slow down

slow down

by | Dec 8, 2022 | Uncategorized

the snow gods have been generous with us so far this winter. the conditions of the skate-skiing tracks I’ve been on have ranged from fair to glorious, which is delightful this early in the season.

and there I am, out there pushing and sweating and panting, same as I always am: working so hard that I neglect to focus on how to be more efficient. this is the key to nordic skiing (and, perhaps, everything): learn to be more efficient. and this involves getting oneself to slow down.

slow down.

this seems to be the theme of my life these days. I’m constantly impatient, wanting things to happen now (or yesterday, more often). I am constantly urging myself to take a breath, pause, and accept that what is, is.

and that maybe I don’t know why things are as they are, but perhaps they are supposed to be the way they are.

learning to balance “what to push” and “what to accept” is one of the most difficult things, I believe, that we humans must master, if we want to be at peace. and the only way we reach that point is to begin by slowing ourselves down.

last sunday while I was skiing I crossed paths with a gentleman perhaps a bit older than I am, who skied as if he’d been skiing his entire life: smooth, graceful, powerful, efficient. on my way along the final track back to my car, I passed him again, as he stood on the side of the track chatting with a fellow skier. he soon caught up with me, made a friendly comment about the wind, and then as he passed me said, “looks like you’re getting the hang of it!”

yep, eight years in, I’m beginning to look like I’m getting the hang of it.

now if I could just slow down, pay more attention to what I’m actually doing, and learn to make the most of each effort I expend… perhaps, someday, I’ll be the one who is smooth, graceful, powerful, efficient.

perhaps.

and the place to begin is in my everyday life. to take more deep breaths, and simply slow down. care to join me?

amorphous

amorphous

by | Mar 16, 2021 | Uncategorized

I love riding my bicycle. If you know me at all, you know this.

Riding up a canyon, especially early in the morning, transports me to another world, one that fills me with delight, wonder, awe.

Living in northern Utah, however, means snow and cold and rain during the winter months; these put a damper on cycling. Thus I turn to other activities. I ride a trainer, indoors, and then I hike or skate ski, depending on conditions. Life in cycling season is great, and life in ski season is pretty darn great too.

The shoulder seasons get me.

Travel industries call the time between high and low seasons “shoulder seasons,” and I’ve adopted this phrase for my transitions between consistently being able to ride outdoors, and not.

Right now I’m in a shoulder.

Skate skiing has been mostly fabulous this year, and I’m finding myself a bit sad to think of it ending. The warm weather we’ve been having, though, is melting track quickly, and each time I skate I mentally prepare myself for it being the last. And, it’s not quite warm enough to be excited about being on my bicycle. Spring weather here is fairly unpredictable, thus I’m in a state of transition that feels amorphous.

Which matches my emotional state.

We are beginning a transition from full-blown pandemic to… well, less-full-blown pandemic. As vaccination numbers rise, hope for a different future does as well. This will lead to numerous changes; most are welcome, but some are also challenging.

Just as I’m a bit reluctant to give up skiing—although I so love cycling—I’m a bit reluctant to give up the structure I’ve developed over the past year.

I want to return to practicing psychotherapy in person, from my office…sortof.

I want to be free to socialize again…I think.

It will be so great to go places where others freely move about and don’t skirt their fellow humans…perhaps.

This amoeba-like state, shape-shifting, always throws me.

But this morning I realized that instead of letting myself get lost in the discomfort and unknown, my task is to embrace it. Without this phase, the next good thing isn’t able to present itself.

If I resist this, I’m stuck here.

So… this is just the next step toward the future, toward what I’m working to create. Instead of getting tangled in the discomfort, it’s time to celebrate reaching this point. We’ve come a long way, baby, and we can handle whatever the universe next throws our way.