Inspiration Fridays: Live in the Present Moment Wisely and Earnestly

"The secret of health for both mind and body is not to mourn for the past, 

worry about the future,

or to anticipate troubles, 

but to live in the present moment wisely and earnestly"
~ Buddha~

I've been thinking a lot lately about being "present".  This may sound like a weird concept, but think about it... how often is your mind really, truly, and fully engaged in exactly what you're doing at the moment?  How often are you thinking about something that happened in the past, or contemplating what may happen in the future?  Often.  You're doing it often.  If you said, "never" to either of the above questions, either you have reached nirvana or you're lying.  And, I'm pretty sure I don't know anyone who has reached nirvana, so, um, stop lying to yourself.

Awkward postures, embodied in subway mosaic.

Why is this so hard?  Why is it difficult to be aware of our own bodies? They are our bodies. I work with people all the time who are completely and utterly unaware of how they breathe, or their own posture.  How they sit, or their own facial tensions.  When I ask them to bring their consciousness to the problem, sometimes people tell me that they can't control it.  Bullshit.  Sorry, but that's not true.  There's this interesting thing about your body- you're attached to it.  It is you.  Your mind is not all of you- your entire body is you as well.  All of it.  We may tag Facebook photographs on the face, but honestly, your foot is just as much you as your face is.  You just happen to be able to see out of your face because your eyes are there.  If I stab you in the foot, you will be just as angry and annoyed as if I stab you in the face.  Maybe a little bit less dead, depending on how deeply I've stabbed you, but you'll be in a lot of pain.  When you ask someone to "look at me!" you probably mean your face.  You want someone to look you in the eye.  But, if they are looking at your boobs, it is still technically you.  Not even technically. Your breasts are attached, most likely.  If they aren't, or you're a dude, your sternum is attached.

Really, though, why is it so difficult to live in the moment, to acknowledge what is happening now, in our body, around us, instead of holing up in the little obsessions of our brain?  It's so weird.  I'm thinking about this.  I'm thinking about why this is.  I know that being "in the moment" takes focus.  Lots of it.  It takes energy and skill.  It's something we have to train.  But, it makes our alignment better, makes us happier, helps us get rid of bodily tensions, and reduces stress. Living in the moment also reduces regret.

 Living in the moment makes us nicer, and more empathetic.  That one.  That one is important.  Instead of being sympathetic, or making us feel bad for people, or imagining ourselves in their shoes, we feel empathetic, where we relate to people, and imagine ourselves as them in their shoes.  Instead of using our knowledge of life in their situation to, for example, say, "well, if I was poor, I wouldn't get a manicure, I'd save, because I know, from my life and prior experiences, that it's little purchases like that which can ruin you financially, and make you unable to feed and clothe your kids!" we would say, "In your position, I get why you need that manicure to stay sane.  You have little money, and kids, and two jobs.  If you need to have someone rub your hands to keep you from falling off the deep end, do it.  Especially since it's your cousin doing it for a discount, and you only have to pay $5.  Get yourself through this day.  Escape for twenty minutes.  If I was you, with your background, thoughts, experience, and cultural values, I'd do the exact same thing".  

The first one, sympathy, inherently has judgement heavily embedded in it. Putting yourself in their shoes means nothing if you're bringing your knowledge into the situation.  You've had a different life than they have.  You had a different upbringing, and more importantly, you're a different person.  You have different DNA.  Of course they won't make the same choices as you.  Duh. For some reason, people who are more "in the moment" have an easier time seeing this than people who obsess over stuff like the past, future, or, well, things, meaning objects. 

The most common object is money, it seems.  Ah, the root of all evil.  If you're a Christian, and if you are, you're probably being an even "better" Christian this week because Sunday is Easter, it calls to mind that bible quote, that thing Jesus said- "it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God." (Matthew 19:24)  

 Maybe it's because they have success, that they cannot see how difficult it is for others?  I don't know. Maybe the more experience you have at not "failing," or suffering, the harder time you have understanding the experiences of people who are far more used to suffering.   You see the end goal of financial success as attainable because you, or your ancestors got there, and know that little steps will bring you there, and don't notice those necessary little moments of escape, like my earlier example of getting a manicure.  I should be saving money for grad school, but I get them sometimes because they make my quality of life better.  Then again, I don't have children, and I can't possibly understand what it's like to have them.  I don't know.  

Things to think about.

 Let me be clear, however, the same thing goes the other way too- I would guess that it is just as realistic for a  poorer person to think that richer people have it easy, but adjusting and accommodating to one's own desired quality of life must be difficult at every financial level.  Each person in the world has difficulty feeling empathy for every other person.  Everyone has their own crap happening to them, at any given time.  Understanding this is very important.  I'm not particularly rich, and I'm not particularly poor, and though I'm attempting to be empathetic to both, I lack the experience and true understanding to truly quantify either.  I'm not ragging on rich people or poor people as being particularly godly, empathetic, or having reached more nirvana than the other.  For example, I Googled "poor and happy" and then "rich and happy" to try and find two good images to put after this little block of text.  I could not tell the difference between who was supposed to be poor, and who was supposed to be rich in the photographs.  Google schooled me on that one.  So, I'm putting up a picture of this shirt.

