Understanding

   I am sometimes amazed by how circular learning is. As with everything in life, it is a life-long, ever-evolving and changing process. You forget things, you change opinions, you realize connections, you deepen your knowledge, and you are never done. That is actually the good part. How interesting would life be if you were suddenly done? Now I know everything there is to know – what now? No, thank you. I would rather make a few mistakes, confirm what I know and add something new.

   When I opened my first book about yoga, aged about fourteen, I knew I was into something important. The book was from the library, full of nice photos, but did not say much about philosophy in particular, it was more about offering a different exercise regime. I knew straight away that this was more than exercise and that it would be in my life forever. And it is.

   I went through a lot of learning and will never stop. The practice is evolving. I am also happy to know that things that seem too far-fetched and strange will come to me when I am ready. Fourteen-year-old me was thinking that meditation was something weird and decided to push it aside. It took more learning, researching, thinking and trying to figure out that I needed to sit down to concentrate. Because meditation is a state. I may say that I meditate every day but I know that I am trying to concentrate enough to be ready to meditate. It might happen in this lifetime, or one of the next ones. Showing up every day and doing the practice is what matters. Doing it without expectations that are too high, without waiting for rewards, recognition, or praise, is at the core of the learning process. I do it because it matters.

   And there are some little surprises on the way. How many mornings do I look at my wandering mind and question whether I will ever make it still? And then, later, I experience clarity, find solutions to problems, and inspiration that springs out of nowhere. My mind works differently. On the physical side, some poses offer new insight after years of doing them. Suddenly, a little tweak makes me see and feel them differently. Now I get them. Some poses work all the time. Some go up and down. Some need a lot of work. When balances work, I know that my mind is clear and focused and that it will show during my day. And it does.

   Yoga isn’t about how you look when you do it, or how long, deep, high, or extreme you can go. There isn’t one right way. There is your way of doing things and your way of living your yoga. Showing up day after day is what counts. Understanding is knowing that I know nothing. Understanding is accepting that learning never ends and can come from unexpected sources. Understanding is standing still feeling like you are flying high up in the sky, seeing your life and your worries from a bird’s perspective.

Forgiveness

Forgiveness is often seen as a virtue, something that we should have and demonstrate so that we can show the world that we are indeed decent human beings. It isn’t easy. We can learn to say the right thing, and we can act as if we are over and above something, but in reality, we hold grudges, ponder, and analyse. Deep inside, we know that we didn’t really forgive.

Maybe it is because as with everything, outer limits and expectations are hard to meet. We need time to be ready. As with grief, when we are expected to move on, we can forgive in our own time, we are capable of doing it, but we need to be ready. And nobody knows when it might be. We may shake off our trauma and move on, or we may need (or want – why not?) to sit with it, take our time, and work with it. Dealing with our grudge, pain, and grief, or any other thing that society might consider unhelpful and undesirable, might be what sets us free in our own time.

Of course, having our pain and trauma as the thing that defines us isn’t good for anybody, but the preconception that life is supposed to be happy and good and only positive vibes are allowed is naive and, frankly, impossible.

Forgive and forget, they say. Again, why? What if we don’t want to? What if remembering the bad as well as the good is beneficial? The best lessons in my life were learnt from mistakes. Bad things are part of life, they are here to stay, and they are how we learn. To learn, we must remember. Fairy tales are nice, but life isn’t about overcoming one obstacle, defying one enemy, and living happily ever after. Life is up and down, circles of time, and people with baggage. In the baggage is a mixture of positives, negatives, neutrals, riches, losses, and things unforgotten and unforgiven. The baggage makes us what we are.

Life isn’t about forgiving and being virtuous and good. It is about understanding what happened and moving on when we can. Not a long time ago I read an interesting thing that prompted this post. I can’t recall the exact words but the message was: perhaps instead of forgiving what you can’t forgive, forgive yourself. And it was so liberating, even though, at the same time, I thought that I had already understood it somewhere deep inside but didn’t really say it like that, so clearly and nicely. Somebody hurt you, somebody did bad things to you, somebody took away a lot? And you are meant to forgive and forget? And you feel bad because you can’t? Don’t. It is okay. Let them live with what they had done, let them pay the price for it. Don’t go looking for a proof. Don’t reach out. Don’t let others force you into reliving it, talking about it over and over again. Instead, extend your kindness and virtue to yourself. Forgive yourself for not knowing better. Forgive yourself for allowing it to happen, for not reacting differently, not knowing what to say and how to say it, not knowing the right way to act, react, and move away. Look at yourself then, look at yourself now. You have learnt. Even if you thought it impossible, you had moved on. You know more now than you had known then. And you are forgiven. Extend your kindness and virtue to yourself. Know that at any time in your life, you have done the best you could have done, knowing what you had known, with the resources you had. Forgiveness is possible. And you can offer it to the most important person in your life: yourself.

Winter Musings

 

 The third week of January was cold. Seeing a frosty landscape on the conservatory window early in the morning brought back memories of dark winter mornings of my childhood in Europe, when winters were like that, and cold and snow were normal.

I like all seasons, see the magic in them, and easily accept the disadvantages of each. But when proper winter hits – something that is more rare with each passing year – the reaction is stronger. Maybe I am a winter person, I was born in the winter, who knows? Nothing stirs me quite as much as snow crunching under my feet, snow-covered trees and houses, paw and bird feet marks, and an endless stream of snowflakes gracefully falling from the grey sky. The sounds and light are different in proper winter, you can sense it upon waking even though the curtains are closed and you have no idea what you will see.

