my gear rested for quite some time in the back of my closet, untouched, waiting. finally something got into me. i want to move, move my body. now!
swimming. biking. running. it looks a little bit like a triathlon is in my future. but i promise, those days are over. still, i love to do all of these activities. hard at first, winded, sore, slow. but each day i see progress. a little easier, a little smoother.
and a lot lighter. of spirit. feels good.
about 90% of the time, i am not photogenic. even my friends will attest to that. some people are, some people aren't. i'm not. and i accept that, since there's really nothing i can do about it. it's like having blue eyes or being tall ... genetics, traits, facts. i have other gifts, but photogenicity is not one of them.
this photo, however, does not have me cringing when i look at it, at myself, the way many photos of me do. the high angle is better for my round face, reducing some of the roundness. the lighting isn't great but the blues are pretty.
but this photo is about waaaay more than colors and angles.
the juice is in my eyes, behind my eyes. my whole self, my inner self, my soul and spirit Self is right there. i am present. i am grounded. i am in my body. there are so many ways of describing this state of being.
ten years ago, i had no idea what this meant, being "in my body." i thought i WAS my body.
years of study, and evolved friends and teachers, and spiritual experiences, and oh so much work and practice have all helped me to not only understand this concept, but to actually feel when i'm in my body and when i'm not.
some people have a much easier time being and staying grounded/present/in-their-bodies. often those with past trauma or super sensitive nervous systems have a harder time. i find that people who work with their hands are often more grounded than "intellectuals." and surprise, surprise, i'm one of those folks who has to work at getting out of my head, being present and staying in my body.
i like this self-portrait because i can see my Self, my soul, shining through my eyes, my clothes, radiating. i see me, the real me, not the outer me, not the photogenic or not-photogenic me.
i really see me. and i find myself beautiful. because spirit IS beautiful. fact.
and i'm learning how to say it, to state it. without the outer getting in the way. without my head getting in the way.
i. am. beautiful.
myriam
"you are beautiful!" myriam exclaimed as i walked into camp registration. who me? she can't be talking to me. we proceeded to have a transformative conversation that night: beauty is about letting ones inner light *shine* through. it is not about what's on the outside, the physical ... it's all about what's on the inside. i know this t-h-e-o-r-e-t-i-c-a-l-l-y but, ohhhhhh, i could see the storm brewing. so THIS is my secret reason why i came to camp.
i've known for many years that i am not my body and that i (and everyone and everything) am soul, spirit. i had my spiritual awakening the night my mom passed 9 years ago.
but it's a whole other thing to really grok ... not when i look at others, but when i look at myself. many/most/all? of us are so hard on ourselves and so loving with others. we see their inner beauty. we see their hopes and dreams and tenderness. but when i look in the mirror, i see chubby cheeks, small eyes, thin lips, extra pounds, and on and on. and i hear my mom's unknowing words of many years ago jangling around in my head ... "i wouldn't consider you beautiful, but you're interesting-looking."
what i so needed -- and didn't even know i needed -- i got from myriam the first night of camp, so naturally, so very effortlessly: you. are. beautiful.
the minute our hosts tracey, myriam and jen started talking, i knew this experience was going to be about so much more than the technicalities of photography: intentions, secret wishes, poetry, permission, passion, sharing, seeing and being seen, gratitude. and beauty.
before reading several soulful poems out loud to the group, myriam mentioned "this is especially for hillary" more than once. she could see that i really needed to get this. i know this poem well, but i obviously needed to hear it again, and apply it to myself:
Love After Love by Derek Walcott
The time will come
when, with elation
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror
and each will smile at the other's welcome,
and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you
all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,
the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.~~
when i looked at every single one of my fellow shutter sisters at camp, i could so clearly see their beauty:
wendy
siobhan 
ria
stef
when i asked tracey the first night which class i should take, "composition" or "self-portraits," she blurted, "you? self-portraits."
my comfort zone stared me down. i knew i had to do this, to go toward the scariest thing.
