Cooling Down; Heating Up

We've been having a cold snap lately. I've had to trade in the cropped yoga pants and tank top of the summer for sweat pants, a t-shirt, and a sweatshirt.

I've noticed that if I wear gloves--even fingerless ones--during T'ai Chi, I don't feel the nice tingly Chi feeling in my hands. It must really interfere with the flow. So, bare hands are required.

Yesterday afternoon it was in the 30s Fahrenheit. During my warm-ups I tried to keep my hands inside the sleeves of my sweatshirt as much as possible. Even so, by the time I started the form, the tips of my fingers were freezing! Almost starting to hurt from the cold.

Nonetheless, I proceeded into the form. About 10-15 minutes into it, I noticed my entire hands, including the tips of my fingers, were nice and toasty.

I've heard about these T'ai Chi and yoga masters in Tibet or Nepal or wherever who can sit naked in the snow and melt all the snow in a 3-foot radius with their intense Chi. I don't know how they do it sitting still, but I'm starting to get a feel for generating heat. The next time it snows, I'll see if I can melt it with my Chi.

What's Next

Now that I have learned the whole T'ai Chi long form, I wondered, what should I do next? If I want to make my practice deeper and richer (and more reliable), what's the best way to do that? I was reluctant to take a wild guess, and possibly do even more damage, by taking steps that were either too challenging or too boring. What to do?

The author of my book The Complete Idiot's Guide to T'ai Chi and Qigong and my DVD Anthology of T'ai Chi and Qigong: The Prescription for the Future is Bill Douglas. The way he writes and speaks gives me the impression he's a very down-to-earth and approachable guy. I went back to his web site, http://www.smartaichi.com, and found an "Email Bill at" and his email address. An open invitation. So I emailed him.

To my surprise, he replied the same day. I say "to my surprise," because (a) you'd think he'd be a pretty busy guy, what with publishing books, DVDs, CDs, running classes and what not, and (b) he replied himself, not an assistant you might expect a busy guy to have. His reply was most gracious. He recommended re-reading the book, as you can glean new insights with each re-read. He recommended getting his audio CD of Qigong breathing exercises. And he said if I was ever in the Kansas City area, we could arrange a private lesson. How nice is that?

So, Step 1: I got his CD. And it is wonderful! Deep abdominal breathing, and visualizing cleansing any loads or tensions you have held onto and then filling yourself up with pure, radiant healing energy. Aaaaahhhh!

He recommends doing one of the 3 Qigong breathing exercises daily. The implication is that this would be on top of the daily T'ai Chi practice. But I'm going to be realistic with where I'm at right now. I'm looking to deepen my practice, but I'm also looking for a daily practice that's sustainable. So, on days when I'm "too tired," "just don't feel like it," or lately, if it's too cold outside, then I'll do a Qigong breathing exercise instead. I'm hoping that mixing it up like this, and allowing myself to choose my practice spontaneously each day, will help ward off boredom and apathy.

An interesting observation: my husband and I had planned to go see Toy Story and Toy Story 2 in 3D last night, and I asked that we postpone it, because it would eat up the whole evening, and I wouldn't be able to do T'ai Chi. That's moving in the right direction.

Grand Terminus

Well, I finally did it. Yesterday was the last lesson. I've learned the entire Kuang Ping Yang long form.

I wish I could say I am elated, have a tremendous sense of accomplishment, appreciate the fruits of my long hard labor. But unfortunately my victory is tarnished by my shoddy performance the previous two weeks.

I had house guests coming for a week. So for the week prior to that, my husband and I vigorously cleaned parts of our house too long neglected. We moved furniture to clean under and behind. God knows how many trips up and down stairs. Hours of kneeling, squatting, bending, pushing, pulling. By the end of each day I was bone tired. For 4 days in a row, I took Advil and parked my butt on the couch in front of the TV instead of doing T'ai Chi. I was "just too tired."

Then when they arrived, there were of course activities all day and into the evening. Some of the days included hours of walking around tourist destinations--zoo, botanical gardens, museums, etc. I did do T'ai Chi some days, but there were as many days of Advil and couch as there were T'ai Chi practice.

