KAMA with a MOKSHA hangover

Hello, my name is Greta, and I drank too much last night. The realization dawned on me in many ways: 1) when I ordered a second... (third) shot of Patron, 2) when I was telling the bartender about the first guy I had a crush on in high school, 3) when I checked the text messages I sent, and 4) oh, when I woke up to searing pain in my head.

Last night started out in the usual way: I got ready, put on my coat, put my "Hardcore Rap mix" on my ipod and walked to the L to meet two friends for dinner. Just your typical Saturday night. On the way back from dinner, I had big plans to watch TV, read a magazine or make some popcorn and troll the internet for shoes and purses I can't afford. Again, pretty typical.

However, something changed all this - something small and seemingly insignificant: A text message with the words "If you are still out, we are too..." and BAM, like Batman to the Batmobile, I was headed to a bar.

Some of you have had the distinct pleasure of experiencing a night out with me. Holla! I'm not sure if it's the Irish heritage or the Catholic upbringing, but for whatever reason I am quite skilled at drinking. And last night was no exception - I drank like a champ.

And it was indeed a lot of fun. I hung out with my cousins, who are the best versions of friends I could have dreamt up. And we made many new friends: Alec from Macedonia, Sung, and Bald Ben. Friendships that will last a lifetime.

However, I woke up this morning with the distinct feeling that this drinking like a champion business has its downsides. One major one being that I felt awful and couldn't seem to get off the couch to get anything done. And I like getting stuff done. I'm actually pretty good at it. There is a whole world of possibilities for the day, including yoga classes, reading, or having basic contact with other humans. Yet, there I sat, feeling too zapped to do any of it.

After a lot of gatorade and a pep talk from a friend who told me to shut up, put on some clothes and go outside, I made it to yoga class. (Everyone needs a Courtney in their lives)

As I lay in supta baddha konasana (which roughly translates to "bottoms of feet together, legs splayed"), I was feeling pretty down about myself. Then the yoga teacher began by setting an intention for the class: try not to be perfect. Work on accepting the positive AND negative parts of yourself because all these parts work together to make you who you are - and without both, you are not a whole person.

You know, that's a good goal. One I could work on. Self-acceptance at the present moment; the good and the bad. Because all that stuff is me. Sometimes I drink too much and send embarrassing text messages. Sometimes I smoke cigarettes and forget to take care of myself. So there are some negative parts I would like to banish, but I do make sure to floss and I'm a good listener. I make it to yoga class and I recycle. I'm a kind person and I'm working on accepting the rest.

MOKSHA - Disappointment

Well, disappointment, you're back in my life, you son-of-a-bitch.

I thought that I had rid myself of you forever, but like a jealous boyfriend, you show up at the restaurant where I'm eating dinner or when I'm on the phone with my mother. You are back when I least expected to see you.

No one likes being disappointed, but I don't like it the most of everyone in the world. It feels terrible every time and like loss of love or dignity (something I know a thing or two about), is cured only with time.

And since I desperately want you to go away, I feel inclined to listen to any suggestions to get you out of my life. A good friend of mine once told me that the only way to avoid disappointment is to lower your expectations of others. If you expect less from other people, you will not be hurt when they don't rise to meet the bar that you set for them. Hmmm... Expect nothing and when you get nothing in return, you won't get hurt... I think Eastern Europe was built on that philosophy.

I am tempted to buy into this idea. Not just because it would be easier to avoid feeling the pain associated with disappointment, but because maybe it's not fair to have such high expectations of people. Expectations can often be silent traps that we set for others. But can I really get rid of expectations? Will that make disappointment go away?

I think disappointment is really just the loss of hope. Hope for something better, more interesting, more fun... or just different. The key to forward movement and what allows us to come back from the most terrible of tragedies.

