Failed Resolutions & February Loves

I have a love-hate relationship with the month of January. On one hand, it feels like a fresh blanket of snow: pristine, peaceful and a clean start to a new year. On the other, tying up loose ends from the previous year often muddy the scene and consume more of my time than I ever intended. By February, the promised habits of my New Year’s resolutions remind me of the piles of dog poo in the backyard, lying in wait and slowly revealing their mocking, slushy realities: a lot less messy had I picked them up a month ago.

My solution to those sticky dark issues of unattended resolutions? I’m chucking my resolve to start a fitness regimen, tossing the diet plan, eliminating the “get organized” agenda. Instead of setting goals that I will never get to, or promising myself changes I really don’t feel like making, I am replacing my failed January resolutions with my February loves. Here are my top four:

• Pedal kayaking. This has to be the most fun a person can have getting a full body workout while still sitting down! It is always an adventure, a challenge and a chance to enjoy the outdoors. Bicycling is a close second, but the fact that pedal kayaking involves being on the water puts it firmly in the number one position. The thing I love best about it is that it provides me with an opportunity to be physical and, even better, outside in nature. The downside of pedal kayaking is how rarely I get to actually do it. It’s freezing cold out and I don’t own a pedal kayak, so chances are nonexistent right now. However, every day holds the opportunity to be physically active. So pedal kayaking in February will look a lot like shoveling snow, walking the dog, exploring the beach, hiking on nature trails and going to yoga.

• Getting my hair washed. A friend once said that if she ever won the lottery she would start a horse rescue. The room got very quiet when I responded with: “I would hire someone to wash my hair every day.” I realize this sounds selfish compared to my friend’s desire to do something for the poor down-trodden friendless animals, but have you ever had a really good hair washing? I have and I’m telling you, a good hair wash could potentially change the world.

I’m not talking about the usual hair washing experience where a teenager wearing too much make-up, stinking of cigarettes and chewing gum rubs and yanks your head this way and that, under alternately freezing cold and scalding hot water while asking questions about your personal life. I’m talking about a stream of warm water, strong hands in a slow and rhythmic massage, and the intimacy of a respectful silence. This has the power to relax the mind and the body. The thing I love best about it is the opportunity for human touch. The chance to make physical contact with another human being in a meaningful way presents itself regularly. Holding a hand, giving a hug, providing intimate physical contact…This kind of connection gives a body the energy and the will to go out into the world and do great things, tackle big issues…start horse rescues.

• Knitting. There aren’t a whole lot of things my mother excelled at, but knitting was one of them. Always, she would have a knitting project going. I would watch her endlessly and marvel as her fingers flew and the needles click-clacked a thread into something useful right before my eyes. I learned to knit as a small child and while I will never be as skilled as my mother, I find the quiet enjoyment of knitting to be one of my deepest pleasures. I think because this singular act provides me with a multitude of opportunities.

For one, it gives me a sense of connection with her, a powerful legacy. With every stitch I conjure her up and feel her guiding my hands. It also gives me the opportunity to begin, create and finish something. Completing something creative brings a new kind of energy to our lives, a sense of accomplishment that is at once empowering and settling. In a broader sense, it gives me an opportunity to be mindful. As much as I’d like to, I can’t always be knitting. It even gets tedious or physically draining at times. However, the opportunity to be mindful and creative presents itself regularly. Writing, meditating and even – or maybe I should say, especially – doing the dishes or folding the laundry, all suddenly look a little less chore-some and a little more Zen.

• Dealing with critters. Upon returning from Christmas vacation, we discovered a couple of mice had found refuge in our pantry. One might ask why I would think this was a good thing…For starters, it gave me the immediate opportunity to wipe down all the shelves in the pantry – a task I have repeatedly put off in favor of less meaningful pursuits. This in turn led to a trip to the local food pantry with some of the duplicate products we weren’t using. It also provided a clear picture of just what was food in there and what wasn’t based on what the mice munched. For example, they skipped right over the ramen and chips in favor of breaking open the granola bars.

We did eventually catch them in a no-kill trap and let them go in the woods. It would have been a lot quicker and less effort to use a snap trap and toss the dead things in the trash, but those mice presented us with an opportunity to be merciful, to practice kindness. Those two small animals virtually flying over the snow in long leaps to freedom is an image that will stay with me for a long time. It warmed me on a cold January day in a way nothing else could. Do I wish for a house overrun with critters? Absolutely not. However, I can volunteer at the local shelter or set out some bird seed. Acknowledging the animals in my life, both welcomed and uninvited, honoring their place in this world brings me a little closer to nature, makes me feel a little more…human.

Now when I look back over my deeds and misdeeds of the past month, instead of failed resolutions, it feels like the start of a whole new year.

The Power of the Om

One of my favorite moments in yoga class is the chanting of Om. When I first began taking yoga classes, I felt self-conscious about joining in and I would sit quietly or pretend I was om-ing without actually making any sound.

Finally after several sessions, I gathered up my courage and opened my mouth to softly chant Om. I didn’t want anyone else to hear my Om. What if they think I’m weird? What came out of my mouth sounded more like GAAAK than Om and I cringed in horror. When I looked around the room, though, nobody was laughing or even looking.

Over the years, I have come to embrace the Om. I especially love it when the whole class participates and you feel the vibration of the other Oms in the room.

I have heard that if you pluck a string on a violin, the same string on any nearby violin will begin to vibrate as well. That’s how I feel. I’m a violin string being plucked by the vibrations of the others in the room. I can feel that resonance against my vocal cords, against my skin, like the wave action in a pool, coming back at me.

I have gotten louder, more confident, but I could never Om as long as the instructor. Her Om would begin before everyone else’s and continue long after the rest of us were out of breath. I wanted to see if I could Om as long as she did. I decided to work on my breathing and expanding my lung capacity.

Where could I practice my Om, free of interruptions, away from raised eyebrows and out of earshot of neighbors? Living on an island is a lot more crowded than I previously realized and I never thought I’d actually chant anywhere outside of class.

Then a summer of magic happened when someone gave us a kayak. My husband hauled it up to the beach, got it in the water and helped me get in and beyond the breakers. I loved it! He fashioned a wheelie carriage for it from someone’s discarded baby stroller and I began taking it up and launching it myself every chance I got.

Oh, how I loved being out there, surrounded by water, watching the fish jumping, the birds flying overhead, or the pattern of the sun on the water, far beyond the daily chatter of the people on the shore and the demands of the day. The joy of it filled me up and spilled out of my mouth in a spontaneous expansive chanting of Om!

Well, that was it for me. Every chance I got, I’d climb in the kayak and head out beyond the prying ears of tourists and Om away.

I would chant on the glassy green stillness with giant skate undulating beneath my kayak. I would chant to the passing dolphin pods. I would chant through my fear when the shore break grew with the wind shifts. I was like a howling wolf, loud and wild. And yet, out on the vast sea, Om sounded small and close in my ears. It didn’t have that resonating quality - that echo effect of an enclosed space.

Over time, I noticed in the studio that I could breathe through an Om for as long as the instructor, sometimes even longer, but it didn’t seem relevant anymore. Something much more important had happened along the way: I stopped thinking about Om-ing and began feeling it.

I am comfortable now. I feel strong and connected from within. There is an energy rising up and out behind my Om now, at once as subtle and powerful as the ocean rising and falling beneath my kayak. While I am, at times, like the violin string, resonating in sympathetic vibration because I am close to the music, I am also at times the musician creating the song.