Then, here's the scary part: After they left, I wanted to spend time alone with my husband, so I didn't feel like taking time away from him to do T'ai Chi that day. "Didn't feel like it."

Here is my fear of the slippery slope: "Just too tired" and "Don't feel like it" are so arbitrary. How tired is too tired? When I don't feel like practicing, shouldn't I do it anyway? Isn't that what discipline is all about?

A month or two ago, I was concerned about what I would do after I reached the Grand Terminus, the last movement of the form. Now I'm concerned even more. Will I resume a daily practice, now that I know the entire form? Will it get richer and deeper? Or will it become an optional activity--a good idea, but if I'm too tired, or there is too much going on....?

We shall see.

Gratefulness Episode 3

The results from the scan have come back. There was no sign of thyroid cancer anywhere else in her body.

All these weeks and months, I have believed that the treatment would work. That the surgery to remove the thyroid, followed by the irradiated iodine treatment, would rid her body of cancer. That my loved one would be among the 90-something% of people who survive thyroid cancer. I believed that, expected it.

But this result is what we've been waiting for. This result is the answer. No signs of cancer.

And again, I am grateful.

Not Just Going Through the Motions

Last night, I was just getting into bed, when the shocking realization hit me. "Oh, my God!"

My husband sat bolt upright in bed. "What?!" he asked in alarm.

"I can't believe it! I forgot to do T'ai Chi!"

"Oh, my God!" he agreed, just as shocked as I was. "Can you do it now?" he asked.

I looked at the clock. 12:34. Ugh. "No," I sighed, dismally aware I was letting myself down. "It's too late."

"Just do 5 minutes," he suggested. (My anchor!)

"OK." I decided to do one pass through the part of the form I know so far, which takes 12 or 13 minutes. (So, more than 5! Yay for me!)

I didn't feel like going out into the back yard at that time of night. We have a large family room with enough space to do T'ai Chi, if you move furniture out of the way. I went downstairs, in the ready-for-bed state I was in, which included bare feet.

I skipped the warm-up entirely. So I observed that my knees were a bit creaky. My high kicks were not so high. Bare feet on carpet presents its own kind of challenge to the balance. I didn't feel like moving furniture, so my space wasn't quite wide enough, so this meant creatively modifying some movements to stay within the confined space. All of these hindrances actually drew my attention more into the moment.

I could have literally just gone through the motions, just to be able to say I hadn't skipped. Instead, it became an interesting new experience. Entertaining. Playing T'ai Chi.

Mr. Bunny Revisited

I'm back home from the convention, and resuming my back-yard practice. I haven't practiced with Mr. Bunny for a long time.

My husband looked out the window last night around 6:15 and told me the bunny was out there, so I right quick changed and headed out, hoping he'd still be there.

I always do some warm-ups before beginning the form, to loosen up spine, hips, knees, shoulders, and what-not. Mr. Bunny seemed to be watching me while nibbling some yummy grass. I did a deep lunge, right leg out front with a deeply bent knee, left leg lengthened way out to the back, to stretch my left hip flexor. Long, deep streatch. Aaaahh.

Just then Mr. Bunny did a deep cat stretch, front paws way out front, back paws way out back. It was as if he was thinking, "Wow! That's a good idea! I think I'll do that!"

He stayed with me for the entire practice. This made me happy.

I was wondering why I haven't seen him for a month or two, and I think I figured it out. During the longest days of summer, I practiced at twilight, which was 8:30 or 9. And Mr. Bunny was there. As the summer wore on, I've been sticking with the 8:30 or 9 practice time, but recently it's been full dark.

But I think Mr. Bunny's been hanging out in our backyard at twilight, whatever time that might be. He doesn't have a watch in his waistcoat pocket, like the rabbit in Alice in Wonderland (at least, not as far as I can see).

Look to Infinity

Another convention this past weekend. Another hotel. Another attempt to find a place to practice T'ai Chi.

The last hotel had a separate yoga room that was empty, so I commandeered it for T'ai Chi. It was out of the way of the panting treadmill runners and grunting weight lifters. I didn't figure any yoga practitioner would begrudge me the space to do T'ai Chi. But there were no yoga practitioners elbowing in for space when I was in there anyway. It was perfect.

