“Your needs have been met.”
It was with these words that my wonderful teacher and friend opened yesterday evening’s kundalini yoga class. You have food. You are clothed. You have shelter. You are safe. This is bliss, she said. And I felt the bliss of it, of what I have, of what I take for granted. Your needs have been met. Truth.
Rice with spices and paneer. Lentils with pumpkin and turmeric. Stretchy pants and a tank top. A house with rooms to move through, to fill, to relax into. A neighbourhood where children walk to school, and I feel safe to walk or run, even in the dark.
I’m going to repeat these words to myself, make them my mantra, whenever I feel a lack, any lack, overwhelmed, frustrated. Your needs have been met. Your needs have already been met.
My theme for the month is: health. It’s expanding out of quitting caffeine, which has been a good choice for me; I feel more calm, physically less jittery, mentally dreamier. I’m prioritizing sleep, going to bed earlier whenever possible. I’ve begun seeing a chiropractor to address my chronic hamstring pain. I’m doing fifteen minutes of daily meditation, with yoga. And I’m going to return my dentist’s calls … I promise. It’s on the list.
Nothing too radical. I’m taking time, because I have time, and I can. My needs have been met, more than met, amply met, undeservedly met, and I have the luxury of choice and of choosing. How to say thank you, to express gratitude? I can’t think of any way except to be at peace in this life, in this body. And to share it somehow.
This morning, as on many mornings, I’m expending more brain power than I would like on soccer. Agreeing to be the head coach of a travel team involves a level of volunteer commitment that at times verges on the ridiculous. Leave aside the fundraising, the scheduling of practices, the budgeting, the banking, the forms that require more forms, the deadlines, the meetings, the mandatory training, the communication with parents, and you still haven’t touched on the most important part of the job: the actual coaching. Planning and running practices, trying to elevate and understand each child’s strengths and weaknesses, keeping the training fun but intense, setting up and following an overarching plan for the season. My brain is full of exercises, drills, games, goals, skills. My brain is not used to being used for this purpose!
I was wondering why I don’t take photos anymore. I love taking photos. I thought it was because my photo computer conked out, but Kevin fixed that problem: he loaded software onto a different computer, to which I have easy access. Yesterday, while trying to complete an online evaluation in order to get an official number in order to fill out more forms in order to request permission in order to register our team for festivals, all of which required contacting half a dozen different people at different organizations, I thought: oh, this is what I’m doing instead of taking photos.
This is my new hobby.
Maybe it gets easier. Maybe I should be delegating even more responsibility (and I am thankful for the helpful parent volunteers on this team). But I’ll tell you what. The next time you’re standing on the sidelines questioning your kid’s coach’s strategy, complaining about everything the coach isn’t noticing, check yourself, please. I promise to do the same. The coach may indeed be noticing what you’re noticing. Even if he or she isn’t noticing it, he or she is noticing a million other things that you’re not aware of. The game is the least of it. Really, the game should be the fun part, the peak, the celebration, the reward, win or lose. If you feel like complaining, think of everything that stands behind the game, all of the invisible effort and thought and care …
This is an excellent learning experience, that’s all I can say.
Enough soccer for now. Above, that’s the cover of Girl Runner as it will appear in Turkey.
Yesterday, I drove to Toronto for a reading, and stopped in for a jolly afternoon visit at my publisher’s new office. I was going to visit my sister too, and really make a day of it, but she was sick. (I should have brought her chicken soup, but my germophobe tendencies won out.)
I noticed that many of yesterday’s conversations revolved around the idea of space.
Space for the mind to think. Space to breathe. Space to relax. Time is a form of space, and when it’s packed, it can feel cramped and tight. But even time that is packed with events and duties can feel spacious, in certain moments. My goal is to make even a busy day feel spacious, by settling into the present event, and offering my full attention.
I don’t always manage it, it’s true. When I’m tired, when I’m anxious about what’s coming up next, when I’m pulled in different directions, when I’m longing to do something else instead … then there’s no space, no flow, limited attention. I can ruin my own fun in this way. I call it: pushing myself ahead. What I mean is, I’m pushing myself out of the moment I’m in by occupying the ones upcoming, rehearsing them in advance, usually with a worried or impatient furrow to the brow. There’s also the problem of pushing myself back, going over errors in the past. And what about pushing myself entirely out of the picture?
My meditation right now is focused on Generosity. (Fittingly, I use an app called Headspace.) “What would you like to give to yourself?” asked the friendly voice of Andy-the-meditation-guide this morning. What would I like to give myself? My mind went blank.
Finally, I thought, forgiveness … enjoyment …
Forgiveness? Well, I understand it. I’m feeling guilty for slipping out early after my readings these past two nights. Terribly guilty. Both evenings I had a long drive before me, and I was very tired. I’d given my best effort on stage. I wanted to go home and sleep. No matter the circumstances: slipping out early is antithetical to how I’ve disciplined myself to behave. So I’m crawling with discomfort at having prioritized rest over being gracious, polite, respectful of the readers yet to come and of my hosts. I don’t know what’s right. And clearly I don’t know how to forgive myself for this decision.
As for enjoyment … I had a fun day yesterday. Once it got rolling, I didn’t worry, I felt relaxed and content. My uncertainty came when it ended. I wasn’t sure when to end it, when to transition to the next part, the part where I drive home and go to bed. I didn’t know what was best for me; indeed, as I write this post I can hardly let myself pose the dilemma in those terms: what was best for me? Maybe I didn’t know what was best for me because I frequently fail to take that into account; I was genuinely stumped by Andy’s question, thrown back on my heels. When I do something for myself, I feel like I’m stealing it. I shouldn’t take this. It isn’t mine.
