On Optimism

Change is natural, essential, and one of the most dependable things in life.  But at the time, it can be so fucking difficult (excuse my language, but it was the best word to convey the appropriate magnitude). Difficult changes: moving away from your hometown in the middle of middle school, graduating from high school and leaving the comforts of your parents’ home, graduating from college and leaving the bubble of passionate student groups and summer breaks, breaking up with your significant other and missing the security, losing your job, losing your spouse, losing your child, losing your love. That’s fucking scary.

So if you’re thinking, wait, isn’t this supposed to be about optimism?, don’t worry. I’m getting there.

My friend Madeline was an excellent trumpet player.  From the moment she buzzed her lips in a trumpet mouthpiece in fifth grade, she was a trumpet player.  She accompanied the sixth grade choir’s version of What a Wonderful World, battled me every week in middle school band for the acclaimed first chair position, outplayed high school seniors for solos as a mere freshman, belted high notes, danced through technical licks, caressed sweet melodies, and truly loved to play her horn.  Madeline played in symphonic band, jazz band, the Kalamazoo Junior Symphony Orchestra, pit bands, Funktion, solo and ensemble, Band of America camps. Rich with brassy red passion, she was a trumpet player.

After high school, Western Michigan University’s music school accepted Madeline to study jazz trumpet performance.  She excelled through musical theory and music history classes while spending hours shedding in Dalton practice rooms, rehearsing with jazz ensembles, and playing for private lessons with jazz trumpet PhDs. Madeline, the trumpet player.

But after a year in Western’s music school, Madeline suddenly began experiencing intense nerve pain in her jaw.  She couldn’t press her horn to her lips without shooting pains.  Her doctor prescribed no more trumpet playing.

I remember when Madeline told me that she could no longer play the trumpet.  We sat in her car outside the barn at the Black Hawk Inn in Richland, about to listen to open mic slam poetry.  “…so I can’t play my trumpet for more than 10 minutes at a time anymore…” she said.  From my perspective, this proclamation seemed as debilitating to Madeline as loosing ones legs or eyesight.  Madeline was a trumpet player; how could she be without her trumpet? 

But when her path suddenly dead-ended at the water’s edge, Madeline looked around.  She didn’t try to continue running through the water, clinging to the beach.  She dove into something new, she swam, she paddled, and she found new joy.  Around the same time that Madeline had to stop playing her trumpet, she fell in love with one of her English classes at Western.  The professor, impressed with Madeline’s writing and literature analysis, became a mentor and helped Madeline pursue another passion: English*.  Now—not to make this seem too much like a fairytale “happily ever after”—Madeline is studying to get her masters and possibly her PhD in English at Ohio State University.  (If this really were a fairytale she never would have chosen to become a Buckeye—haha)

OK, I don’t want to pretend that Madeline didn’t (and doesn’t) mourn the loss of trumpet playing.  But her example teaches me the spirit of optimism.

Unpredictable changes happen (that’s the only predictable thing in life, right?)  To me, optimism is facing change and not dwelling in fear or regret but welcoming all of the endless possibilities waiting beyond.  My yoga instructor Jasprit taught that chardi kala (boundless optimism) is a lightness of spirit.  Chardi kala is letting go of your attachment to ideas, objects, and passions; feeling comfortable with the fact that these things can change; and feeling limitless in the possibilities that change can create. I want to honor and thank Madeline.  I so admire your openness and fearlessness in the face of change.

(* “English” isn’t really the most accurate word to describe Madeline’s field of study; it’s just convenient.  She studies literary works that are by no means limited to the influences and language of English culture. Madeline could say much more on this topic.)

My next yogi advent topic is peace.  When I first think about peace, the images that come to mind are doves and peace signs.  I think of quiet, tranquility, and calm. Is that peace?

Last night my former roommate from U of M, Janine, visited DC with a friend of hers from graduate school.  Both Janine and her friend are in a program at the University of South Florida in which they take environmental engineering classes on campus for 2 semesters and then complete their masters research while abroad with PeaceCorps.  I think they have a different definition of peace than “quiet, tranquility, and calm.” 