I hoped I could find a similarly perfect place in this hotel. I headed for the fitness center to check it out. No yoga room. Machines packed in like sardines. Narrow pathways between them. There was one pathway that was maybe big enough, but it led back to a machine that surely, as soon as I started, someone would want it. Sigh.

Then I noticed a sign. "Stairway to Pool." I'm open-minded. Through the door and up the stairs. A pool. A big, mostly empty pool, with a big patio around it. And here I found a space the perfect size between a row of chaise lounges on one side and a row of tables on the other. The only people in the pool had their stuff at the other end. This was it. This was going to be my T'ai Chi space for 4 days. So I did my practice. It really was pretty ideal. Except for the fact that it was like a sauna in there, and I had sweat running down every vertical surface (but hey, that's detoxifying, right?).

And also except for the fact that some days I kind of had an audience that was trying not to be an audience. I mean, picture this: you're at a pool, ok? Hanging out, swimming, splashing, or reading, or whatever. And this person camps out a few feet from you and starts doing T'ai Chi. Maybe you've never seen someone do T'ai Chi in real life before. You've seen it on TV. You recognize it when you see it, but here's someone right in front of you doing it. Do you watch? You don't want to stare at the person, make her feel uncomfortable.

And me, I travel 15 or 20 feet as I go through the form. When I start maybe I'm 20 feet away, but at one point I'm only 4 feet from this person reading on a chaise lounge. I don't want to invade her space. I don't want her to feel like I'm staring at her. I studiously avoid looking at her. She studiously avoids looking at me. We are both studiously, politely, refusing to even notice the other's existence.

So if I mustn't look at her, and she's right in front of me on a chaise lounge, where do I look? At first I looked at the floor a few feet in front of me and little to the side. This was an unfortunate choice. You try doing some balance-challenging high kicks right in front of a non-audience while looking at the floor, and see how that works out for ya. For the first time since starting on my T'ai Chi practice 3 1/2 months ago, I have a non-audience and I'm wobbling all over the place. If this is her first non-viewing of T'ai Chi in real life, why can't I be perfectly balanced and graceful, like on TV?

Then I remembered some advice from a T'ai Chi book I was thumbing through at a book store recently. "Look to infinity." Don't look at the ground. Don't look at the sky. Look to infinity. So I tried that--well, looking at the wall straight ahead anyway. And, quite miraculously, this improved my balance tremendously. The next practice I maintained the infinity gaze throughout, and it was quite possibly the most balanced practice I've ever had. Maybe not quite like on TV, but at least I need not be embarrassed.

I began thinking about how this could be a metaphor for life. If you look to infinity, keep your sights on the big picture, that can help you stay balanced, and not wobble over every little thing.

I need to go back to the bookstore, find that book again, and buy it.

Moon Shadow

Tonight I did a late practice. It was completely dark.

Partway through my practice I became aware that I was casting two shadows, in completely different directions. I looked around. One was from my patio light. The other was from the moon. I turned off the patio light, and continued with just the moon's illumination.

It was very peaceful and calming, almost like a cool light was pouring down on me. My moon shadow made me smile.

Gratefulness, Episode 2

I think it's quite natural for children to take their parents for granted, and for parents to take what they do for their children for granted. If the parents are there, doing their jobs well, the child just is used to it. It's just the way life is. And the parent does his or her job without thinking about it. It's just what you do.

A few weeks ago, I mentioned that I was planning to tell my mother how grateful I am for how much she taught me. I don't think I've ever told her that, so it seemed very important to do it now, this time when I saw her.

Last week I was at my parent's cabin in New England. One day, while my dad was out running errands, my mom and I were just sitting companionably and talking. So I told her:

As I've gotten older I've realized just how much of what I know, she taught me, and I really appreciate that. She taught me some major skills, like how to cook, sew, knit, and crochet, and I've been passing on some of what she taught me. I taught my daughters how to crochet when they were younger, and one of them, who's been more interested in crafts, how to knit. My granddaughter and I bake cookies and other treats together pretty frequently. At 5 years old, she could separate eggs by herself.