There is only one place in the world I go to regain my sense of hope. And it's not the Whole Foods on Sheffield, although that ranks a close second. It is a book - an essay, actually. Once I have read it, I always feel strong enough to pull it together and get back in the game. It's by Barbara Kingsolver, and she concludes, "We love and we lose, go back to the start and do it right over again." Ahh. You make it sound so simple.

And like a fool, I begin to believe again that it is just that simple. One foot in front of the other and keep moving. And hold on to those expectations, despite your brushes with disappointment. They are what allow you to hope beyond what is right in front of you. And yes, people will disappoint you. Over and Over again. But hope, like coffee, can be made fresh each day.

KAMA - Just some good stuff

Some good stuff to pass along:

1) Ben Gruswitz's Birthday is today. Happy Birthday, Bendix!

2) Rent the move Paper Heart - it will make you feel very happy inside.

3) Read this editorial. A friend passed it along to me and I think it's really good.

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/01/15/opinion/15brooks.html?hp

DHARMA - Patriot Language

Ted Olson, former solicitor general of the United States who famously argued (and won) the Bush v. Gore case before the Supreme Court, is taking on a different kind of case. Mr. Olson is currently representing two same-sex couples in California, bringing a constitutional challenge to that state's prohibition on gay marriage.

In a recent NYT editorial, Mr. Olson commented to Maureen Dowd that "there's something the matter with you" if you don't care about the harm caused by prohibiting equal access to the right to marry for gays and lesbians, saying, "We're not treating them like Americans. We're not treating them like citizens."

If this were a bait and switch, this would be the "switch." See, this blog entry has nothing to do with gay marriage. It has to do with semantics.

I believe words are important. They have the power to make us laugh, move us to tears, divide us, unite us, and to exclude those who live among us. Words can shape perception in a palpable way. For example: "My client has 3 convictions." versus "My client has 3 convictions, but they all occurred before his 18th birthday."

Of all the kinds of language usage that get under my skin, it's not foreign language (hablo espanol), not poorly used language (I totes apprech your sitch), not even misogynistic language (Akon's just trying to find to words without being disrespectful). What really bothers me is "Patriot Language." Phrases such as "These colors don't run," or "Love it or leave it." Phrases that oversimplify a relatively complex set of emotions and suggest there is a "right" and a "wrong" way to feel.

This is not a liberal vs. conservative issue, as both parties are guilty of this. That being said, George Bush was particularly good at using Patriot Language. "Either you are with us or you are with the terrorists." "America will never seek a permission slip to defend the security of our people." "You can't put democracy and freedom back into a box." This led to people saying things like "Hell, yeah! We don't need a permission slip to defend ourselves!!" Of course we don't. Who would sign this permission slip? Where would we turn it in in order to receive our Market Day pickup? Phrases like this obscure questions that should be addressed, such as "What responsibilities do we have when engaging in the act of war?" or "What is the scope of our engagement?" Using phrases like "These colors don't run" is a way for a people to unburden itself of a sense of responsibility.

A more subtle form of Patriot Language exists when we say things like, "we're not treating them like Americans. We're not treating them like citizens." I've thought a lot about what is being implied with this language. Is this phrase implying that withholding certain rights and privileges from those who are not citizens is ok? If someone is not American, is it ok to deny them basic constitutional freedoms? (The irony is that Mr. Olson was trying to invoke outrage at the way a marginalized group has been treated, by using language that contributes to the marginalization of a different group).

I don't think there are easy answers here. There ARE reasons for withholding certain rights and privileges from those who are not citizens. But it does make me think about the millions of people living in this country who fall into that category. And I wonder about the subtlety of that language and whether it aids in drawing a tiny line between people or opens up a small area where division is allowed to creep in. I really don't know. It just makes me think.

Full credit is due to Mia Wilson for the Akon line. You're my gurrl for life.