fortunately i was in safe hands. taught by the lovely meredith, i learned that making self-portraits is not the height of narcissism as i had thought in the past (this judgment a sure sign i was really just scared of it). now i know it's quite the opposite, in fact. making self-portraits is a high act of self care, self love. of really seeing my inner self and honoring that. of seeing my truth, my story, not other people's stories about myself. about seeing my inner beauty. ohhhh.
self-portraitohhhh. so THAT'S why i came to camp.
to learn that i, too, am beautiful.
i'm sharing some of my sporting life with you in this monday memories series. last week's story was about swimming when i was a wee one ...
with the years came more swimming, and tree climbing, jumping off big rocks into water, and everything active and physical. that was MY THING. that's what i was good at. i was given a strong body and a desire to WIN!
born in 1961, i learned early that it was a man's world. [it really was back then.] and i wanted to be a part of that world. that world = freedom. and i always wanted freedom. so i figured i had to be as good as the boys. and so i was. [i think this is one of the reasons i became a photographer and a photojournalist, which was also a man's world and an exciting one full of freedom and adventure.]
i disdained anything that was "girlie." no cooking, no sewing, none of that girl stuff. [i love all that stuff now, but then, no way josé.] my mom wasn't so inclined either, which didn't bode well for me learning any homey skills. anyway, i was all tomboy, and happily so.
our neighborhood was full of kids playing out on the streets, and i played with all the boys and one other tomboy girl. chase. tag. kick the can. then later football, basketball, baseball. once in awhile the boys wanted to play with only boys, which i totally get now. but at the time it was devastating. and just made me work harder to be better at sports.
in middle school PE class, we girls had to wear navy blue sleeveless jumpers with little attached skirts and with bloomers underneath, a bit like a tennis dress without the cute factor. humiliating.
title IX legislation was passed in 1972. equal opportunity for boys and girls in high school and collegiate sports.
No person in the United States shall, on the basis of sex, be excluded from participation in, be denied the benefits of, or be subjected to discrimination under any education program or activity receiving Federal financial assistance...
soccer had come to the west coast when i was about 12 and i got on the first local girls team. we played against the boys and held our own. our coaches were all men. one coach, a british man, quit on us right before a game! we were talkative, rowdy, inattentive. we were preteen girls, for god's sake, what did he expect?! he had no clue how to handle a gang of girls. we kept playing because we loved it.
running around outdoors after a ball with a bunch of kids = pure freedom.
in high school, i played varsity soccer and basketball all four years. voted "most athletic" my senior year. (excelling as powder puff quarterback may have helped.)
at lewis & clark college in portland, oregon, i stuck with my true love: soccer.
my three roommates helped me get psyched up before games. we'd dance on our desks and sing queen's "don't stop me now" into our hairbrushes.
my team played in the fog and the rain and the mud and the glorious sunshine. travelled all over the pacific northwest in the autumn and saw leaves turning for the first time in my life.
i didn't have the greatest ball handling skills or the most finesse. i even broke my own teammate's collarbone when i went in to steal the ball from an opponent but got her foot instead. but my teammates liked me (except maybe collarbone girl). they even made up a lovingly teasing little song for me. they sang to me one whole season after i handballed in the penalty box resulting in a winning penalty kick by the other team. to the tune of "falderie falderal":
hillareeeee, hillaraaaaaah, hillareeeeee, hillarahahahahahah,
hillareeeeee, hillaraaaaaaah, with handball in the box!
i was strong and fearless on the field. and a good team player. team captain, mvp, all star team, all that. but the best was yet to come ...
at the end of my junior year, we found out that the college washed the men's varsity team uniforms. but not the women's. a couple of us questioned the head of the women's athletic department who fumbled her words and replied, "we always thought the women preferred to wash their own uniforms." hah! yeah, with all our spare time in college, we'd rather wash our own uniforms ... not!
so several of us on the team decided to make a statement. my senior year on the soccer team, we decided to NOT WASH our uniforms all season long. only two of us made it the whole season, sheila and i. we did not wash our shirts, shorts or socks. not once. after playing in the mud and muck, i'd throw my uniform onto a piece of plastic i laid out in my room and not pick it up again til the next game. i'd have to put on stiff-with-dirt socks and all. gross. and i think our teammates and coach weren't thrilled for us to begin a game in dirty clothes. but since i had seen so much unfairness in the world since i was little, i was committed to my cause.