Other little tricks, like putting a slice of bread in a container of freshly baked cookies to keep the cookies moist, my daughters and granddaughter have learned from me. I told my mom how one day when my granddaughter was 3 or 4, she had cookies in her lunch at preschool. She didn't eat all the cookies, so she carefully wrapped up the remaining cookie with a slice of bread to take it home.

I told my mom she also taught me, just by example, how to keep a family running smoothly, looking ahead at what could go wrong, and trying to stay one step ahead.

I think my mom was surprised to hear how grateful I was. As I said, I think parents take all the things they do for granted too. She thanked me. I think it made her feel good to realize the impact she had made, and the ripple effects to at least 2 generations beyond me. And I was grateful that I taken the opportunity to tell her.

Bzz Bzz Bzzzzzzzzzzzzz

In the desert, you can do T'ai Chi outdoors at sunset in August quite free of insect harassment. No mosquitoes. The number of flies is negligible. There are bees and ants, but they mind their own business. It's an ideal environment for focusing the mind. Ideal in the sense that it's easy, because there's nothing harassing you to distraction.

New England, on the other hand, is abundant with sadistically harassing insect life. Today's practice at around 4:30 in the afternoon was an intense exercise in focusing the mind. During my warm-up, I had bugs buzzing my head incessantly. (My mom was watching my practice. I made a point of telling her later that the frantic flailing of arms about the head is not a T'ai Chi move.) You'd think that after they'd been whacked by a flailing arm a time or two, they'd find some safer place to buzz. But no. They were remarkably, and distressingly, persistent.

However, by the time I began practicing the form, I was grateful that my harassers had finally found some other way to amuse themselves for a while. I managed to have a pretty pleasant practice for 5 or 8 minutes.

Then, The Big One came. I don't know what this thing was--a horse fly? deer fly? moose fly? (elephant fly? blue whale fly? you get the idea.) Anyway, a Big Honkin' Fly. With a BIG BUZZ. And it buzzed my head, and buzzed my head. But I was doing the form, and really, really didn't want to interrupt it to frantically flail my arms. So I breathed and ignored it and kept doing the form. And it buzzed my hair. And it got stuck. Yes, stuck, where my bangs attach to the scalp, a few inches above my right eyebrow.

Now it was his turn to frantically flail. He buzzed and flailed in my hair. But I was almost done! Just a couple more movements! So, with nerves of steel, I breathed and continued to do the form, as The Big One flailed and buzzed furiously against my scalp, and eventually either wore himself out or gave up, and became still.

When I finished the form, I immediately ran my fingers through my hair with a great "Uuuggh" and a shudder. I freed The Big One, and he was outta there, at the speed of light. A whack or two of flailing arms may not be enough to make them find a safer place to buzz, but I guess being trapped and helpless was.

So, yeah, that was my first T'ai Chi practice here. I'm going to be here a week.

Going with the Flow

Yesterday was the first day in over 3 months that I did not do a T'ai Chi practice. I knew in advance it just wasn't going to happen. I had a flight at 7:30 am and was not supposed to arrive at my destination airport in a small New England town until 10:11 pm. Then I had about an hour drive to get to my parents' place. So, I thought: If I can't do a normal T'ai Chi practice, what could I do instead, on a plane or in an airport, to not feel like I'd missed it completely?

So I brought my DVD with me, figuring I could play it on my laptop, listening to it with head phones. I planned to do a Qigong breathing exercise and review my latest lesson and the practice, which shows the entire form. I figured I'd do it on my last flight, and that would leave me relaxed and alert for the drive.

I arrived at JFK airport 45 minutes early because of a tail wind. Things seemed to be looking up. I had almost 4 hours before the last flight, and spent it productively enough--charged my laptop and did some work. I relocated myself to the gate about a half hour before the departure. Our plane had landed, but no air conditioning, and they were going to try to fix it. We waited.