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/01/17/opinion/17dowd.html

MOKSHA - Coffee and hip-hop

I was at this seminar recently and one of the speakers was talking about ways to figure out what you're good at. One way, according to him, is to take note of the first thing you do when you get to work in the morning. Do you check your email, start returning phone calls, cross off items from your to-do list? Supposedly your answer will help you figure out what your natural strengths are.

Using his method, I deduced that my natural strength is brewing strong coffee. I am really good at putting a filter in the machine and filling it with a large amount of coffee grounds before adding water. Brewing coffee is also something I like to do. A hold over from my college years as a barista.

The point of the exercise is to discover what you most enjoy about what you do. But it also made me think about how the things we enjoy are things we are also good at. And that makes sense. We humans have a tendency towards activities that involve pleasure and things that make us feel good over things that make us feel like we are struggling or are inadequate.

For example: something that is not my natural strength: Intermediate hip-hop class.

I went to a hip-hop class on Wednesday with a friend. And to use a cliche hip-hop term, I got served. Hardcore. By some crazy good dancers.

I could tell from the minute I walked in that this was a real dance class. It was like that moment in Bring It On when you realize the cheerleading team is not made up of real high schoolers, but actors who are also professional cheerleaders. However, in this scenario, I am still just a normal high schooler who wanders into cheerleading practice. Now you understand.

It was really hard for me to enjoy this class because 1) I could barely follow the steps, 2) I am not a professional dancer, and 3) I am white. This put me at a great disadvantage.

Some people see this kind of thing as a challenge and would strive to go back and do it again. I, however, am Catholic and therefore am only motivated by shame and guilt. And me dancing at this professional dance class came as close to shame as I've been in a while. What I am motivated to do is a little dance I like to call "Saving Face" and it involves me never seeing anyone from that dance class ever again.

I'm sure the motivation to go back and try it again will kick in at some point, because I really like the idea of hip-hop dance class, but right now my pride is wounded (hence the picture of me looking sad, but wearing a felt hat to invoke the image of dancing).

Until then, watch out coffee drinkers of the world. Cause I can take you. For reals, yo.

DHARMA - Fighting 101.

There was a fight at work yesterday. One person said something hurtful to another person and the fight escalated in the way such fights often do in a professional environment: with the angry crumpling of paper and throwing (but missing) the wastebasket.

I love fights. I know it's not "appropriate" to encourage fighting, but I think fights are awesome. Which is why Jersey Shore is amazing. Someone is always hitting someone and I am on the couch eating popcorn and can't get enough (of the fight and the popcorn).

I don't love the actual violence of a fight. I just think it's a more efficient way of releasing one's anger. The intellectual fights are just not as satisfying. You always leave feeling like you could have phrased something better or should have brought out a more clever argument. But if you leave a real fight having punched some guy in the face, you're like "Hell, yeah, I punched the dude! Right in the face!"

But I was not jazzed about this fight. I am not interested in witnessing an intellectual battle of two co workers.

It's awkward when two people are intellectually fighting in close proximity to you over something that is totally irrevelant to you. What is the protocol in that situation, you ask? I have come up with two simple steps. I call this "How to politely stand next to a fight."

1) Remain neutral. The key to neutrality is to avoid eye contact. I can avoid eye contact like a pro. But this is not enough. 2) Appear busy and use props. It needs to look like something more important than the fight is going on right in front of you. It is often a good idea to use the items on your desk to appear busy. I began to look very carefully at my notes. Then I took a piece of tape and covered a sentence in my notes. Then I stapled the piece of paper to itself. Then I took out my tiny gavel and began pounding it. Then I drank some water. Then I put on lip gloss and wrote with a red sharpie. By that point, the crumpled paper was on the floor next to my trashcan and I was safe and fully hydrated once again. But also secretly hoping that one of them would deck the other one. :)

MOKSHA - Learning to receive

So I was at yoga class last night. I love the Monday night yoga teacher. She plays good music and lets everyone do their thing without making you feel bad if you can't wrap one leg around your head or put your face behind your ear.