at the end of the season, sheila and i placed our dirty uniforms in brown paper bags with a note and left them on the doorstep of the women's athletic director. we asked that the women be treated equally with the men. we asked that all the women's varsity teams have their uniforms washed by the school, just like the men.
and lo and behold, the following year, the year after i graduated ... lewis & clark washed all the women's uniforms!
who knew the most political act i would ever commit would be on a soccer field?
~~~~~
lessons learned: go with what you've been given. play fair. do right.
this is the beginning of another series of monday memories (similar to the "RTW trip" series) called "the sporting life." i'd like to share some of my sporting stories with you!
not to be confused with the yesteryear definition of "sporting" which my father explained meant "loose woman." i used to own a boutique stock photography agency called "see jane run" with the tagline "pictures of sporting women." i had to convince my dad that the term had shifted since his early days.
that is not what we're talking about here!
nope. this is just about my sporting life which started as soon as i could walk. or run. or climb. or swim.
even at four years old, i LOVED to swim.
we didn't have a pool of our own, but we had friends, clubs, friends' clubs, and vacations. and my grandma had a pool. my parents took me for swim lessons in chinatown; i guess they had a good pool there. i couldn't get enough of the water.
jumping diving sliding gliding splashing floating
hours and hours were spent in whatever pool we visited, pretending i was a fish. i'd stay underwater for as long as my little lungs could manage. with tummy touching bottom, wriggling along catfish-style for long spells until i had to surface, gasping for air, now pretending i was a dolphin with blowspout.
"adult swim" were dirty words in my narrow vocabulary, bringing a frown to my sunbrowned cheeks.
when my parents called me out of the pool at the end of a long day, i'd lie face down on the warm pool deck and they'd cover me with a sun-kissed towel. i closed my eyes and inhaled the wet cement smell. spent. exhausted. bliss.
born on march 21, first day of spring, first day of aries, on the cusp with pisces ... water is in my consciousness. i dream of water frequently. flying and diving into great bodies of water.
and i was given a strong body. a body made to move.
i was also fearless. i loved to dive, bouncing and flying and diving into the pool. when i was about eight, a coach saw me playing on the high dive and asked my parents if he could coach me to be an olympic diver.
shortly after that meeting, i developed ear problems and had to wear ear and nose plugs while swimming for many years. diving was verboten. the olympics were not my fate. (i was eventually in a different kind of olympics, which i'll tell you about in a few weeks.)
i did join the local swim team when i was about 10 or 12 and excelled in the backstroke, IM (one lap each of fly - back - breast - free) and freestyle.
a competitor was born!
~~~~~
lessons learned: whatever we loved as children -- when we were at our purest -- is really what we love always. is what makes our heart soar. keep doing that.
+++++
what did YOU love as a child? are you still loving/doing that?
optimistically hoping for everything to be in order by 1/1/11 ... 'tis sadly not the case :-(
anyone who knows me knows, i don't like messes. and right now, my office is a mess, my filing cabinets are a mess, my computer files are a mess, my lightroom catalog is a mess, my garage is a mess ...
funny, before the holidays all this was pretty much in the same state of affairs. but i want NEW! CLEAN! BRIGHT! SHINY! IT'S A NEW YEAR, AFTER ALL!
i have forgiven myself for totally dropping the ball in december with picture the holidays and reverb10, two very worthy projects. i was just too busy scurrying around and celebrating! but the messes, grrr ...
lord knows, i know that whenever i disagree with what IS, i create my own suffering. and the messes IS messy. and the oh-so-many-things i want to do IS messy, too. i'm a spring baby, born on march 21. aries. look out! headstrong. stubborn. impatient. and i can smell spring already!
all the work i've done to be in the om zone has flown right out the window with the new year. huh? how did that happen?