I didn't want to pull out my laptop, because I didn't want to run down the battery. I didn't want to do the Qigong exercise in the airport anyway, because I'd have my eyes closed for 15-20 minutes. Can you say "Steal my luggage, please?" So I pulled out my book, T'ai Chi Classics, and began learning a number of ways to cultivate my chi.

The guy sitting next to me began regaling me with stories of other airline snafus, asserting how unlikely it was that they would find a different aircraft at that late hour, and predicting we'd be spending the night in a hotel at JFK. I "Oh, really?"ed and "Oh, no"ed in the appropriate places and returened to my chi cultivation.

About an hour and a half after the scheduled departure, they found another plane. Half an hour or so to re-fuel and board. So, it was now about 10 pm. Two hours late. Not bad. Then we learned that we were number 30 or 40 in line for takeoff. We waited more.

But, at least, since they knew we weren't going to be taking off any time soon, they allowed us to use our electronic devices. Most other people were snoozing away. So I implemented the laptop/DVD/headphones/eyes-closed Qigong breathing exercise. It was wonderful. So relaxing! Then I reviewed my lesson and the practice session. And I even learned something new about my breathing. My plan went off without a hitch. And I definitely didn't feel like I had "cheated."

Finally took off a little after midnight. Got to the destination airport at 1:15 am, alert and ready to drive. As I descended the escalator, the Avis counter looked ominously dark, employees conspicuously absent. It turns out that a rental car reservation is of limited value if there's no one there to give you the keys. The only rental car company open was Hertz, and they were out of cars.

Someone was looking out for me, though, because the hotel adjacent to the airport had a vacancy.

Maybe I am learning to be more calm. Dare I hope it? This whole thing never phased me. I just kept breathing, and going with the flow. It was really quite "entertaining."

My Anchors

Today marks 3 months since my first T'ai Chi practice. I've carved out 20-30 minutes a day every day for 3 solid months to do T'ai Chi. It feels like an important milestone. A quarter of a year! Obviously, I'm still a beginner. But I believe it has officially become a habit. Which I feel is a very good thing.

I've been trying to think if I have given this kind of time investment to any other activity in recent years. Not counting breathing, eating, sleeping, and other activities essential to life. And I can't think of anything. Not reading, not watching TV, no other physical exercise. Not working, not chores, not hobbies. I do all these things, of course, but not religiously dedicating a half-hour every day to one specific thing.

The only thing that measures up is spending time with my husband. I definitely spend much more than 30 minutes with him each day. Working, laughing, talking, reading together. Just plain hanging out and loving each other.

For 15 years, my husband has been my anchor. No matter which way the winds push me each day, he can always bring me back to center. Back to feeling calm and safe.

Now I feel like my T'ai Chi practice is an extra anchor. Each day I can fling off my worries, fling them Out There for the Universe to work on and take care of, so they don't have to be my worries anymore. And that also makes be feel calm and safe.

I wonder if, over time, I'll become so anchored, the winds don't even push me around so much anymore?

Gratefulness

I've been sad lately about the health problems and suffering of people I care about. My close family member with thyroid cancer. My mom's strokes and Bell's palsy. I also found out recently that a friend of mine is undergoing chemotherapy for breast cancer. I've been feeling a little guilty lately about actually being healthy, when so many people I know are not.

I remember that the diagnosis of thyroid cancer came about a month after I started T'ai Chi. And I thought, this is another motivator for me to do T'ai Chi. It'll help me stay grounded and calm, so I'm not constantly stressed out about the cancer. And it will help strengthen my own immune system, so it will maybe help prevent my getting cancer some day. So here I am doing something to try to stay healthy, and at the same time I'm feeling guilty about being healthy. Sometimes I'm just an idiot.

Guilt is such an unproductive emotion. And what am I going to do anyway? Try to make myself sick? So no more wasting energy on that. That's a glass-half-empty way of looking at things. So what's the glass-half-full view? Gratefulness.

There is a wonderful gratefulness meditation in a book I have. You basically just sit and think of all the people and things in your life you're grateful for and why. It may seem like you'd run out of things, that you couldn't possibly fill 20 minutes doing this. But I found that once I got going, the list was a lot longer than I realized. It brought to my conciousness some things I didn't even realize I was grateful for. It was very affirming and uplifting.