It was fitting that I accompanied these PeaceCorps candidates to check out the MLK Memorial (referenced in my October post) last night.  The memorial is a 30-foot statue of MLK, flanked with a wall of quotes from Dr. King.  I will leave you with this quote from the wall, “True peace is not merely the absence of tension: it is the presence of justice." (16 April 1963, Birmingham, AL)

As always, I love to hear your thoughts and feedback. 

With love,

Codi

 Here are the PeaceCorp girls with MLK.

On Joy

 Prelude: I have to admit that I am nervous to post this.  I worry that it is lame, cheesy, and too “mushy” for a blog.  Well, maybe it is, oh well.  Here goes week one of Yogi Advent: Joy.

Joy has challenged me much more than I anticipated.  At first, I couldn’t narrow my concept of joy.  Everything seemed to bring a smile to my face: sunshine, 3-year-olds graduating to the “big girl swing,” phone conversations with friends, mid-morning coffee, Christmas lights and paper snowflakes in my window (see the picture below).  The more I thought about joy, however, I kept circling back to the many moments that have not been so joyful.   I thought about the inevitable lows in the middle of workweeks at the office, the stressful moments between the blissful bubble of Ann Arbor and “the real world,” and the grief of loss.  

 

Memory makes me think that joy was easier once.  I was so joyful as a little kid in elementary with nothing to worry about, so joyful  graduating from high school and starting undergrad with only possibilities ahead.  Have I lost my knack for joy?  But I know my memory is dishonest.  I cram the sorrows into a tiny box and give ample space to the laughter and joy.  Every time of my life has held both joy and sorrow.  My friend Robbie sent a poem by Khalil Gibran this week about the balance of joy and sorrow, and I’d like to share it here.

Joy and Sorrow Chapter VIII

By Khalil Gibran

Then a woman said, "Speak to us of Joy and Sorrow."

And he answered:

Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.

And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears.

And how else can it be?

The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.

Is not the cup that hold your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter's oven?

And is not the lute that soothes your spirit, the very wood that was hollowed with knives?

When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy.

When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.

Some of you say, "Joy is greater than sorrow," and others say, "Nay, sorrow is the greater."

But I say unto you, they are inseparable.

Together they come, and when one sits alone with you at your board, remember that the other is asleep upon your bed.

Verily you are suspended like scales between your sorrow and your joy.

Only when you are empty are you at standstill and balanced.

When the treasure-keeper lifts you to weigh his gold and his silver, needs must your joy or your sorrow rise or fall.

Thank you so much Robbie.  I am still learning to embrace my sorrows as deeply as my joys.  Or maybe I need to re-frame my concept of sorrow all together.  I think the balance of joy and sorrow is more real than a fantasy of finding perpetual joy (which for some reason I always desired…where ever did I get this idea of a static “happily ever after”?). 

I love this excerpt from a novel by Terry Tempest Williams: “…we hold the moon in our bellies.  It is too much to ask to operate on full moon energy three-hundred and sixty-five days a year.”  Part of me wishes I could experience the glow of a full moon’s joy every day:  I want to laugh, smile, and entertain friends all of the time.  But this joy would be empty without understanding the quiet darkness of a new moon night.

As my joys and sorrows wane and wax, I still want to take a moment to celebrate pure joy here in this post.  I loved the quote from Jose, that joy is what makes our hearts fully alive.  I found that one of the things that makes my heart most alive is singing (just like my Grandma Lois singing “I’ve got joy, joy, joy, joy down in my heart J).  So I will conclude with lessons of joy that I have learned from singing: 

1. Open.  I open my mouth, my throat, and my lungs to let in the air and also let out my song.  I am as open as a child who has not yet learned self-consciousness, fearless of any judgment from listeners or self-criticism.  The song opens my heart and lifts my emotions into the world.  This openness brings me joy.
2. Create. I can create beauty with the air I breathe, the power in my belly, and the stream of my melody.  It is empowering to turn my emotions into bouncy love songs, reverent hymns, and jazzy ballads.  Sometimes I like to hum aimlessly without lyric or rhythm, just to release.  Feeling my own creation resonate through my body also brings me joy.
3. Share.  When others join my song it is like a relationship, we listen and we compromise.  We combine the rich low tones and floating high notes with the juicy inner harmonies.  And we connect.  My yoga teacher, Jasprit, taught the concept of Ik onkar, oneness.  To me, Ik onkar realizes the connection of all atoms, every object, and every form of life.  And it celebrates the connection between every person: we all have fear and love that we need to express.  Singing together expresses this oneness.  The connection as voices sing in harmony, the shared openness, and the combination of many voices in one song, is one of my greatest joys.

