of warmth and kindness, with a lot of laughter thrown in for good measure. We must have been on the phone for over half an hour.

I used to think that family was enough. I used to think that friendship was somewhere farther down on my priority list than, say, career, or even grocery shopping. I no longer feel that way. Family is wonderful, and there is no substitute for family. But good friends become family as much as your biological family. And there is room and need for both in this life.

This morning we talked about our health and the health of our spouses, our families, pets, small discoveries, weather, and even the foliage in our respective climates at this time of year. Nothing exceptionally “deep” was discussed. The depth is underneath the words, like a score under a movie. You never really notice it, except perhaps in retrospect. It’s just there.

When we got off the phone this morning, I felt like my spirit had been bathed in warm sunlight. I felt someone had heard me, understood me, and appreciated me. And I felt I had been able to do the same for her. If you put it in terms of investment, this is what is known as a great rate of return.

© 2005, Robin Munson

SMALL INDULGENCES

SMALL INDULGENCES

I used to walk through the flower section of the grocery store with longing in my heart. I would drag myself past all those beautiful bouquets of roses, daisies, daffodils, irises, tulips, freesias, lavender, heather, baby’s breath, eucalyptus, gladioli, and lilies. My nose would take in the gorgeous aromas and I would hold in my breath half way through the store, trying to retain the fragrance for as long as I could. I would smile at the clever and often unexpected combinations of flowers and greens. I would actually, literally, feast my senses on these displays, yet I would never pick up a bunch of flowers to buy for my home.

I was too pragmatic. Everything had to “serve a purpose”. I reasoned with myself that if I had lived without cut flowers for this long, I could certainly live without cut flowers for another week. Thus, I saved myself the princely sum of four or five dollars a week. I would congratulate myself for avoiding temptation yet again.

Of course, if you don’t meet your needs one way, you meet them in some other way. I would make up for my lack of flowers by indulging in frivolous food. Yes, food is a necessity, I would reason, so it’s okay to spend money on food. So I would buy crackers, cookies, chips, pies, cakes and scones. I would often look inside my grocery cart and feel that I must be the child of some negligent parents who’ve gone off on vacation and left shopping to the four year-old. Never mind that I was spending a fortune on these largely unhealthy “treats”. Never mind that the unhealthy “treats” were going directly to my derriere. Never mind that sugar is about the unhealthiest thing I can eat – and I was taking in a lot of sugar.

Some time in the past year or so, I read in one of Dr. Andrew Weil’s weekly health reports that he recommends buying flowers for yourself at least once a week. (You can look up Dr. Weil on line – He’s a very wise health adviser, in my opinion). I had never heard of a doctor recommending flower therapy before (not that he called it “flower therapy”). I brushed off the advice as if it were an annoying gnat. But the idea kept flying back in my face every time I went past the flower display at Trader Joe’s.

One day there was a gorgeous display of purplish-blue irises. I tried to walk past them, but they beckoned me back. I stood and admired them for a couple of minutes. They were so fresh, so happy looking. I checked the price; $4.99. I did a mental calculation. I could spare $4.99 this week. I reached out and grasped the gorgeous flowers holding them briefly to my heart before carefully placing them in the top section of the cart. I imagined them at home in the center of our kitchen table drenched in diffused sunlight.

The flowers did not disappoint. It was like having our own living Van Gogh right in our own home. They lasted about five days, and I was very sad when they drooped beyond redemption, but then, I reasoned, there would be more irises. And there were – the next time I went to the store. And for the last couple of weeks there have been daffodils! Daffodils, the most humble of the spring flowers, are also the most cheerful. They are blindingly bright yellow and give off a faint but sweet fragrance. They have temporarily replaced the irises on our table. If you have not had breakfast with a bunch of daffodils, you have not had breakfast!

Oh, I still indulge in those “treats” – maybe a little bit less, though. The flowers fill a place in my heart that cannot be filled by any food.

I advise you to allow yourself this small indulgence when you can, whether you prefer calla lilies, roses, or mums. I don’t know what it does precisely for the immune system or the lymphatic system or the digestive system, but I have a feeling it does something powerful for the mind and the spirit.

© 2005, Robin Munson

FOR ELIZABETH EDWARDS AND ALL OF US

Word was all over the country yesterday that Elizabeth Edwards has been diagnosed with breast cancer. I think everyone’s hearts went out to her and to her family. To have this kind of news on the very same day that the Kerry-Edwards team had to concede must have been unimaginably difficult. (It occurred to me that maybe the silver lining to the cloud of not winning the election was that John Edwards will have much more time to attend to his wife and children in the next four years).

Cancer. I am a cancer survivor. My mother is a long-time cancer survivor. My brother-in-law has just been diagnosed. My father had it. My grandmother and grandfather had it. Our sweet little cat Natasha just died of cancer. It seems like every time you turn around, there it is. We all know someone, either in our family or in our sphere of friends who has dealt with some form of cancer.

Today I have to go for my six-month follow-up CAT-scan to make sure the cancer has not returned. (It’s been two and a half years since the recurrence). Part of me is very anxious. As this day approached, I found myself sleeping less deeply, waking more frequently, and palpating my own stomach trying to discern if anything had changed. There’s a whole deep, dark world in there beneath the skin – a whole universe that we don’t fully understand. I want to believe that I’ll be fine. I want to believe that I am cured. I want to believe that I’ll live to be a centenarian with the minimal health problems. And I do my best to insure that outcome. I take vitamins and supplements and Tamoxifen and all that good stuff. I exercise. I eat lots of good fruits and vegetables. I drink soy milk. I live a pretty unstressful life. I have a terrific support network. I feel connected with the spiritual. So . . .?

So – Last week I got a doozy of a cold. I mean I had a low-grade fever, chills, runny nose, sore throat, congestion, headaches, swollen glands – classic cold. Of course I ran to the drug store for my homeopathic remedy, as well as Tylenol Cold (you have to hedge your bets), made myself a steaming pot of vegetable soup, ate a slew of fresh oranges, sucked on zinc lozenges, used sinus rinse (don’t ask), even took a few Chinese herbs (not my favorite thing to do). I allowed myself to loll in bed for hours every day. I allowed my husband to bring me dinner in bed. The outcome is that one week later, I am slowly getting over my cold. (Would the outcome have been any different if I had just ignored the whole thing? We’ll never know).

And so it is with all diseases, I suppose. You do the best you can. You use every weapon in your arsenal to battle the malady. You use common sense, intuition, medical science, and whatever hocus pocus makes sense to you – and then you have to accept that there are some things we simply can’t control. It’s a balance between fight and acceptance, very much like the A.A. prayer, “. . . to change the things I can not accept, to accept the things I cannot change, and the wisdom to know the difference”. And then you just figure – as I said to my sister this morning – “Well, I’m gonna live till I die!” My sister (a miraculous survivor of a brain aneurysm) said “Amen” to that one. It’s all any of us can do.

For those of you who are fearful of cancer and want to duck out of the room just hearing the word, I have one small bit of advice. Allow yourself to become desensitized to the word. Instead of thinking of cancer as being synonymous with death, think of it the way you think of the word “cold” or “flu”. Not something you would choose for yourself, certainly – potentially dangerous – but absolutely survivable under most circumstances. Think of Lance Armstrong – (I always do). And remember, if it’s your time, it’s your time. You could slip on a banana peel, too, but few of us worry about such things.

And Mrs. Edwards, know that our hearts are with you.