Life is meant to be enjoyed

Over the past years I’ve come into the belief that life is meant to be enjoyed, and that life doesn’t have to be hard; in fact, life is meant to be enjoyed; it’s meant to be easy, and it’s meant to flow.

It felt like a big, obvious secret to discover, or more like, rediscover, because I think it’s a concept that I think we’re born knowing and, ideally, grow up embodying as freewheeling, playful, imaginative, open children. Then, most of us lose it or are convinced out of it, convinced otherwise, through this conditioned concept of “real life,” and the “real world” and such. (Especially in the U.S., I think! A country founded on the Puritan work ethic, where children were treated as “little adults,” where this world was a necessary, get-through-it earthly stopover to show just how worthy of deliverance to heaven in the afterlife, or whatever.) For more on this, too, I super, super recommend don Miguel Ruiz’s writings of Toltec teachings, like The Four Agreements, which talk about “the dream of the planet.”

I remember hearing at one point that…

Buddha’s famous quote “life is suffering,” is actually a imprecise translation. It’s more so that, “life is enduring,” and it speaks to the idea of the continuity, the forever flow of life.

It’s not a justification for suffering; not as setting ourselves up to expect that whole human experience to be that way. (And that’s the interesting thing about translation; it reveals so much about the values and energy of a culture. I loved reading and writing about this concept, especially in relation to Jorge Luis Borges’ writing on it when I studied Spanish literature in college. An aside.) I heard that so long ago I can’t remember when or from whom, but it’s stayed with my powerfully, “empowerfully,” I’ll invent a word to say, since.

So, here they are, the big secrets of life as I’ve intuited and discovered them so far, through my one narrow, singular and also somehow universal (as we all are!) lived experience.

  1. Life is meant to be enjoyed

  2. Life doesn’t have to be hard—in fact, life is meant to be easy, easeful

For Dawn, whose name alone represents the coming of light, and who has so gently and sweetly guided me through so much of my own spiritual exploration.

May we always know our worth

A good friend of mine at work, who is an amazing human and amazing at her job (and does even more, like providing important and heartfelt support for diversity, equity and inclusion programs) was recently promoted. After she shared the news, I asked her how she was feeling, and she said, “Like it was well deserved!” And I loved that. Because it was. And because I realized how uncommon it is to hear women feel empowered to respond like that, without the learned, conditioned behavior of feeling like they, we, have to divert attention from ourselves, unnecessarily humble ourselves in what is a shining moment. “Yesss!” I responded. “May we always know our worth!” She, we deserved to honor and celebrate that. Her promotion, her worth.

May we always know our worth. (Especially in the workplace, as women!) And may we always remember that our worth is intrinsic and whole, always, without need to be proven or earned.

(But, also, like, an aside: We live and work in capitalism and I always tell people, especially women and people of the non-dominant corporate profile, ie: not a cisgender, hetero-presenting white male, to negotiate the first offer because when I managed a large team it was always the men, especially and predominantly of the dominant class, who always asked for more.)

For Kaitlin—keep shining, Leo star!

How can I sink, even more, into the moment?

This last trip (Barcelona, Ibiza, Malta, Munich for Oktoberfest, a dream!) reminded me of how putting ourselves into new contexts, places and spaces is really sooo beneficial to developing ourselves more, and solidifying one’s sense of self—especially when it’s some new aspect of ourselves and identity. We get to put more into practice and play, whether by invitation, like when introducing ourselves to strangers (who do we want to be? How do we want to be?), or, perhaps, by a little bit of force, like when sprinting through an airport to make a connection. (Just because I’m moving quickly doesn’t mean I have to become stressed about it, and that realization was new and nice! Also, we made it.)

One thing that I was interested to be with on this trip was my personal shift to no longer drinking alcohol, really; like more than a drink here or there. I was going to a bachelorette party in Ibiza and Munich for Oktoberfest, after all, and I was curious to see how I would feel. It’s a change I felt called to make a little over a year ago when I moved from NYC to LA, and realized that I just didn’t really like how I felt physically or mentally because of it. I wanted to feel good, and I wanted to be as present as possible to my life.

Over the past year I’ve gotten more comfortable not drinking in certain contexts, and I’ve realized no one really cares. (Or even knows, especially when you’re holding a sparkling water with lime.) Rather, people are often very supportive and even curious. My close friends in LA don’t drink much, and even on the bachelorette trip, 1/4 of the people there weren’t drinking and it was totally cool, fun and easy.

