Today's quote isn't literary or high-brow at all. But, it's true. And this week, as I struggle to complete two figs: reading Siddhartha and purging my closet, it seems like just the quote to push me into another week.

On to the quote:

The naked truth is always better than the best-dressed lie.

Ann Landers

Along this vein, I have to say that I feel a bit as if I'm being pelted to death with figs. I mean, there has to be a happy balance between not being able to chose anything and feeling overwhelmed by the weekly schedule I've set for myself.

Sigh. Am I just being lazy?

With regard to Siddhartha: I love it. I'm on to the second part, and this is where I feel we're digging deep and getting into the meat of the story. BUT, this is not a late-night, before-bed, on-the-verge of sleep book. This is a book that requires attention. This is a book for sitting up, pen in hand, underlining compelling sentences, paragraphs, thoughts. This is a book you have to set down after only a few pages, because you have to digest it and think about it and read it again, and again, so that you feel you've built up the necessary layers to move forward.

It's either that, or I think you miss the point. And I have an inkling that Hesse does indeed have a point.

With regard to my closet: I am having this slight hang-up. I have purged a good portion of the closet. Today in fact I went through for a third visit, and I got rid of two black skirts I haven't worn in years but that fit me and look fine and blah, blah, blah. I mean, there's a reason I haven't worn them, right? Right. One makes me look like a giant black bell (think A-line), and the other is made of dodgy synthetic fabric that looks cheap no matter how cute it is.

Alas, I already feel better having tossed them.

Okay, here's the hang up - the Chinese section of my wardrobe. The part of my closet that represents my time in China, my Peace Corps years. For some reason, I feel that if I throw out all the dresses (many of which I had made while I was in China), I will somehow be tossing out the experience itself. I'm not sure why I feel this way, because intellectually I know it's silly. But emotionally, it feels like saying goodbye - forever, to an old friend.

Alas, I have an idea. I will cut them up and commission a quilt. Yes, a patchwork quilt, made up of all those dresses and shirts and skirts and jackets. I'll cut up the purses I had made, which I never use because they look silly. I'll cut up the gold and blue Mandarin style jacket that was a gift from Madame Zhou that makes me look like I just stepped out of a Chinese episode of Dynasty. I'll have to post a pic of that gem later, when the official purge is done.

Oh, I love it. I love it. Why do I need to write about it to figure it out? Why do the ideas come from my hands, at the keyboard, instead of through my heart and up to my mind?

Okay, well that's a little bit dramatic. Just a smidge.

I now need to research quilt making. I wonder how much this will cost.............

MamaP

The Two Yogas

One of my figs is to practice yoga regularly, at least once a week, for three months. I see this as a tall order, because regularity/consistency is one of my major issues in life, and because I've started and stopped yoga several times through the years.

I always feel better when I practice yoga. Always. I love doing it. I love the way I feel after I do it. I love the way it makes me feel about my body, because the focus is on strength and appreciation of one's body rather than on the size of my thighs or the lifting of my ass. So, I think that if a woman is going to exercise, yoga is just about as good as it gets.

The reasons I've stopped doing yoga include: it's hard, it requires consistency and I usually like to listen to music while I exercise, and by music I mean tragic pop music like Katy Perry and John Cougar Mellencamp.

Well, last week, I took the yoga class at our gym. It was lovely. It was gentle, and the music was soft, and I felt so competent in all of the poses. It was a stretch without being a stretch, meaning I could do everything without any trouble at all. If anything, I felt a little disappointed that it wasn't more difficult. I have yoga DVDs at home that are much harder than gym yoga. But, it was a nice break and a gentle reminder of my body.

Well, based on my expertise and ease with yoga after that official gym class, I decided to take a class today at a yoga studio. I almost didn't make it, because I had to get the kids to school, so I was rushed. I also tried to talk myself out of it based on not having the right clothes. And then I almost forgot my mat.

Well, I gave myself a little talking-to in the car about doing vs. talking about doing, and I pulled up to the yoga studio with minutes to spare. The teacher was Chinese. I was thrilled. I still speak a little Chinese, and we chatted for a few minutes before class. Then, I walked into the heated room (hot yoga), and I saw the seriousness of the other students and I started to feel a little bit of fear in my heart. This wasn't the gym crowd. There was no chatting. These were all beautiful, lithe bodies stretched out on mats, composed and prepared for study.

