Wise Words/DUH!

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For a frequent giggle and a good perspective-changer, I read The Onion online. It's a satire publication, focusing on news stories that are either made up, or not news at all ("Local Man Thinks First Date Went Well"). How does this compare with regular news outlets? First, The Onion is funny. And secondly, their stories often ring true with just the amount of accuracy and irony to make you stop and think. A lot of it falls into the category of juvenile, rude, college humor, so sometimes it's not for the easily-offended.

A story last week caught my eye, and I just had to share it. You can read it on The Onion here. But here's the main text of the article:

Study: Majority Of 'Calm Downs' Ineffective

October 12, 2009 | Issue 45•42

ITHACA, NY—A study published recently in the Journal Of Mental Health found that attempting to reverse a loud emotional display by asking an individual to calm down was effective only 9 percent of the time. Researchers at Cornell University's behavioral lab induced anxiety in subjects by administering a series of electric shocks, after which everyone was told to "calm down" and "take it easy." "We were surprised to find that not only were these phrases ineffective, but in an overwhelming number of cases they actually exacerbated the situation," psychologist Kenneth Pulaski said. "Even when participants were told to 'just take a deep breath,' they became more and more irate and were eventually reduced to a screaming mess." The study also concluded that telling someone to "just mellow out" would invariably lead to a researcher being punched in the face.

This is a wonderful finding, and thank goodness research has "proved" it, finally! Point noted. Check.

Have you also noticed that, as a professional brings your attention to your tight muscles or pain, they often tell you that you "just need to relax" or "stop holding" or "stop resisting?" It's the same thing, isn't it? The problem is, most people have FORGOTTEN how to "relax." If you knew how to do it, you'd be doing it, right?

There's another problem with this whole "relaxation" idea. Deep down, we know that the state of total relaxation you feel during a wonderful massage, or the momentary zombie-like feelings right after a Feldenkrais lesson, are not very useful, except perhaps for falling asleep! Our problem is that we have only two choices: either be a caffeinated, wound-up, stressed-out, Type-A maniac, or be an unconscious puddle of invertebrate goo somewhere on the floor. Most people realize, at some level, that total relaxation is not a real solution for navigating the demands of daily life.

There is good news, however. Just as you may have forgotten what easy, pain-free, effortless action (much better, distinct from "relaxation," wouldn't you say?) feels like, you can RE-LEARN those sensations and find some relief. That's where movement education, or re-education, is valuable, and that's what The Feldenkrais Method teaches. That's why I don't tell my clients to relax. Students of the Method re-learn the patterns of moving, feeling, and sensing that are part of our human birthright.

Moshe Feldenkrais wrote a fascinating book, entitled "The Elusive Obvious." In it, he explores an essential human folly: we find one good idea, and expect to apply it everywhere and from henceforth, with uniformly positive results. However, this is rarely the case. The book gets you thinking more deeply about your unconscious assumptions about yourself and the world around you. The idea of The Onion's made-up research study is one of those "elusively obvious" notions -- one you might not have thought of before, but leads to a dawning awareness.

BULLETIN: I Missed the 80s

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WOW.

Every once in awhile, I have these amazing Moments of Awareness.

This is to be expected. After all, I am a Feldenkrais teacher. Awareness is our Bidness.

So. I have become aware, in a flash of insight, that I was, apparently, in a coma during the 1980's.

There are isolated strands of melody, fleeting images, dreamlike, that waft through my consciousness from time to time. But I always say, "Naaaaahhhh. Couldn't have been."

Two of my 30-something-ish friends have recently posted these delightful mashups-- well worth watching.



and



I've been in denial all these years. My daughter was born in 1983, and my son in 1988. I've suspected this accounts for the fact that I remember the shock, sometime around 1995, when I saw a movie that DIDN'T have animated characters in it. I f@$%ing missed the 80's. Yes. I blame my children. Music, movies, culture -- maybe I even missed -- history. YIKES.

So, in the name of learning, and that it's never too late -- what did I miss?

Please include your links and synopses in the comments.