Of course we all do many things we don’t particularly want to, for reasons of necessity, and we can find ways to enjoy rather than endure many of these. But I’m talking about something else. I’m talking about those little things we do for ourselves. What are they? And do you give yourself permission to enjoy these little things, wholly, without guilt, without suspecting you’ll be penalized? Do you give yourself that kind of space? It’s occurred to me that I do this only rarely. And that if I were to give something to myself, that is what I would give: the ability to recognize what I want, and to enjoy it when it comes.
Sounds easy. Strange it should be so hard.
Yesterday, we gave the kids a snow day. This was not my idea, but Kevin was very keen on it, so I agreed somewhat begrudgingly as it meant sacrificing a quiet day at home in my office, alone. Quite a lot of snow had fallen overnight, but it was crisp, clear, and beautiful, as you can see from the photo above. In the morning, Kevin took the kids sledding; some safety boundaries were pushed to great hilarity, apparently (good thing I hadn’t gone along!). In the afternoon, AppleApple and I went cross-country skiing. We still had all of our regular after-school activities: piano lessons, soccer practice, and a soccer game. It was awfully late when we gathered together again for supper. The boys had been home alone, playing dominoes, waiting to eat until we’d all arrived. Well after 7PM, we sat down to a very popular meal of soft tacos. I could sense the difference the unofficial snow day had made for everyone. We were so relaxed, and especially kind to each other. We sat for ages after we’d finished eating, talking and laughing; everyone.
It’s a luxury to take a holiday in the middle of the week. Kevin and I are both very fortunate to have jobs that allow us this level of flexibility, and yesterday was a reminder to take advantage of that freedom from time to time.
Today, my office is quiet. The dogs are sprawled out napping near my feet. I’ve set the timer for fifteen minutes.
I have some news. I’m going to France in April. (!!!) I’ll be away nearly three weeks, attending events at an arts festival in Normandy, and promoting the publication of the French translation of Girl Runner (or, Invisible Sous la Lumiere, as it is being called). I’ve been commissioned to write a short piece as part of the arts festival, and will be given an artist’s residency at a museum for about ten days. I’ve been dreaming of a writing retreat for a long time … just never imagined it would happen in France!
One sad thing about the trip is that I’ll be missing the performance of AppleApple’s adaptation of Macbeth. Of course, in 18 days, I’ll be missing much more than that. I think I’m missing everyone and everything in advance right now. Premature homesickness. Adventures are so much harder to throw yourself into when you’re leaving behind children.
Two readings coming up this weekend. I’ll be in Hamilton on Sunday evening at an event called Lit Live, and in Toronto on Monday evening at the Rowers Reading series. Check my upcoming events page for more info.
Ding-ding-ding! That’s my time. Tomorrow I’ll try to remember to tell you about turmeric tea, the laundromat, and swimming.
I spent all day Saturday and all day Sunday at a high school in Hamilton at a soccer coaching clinic. It was not what I’d expected, which is to say, it was really fun! I’d steeled myself for a must-do task, and instead spent half the time playing. A major component of the clinic was to design and lead practice sessions, which meant those of us not leading the session got to be participants, which meant — playing soccer, playing games related to soccer, practicing skills, etc. All classes should be like this.
The clinic’s focus was “games-based learning.” I’m a big proponent of keeping things fun for the kids, and the clinic gave me more tools for organizing and running practices based around play. Which is what soccer is: just a great big game. I came out of the clinic feeling affirmed in my philosophical approach, but also having a better understanding of how to apply my ideas. In a strange way, coaching is like writing a novel: keep it simple! Work with a few broad themes over a season. Develop on themes in practices, building on the work that’s come before. Repetition is fine, but be creative, rework how it’s being presented, or layer on challenges and complexity — that’s what makes it interesting, for both the coaches and the players. Finally, build every practice around a theme, no matter how small, (i.e. improving foot skills), and keep that practice flowing from beginning to end.
How? By keeping it simple. Rules are simple. Instructions are simple. Start with a bare-bones structure and add on layers as needed. Modify on the fly. Recognize when your plan isn’t working and be flexible and humble enough to know that it’s your job to fix it — not the kids’.
I’m organized and like planning ahead, and I’m creative, flexible, and enjoy the challenge of improvising in the flow. Those are my coaching strengths. My coaching weaknesses include less of an intrinsic understanding of the game, which I’ve essentially learned as an adult and only minimally as a participant; I lack some technical and mechanical knowledge. (That’s where Kevin comes in! Plus he loves discussing all of this stuff, so it’s a happy point of connection for us.) My other weakness, I think, is that I can be too flexible and get caught up in the moment, allowing an activity to go in a different direction than I’d originally intended, even losing track of what my original direction was. I need to be more disciplined and clear with my own goals each and every practice.
Which reminds me. I was planning to tell you about my whole weekend, not just the soccer coaching clinic, but here we are. I’m out of time. I hope you had some time to play this weekend too!
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My name is Carrie Snyder. I'm mother of four, writer of fiction and non-, dreamer, contemplative, mid-life runner, coach, forever curious. I'm interested in the intersection between art and spirituality. What if the purpose of life is to seek beauty? What if everyone could make art?