maybe it's cause i gave up dairy on new year's day. found out the night before christmas i'm casein intolerant, sadly. as in, no cow/sheep/goat dairy. none. no yogurt even!
maybe i just need to pull out one or more tools i've learned to ground in the present and accept what IS: breathe. lie down with a heavy blanket covering my body. hold a pillow. look around the room and name things in present time. yoga. bath. rub my legs in downward direction. feel my feet on the floor. i know all the tricks. yeah, i probably should have done that before sitting down to write this. forgive me? (life sure is messy sometimes!).
anyway, i wanted to let you know i'm switching things up a bit here at eyechai. i need to Focus on the 4 F's +1 right now: Fitness, Foto biz, Friends, Family and house remodel. which for me means that i need to blog later in the day instead of first thing. or shorter posts? more photos? (i can't write too late in the evening or it'll be punchy like tonight!) i'm not sure yet if i'll still be able to post 5x week, but i'll let you know as soon as i've figured out the new blogging regime. please don't go away, though, i love creating this eyechai blog and i love YOU!
meantime, is your new year clean or messy, accepting or not? what IS up with you? (great, now i'm ungrounded AND punchy. what next?)
go to bed, hillary.
love,
me
this is my mouth, the mouth that likes to sing, from a few happy days ago. not my mouth today, i'm afraid.
i am still sooooooo sick. the saddest part about it is that my biannual choir concert is this weekend! i survived our mandatory wednesday night choir rehearsal, just. and we have another mandatory rehearsal tonight. both of these are our first rehearsals this season with the professional orchestra and three soloists ... absolutely thrilling.
somehow i will get all dressed up in black and pearls and sing this weekend and survive ... and thank goodness there are 109 other singers to drown out my croakey voice. you won't catch me NOT singing. ain't gonna happen. i'm there.
but, dear reader, i am not HERE today. i am so sorry. my head is in a vice grip, my ears are in a descending airplane, and my throat is on fire. just the last few sentences a serious struggle. so. i'm climbing back into bed. forgive me.
may you have a great weekend. enjoy the holiday spirit. don't get all crazy on us!
here's a good idea ... go listen to a choral concert!
xh
the only memory i have for you today is this from my cousin mark's rockin' latke party this weekend.
i am seriously under the weather, my throat is on fire, my brain is underwater, and hopefully as you are reading this, i am tucked snugly into bed.
this cold/flu may be just-what-i-get for eating too many latkes on saturday. or is that the gelt talking?! (you may have to be jewish, or know a little yiddish, to understand this!)
anyway, the finale of our RTW trip will post next monday, with any luck. the following week, i have a new series ready to continue on monday memories ...
thank you for your understanding.
now bed.
while i have my around-the-world photos out from their usual home in the garage, i think i’ll continue telling some more stories from that adventure. after the last post about egypt ...
we took a bus from cairo -- worrying if there would be any issues entering israel from an "arab country" (no problem) -- to jerusalem. spent a few days in the old city, soaking up the ancient ambiance and the LIGHT reflecting all that white and gold colored jerusalem stone from which the entire city is made. stunning.
i love love love the church of the holy sepulchre where they say christ was crucified, buried and resurrected. the space divided into six sections for six different christian denominations. the entire ceiling adorned with ancient oil lamps and incense burners, making it easier to imagine what it might have been like 2000 years ago. dark. mysterious. holy.
arab market, old jerusalem
my other favorite thing in the old city was watching everyone scurry around on friday afternoon, running last minute errands and doing last minute doings before shabbat which paralyzes the place. no running, no errands, no doing from friday sunset til saturday sunset. everything closes. full stop. a real day of rest. the one thing open on shabbat is the wailing wall, where many and especially the orthodox converge to sway and pray. we placed little notes to god in the crevices of the rocks, along with all the other notes from people over hundreds of years.