I am continuing my Yogi Advent and this week I am focusing on Hope and Optimism.  Thank you so much to everyone who offered their thoughts on joy during this past week. Please continue to share your quotes, poems, songs, and experiences of hope this week; it is so wonderful to hear from all of you.

With love,

Codi

Re-connections and Yogi Advent

 Hello all,

I can’t believe how much time has passed since my last update!  Good gracious!   

The past couple months have been full of "re-connections."  At the end of October, I met up with friends from both high school and college with a spontaneous trip to New York City.  I survived an epic bus ride through the blizzard and met up with Kristine at Penn Station. Like true Michiganders, Kristine and I trekked to Times Square and the Highline despite the falling snow and inches of slush on the sidewalks.  Later that evening Kristine and I joined Steve and Jeff and enjoyed a beautiful performance by the Hillary Reynolds Band (they just released an album—check out their website!)

In November, the re-connections continued with my former roommate Emily.  Emily works for a software consulting company in Chicago, but she was assigned to work with a client in DC.  The fabulous result: Emily now spends Monday-Friday in the District every week!  So far we have met up once a week after work, eaten fun Peruvian and Thai dinners, indulged in chocolate treats, and spent hours exploring the neighborhoods of DC.  Spending time with Emily feels like home.  I love seeing her, and it’s wonderful to find (and create) home here in DC.

Although DC is finding its way into my heart, I will always relish returning to my first home--Michigan.  I flew home for Thanksgiving this year and had another set of wonderful re-connections.  During my visit, I gathered briefly with the “Sophisticats” (a group of high school friends) and met some of my U of M friends for sweet potato pancakes in Detroit.  I also shared a wonderful Thanksgiving feast with my Snyder relatives on Thursday and then celebrated my grandparents’ 80^th birthdays with Snyder and Sheffield relatives on Saturday.  The Snyder family has so many things to celebrate this year: my cousin Ben won an engineering competition sponsored by Stryker (his WMU team beat several Big Ten schools—including my alma mater!), my aunt was selected to direct the Grand Rapids Sweet Adelines chorus (an acclaimed women’s barbershop chorus), my (almost) cousin Sara just received her associates degree, my sister SarahLiz has become quite a long distance runner (and is looking fabulous!), and I am so grateful that my grandparents are so happy and healthy as they enter their 80^th years of life.

Thanksgiving came and went so quickly this year.  It was wonderful, but between the reunions and travel, I didn’t spend a lot of time reflecting on gratitude or getting into the holiday spirit.  So I have a new project for December, which I have decided to call “Yogi Advent.”  Loosely based on my sparse knowledge of Christianity’s advent, my Yogi Advent will focus on four Christmas-y themes during these four weeks preceding Christmas.  Maybe this is kind of hokey, but I want to dedicate my yoga practice to each week’s theme and journal to further explore and embrace how it fits in my life.

This week I am focusing on Joy. 

Joy is defined (by various online dictionaries) as the emotion evoked by well-being, success, or good fortune, or by the prospect of possessing what one desires. 

Joy is delight: extreme satisfaction, bliss: perfect happiness, and gaiety: light-heartedness, merriment, and vivacity.

Joy is feeling rich with the gifts you already have, joy is laughing out loud, joy is colorful and playful, joy is uninhibited song and dance.

I would love to share my “Yogi Advent” with all of you, if you’ll humor me. Please share (post a comment!): How do you define joy? What brings you joy? Any poems, songs, YouTube clips or pictures? I plan to post more of my own reflections on joy later this week.

Sending love--and joy!

C#