So here is my gratefulness meditation (don't worry, I won't ramble for 20 minutes):

I am grateful that the thyroid cancer was only in the tumor and not spread throughout the thyroid, nor to nearby lymph nodes.

I am grateful that I'm going to visit my mom next week, and I can look her in the eye and tell her how much I appreciate all she taught me.

I am grateful to be back in touch with my friend, whom I haven't seen in a couple of years, and I look forward to going hiking and laughing with her.

These strong and wonderful women are in my life, and I am grateful.

From Tears to Laughter

Just before my T'ai Chi practice today, I received an email from my dad. My mom has had a number of strokes--even she has lost count. Her health has been declining over the last few years. This email reported that the left side of Ma's face was drooping, that she'd had a CT scan, and had Bell's palsy. With medication it usually is resolved within 6 weeks. But the photo he attached was shocking!

This is my mother! The woman who not only taught me how to cook, sew, knit, crochet, and a million other little life skills, but also taught me subconsciously how to be the sun in the little family solar system. You know, the sun that generates the light and energy to nurture the life and activity of the solar system? This was my mom. She always provided wonderful food, mended ripped clothes, typed papers for school, thought ahead to what was going to be needed. She was problem solver extraordinaire that drove the life of the family. And this photo made her appear wilted and helpless. On the verge of tears, I went out into my back yard to practice.

I began to focus. But I had a little distraction, in the form of a 6-year-old angel. Our granddaughter is spending the night with us tonight, and she wanted to come out into the back yard while I was doing T'ai Chi. Although my husband, her grandfather, warned her that they were not to talk to me, she just couldn't help herself. She walked right up to me and said "Grammy?" I didn't say anything, trying to show her I was focused and not to be distracted. So she just started trying to copy my movements (more or less). I could see her out of the corner of my eye, a little to my right and a little behind me. I could hear her deep breaths and exaggerated exhalations, the sound of 6-year-old concentration. I turned and she was now on my left and a little in front of me. I still stoutly refused to look at her, to acknowledge that I was being distracted by her, but I was suddenly surprised to discover that I was smiling. And then I was grinning. And she said she was going to make up her own T'ai Chi. And then I was laughing. I couldn't help it.

Somehow I managed to finish the part of the form I've learned so far, even while telling her to move this way because I was going to punch, or move that way because I was going to kick. So it wasn't the absorption of a good book, where you're not aware of what's around you. It was more like enjoying a good meal with loved ones. I was enjoying the T'ai Chi, while performing this beautiful, magical dance with my beloved granddaughter.

Journey or Destination?

I am an extremely goal-oriented person. I don't think this was a learned thing. I think it is hard-coded in my DNA. When I was 10 years old, if I felt like going for a walk, I would ask my mom if she needed anything at the store, so I'd have a destination, a reason to walk the half-mile each way.

One thing that appealed to me about T'ai Chi (as compared to yoga or meditation or going to the gym) was that there is a goal. Not a goal like being able to stick your foot behind your head or lose 10 pounds, but to learn an entire form. Since May, I've been learning the Kuang Ping Yang right long form. It takes 20 minutes to complete the whole sequence. I've been learning from a DVD that Bill Douglas (the Complete Idiot's Guide author) created. (I considered going to a T'ai Chi school in my town, but at $60/month and the aforementioned race against the bank balance, decided the rave-review DVD was a better investment at this time.) There are 18 lessons. You do a new one each week.

I had gotten through lesson 9 when I was talking up my new-found love of T'ai Chi to my family, including my loved one with the thyroid cancer. She was very interested, so I lent her my book and DVD. And thus began my little journey-vs-destination experiment. Not learning any new parts of the form. Not making any new progress toward my destination. Just practicing what I already knew.

The first Saturday (the day I usually did the new lesson for the first time), I didn't even realize it was New Lesson Day until after I was already in the middle of practice. I seemed very much on the journey that day, and was very pleased with myself. The second Saturday, I was out of town, busy at the convention, so New Lesson Day wasn't even on the radar. Focusing on the journey wasn't so hard! But when I got back, at about two and a half weeks, I realized I was starting to get antsy. I heard myself saying, "I should do T'ai Chi early today and get it over with." Get it over with! Oh no! Noooooooooooo!

