The best way out is always through

In the depths of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer.

Albert Camus

Most mornings during that quiet, liminal week between Christmas and New Year I got up early and took walks through Primrose Hill and Regent’s Park. The sun, breaking through the misty winter sky and revealing herself after so many hours of darkness, appeared more beautiful and precious than ever. As I walked, I contemplated the year that was almost at its end. For me, 2016 had plenty of wonderful moments and experiences. But it was not without its struggles. At the close of the year though, I simply felt full of joy and lightness.
 
In my own experience, the challenges I’ve experienced have, more often than not, ultimately expanded my love for life. I think it’s because whenever you have your roots shaken it strengthens your gratitude for all the millions of things that aren’t broken. And you realise nothing can be taken for granted; that each birdsong, each breath you take, each night you are lucky enough to sleep in a warm bed is in fact a miracle. If the sun were always shining, would we appreciate it as much?
 
What actually helps return me to that sweet place is letting myself feel and breathe into (with as much tenderness as I can) the so-called ‘darker’ emotions such as sadness, fear and anger. It’s tempting for us to push them away or numb them out with distractions like too much alcohol, or even over-working – anything not to have to meet them! I have to remind myself that they too, as much as joy or wonder, are an innate part of being human. Some fifteen years ago, during a particularly challenging time, I attended my first yin yoga workshop, taught by the incredible Sarah Powers. We’d spend five eternally long minutes in poses such as pigeon. The invitation was to stay present with and to breathe right into whatever sensations - pretty intense, for the beginner yoga student I was! - were arising. My initial reaction though was to either lock onto the story unfolding in my head (I wish she’d just get us out of here NOW), or to try and distract myself (Shall I buy that blue top I saw yesterday?). But what I learnt was that when I could stay present with what was unfolding, the deep feeling of release after was profound. It has been an invaluable teaching. 
 
As the poet Robert Frost wrote, ‘the best way out is always through.’ Can we trust that behind those dark stormy clouds the sun is still there? And to reach it, we might just have to move right through those clouds.  
 

Your body’s wisdom

You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves

from Wild Geese, by Mary Oliver

I’m having a bit of time off teaching as I recently had surgery (from which I’m recovering very nicely). When I returned home from hospital, keen to heal as fast as possible, I Googled something like ‘best foods to eat after surgery.’ Vegetables, fruit, wholegrains, protein were apparently what I needed. Easy. Or so I thought. These were all foods I enjoyed and which formed the basis of my usual diet. Except, in the aftermath of an anaesthetic (plus painkillers and antibiotics), I couldn’t even look at the kale or the salmon sitting virtuously in my fridge, let alone eat them. Briefly, I guilt-tripped myself for being so resistant to doing what I apparently ‘ought’ to, and worried I wouldn’t be supporting my body in its recovery. But luckily it didn’t take me long to surrender the ‘oughts’ and instead to listen within and let my body’s wisdom guide me. What it was longing for in those first few tender days after surgery was the comforting simplicity of white pasta, buttered toast, a baked potato.
 
And sure enough, after several days without eating a single vegetable or even, to my surprise, being able to face my beloved daily dose of dark chocolate, my tastebuds changed and I found myself easing back towards my normal eating patterns.
 
This experience was yet another reminder of the importance of listening within for guidance. Too often we only turn outwards, listening to all the voices around us (whether they be the advice of friends, loved ones, or articles and books we’ve read), and to the perceived oughts and shoulds. Yet all along, the precious, albeit quiet, voice of our body is right beside us, yearning to be heard. And usually it knows more than anyone or anything else can know about what we truly need in this moment.
 
I’m finding myself ever-increasingly taking the time to attune to the voice of my body, and am using the responses I’m getting to help me make decisions (including pretty major ones) across all aspects of my life. This doesn’t mean I don’t also do plenty of research and fact-finding to help guide me. But ultimately I will turn within to unearth my answer.
 
To access this inner knowing it’s important to first get relaxed and quiet. I find after meditation is ideal. If there’s something I’m trying to decide about, I’ll silently state to myself, in the present tense, whatever choice it is I’m contemplating making.  And then observe how my body resonates with it. For me, a Yes feels bright and effervescent. While a No feels more dull and heavy, and is often accompanied by a deflation in my heart area.
 
What is the ‘soft animal' of your body calling for in this moment?