Normally in the beginning of class you are asked to set an intention for your practice. This can be as simple as "get through class" or as lofty as "reach nirvana." The idea is to focus on what makes sense for you in the present moment.

Last night, however, our teacher set the intention for us: Receive. Receive the healing that yoga brings without trying to figure it out. And let go.

Ahhh, to let go. A lofty goal, indeed. It is stunning how hard it is to do just that. My tendency is to filter what I receive into categories of judgment. Good. Bad. Unnecessary. Jankey.

We are conditioned to judge what we receive because it is what grounds us in our individuality. I know who I am because I know what is "not me." To receive without filters is a vulnerable act. It shakes up who you are. But it is also what enables you to transcend your fixed ideas of what is possible in your life. It's what allows you to go deeper into a pose, open yourself up to someone you like, or start your own law firm.

I like the idea of letting go. It is amazing to think that this act will allow in all kinds of wonderful things I never envisioned through my lens of judgment. So that's my message tonight. Let go and receive what comes.

ARTHA - The balance between 70 and 71.

It is cold in my apartment. Not just now, but all the time. Usually when people come over they say things like, "Did you pay your heating bill?" or "Do you have a thick Irish wool sweater I can borrow?"

You may think that we keep our heat low because we are trying to save money. Not true. The real reason is because the heating system is trying to kill us.

We leave our heating system at 70. Pretty much all the time. This is a great temperature because it allows you to walk around your apartment as you normally would in the winter (with socks, a cape and a tiny hat) and feel comfortable. However, every night around 10:30, something strange happens: 70 degrees begins to feel very cold. Too cold for just the cape. So I put on a sweater and turn the heating system up to 71 just before climbing into bed.

Then during the night, while my roommate and I are sleeping, a tribe of tiny heat demons climbs into the heating system and redirects all of the heat in the entire apartment directly into our bedrooms. This usually leads to waking up at 3am feeling like someone is trying to smother you to death with hot blankets. Each morning, my roommate and I look like we've suffered through a case of typhoid or one of those other Oregon Trail illnesses that ends in a spiked fever and death.

One night, tired of waking up destroyed, I left the heat at 70 and put on a heavier sweater. That night I slept peacefully and woke up refreshed. It seemed that as long as we kept the heat at 70, we wouldn't risk spontaneous combustion every night.

I don't really get what's motivating our heating system to try and destroy us. I'm not sure what the heat demons get out of forcing us to turn our heat up to 71. A big demon pizza? The evil satisfaction of making someone else suffer? Who knows.

Around 11:00 last night I could feel the room get colder - more than usual. That damn heating system taunting me to turn it up to 71. I caved. This morning when I woke up kicking my sheets off and screaming "Dear God get me out of this inferno!" I could swear I heard tiny laughing voices coming from the heating vent.

KAMA - The Sports Bar

Last night I went to a Sports Bar. The likelihood of this happening is akin to me saying "last night I flew to france" or "last night I participated in a competitive roller derby."

Up until now my general understanding of sports bars has been that they are bars with lots of TVs, filled with men and women who desire to watch sports and purchase beer in a commemorative plastic cup displaying the name of their favorite sports team. Boy, was I wrong.

Sports Bars are magical wonderlands filled with men who want to talk to you and hear what you have to say. I know, I know, you thought such places only existed in romance novels. And it's not just some men who want to talk to you, all the men in a sports bar will have a conversation with you at some point. They bring up contemporary issues and want to know what you think about these issues. For example: Dude: "Did you just see that pass?" Me: "What pass? You mean on TV?" Dude: "Don't you think McKnabb is going elsewhere next year?" Me: "Who's McKnabb? You mean like on a vacation? I think France would be a fun place to visit." As you can see, I was on fire last night.

