Last Day of Love

(but not really…)

If February is considered the month we honor love, this newsletter will arrive in your inbox on the ‘last day of Love’ (but not really). I must say, I do believe February holds an exceptional amount of love, and while on our Writer’s Movement retreat, we were able to witness love over and over again all the while exploring the magical red rocks of Moab.

Here is some of what we saw:

Love is a man standing alongside the rust colored landscape of moon rocks and mars-appearing formations within acres of land. He exists in the form of a cheery Forest Ranger who whole-heartedly loves his job! While caring for the public who arrive at his workplace for the first time most times. He gently guides park guests by orienting newbies to the extremes of the environment. He instructs them to be mindful along their hike.

Take pictures, not rocks; 

take care of the land; take care of each other. 

He reminds us of his joy. He tells us that this job is a dream come true! He beamingly tells us that he works in beauty day in and day out. We can tell that he is filled with pride for his position and to be delicate with Delicate Arch.

Love is a young Indian family who communicate bilingually their joy of climbing to the top of Delicate Arch. The trails became tricky near the end. It’s a dangerous mixture of ice, snow and red rock. The father and son are bantering with one another, making each other laugh and giggle while attempting to take the perfect photograph. Mom looks on with mixed emotions that I recognize. She’s trying to guard against the precarious landscape while watching her husband and son be silly and joyful. All the while, she is busy caring for their younger child who is struggling to be joyful (at that particular moment) and spends his time being vocal, agitated and fidgety. Perhaps the second child was tired. Perhaps hungry. Perhaps fearful. Mom simply became the vessel, the container for all of her beloved family members. She held a safe space for her youngest, laughed with her eldest, provided supported and appreciative glances at her husband. They were a unit, intact and present.

Love is viewing the simple colors of red, blue, white. Not the colors of our flag, but rather the colors of rust, azure, and a transparent Navajo white. The landscape offered simple pleasures of magnificence which caused us to stop in our tracks and take notice. We turned away to climb, but it continued to stop our motion. This persistence of simple beauty became our teacher. Pause, take notice. Walk, laugh, watch your feet. Then pause, take notice. She provided a canvas for our creativity, a backdrop for playfulness.

There are no guarantees to desired outcomes. 

Our intentions can be set into motion, but predicting precision in the end results hold no promises. “We get what we get, and we don’t throw a fit!” (Ms. Terry, CCNS preschool teacher). It is how we respond to the outcomes from our intentions where we find true magic. Letting go of limiting expectations and stiff unbending parameters can result in a suffering outcome; these effects can cause pain and sadness beyond measure. So, again, we return to expansion and contraction - the ebb and flow - Sthira and Sukha

Have you ever seen the movie Meet the Robinsons? It’s a movie about a young boy named Lewis, who is very smart and invents things but does not have any family. Then one day, Lewis' world was changed when a boy called Wilbur, who has a time-machine, takes Lewis on a trip to the future to meet Wilbur's family. 

This is the movie that quotes Walt Disney, himself, in the very last line of the movie script, “Around here, however, we don't look backwards for very long. We keep moving forward, opening up new doors and doing new things…and curiosity keeps leading us down new paths.” 

You may ask, “Why is she bringing this up?”

It’s because those darn expectations keep interfering with our perceived understanding of what success is. I think one of my favorite lines in the movie is when the Robinson’s begged Lewis to fix it, but after a confident attempt, Lewis had failed again. On the verge of tears, Lewis starts to apologize to the entire family. But their response to his failure is one that threw Lewis for a loss. They started celebrating and saying, 

“You failed!”

“It was awesome!” 

“Exceptional!” 

“Outstanding!” 

“From failing, you learn! 

From success? Not so much.”

During our Writer’s Movement retreat, our collaborative group became a powerful unit immediately. With this collaboration, comes vulnerability and projected self expectations now become exposed and this is often followed by tears. 

Many group activities boost our sense of belonging, but research shows that doing things synchronously can build even stronger social ties and create a greater sense of well-being. Marta Saraska continues, “The phenomenon's powerful effects on us result from a combination of neurohormonal, cognitive and perceptual factors. “It's a complicated interplay,” she says. There is also evidence that we have a propensity for synchrony that may have been selected during the course of human evolution, in part because it allows us to bond with large numbers of people at once, offering a survival advantage.” (Zaraska, Marta. 2020. Scientific American)

What I also know is, there is fatigue that follows belonging collaboratively within a community. Alone time is longed for… I wonder why? Perhaps, we’re accustomed to doing things ourselves. Perhaps it’s because we are forced to think and work kindly with others. Perhaps we have become too dependent upon our devices. Have we forgotten how to communicate with others?

But then I’ve noticed that this tension of collaborating subsides and our effort to live communally becomes effortless. 

Suddenly we’re moving in unison with unspoken words. 

How is this possible? 

Well, I know what Wilbur Robinson would say, “It’s been a long day filled with turmoil and dinosaur fights.” 

At one of our Michelin Star-level dinners (no, really! We were pampered by our chef Olivia!), we got on the topic of failing. We concluded that failing is culturally taught to us as a negative, a moral loss, a shame. And THAT is all wrong!

As Grandpa Bud would say, “If I gave up every time I failed, I would never have invented my fireproof pants!" - 'Meet The Robinsons'.

As we ended our weekend of writing exploration, yoga practices and daily hikes, a few tears, a lot of laughter, warm-hearted listening, connection, movement, and meeting our personal edges of comfort, 

“I am safe, I am calm, I am loved” became our mantra with mala beads

On the last day of this retreat and the ‘last day of love,’ I notice that the quality of what my body, mind and spirit can perceive an unusual state of an altered space; not a bad place to be (especially in a place that appears out-of-this world)