my friday afternoon scurry to the store before sunset ended in tears. just outside the jaffa gate to the old city, a huge man was selling postcards displayed on poles. laden with a plastic bag of groceries in each of my hands, i stopped to look at his cards ... when he reached up with both hands and touched my breasts. fucker! enraged at him and at all the men who had dared to touch me throughout our trip and throughout my life, i dropped my bags and pounded on his chest. i always thought i was the kind of girl who could throw a punch as good as the guys. NOT. i pounded away while he -- completely unfazed -- just laughed and laughed at me. aaaaaaarrrrrggggggghhhhhhh. adrenaline racing, i picked up my bags and marched away. i thought about going to the police. but i just wanted to retreat to the safety of curt and our little room. (rrrrr. this still makes me mad as hell!)
then we moved to kibbutz yahel, an amazing piece of green in the negev desert right next to jordan, for a month.
most kibbutz employ "volunteers" ... usually young travellers who work in exchange for room and board and per diem. we worked HARD in the HOT sun -- curt picking watermelons, me packing galia melons -- made $120 per person per month and spent it all at the kibbutz store on chips, ice cream, water and beer.
NOTE: the above photo was the security memo they gave us upon arrival at yahel. THIS IS THE LAST PHOTO i have of our RTW trip. and i'll tell you why next week. below are photos i found on the internet of yahel ...
when we weren't working, we swam in the beautiful swimming pool and sipped in the bombshelter bar. other than that, we slept. didn't have much contact with the kibbutzim. while israelis are renowned for their exotic good looks ... they are not famous for their politesse. from my journal pages ...
the kibbutzniks treated us a hair better than they treated the arab workers. then the office ladies read my postcard on which i said just that and then they were REALLY RUDE to me.
NOTE: 20 years later, i now know what a stupid/insipid/immature thing that was to think/say/write on a postcard. but it's what i did at the time.
but then there was also this from my journal:
in spite of everything, we did learn a bit about what kibbutz life is like, and had good times as well:
- waking up at 5am, dawn, and hearing hundreds of birds chirping away. slouching to the dining hall to find a cup, any cup, and wash it and fill it with instant coffee.
- driving the tractor to the dump, amidst all those hazy purple mountains, and the mountains of jordan, and feeling very free.
- going running around the perimeter road, inside the barbed wire, happy to be in a country again where they don't think you're totally crazy for doing such a thing, especially a woman.
-working so hard all you could do is go home, take a shower and fall asleep -- totally exhausted after a hard day's work. it actually felt GOOD some days, if our bodies weren't too sore.
- seeing bicycles left in the middle of the paths with no worry, never to be stolen.
we had committed to staying two months at yahel, but left after one. and i even had to talk curt into staying for the whole month. his work in the fields was really tough. so after our 30 days, we hopped a bus and went north to haifa, where we ate the best falafel in the world at a little sidewalk stand. which signaled our exit from the promised land. and thus we headed north via ferry to greece ...
~~~~~
lessons learned: manual labor can be very gratifying and grounding. a weekly, real day of rest is beautiful and revitalizing.
+++++
put on the to-do list: learn how to throw a proper punch.
fall back. yes. i gleefully turned back my clocks today.
many bemoan the early darkness of the time change. me? i don't care about tomorrow. i don't even care about later.
because the day we turn the clocks back, whether in october or november, is one of the best days of the year.
why?
because i have an extra hour TODAY!
this is the day when time feels completely different. having one extra hour feels like eons. the day expands. time slows. there is time for e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g today.
meditation. yoga. skip to the store for gluten-free waffle mix. throw in some berries and bananas, and a feast is had. with sunday paper. walk the dog between rain showers. back to the store for firewood. make a fire, snuggle under the throw, make a few calls. make tea, and sit. reading. savoring the last of my book (i always save the end of a good book for the perfect time and place, knowing this is the last time i will be with these people in their world).
the day goes on and on ... i absolutely love today. i savor the space of time, lapping it up, breathing it out, relishing its flavor, its generosity, its gift. mmmmmmmmmmm ...
ps - what are you doing with your extra hour today?
hiking an unrenovated, desolate portion of the great wall of china, i made this portrait of my german boyfriend thorsten. i LOVE this photo. have it framed in my kitchen (even though we stopped dating years ago).
i find this image speaks volumes about thorsten:
1. strong: just look at that frame, that physique, tall and sturdy, those lean tree trunk legs.