Ping, the teacher from Taiwan, came into the room and we began. We got right down to it. There was no chatter, no sitting cross-legged for ten minutes. There was just movement. Today's yoga class was yin/yang yoga, and we started with yin. I'd tell you how we started, but I can't remember. I simply can't. It was only two hours ago, and I honestly can't remember what I did. I do remember that from the get-go, this wasn't my mother's yoga class. This was no simple gym class. This was YOGA. Sweet mama..........

I have never, ever, worked that hard at anything in my life other than childbirth. Ever. Tracy Anderson...........please. I mean, here's the thing. When you do at-home videos, there is nobody there to correct you, to tell you that you have more to give, to tell you to push harder, that you can do it, to throw your hips wider, to put your leg out further. There is only Tracy, with her perfectly coiffed hair and make-up, saying, "I know it's hard, but you really must do it."

Well, enter Ping. She is small and fit and at least 50. She won't let you get away with half-assing it. She will call you out: Amy, you can offer more. You must push harder. You are compensating.

And come on - it was only my first time, and she knew it!

I was shaking. I was obviously sweating, and by sweating I don't mean perspiring. No, that's what gentle southern women do. I was drenched in sweat. It was pouring down the sides of my arms and face. Just when I thought I couldn't stand a pose a second longer, she would tell us to go deeper, to stretch further. There was no sitting it out. There was no sense that if it was too hard you could simply go back to child's pose. And Ping was watching, all the time moving around the room. She must have re-positioned me at least 12 times. At least.

There were moments when I thought I'd collapse and give up and call out, in Chinese so the other students wouldn't understand: I can't do it. It's too hard.

But then I thought that maybe that's my problem in general. Whenever things get hard, I quit and tell myself it wasn't for me.

I kept going, even though I was shaking and I thought I'd die. I sort of actually longed to be in labor, because at least contractions only last a minute or so and then you have a breather. We held some of these positions for 3 minutes, and what seems feasible in the first thirty seconds becomes unbearable after a minute.

In the end, during our very last pose, before cool down, I was able to somehow contort my body into a bird-of-paradise pose, which I'd never before done and which only two other students were able to do. I did it. I stood up, and Ping saw me and she said, "Good Amy, keep going. Stretch your leg out. Kick it out straight."

I did. I kicked it out straight, and I somehow didn't collapse, and Ping said, "See everyone. She's doing it, and it's only her first day."

The woman next to me leaned over, when I had two feet back on the ground, and said, "That's amazing."

As we cooled-down, Ping talked about someone in our lives who might be suffering and how we could send them our healing energy. I thought of my daughter, Maggie, who is missing her father so much now and who is struggling with her anger and her emotions. I wanted to send her my healing energy because so much of the time I'm focused on dishes, or blogs or laundry or bopping around town, and I don't always know how to help Maggie deal with her emotions about her father's absence. So, I lay on the floor, my palms facing the sky, and I sent my daughter all of the healing thoughts I had, letting them flow out of that experience and into her soft little heart.

I think I'll give up the gym membership. It's time to get real. Three months. I can't wait to see what I can do.

MamaP

Top 5

A reader asked, in the comments section of this week's quote, which 5 figs I would focus on if I had only a month or year to live. It's a compelling question, and while it might be an obvious question now that I think about it, I hadn't yet thought about it.

Top 5 figs?

Here they are, in no particular order.

1. Write a letter to Aunt Marie
2. Visit Grandpa Bob
3. Write poems to my children
4. Ride in a motorcycle sidecar
5. Ride a horse fast, at a solid gallop

I realize that when I make lists, I start to work the list instead of living each experience. I find myself each week thinking about which fig to start, and my thinking is shifting from what I really want to do or experience to what I have time for or feel I can feasibly accomplish in a few days.

It's not at all the point.

So, thank you Chad, for the thoughtful reminder.

MamaP

Fig #8

This weeks' fig is something I've wanted to do for a long time but never have gotten around to it: purge my closet.

Just the words make me both excited and make me cringe. But, I'm determined to do it for several reasons. Those I will get to later in the week.

I have to admit that there is something nice about reading Siddhartha and purging my closet simultaneously. In fact, perhaps it's the reading of Siddhartha this weekend (though I still have half-way to go) that has inspired this desire to finally get cleaning.

More on my fascinating closet this week.........