Time for intervention. I asked my loved one if she had looked at the DVD at all. No, she hadn't had time, what with the upcoming surgery and all. Could I have it back until after you recover? Sure. (BTW, the surgery went "perfectly". She is on the mend, and more perked up and acting like herself today. More later.) So, after a few days of withdrawal, today was New Lesson Day again. Yay! And now my hips are blissfully sore from the high kicks I learned today.

So, these are the results of my experiment: Three weeks of journey-only is my current upper limit. But considering that waiting an entire week for the next lesson was a stretch at the beginning, that's progress, right?

I'm already starting to worry about what I'm going to do once I've learned the long form. What's next?

Can I have the goal of not having a goal?

Nah!

Not Entertainment

Right now one of my loved ones is in surgery. She has papillary carcinoma, cancer of the thyroid, so they are removing her thyroid and nearby lymph nodes.

In an earlier post, I mentioned one of the things that attracted me to T'ai Chi was the notion that as long as you breathe, you can get distance on challenges in your life, and look at it as entertainment. Well, when the challenge is cancer in your loved one, it's not. It's just not.

However, I have been grateful to fling off the worry every day. Just fling it off into the universe with its vast, unlimited ability to absorb and diffuse it, rather than let it accumulate. Because my worry is not going to help anyone. Not her. Not myself. Not the other loved ones who are also worried about her.

Today, my challenges are nothing compared to hers. But the nervousness and worry are there. The tightness in the chest and stomach. I just keep breathing, and waiting, and breathing, and helping however I can.

Not a Morning Person

For the last 6 days, I've been out of town at a convention. I have practiced T'ai Chi every day since I started in mid-May (that's, what? a whopping 9 weeks?). I am terrified of missing a single day, because it sets a precedent. If I give myself permission to miss one day, why can't I give myself permission to miss some other day? Or two? Or. . . . It's a slippery slope. It could go the way of the gym. And I really, REALLY don't want it to.

So, I was determined to figure out how I was going to fit in a T'ai Chi practice every day while at this convention. The choices were (a) do my usual sunset time, which would mean leaving the convention while things were still going on and missing something important--that had a lot of undesirability going for it, (b) do it after I come back to the hotel at midnight exhausted--yikes! a world of no! or (c) do it first thing in the morning, before going to the convention for the day--seems like the lessest of three evils.

I've read somewhere (even several somewheres, I think) that one "should" do yoga or meditation or T'ai Chi first thing in the morning. It starts your day off with your mind clear and calm, and you can carry that with you throughout your day.

Well, I can tell you that for me, that's bull pucky. First thing in the morning, my mind is not only clear, it's void. It's empty. There is nothing to clear, because no neurons are firing! Later in the day, it's really great--it clears out the clutter and dust bunnies that have accumulated all day. But in the morning, it's like sweeping a floor that's already been waxed and buffed. It takes just as much energy, but it doesn't have the effect.

Plus, my body complained! Oh, the moaning of knees, ankles, spine, and shoulders! Oh, the groaning of hips, thighs, calves, and feet! By the time I was done, my mind was filled--with cries for mercy! I don't think that counts as "playing" T'ai Chi.

Yesterday was the last day. The convention ended at 5 pm. With grateful relief, I did my practice at 6 pm. Ah, clearing away the mind clutter was so satisfying! And today, I was back at home, in my back yard, as it was getting dark. There's something soothing to me about doing T'ai Chi as the sun goes to bed. It's like I can put my cares to bed too.

Like Reading a Good Book

This evening when I was practicing T'ai Chi in my back yard, I suddenly noticed that I wasn't noticing the sounds around me. So I started noticing. A lawn mower. A neighbor's swamp cooler whirring and rattling. Some birds having a vocal and animated squabble. Cars whizzing down the high-speed-limit street bordering the neighborhood. A dog barking. And another dog. Kids in a neighbor's yard yelling, laughing, screaming at the top of their lungs. There was so much sound, I was surprised that I hadn't noticed any of it. The kids' yelling in particular, I thought would have been a distraction. But I was so absorbed in what I was doing, I didn't notice any of it. It reminded me of reading a good book, when you can get so absorbed in the story you don't notice the TV, or stereo, or the dryer beeping, or other people around you, trying to talk to you, or even yelling at you to try to get your attention. Focus. Focus is good.