Throughout the trip there were a few moments where I felt a little odd about it, though I know full well those were my own slight feelings of judgment and questioning, and no one else’s. Like when everyone was toasting and I’m just, like, smiling, and wondering. should be toasting? Would that be more participatory? (We’re over “should’s,” or more over them than ever before, but sometimes they happen!) At this point, though I know well enough that those little feelings are fleeting, not worth paying much attention to, and that almost certainly no one else is even having that thought.

What was fun, though, is that I found I developed a little trick, or tool, for those moments of slight discomfort. I found myself taking a moment to look around, breathe deep and ask myself, “How can I sink even more into this moment?" As a result of thinking that simple question, I shifted more into presence, and into the present. I dropped more into my body and that place and time, exactly as they were, and could be with it all with a newfound appreciation. I saw my friends singing, laughing, sitting together in this place and in celebration, at everyone gathered there altogether, sharing this one moment, and my heart would become so full. I was so happy. And, I was out of my head.

I’ve tried it out in different contexts, too, and it always feels good, always makes things better. Like, when trying to fall asleep on the plane, when navigating a crowd in the rain, when feeling into a connection to someone new. As Caroline Myss writes about, “this day will never come again.” We’ll never be in this moment, in this way, again, so how can we be here, even more?

How can I sink even more into this moment? How can I be in this moment, even more? (Also, Oktoberfest is still super fun, still super joyous, still the best time, even without the beer. Ibiza, of course, too.)

Leave room

I drafted this post in my head, and a little bit on here, before leaving for a ~2.5-week trip that I returned from on Sunday night. (But, instead, I left myself some room, and more time for sleep, that last night.)

I prefer to carry on when I travel and usually end up packing my bag to the max. It makes repacking during the trip a challenge, because I’m never repacking with as much time or care as that first time—I’d rather be spending my vacation time doing anything else, everything else. It also means I have no space, really, to pick up anything along the way. This time, as I was finishing packing, I made a conscious choice to leave some room.

It’s in keeping with a larger theme of wanting to of create and leave more room in my life these days. Like, leaving room in my days—giving myself more time, rushing less, and, ideally, not at all—and recently going through my whole apartment to consolidate and organize my belongings. (Outer organization equaled inner, mental organization, and was nice to return to@)

Someone I know used to say, “leave room for surprise,” often, and I like that. Leave room, and space, for the unexpected, because we never know what it’ll be. This time, this trip, it was a bunch of cute, functional and sentimental bachelorette gifts, like a monogrammed bucket hat, and some bigger things, like the dirndl I bought in Munich for Oktoberfest and thought would be a whatever purchase before finding a trendy one (it’s a thing) that was a point of pride, because it ended up eliciting compliments from Germans. I did have to sit on my suitcase to close it that last day, what with all those layers of Bavarian ruffle, but I did have the room!

It's also this

I recently completed reiki level 1 training and have now added that to my morning routine, which is already lengthy (meditation, reiki, journal, light yoga flow/stretch session), and also which I love and feels supportive and fun. Yesterday after I finished, I noticed the thought pop up: “OK, now my day starts.”

And I was like, wait. My day has already started. That was part of my day, and this is all part of my day. My day is not just work, turning on a computer, plugging into the “productive” side of society. (Also, rest is “productive.”) It’s also this, and this is also mine.

That slight reframe, a soft zoom out, felt so nice as soon as I noticed it. Even in the past day, it’s already helped give me more perspective with myself (or, helped me give myself more perspective, you know!) in relation to work, and my job. It’s part of my day, and it’s part of my life, yes. And there’s so much more. The same could be, can be, said for any role and any identity we hold, too.

I remembered the thought again when I was biking home from Pilates later that day. I was waiting at a traffic light, eager to push out and pedal home, and looked around. I came to present on that corner, under the palm trees, in the summer nightfall. This moment was also my day—and my evening—my life. And it was a beautiful one, and I wanted to be with it.

It’s also this. It’s all of this.

I can choose fear, or I can choose trust

Yesterday, after I finished lunch, my mind started to take me to a place of potential future outcomes that very immediately felt scary. It pertained to something I was processing into a new understanding, a new reality, the other week. Through the waves, I had found—I have found—a wider stability, a deeper capacity to be in the now, rather than what if’s. Still, there are moments, and that’s OK. The voice that settled me as those frightening possibilities began to form as thoughts in my head, said, “You can choose fear, or you can choose trust.”

I choose trust. I chose trust in that moment, and I choose trust in writing right now. The reality is what it is; the rest, and me, is whatever I choose for it to be.