MamaP

Quote 8 of 52

This week's quote is from Sylvia Plath, and I chose it because I love it, I understand it and it seems applicable for this week - since I'll be finishing one fig (Siddhartha - page 18 as of this morning) and continuing on with another fig (still undetermined). So, I'll be simultaneously figging.

On to the quote.

If neurotic is wanting two mutually exclusive things at one and the same time, then I am neurotic as hell. I'll be flying back and forth between one mutually exclusive thing and another for the rest of my days.

I have heard there are people who don't feel this way, and I guess I have to accept this is true. I mean, if someone tells it to you, then you have to believe it (I spent a lot of my youth not believing what people told me, and it was really exhausting). So, if someone tells me that he (let's face it - it's usually a he) doesn't want two mutually exclusive things at one time, that he doesn't think of life that way, that he isn't plagued by this sort of competing desire, well then I must believe it's true. It's just that there is a little place in the back of my mind that is screaming: liar. Okay, that's not very nice of me, and the fact is that it's not even accurate, because I think that it's likely true. I think there are people who want what life has to offer, who can take what comes and live in the moment and not want so much more that it makes them restless. I'm not sure how I feel about this. On the one hand, I am jealous of these people because it is torture to want so many mutually exclusive things at one time. It's exhausting and overwhelming, because my wanting of them is just as strong for one as it is for the other, so there really is no relief in choosing one - the wanting doesn't go away. I am jealous of people (really, I am) who don't have this internal battle, who want one thing or another thing but none of those things really compete with each other, and the wanting of things isn't so strong as to make a person miserable.

But then I can't imagine being any other way, being without the wanting and the desire. I think it would be the death of me, even if it's already the death of me, and I think life would be boring and tedious without it. It's so normal for me that I think I would feel naked if I didn't experience these conflicting/competing desires on a regular basis.

I'm learning, however, that it doesn't really matter what another person is or if our own person makes us neurotic as hell. We are who we are; we can't change it. I really don't believe we can change the core of what we're made of, so the only option we're left with is to embrace it, try our best to temper whatever makes us (or others) miserable and make the most of it.

But the beautiful thing about writing is that we don't feel quite so alone when someone else expresses the same sentiment.

MamaP

100 Pages Is Much Harder.......

I would have never thought 100 pages of anything could be so difficult that at the end of a full week, I would have gotten to only page 10. Well, it's true. I've managed only one chapter of Siddhartha (which means I'm being generous about getting to page 10). So far, it's your basic eastern-philosophy man's/search/meaning/odyssey/quest type of thing. I need to push through, however, because the cover assures me it's an all-time bestseller.

I'm off to take a hot bath, read about selfless suffering and attempt to complete my fig for the week, which I think speaks more to my self-competitive streak than anything else.

MamaP

Fig #7

I have poured over my list several times these past few days, and I can come up with a good reason (or two) for not doing any of the items listed. I am still suffering from this cold, and while the symptoms are gradually going away - the coughing, stuffy head, sore throat - I am absolutely fatigued. Exhausted. And I have two kids to chase around the house all day, which means the house is a mess, the kids are filthy and they've escaped the side gate more than once. I think the neighbors might be wondering if I've taken to straight gin.


Anyway, the only fig I can imagine mustering in my current state is reading Siddhartha. I figure it's short, and I also figure that in my post-European-vacation let-down/depression, I need something to give me perspective and to really compel me to think of anything other Berthillon ice cream and Hemingway. Thus, I'm not reading The Old Man and the Sea.



Siddhartha is a whisper of a book at only 105 pages. Of course, it's usually these books that pack the most punch, so I am hopeful. I can't even tell you why I've always wanted to read it. I have no idea what it's about. I know that my mother and brother both loved it, though, and since we all tend to appreciate the same literature in our family, I have the sense I'll love it too.



My great aunt once sent me her old copy, the one she used as an English teacher. I have tried to read it several times but always failed because I found all of her notes and scribblings in the margins to be a huge distraction. So, I ordered my own copy from Amazon before I left for Paris, and it sits here waiting for me to begin.

I will begin today. I figure it comes on the heels of having just re-read Maugham's The Razor's Edge, and if any of you have read it, you'll know that Larry's journey must in some way mirror Hesse's story - at least I have an inkling in that direction. So, maybe it's the perfect time for my mind to absorb it.

MamaP