Why do T'ai Chi?

I've read that stress isn't caused by events in your life; it's caused by your response to those events. It's your thoughts themselves--remembering past failures, resisting life as it now is, or fearing the future--that causes stress. Because your body, your biochemistry, your fight-or-flight response does its thing as if those events are really happening. So, dummy, stop thinking stressful thoughts! How easy is that? Ha!

About a year and 8 1/2 months ago (but who's counting?), my husband and I left our high-paying jobs to start our own software company. We get to be our own bosses (amazing!) and we have a safety net: if we don't succeed within 3 years, we can get our job back. What a sweet deal! You'd think it would be the formula for stress-free living. But no! What was in my head? "What if our product isn't done in 3 years? We'll lose our safety net!" "What if we run out of savings before we launch our product?" I was freaking myself out, and I knew it. I needed to find a way to quiet my mind.

I made 20 minutes of meditation a morning ritual. I've meditated off and on for years, with mixed success. Often during the meditation, my mind would quiet, and I'd achieve a sense of calm. But as soon as I saw dishes in the sink or a bill I needed to pay (demands on time or money), my calm would evaporate. Eventually, I decided the meditation was ineffective, and therefore a waste of 20 minutes a day.

I tried going to the gym and doing aerobic exercise in hopes of "blowing off steam." This did work to some extent. I tended to feel more relaxed afterward. But it wiped me out. I didn't have the energy to get back to work and focus. So, 3 times a week became 2, then 1, then nothing.

I had done yoga for a number of years. But I knew from experience: in standing poses, I'd fall over if my mind was racing, so it wouldn't race. But as soon as I lay down for Savasana (corpse pose), my mind would start churning again.

I had the idea that I should maybe try Qigong. I looked for a book at the library, and found The Complete Idiot's Guide to T'ai Chi and Qigong. And what an incredible find! With every inhalation, you breathe in chi, health, vitality; with every exhalation, you breathe out worries, stress, anxiety. One of the exercises to to physically fling your arms and upper body as you exhale, while mentally flinging off your negative stuff. You play T'ai Chi--you come back to it day after day because it feels good, and is fun. The way the author described it, it was like yoga, but moving, so that you seamlessly move right back into your life when the practice is over, even take some of the practices with you. As long as you breathe (in with chi; let go the stress), you can get distance on stressful things in your life, and start to look at them as a form of entertainment, just see how the drama unfolds.

Since I started practicing T'ai Chi and Qigong, I really have let go of a lot of the time and money stress. Every day, I just fling it off. When we encounter some nasty problem in our software that takes a long time to fix, or chores take longer than we think they're going to, or we have to pay for car repairs, or whatever, more and more often, I take a deep breath, and let it go. Sometimes I even laugh. It's entertainment.

Mr. Bunny

I live in the desert Southwest. These days it's in the high 90s, and feels hotter in the sun. I've been practicing T'ai Chi in my back yard in the evening, right around sunset. Although it's still quite warm, the shade is deep, and the occasional breeze is most welcome. (Evaporation is a cooling process, I learned in school.) The uneven lawn presents an entertaining challenge to the balance.

A few nights ago, a wild bunny zipped across my path about 10 feet from me. What a surprise! I think it made me wobble.

A night or two later, he sat and visited with me for 5 minutes or so as I loosened up, then hopped away somewhere. Lifted in spirits by this brief bonding with nature, I began praciticing the form. (I am learning the Kuang Ping Yang right long form.) I turned to face away from where Mr. Bunny had sat. Later in the form, I turned back, and there he was, watching my every move, as if he found me as fascinating as I did him.

Tonight he was waiting for me when I went out to practice. And he hung out with me the entire time. I think we're becoming friends.