Sierra's pace

Back when I was marathon training, I shared some runs long runs, medium runs and stops under the Venice sign with my friend Sierra, who I met through Venice Run Club. I loved her energy, grit, spirit and sweetness (still do!). She, as a seasoned competitor, helped me prepare for a lot of the not-just-running parts of race prep, like logistics with fueling (“You need to bring water on these long runs!”) and being with it, better with it, even when it felt hard. (“Just don’t think about it,” she said on that infamous 18-mile run day in 88 degree heat under the open sun. We cried in gratitude looking out at the ocean along Manhattan Beach, and also probably from delirium. We made it.)

One Wednesday a few weeks before the marathon, we set out on our weekly 4.5-mile group loop. Everyone was clicking their smart watches and Strava apps on to start, timing it all, calculating. I saw her start and called out, “What pace are you going today?” to see if we’d run together. She turned back and smiled, responding across a few rows of people. “Sierra’s pace!” she said, shrugging her shoulders and continuing to run. Which meant, whatever felt right that day, in that moment, for her. Sierra’s pace. We say it often now, as do others who heard her response that night and, like me, loved it. Sierra’s pace. Your pace. Whatever that is.

For Sierra, who runs, swims, bikes, rests, resets and lives her own way, at her own pace, through life.

It's a blessing to have it around me

My friend Ryan is someone who has the incredible ability to get as excited about wonderful things happening in her loved ones’ lives as she is in her own. And she’s made a practice of it, too. She’s supported me in celebrating big moments, helping me to see and celebrate them even more than I would have—as much as she’s been there for me during difficult ones. I think there’s something so special, selfless and beautifully abundant about that.

One time when I was on the phone with her, I shared some good news about another good friend, someone she’s never met. She took it in, appreciating it with an “mmm,” and then said something I think of often and repeat, years later. “I remind myself it’s a blessing to have it around me.” I’d never heard anyone express appreciation in such a wide way, two connections away.

We can often get so caught up in how something is showing up for us, especially when it’s something we really want. That thing, just for us, only for us and not to be shared. We’re so focused on that, that we miss all the ways and forms in which it’s so present in our lives already. I think there’s a lot of culture-of-the-individual and competitive programming around this, but (and) it can be peeled back. Because when it’s around us, these good, desired, beautiful things, these blessings, we share in it, too. It’s also ours to appreciate, ours to celebrate.

For Rainbow Ryan, who is as incredible a healer as she is a friend, and who truly is a blessing to have around me, even though we’ve yet to meet in person!

Let it be light

In the last half-day, I’ve heard the phrase, “It’s not that deep,” in a few moments. Said in a show I was watching, shared in a TikTok that found me, mentioned in a memory to myself. Rather than dismissive, it’s been it a welcome reminder. It’s also had the power to gently dissolve the intensity or heaviness that often accompany something “deep” for me.

I’ve followed it up and filled it in automatically for myself, too, with a reminder I had on repeat about a month ago: Let it be light. Let it be light—”it’s not that deep;” it doesn’t have to be. It’s not that heavy; it doesn’t have to be. It’s not that intense; it doesn’t have to be. Something can be light and easy and still have impact, still have resonance.

Let it be light. Let it it be easy; let it be with you; let it lift off you. Let it leave you, and let it return to you, if it’s meant to. Let it be light. And, in being light, it can also illuminate.

We're here, we may as well enjoy it

This thought started visiting me often, when I would find myself waiting in a line, on hold for something, existing in some between-space of time and/or place that really didn’t seem all that exciting, that wasn’t really my preference, but was what it needed to be then.

“I’m here; I may as well enjoy it.” I found myself saying. And, magically, I would almost automatically find a way to enjoy it. Something would become comical, I would come more into the present, or I would feel more like the whole situation was more mine, because I was choosing to make it into enjoyment. And I think that’s what it’s about, remembering that we deserve enjoyment, to live life in joy, regardless of the circumstances

Attention and appreciation make anything special. And when we can turn the mundane into the magical, I guess that’s called alchemy.

Joy is a practicality

Doing something because you want to, because the act alone of doing it brings joy, happiness, delight is reason enough to do it. Just knowing you want to, without knowing how you’ll feel, that’s also reason enough.

You don’t need a “practical” reason. Joy, being—are practicalities enough.

Do something because you want to, not because of what you expect in return

Do something because you want to, not because of what you expect in return, or because you expect something, anything, as a result. In that way, in this manner, it can only ever be positive. You are doing what you want, for the joy of it. This is mom advice (advice from my mom) that came through over the years in a simple moment It continues to reveal, reorient and simplify in all it touches in my life.

Orient toward the action, for the joy and the purity of the action, rather than the outcome. And whatever comes, will come, and it will be welcome.

For Mom who has done many things…