Of course, I remember long, lazy summer days, swimming in lakes and ice cream, or the freshness of spring, and I always admired the autumn colours of nature around me. But still, winter is special, it stirs more feelings and memories. When I think about spring and autumn, they are special, but somehow transnational, and can be swallowed up by the other seasons. Summer and winter dominate the year, they define it. Years are remembered by them and their extremes. But while summer is different everywhere – you can’t expect the same summer by the seaside as it is under the Alps or in a busy metropolitan capital – winter is winter. It means cold and snow.

The weather of winter brings me back to my childhood more than anything else. We used to ice skate on the local ice rink. Some braved the local ponds, but I never felt quite certain on these. We sledged and skied. Later on, our dad took us for cross-country skiing, there were paths made all over the local hills and it was way more fun (in my opinion) than going up and down a hill, especially if my pocket money couldn’t stretch to a day pass for the ski lift and my parents saw it as an unnecessary expense. Also, the skis were much lighter to carry. Because everything was local, we walked. It feels very last century when I say that we lived in a small town where you could walk everywhere and nobody had seen it as a strange thing. It had changed by now, of course. But ‘fifteen-minute cities’ were a thing back then.

Of course, we lived in a place where people expected winter. The roads were managed, pavements were cleared, people changed their tyres every winter and spring, and we had winter clothes and shoes. We were ready. Blocks of flats had a rota so each flat owner knew when was their turn to clear the entrance and footpath. House owners cleared the fronts of their houses. The council took care of the main roads and the side roads. Sounds like paradise. It wasn’t perfect, but we functioned and got around.

Every year when we are lucky enough to glimpse a proper winter in England I rejoice and flutter. If nothing else, it gives us a break from the usual rain, wind, and mud. But then I have to go outside and sigh. Our road is a mess and I have to pray that they salted the main road. Usually, they do, which is great. Then I see people in normal shoes, flapping around. The phobia of wet shoes and socks creeps in and brings memories of my mother and grandmothers, warning us of catching certain death. Everything halts and pipes freeze. But still, I am happy.

If we were a little better prepared, people would understand. So far, they look at me like I am a very strange person (which I maybe am). But it makes sense. You can manage cold. You wrap up, put on layers and your body tells you when it needs you to go home. When we have summer heatwaves, there is nothing that helps. If you stay in the sun too long, you get sunburn, but unlike the cold that builds up and makes you move away, you notice it too late. It is easier to cope with winter. And way more romantic. It makes me happy, and sledging with my daughter brings my childhood back even more. We can all be silly when it snows!

Clearance

 

I spent most of my weekend by the table, going through magazine and paper cuttings, old magazines, warranty booklets, and random bits of paper with information that some time ago seemed relevant. They were happily nestled away in a far-reach part of the library but, as happens regularly, I am running out of space. I need somewhere to put all the games and puzzles that the family accumulated.

I used to read much more magazines and loved Sunday newspapers. I stopped buying them as time became more precious and reading time was even worse to carve out in my day. With papers, I also didn’t want to fund a certain rich bloke, no matter how good journalists he employed. Magazines totally lost their magic. Fashion magazines for women were outgrown just like their teenage predecessors had been lost before. Suddenly, I wouldn’t care about the latest celebrity musings, didn’t know who they were, and it was boring me. Newest beauty trend? Who cares?

Sorting out the incredible chunk of history was like evolution happening in front of my eyes. I kept some of the very first cuttings because they reminded me of the young girl who had started living independently and had had lot of dreams and ideas. I must say, I was into art and independent movies, and I silently approved of the young self.

Then I went through the image stage. Being involved in modelling and fashion, fashion photos were study, inspiration and admiration. How are the best photos made? How to be in them?

Then, there was the travelling phase, with endless materials about places I had been to and wanted to return to and many new places I had hoped to visit sometimes. They still hold their magic, but with disasters, changes, pandemics and uncertainty, even if I get the time and money, I will have to research again. Besides, being older means I know much better where I want to go.

Speaking of being old, I found a surprisingly high number of articles about the real point of most magazines for women – how to make myself better. In early adulthood, it was mostly self-improvement and (sort of) psychology. Later on, especially with the years of on-and-off pregnancies, losses, early motherhood and uncertainty, I was finding all the supposedly right ways to eat, exercise regimes, treatments and products that were supposed to make me better. I didn’t realize how much stuff I had put aside for a better time when I would be ready. They were very easy to get rid of.

Who knew that all that is needed is to work with your body as it is, eat right and move in a way that feels good. Good sleep, proper home-cooked food, and peace of mind make most of these articles truly irrelevant. Luckily, I have found my own ways to live and nourish myself and others. It took a bit of time but I got there.

I found my flirtation with yoga and alternative lifestyle magazines, but they never got a strong hold. I was into yoga before it became mainstream and realized quickly that I have the tools I need and ways to find the right teachers. I don’t need trends.

I have found some clippings of writing that were good and inspirational. It is funny how the interests follow the journey of life – from images to words, from travel to home comforts. I don’t need most of them. I do appreciate how much work goes into the media. However, most of it is meant to sell us stuff or ideas. Keeping my distance helps me focus on what interests me. I cleared the space, filled the recycling bin, and kept what I really liked or wanted to keep for now. I cleared some space without having it written down as a resolution. There was simply a need that was fulfilled at the right time when I was ready. Boxes of games are moved to the freed-up space. The empty lower shelf could be given to my daughter's expanding LOL collection. Looks like we all have to pass the consumer stage in life.

I will have to go in detail through articles of book reviews and film listings, they are part of ‘to be read’ and ‘to be watched’ lists that are only virtual, unlike the real lines of books and TV series, including some good documentaries. I am once again realizing that books and movies stay, they are not disposable and they mean as much as ever.