2. mountain man: he uses that body to get out in nature and climb high (he also runs long distance and cycles up big hills).
3. intrepid traveller: he loves visiting new places, experiencing new cultures and foods (and has lived in the states over 10 years).
4. off the beaten path: this guy marches to his own drum (has a pierced ear and plays electric guitar).
5. relaxed: his hand reveals his relaxed nature (even though he's very hardworking and ambitious).
that's a lot of information for one photo. and you can't even see his face!
and that is exactly the point: you do not need to show someone's face to show many things about her/him. showing the back may reveal even more than the face. the face can distract us from seeing all the rest there is to see of someone.
but not everyone agrees on this point.
i was going to accompany thorsten home to germany for christmas, and considered giving this photo of thorsten to his mother. i hemmed and hawed. not sure she would like a photo of her son without seeing his face. i consulted my dad -- of the parental generation -- who very much appreciated photography. he said, go for it, it's a great photograph.
so i gave it to thorsten's mom for christmas. she did not get it. no oooos and ahhhhhs. no "great photo," nicht. just a polite thank you. (she didn't get me, either, but that's another story.)
some people expect to see faces in portraits. but i am reminded to photograph the "rear view" for a change ... to see what else there is to see of someone.
Often while traveling with a camera we arrive just as the sun slips over the horizon of a moment, too late to expose film, only time enough to expose our hearts.
~ Minor White
while i have my around-the-world photos out from their usual home in the garage, i think i’ll continue telling some more stories from that adventure. after the last post about thailand ...
flying into kathmandu from bangkok was like entering a completely different planet. (and we hadn't even gotten to india yet ... i know i keep saying that. india is a different universe altogether!) kathmandu in january: misty, dark, mysterious, ancient, impoverished, damp. we had to spend about a week gaining our bearings, figuring out which trek to do, getting all the necessary official papers and permits, paying fees, gathering gear.
before our RTW (round the world) departure, curt and i had set up a very loose itinerary which we gave to our friends and family, including the american express offices in each country we were to visit. back in the days before email and cell phones, amex offered locations for mail and packages to be held for travellers. so out in kathmandu one day, searching for the office, i spied a young western traveller coming toward me on the sidewalk. i stopped her and asked her if she knew where the american express office was located. she pointed me in the right direction, and we went our separate ways, not knowing that moment began a long and deep friendship.
a few days later, karin was on the bus to pokhara with us along with her bf chris, another young couple from canada, and a load of nepali people. the six of us became instant friends, all on the same adventure: trekking the 21-day annapurna circuit. but first, we had to survive the treacherous eight-hour, gut-wrenching, brain-jostling bus ride. the road from kathmandu (capital city) to pokhara (second city) was virtually the only road in nepal, and much of it wasn't paved. our bus looked like it had been through a war, but many didn't make it, evidenced by rusted busted bus parts strewn down the mountain cliffs. harrowing. but we survived.
one night in the idyllic, lakeside village of pokhara (where i left my whole fanny pack -- wallet and passport inside -- at a store, and later retrieved it from a gentle woman who would have had a year's worth of income had she stolen my cash) and we started our trek.
fortunately we were young, strong and fit. even so, our six-some dwindled to a four-some just a few days in ... canadian christine suffered terrible headaches, nausea and sleeplessness due to altitude. her system just couldn't acclimate, so they had to turn around. you can't mess with mother nature, especially around the highest peaks on earth. karin, chris, curt and i heaved onward and upward.
elevation in METERS, not feet!the annapurna circuit was and still is the most popular trekking route in nepal. easy to navigate without a guide(though i would get one now, to learn more about the culture), from tea lodge to tea lodge, each equipped with shared bunk rooms, filtered water, people from all over the world, decent food (even "beritos" and "vejjie bergers" -- though curt consistently chose the local daal bhat 3x/day). and yet, we were alone on the trail most of the time. the scenery varied from lush terraced fields -- lemon trees, almost tropical -- to monkeys swinging through forests, to barren hillsides and mountains, to bleak desolate villages, to the ultimate peaks reaching the heavens.