Also, both Democrats and Republicans have the ability to suck at this concept.  Being liberal does not necessarily mean that you are open, and being conservative does not necessarily mean that you hate poor people.  At the risk of being a hypocrite, and in the attempt to be open, in the moment, empathetic, honest, and the author of a good article, I acknowledge this completely.  Empathy is not any kind of a polarized issue, nor should it be looked at as such.

STOP FIGHTING AND TALK ABOUT THIS.

Just some things to contemplate on a Friday.  

Live in the moment.  

Be actually empathetic, not just sympathetic.  B

e present in what you're doing instead of living in the past, future, or la-la-land.  

Because, if your mind is somewhere else... are you really here?  

Stuff to ponder.

Happy Friday!

Love always,

~Emily

A Manicure for Her Birthday

I love how sometimes, the best way to have a wonderful day, or learn something new, is to mess up your schedule.  

On Tuesday, I taught a class in the morning, and meant to go to yoga at noon before my Panatukan class in Chinatown started at 3pm.  I had a little over an hour to kill and a brand new book to do it with!  I headed to one of my favourite cafes, Think Coffee, and settled into a booth with some java and my book.  "First Loves" by Turgenev.  It was lovely, tragic, and funny.  You know, a good old classic Russian novella.  I felt utterly Chekhovian reading it, which I might have enjoyed almost as much as the book itself.

I bought the book at the Strand Bookstore, which is possibly the most wonderful place on earth.  There are at least four floors covered in 18 miles of mostly used books.  You can find just about anything, except for some new releases.  On Monday night, it was about 10pm, and I was waiting for Danny's show to end so we could travel home on the subway together.  I hadn't intended to stay in Manhattan.  My initial plan was to go home and organize my closet, but instead, I ended up attempting to find the remaining pieces or my Halloween costume, but actually buying gifts for Danny and some books for myself.  I got him a mug that makes you look like you sport the lower half of Abraham Lincoln's face, a sampler that has squirrels on it and says "I'm Nuts About You" at Urban Outfitters, and an Immortal Iron Fist Graphic novel at The Strand.  The reason I ended up in Strand at all, to be frank, was their bathroom.  But, the result was awesome because I bought myself the Turgenev novella, a book by Henry James, "The Turn of the Screw" and a keychain that says "The Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters".  I feel like a badass now every time I unlock my door.  

So, as I stated above, my choice to not go home, but rather to kill time in the bookstore (and utilize their rest facilities) resulted in wonderful things.  This then influenced my Tuesday because Turgenev made me miss yoga.  I was so enraptured in the love twisted tale of young Vladomyr and his love Zinaida, who, once again, in a classic Russian twist, was having an affair with his dad, that I missed it.  I looked at my phone and it said 12:15.  My coffee had gone cold.  I gulped down the remaining lukewarm bits of caffeinated disappointment and formulated a new plan.

This plan was: manicure.  I used to treat myself to manicures and pedicures all the time.  This, of course, was when I was attending NYU, didn't understand that money did not grow on trees, and thought my breath was made of glitter.  Pre-Tuesday, it had been a year since my last manicure.  I've been, inexplicably, a stress ball all week, and I remembered that there was a place nearby, E-nail, that was $22 for a manicure and pedicure.  Bing, bing, bing!  That was what I would do.  That would make me feel better.  Pampered, massaged, and all kinds of beautified.

It was awesome.  I'm so glad I splurged on it.  My feet and hands felt like they were made of clouds instead of flesh and bone.  The nails on my fingers were decorated a perfectly coated, sparkly hot fuchsia and my toes became a shade of purple so dark, it almost looked black.  The callous on the bottom of my feet was no longer hard and peeling, but soft and nice to touch.  But... the best part?  The lady sitting next to me as I got the manicure. 

She was 90 years old, and had been brought in by her best friend as a birthday present.  Her friend sat diligently behind her, watching, as the woman giggled with glee.  She walked in on her friend's arm, her friend carrying her cane for her.  When she transitioned from the manicure station to the long table with the UV lights, her friend helped her along in the same way.  The woman just looked so happy.  The two ladies just smiled and giggled, and spoke to one another in Russian with voices full of musicality and life.  They were so much more excited than I was.  I'm 22.  They were 86 and 90.  They were more full of life.  As the woman's fingernails became a lovely, classic shade of light pink, she almost cooed.

They made my day.  I don't know any other way to say that.  The scene was so beautiful I almost cried.  That sounds silly, but that little moment, that touching scene between two friends who obviously cared so much for one another, was amazing.  She wanted to give her friend a great 90th birthday, and she did.  I almost asked them if I could take their photograph, but I chickened out.  I knew I had to write about them, though.

I can only pray that I have a friend that glorious when I'm turning 90.  God bless them both.  I'm so glad that I didn't go home Monday night.  I'm so happy that I got lost in Turgenev.  I'm just... happy!  That couldn't have worked out better.

You know, I took a photograph of my manicure to put in this post, but right now, I don't care.  That would take away from the point.  My manicure didn't matter.  My experience did.

Manhattan, New York City, New York, USA