At first, I was shocked. I have not had that kind of open conversation with so many men in a bar in a long time (read: ever). Then, it suddenly made sense. Usually in a bar, guys need some kind of approach to go up to women and women are always ready to deflect unwanted attention. And even if step one occurs, it's hard to keep up a conversation with a total stranger. And this is why Sports Bars are magical. Men can come up to you and say "Go Eagles!" or "Can I have some of those steak nachos?" without it feeling like they're hitting on you. And if they want to keep talking, there are no shortage of conversation topics: why everyone hates Dallas, or why Tony Romo only likes blondes. These conversations can last for hours and the awkward "so what do you do?" conversations go by the wayside.

I didn't tell anyone that I was a lawyer, nor did I have the "I work in immigration" conversation which more often than not ends with me having to listen to someone else's ideas of "what we should do with the illegal immigrants in the country." Thanks to my experience at the Sports Bar, I was able to talk to all kinds of fun, interesting men. I was also able to offer my opinions: "People probably hate the Cowboys because it's so hot in Texas," and "I think McKnabb should play for the Bears because he's from Chicago and his family is here and he should be close to his family." Strangely enough, no one asked for my phone number.

DHARMA - The Bar Exam

So I went to visit a friend from law school who recently returned to Chicago. She lost her job in the way many have, because of poor revenue not poor performance. Thankfully, she is blessed with a plethora of talents and compassion - so she toyed around with the idea of teaching for a while. Eventually, she settled on a more concrete and seasonally appropriate task: taking the Illinois State Bar Exam.

For those of you unfamiliar with the Illinois Bar Exam, it is a two-day exam designed to test your knowledge of "the law" and if you score high enough, you are admitted to the Illinois State Bar and allowed to practice as an attorney within the state of Illinois. I imagine the Bar exam to be similar to the hazing rituals that serious fraternities inflict upon new recruits: It's painful, but at the end you can high-five each other and get so drunk that you forget most of the terror and humiliation of the experience.

While studying for the bar takes approximately 7 weeks, it starts out in the way studying usually does. You listen to a 2-3 hour lecture, you take some notes, maybe you review those notes. You go have lunch with your friends, update your facebook status and watch an episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer before doing the assignment for the next day.

However, there is a turning point that happens, usually around week 5. You begin this week as you begin any other week: listening to lectures, reviewing notes, doing an assignment. But then, all of a sudden, the classes end and the powers that be tell you that you have all the information you need, now you just need to memorize it. From that moment on, what motivates you to study is Fear. And what a great motivator it is. Studying begins early in the morning and lasts until the evening. Then you trudge home, quietly mumbling tenants of law to yourself on the L, go to sleep and do it again for the next 2 weeks.

This is the moment in a movie when the clever protagonist quietly sneaks away from the crazy person. Anyone you know who is taking the bar - make a note in your calendar around the second week of February that says "Get out now" or "Bat shit crazy" to remind yourself to stay away from that person.

My friend began studying for the Bar exam yesterday. I sat with her for moral support (read: to distract her with youtube videos) and to spend some time together the way we used to in law school. We chatted about what we remembered from torts. Short conversation. We talked about life, love, goals, new years resolutions, changes we've made since graduating law school. It was a rejuvenating experience to see her and be able to talk face to face. But quietly, while we talked about other things, I wrote in my calendar on February 12th, "Run."

4 Aims of Life - A beginning

Today I had to keep from laughing during yoga. I went to a new teacher tonight. During shivasena, or the final relaxation pose, he rang a bell three times and said "May the fear of death leave the room!" in such a serious voice that I had to pretend to cough to keep from laughing. Then on my way out of class I overheard two students talking about the best recipe for making sage blueberry cookies. I don't ever want the words "I made you some sage cookies" to come out of my mouth. I love yoga, but I also love pizza and beer.

That's what this blog is about. A normal person's quest to find balance in 2010 using yoga and all other means necessary. Each entry will reflect on one of the four aims and how it relates to daily life in the hope that this helps other regular peeps find a little bit of balance in their lives as well. :)