these paths and trails we walked on every day were the "freeways" of the nepali. they had to carry everything they needed in their villages on their backs, usually with a tump line strapped around their foreheads. crates of eggs, canned goods, coke bottles!, firewood, etc etc etc. and usually, the locals were barefoot. or in the simplest footwear. the calf muscles on these folks! you could tell the professional sherpas -- they sported expensive hiking boots.
we learned early on, "hug the hill" (not me-hill, the mountain-hill). on one particularly treacherous 5-foot-wide trail along a rock face, along came a yak train which i mistakenly got on the outside of (as in, NOT hugging the hill), staring down a 200-foot sheer drop. adrenaline surging, i had to hug the yaks to stay on the trail. even though they are huge/scary/smelly creatures, they were less scary than my other choice. hug the hill, definitely. but when in doubt, hug a yak! (i did not make that mistake again. when i saw a yak train coming our way, i just found a safe place to pull over, hug the hill and wait for the beasts to pass.)
only wealthy nepali can afford to ride horseback to their marriage ceremony
i didn't know a lick about nepali/buddhist/tibetan culture or religion. chris did, though, and kept us well informed, and he's good with maps, too. so many hours to talk while we walked. (such a blessing to have so much TIME to just be with people). but my interest in spirituality of all kinds and the religions of the world has grown since then. had i known then what i know now, i would have been spinning these prayer wheels at every opportunity!
curt is very strong (he carried a huge backpack so i could carry only a daypack), but has a weak tummy. he got sick pretty much in every country. this time, it was bad. the daal bhat eventually got to him. or maybe some unclean water. on about day 6 he was in a bad, bad way. so sick that while entering a village late in the afternoon, he didn't even manage to get off the main trail and dropped trou, as in, had diarrhea right then and there, on the trail. kinda like shitting on someone's front steps. we stayed in that village for three nights while curt lay in bed moaning and groaning and felt like he was going to die. i was sad to see them go, but karin and chris trekked on. i nursed curt in a little ramshackle dark, dusty room. we didn't have much in the way of medications, so we just had to wait it out. and waited. and waited.
but he came back to strength. we hiked along the spectacular kaligandaki gorge where a dog found and followed us for three days (helping curt? he missed his dog so. perhaps this furry friend bolstered him.) we made it all the way up to the desolate, eerie muktinath, finding our stride. we missed our friends karin and chris who were ahead of us on the trail. we loved having them as hiking partners, and wanted to catch up.
we kept up a good clip, walked long days. we thought we could make it to tatopani, the next village on the map, where we might find our friends. darkness came and we kept walking (not smart). we reeeeeaaaaallllly wanted to get there. curt's feet were bleeding. i don't remember but i'm sure mine were aching, too. we arrived in tatopani, found the tea lodge and entered the open-air dining room to gasps and applause. karin and chris were there, they knew how fast we must've walked to catch up to them, and they spread the news to the other travellers. we recieved a standing ovation by all! celebrated well and rested the next day.
rest and laundry day, with karin
a few more days walking and we made it back to pokhara. where we both got sick. really sick. as in, all orifices exploding at once (vomit and diarrhea, the combo pack). fortunately, we had a private bath with western toilet. thank god! (and thank god i was the one with the camera, no photos of sick hilly here!)
back in kathmandu, we enjoyed ourselves. lattes and pastries at the pumpernickel cafe ...
curt got a shave which he still talks about to this day ...
we felt like heroes, having survived our own trek!
little did we know what was in store for us in india ...
~~~~~
lessons learned: always hug the hills! stay alert, for the next person you meet may just become a dear friend.
