now i ain't sayin' she's a goalsetter . . .

I'm a dreamer.

Which means, for most of us dreamers, that I think the word goalsetting is a synonym for words like plague, allergic reaction and death. Ok . . . possibly I have a flair for the dramatic, as well, but I can wholeheartedly confirm that I certainly avoid sitting down with pen and paper to make a list of goals. It just doesn't seem right. Why not dream and follow the dreams as they come? Be present to the now, you know!

But part of loving well is to see the dreams that have been given to me (for myself and for the world) actually come to fruition. Or at least to focus enough on a few of them at a time, so that all my dreams don't become too whelming at once.

Enter a book for right-brainiacs. After a conversation with my friend where I expressed some of my frustrations with my scattered dreams, I found the book Organizing for the Creative Person and hoped I could check it out from the library. Much to my chagrin, the library didn't have it, but out of nowhere it appeared one day thanks to my dear friend . . .

And here are the fruits of chapter one:





There is no list involved in this goal-setting venture. There are no checked boxes or firm dates. It's just these colorful strips of paper holding my wild dreams, dropped into bright bags I will sit on my shelf as a daily reminder of dreams I love. I can move the papers from bag-to-bag if, for example, life alters the timeline of one of my "maybe" dreams to become a "now" dream or if I uncover more dreams behind a moonbeam that I decide to drop into "someday."

I love it! And it felt good to write all of my dreams down, see them and know they now have a home. And the best part is that the book didn't tell me exactly HOW I had to do my goalsetting. I just came up with the strips of paper and bag idea on my own. Indeed, the authors shape a helpful task that a creative person can be . . . well, creative in accomplishing.

So happy to be loving my dreams well . . . And I believe my future will be even brighter than these super cute dream bags.

love well.

C

Sinking into the Now

My feet hurt every time we go into Tree Pose (Vrksasana) at yoga. I finally told Taunia (my favorite yogini) about the pain after our practice this week. She didn't seem surprised. She said that she noticed whenever I go into this standing pose my toes curl up ever so slightly, as if I'm trying to clutch the ground below in order to stay standing. I put so much pressure on my one foot as it holds my entire body. I can hardly be present to the pose because I'm so ready to get out of it and relieve my foot of this pain. My attempt to stand firm is in vain; I often lose my balance, and it always always hurts.

"Sink into the pose," Taunia recommended. "Lift your toes, relax them and return them to the ground as if you're sinking into the earth, like you're standing on wet sand."

I thought of this advice again several days later as I reflected on questions friends have asked over the last week—this first week of 2010. What's in store? What's on the horizon? What are you most looking forward to in 2010? What are your hopes for the year? What are your plans? Career, art, love?

With each question I was made more aware of the great amount of pressure I put on my soul when I "curl my toes" and cling to my past hopes or try to grab and hold my ideas of what my future should be. I'm following a guy who tweeted yesterday, "dear life. help me understand you." I laughed. I, too, would love to make sense of life these days. This may be why I cling. If I can hold on to "what was," life might make sense. I might find unfulfilled hopes finally fulfilled. If I can craft a perfect "what will be," life might make sense. I might experience great bliss in this story I write for myself. And, just like in the tree pose, my clinging is in vain. I often lose my balance. And it often hurts.

Life—most especially when it makes the least amount of sense—is best lived in the "what is," the now. All I can do is relax, let go and sink into the now like when I stand on a beach as the water rolls over my feet to kiss the last grain of sand before it flows back to the sea, and I feel like I'm being carried away into the ocean. But instead, I'm just settling more deeply into the sand. And it feels good.

May we all honor the memories of our past, and may we never stop dreaming. But may we open ourselves most to the lessons, beauty and gifts of the now and find our feet sinking beautifully into it.