The Wisdom of No

Photo from me on a healing walk with a friend.

All systems NO.

Last week I hit a rock bottom. An all encompassing experience of "no."

Overwhelmed by a waves of anxious despair, gut-plummeting grief and bonfire bursts of anger. These things would burst through in rapid succession or work all together like a perfect storm. The emotional system on overload, my human heart saying no.

My body a boat springing leaks in multiple areas at once--digestive issues, rashes, muscle tension, joint pain and a sense of depletion sucking me down into exhaustion cell-by-cell. The physical system on overload, my animal body saying no.

My language and logic dividing and devising and shouting and sorting and urgently attempting to solve its way back to "yes." Struggling to restore order to chaos. The mental system on overload, my personality saying no.

All of these negative experiences intertwining and spurring one another on into an ever-more painful, looping tangle. My oldest, deepest coping mechanisms rising to the surface but, at best they don't help and in many cases, making the whole thing worse.

End of Status Quo + Wisdom of No

I have experienced many such rock bottoms in the last few years. First as my my personal life went into crisis mode, redirection mode and re-building mode. And then as the global pandemic and related environmental, social and political crises created such massive shifts in what we've known as status quo.

Crisis mode brings us into the reptilian brain, kicking off animal survival responses that are deeper, faster and more crucial than the conscious, reasoning mind. Redirection and rebuilding require us to abandon old coping mechanisms and ways of responding.

Physical and emotional pain express a wise "no," which says do not continue in this direction. The feeling of "failure" tells us that it is no longer wise to continue spending our precious resources the way that have been. That we will not accomplish our goal this way, or if we do, it will be at too high a cost.

We are designed to feel shitty at times like this in order to get the message. Because, if we are to root out the causes of our suffering and dismantle them, if we are to discover the causes of our health and cultivate them, we first must learn to STOP. Whether that's by a gentle, intentional downshift or a crashing, humble flop, one must resolutely stop moving in the original direction before setting a new course.

Stopping can be hard. Especially when the old coping mechanisms keep us in motion. For me, when I am stressed out, I work work work. That need to work through a crisis makes me sleep less, eat worse, and take in way too much caffeine and sugar and nicotine.

How are your interconnected physical, emotional and mental systems trying to restore health and order? What are your tendencies when you're on overload? How do they work or fail to work?

Last week I managed to stop and restore health and order by tempting myself into bed for a couple days with a fantasy novel. My mind was too active for me to meditate for long periods of time and I had to admit that. So I chose an activity which felt like it wasn’t making anything worse, but also was not ambitious at all. I made my only job to be stay away from screens and work and toxins of all kinds, resting and doing little stretches in bed and drinking tons of water. I set up some long hikes with dear friends—hikes are some of the best medicine I know, but with my energy so down I also needed an accountability buddy.

What do you do when it's time to stop doing? How can you come back into a "yes" even with all the systems shouting "no?"

I found that, as I was able to stop, I was also able to accept. I was able to surrender to the truth of things and embrace the wisdom of the "no." I came to see just what I was most resisting and say “yes,” even to this.

Acceptance of Resistance

I will not finish everything on my to-do list today.

This is ok.

I am vulnerable right now--financially, physically, emotionally, mentally.

This is ok.

I don't know how to access my value when I am so vulnerable.

This is ok.

I wrestle with my desires and fears.

This is ok.

I am uncomfortable right now.

This is ok.

I have met some once-mere-nightmare fears greeting me maskless over Zoom at noon, terrifying in its normal workaday appearance.

This is ok.

Some of my most cherished hopes have slipped through my hands while I grasped for threads of understanding, closure and the right to choose.

This is ok.

I worry about my fitness for living in a place like this, in times like these.

This is ok.

I have been mistaken about some really fundamental things.

This is ok.

Some of my highest goals were never reached.

This is ok.

Some of them may never be achieved.

This is ok.

There are people who have hurt me, or failed to help me along the way.

This is ok.

I can't tell you exactly what all my efforts have "amounted" to, or whether it's been "worth" it.

This is ok.

If I had taken different paths, inhabited different environs, expressed through different gestures and words, I surely could have avoided some of this suffering.

This ok.

I may be making choices in this very moment which will bring about challenges for me in the future.

This is ok.

I am not sure what has happened, to me or to the world.

This is ok.

I am not sure what will happen next.

This is ok.

I am not sure where to go or what to do.

This is ok.

I am not sure how it will feel.

This is ok.

I am not sure.

This is ok.

I am not.

This is ok.

I am.

This is ok.

I am.

I am.

I am.

Redirection and Rebuilding

Twenty years ago, in the fall of 2000, I arrived as a freshman at Vassar College campus in Poughkeepsie, NY. Since then my address has always been in New York State. Either in the mid or lower Hudson Valley, or in New York City. This place has been my home for my entire adult life.

Thank you, New York. Thank you Hudson River. Thank you Hudson Valley. Thank you Catskill Mountains. Thank you Carroll Gardens and Ft. Greene and Brooklyn Heights. Your beauty and vibrancy and majesty and generosity has been my my safety, my diversity, my reality, my home and I am forever yours.

But the real reason that I have never thought to leave: the people here.

Ten years ago, in the fall of 2010, I started Conquering Lion Yoga Teacher Training, my first steps into my first proper career. Soon after that I started this little mailing list, including the emails of my beloved meditation and yoga teachers and colleagues and my early students, as well as family and personal friends. It's grown as my work grew, and as I moved to the Hudson Valley community.

To all of you, I say THANK YOU. So much has changed in this time, but one thing has not: YOU are the most valuable resource that I have ever known. You, people who see me and know me and love me and inspire me and support me, you are the greatest gift of my life.

As I write you now, I am finally contemplating a move out of this region. This Fall I'll take an exploratory trip--a sweet Southeastern swooping route--as I contemplate what the right living situation for me will be, given all the many things that are strange and different about my life. Visiting intentional communities in Virginia and North Carolina, friends and family in Savannah, New Orleans and Austin. Ending with some nice time with my family in Ft. Worth, TX at the end.

A dear friend is coming with me, looking for her own new beginning. We'll pack up the car with the basics. And come back to pack up a U-Haul or two depending on what we discover.

I don't know what will come next. This is ok.

I will continue to teach online from the road. And to send updates about the adventure. I am contemplating what online offerings are most helpful for you all and happy for your suggestions and requests!

What has been helping you most through your own challenges? What kind of support are you craving?

I am doing some mentoring and collaborating right now with seasoned educators, healers and guides who are making the challenging transition to doing their work online. Reach out if that's you.