+++++
postscript: karin and i are still friends, 20 years later. we still joke to each other "do you know where the american express office is?" she's super crafty and taught me how to make greeting cards, planting the seed that was to become eyechai. now she's busy with bigger things ... she and chris got married and just had a baby boy! but their little guy hasn't dampened their wanderlust ... they've taken him camping in botswana, namibia, iceland, and nevada!
so what started as a minor job replacing a few old drafty and leaky windows is possibly becoming a big kitchen remodel. and maybe converting part of the garage into an art studio. and changing all the little things that bug me around here. and anxiety girl is coming out to play!
i know, i know. i am fortunate to even be able to consider this kind of financial monster.
but that's just it. monster. my anxiety monster. she really can make me crazy if i'm not careful!
windows. moulding. wiring.
back in my 20s and 30s, i just thought i had an inordinate amount of energy. everyone thought i was superwoman. heck, i thought i was superwoman! i. did. a. lot. big things. triathlons. competitive sports. high adrenaline climbing up huge rocks and jumping into rivers. moving across the country to a new job not knowing a soul. running toward wildfires with my camera when everyone else was running away. that kind of thing. and i never could tolerate caffeine. it just makes me want to crawl out of my skin. and i thought i just had inner "energy."
but i now realize that it's called ANXIETY. and mine gets triggered quite easily. maybe something to do with early trauma. so my nervous system gets revved. and i have to work to calm myself down.
paint colors. doorknobs. light switches.
over the past few years, i've learned a few tricks: taking a bath. yoga. running. holding a pillow. lying down beneath heavy blankets. rubbing my legs and ankles in a downward motion, or rocking my feet from toe to heel on the floor. anything to ground the energy. and get back in my body instead of up in my head.
countertop. gas or electric. hinges.
this could be fun. creating lovely spaces. just how i want them. and spaces affect how i live. Life!
so i'm working with my anxiety girl a lot right now.
and if you have any great anti-anxiety tips (except drugs), i'm all ears.
because instead of feeling like a bunch of crossed wires in a dark sky, i'd like to feel like a bird flying through the air. clear and free.
breathe ...
i cried on my yoga mat today.
first day of 30 days of yoga with marianne elliot. starting a home yoga practice. even though i signed up for a monthly membership at the local studio (they were having a deal on memberships … not much of a “deal” when you’re paying but not going). maybe this home practice will be the thing for me. i probably wouldn’t have let myself cry in a class full of people … or maybe i would have. i’m all for crying, have no problem with it. crying is just a release of energy, right?
so yeah, i cried. at the end of the almost hour-long practice. in savasana. first thing in the morning.
lying on my mat, i could hear from deep inside my body -- or my inner voice, or my soul – actually being grateful, saying: finally! you’re doing something for me! taking care of me. paying attention to me and to what I need.
sure, exercise has been spotty-at-best, of late. but it wasn’t just about moving my body. it was deeper than that.
little tears at first, welling up. i listened to my little voice, alongside marianne’s lovely, soothing, new-zealand-accented voice.
upon marianne's suggestion and wanting to take even more care of my Self, i placed a pillow under my knees and drew my (much neglected) meditation blanket over my body. savasana. full stop. total relax. that’s when the tears spilled over my eye sockets and down the side of my face. not sobbing, just tears flowing for a bit. my trusty four-legged companion daisey came over to lick my eyes … she hasn’t learned how to bring kleenex yet.
that little voice inside is so hard for me to hear most of the time.
this time, i even talked to her. please help me to hear you better. please speak to me more loudly! please help me learn how to take better care of you. please please please.
i’m pretty rotten at relaxing. i wrote to my friend manny the other day that i’ve always wanted to be a bon vivant (bonne vivante?). good at -- what elizabeth gilbert readily pointed out in eat pray love – that italianesque ease of “dolce far niente." the sweetness of doing nothing. but in reality, i’m no good at it. i relax the four days of thanksgiving. and when i’m sick in bed (so i don’t mind at all when i get sick, which is rarely). i have the constitution of a bull.
but this getting older thing requires gentleness. not bullishness. less yang. more yin.
i had a notecard by renée locks on my refrigerator for the longest time before the annual january fridge door cleanse. it read, “what people really need is a good listening to.” listened to. seen. heard. and i really try my best to do that for other people. have been acknowledged for being a good listener.
may i now translate this for myself: what i really need is a good listening to. by me.
hello hillary, can you hear me?