Strong Back, Comfortable Arms, Hands Skillful and Free: the Paul Rubin Houston Workshop

Paul Rubin, one of the original U.S. students of Moshe Feldenkrais, presented a workshop at NiaMoves in the Heights (Houston, TX) June 6-7. Twenty-one people attended, and the experience was transformational. Here are some of the responses to the workshop.

"I found the workshop interesting, fascinating and enlightening. . . When I got on my computer Saturday evening, I noticed that I was using my whole arm to move the mouse versus just the wrist. That was astonishing. At the office on Monday, I noticed that my whole arm was moving when I was mousing. The lesson was still hanging on. I enjoyed meeting and listening to Paul. Quite the storyteller and hugely interesting. Thanks for providing the opportunity to attend the class."

"It has been an unusual week after the workshop. I . . . thought I was prepared for the weekend activities --but was most surprised. The gentleness and subtleness of Feldenkrais is deceiving. It is very powerful work and has taken me several days this week to begin to process all that changed and I feel that I have just begun. The most significant thing I noticed is how much emotional baggage I carried in my body and that continues to release. . . ."

"I'm so appreciative that you brought Paul Rubin to Houston and that I've gotten to know him and work with him. Those two days were amazing in so many ways. First, I found myself feeling like a kindergartener again working on the floor mats. Being on the floor brought me back to a "nap time" remembrance of Kindergarten and how I was learning new things about the world, only this time I was learning about my body. The whole time was such a good mix of thinking self awareness and feeling awareness. It's hard to describe exactly, what changes have taken place. I know I have a much greater appreciation and self awareness of how I move in space and sensing my movement originating from my core, and also having a curiosity to see how my body does things. "

"There were many, many things I enjoyed about the day and ½ and how Paul Rubin teachesI think ….that I observed a brilliant method of providing opportunity to “anticipate” a movement “fill in the blank” with one’s own ideas too. . . >The weekend workshop has been on my mind frequently. Thank you very much. Here are my thoughts and observations. I have slept better since. ">When I put on my earrings Monday morning….I noticed that my right ear was higher than my left ear. Yes! I thought that I had “lifted” my right side out of my back and shoulder in the last set of movements on Sunday.I did a day of physical work on Monday…down and dirty…polishing the floors in my old house, which I do by hand and on my knees. I was able to be more aware of fatigue and tension and move in such a way that there is no pain.But more than that…..The thinking that Paul Rubin presented is so consistent with what I understand to be “a systems view of the body (including brain)”. And he put in words observations I still struggle to articulate. Which means I understood more deeply myself after the workshop. He has clearly integrated experience and science in a way that is very helpful."

"Thank you for organizing this workshop. You and Paul are wonderful teachers and now I have a little better sense about ATM and its benefits. My impressions during the workshop were more experiential than anything and a little difficult to describe in words. Enjoying the exploration of what felt comfortable and what didn’t during the lessons was very interesting. Also, noticing how my parts fit together (i.e. hand into arm into shoulder)"I had a dream early Monday morning that I was dancing an Irish jig! Very funny initially, but I was REALLY good -- LOL!!! In the reverie before I woke up, I had a visual of using my hands to go through the stacks of work on my desk. My visual also including prioritizing the work so that I was only dealing with the most critical issues first. Needless to say, Monday and today have been extremely productive for me."

Did you miss it? Paul will return to Houston in September. Dates will be announced soon. Be there, or, as they say. . .

This is catching. . .

One of the many charming aspects of the city of Houston, Texas, is its year-round allergy season. Whether a full-on cold, or just lingering sniffles, you quickly learn that everybody's got it, or has had it, or will get it -- and eventually, you will, too. I found this cool animation that reminded me that we're all connected in some way, and that whether we're passing a ball, a virus, an idea, or an attitude, our participation is required. Click here to view.

Perhaps you're like me -- did it take a moment to realize that YOU are the one who keeps the ball in motion? It's ironic that for all the awareness work I do, I was so habituated to moving the computer mouse that I didn't realize I was doing it! This past week, I've been thinking about participation, and contribution, and -- contagion-- in the most surprising places.

Last Sunday, I attended an open house at one of my favorite workshop venues, The Spectrum Center. The Spectrum Center offers a wide range of programs and services, befitting its name, from psychotherapy to anti-clutter workshops to writer's groups to movement and various somatic practices. Around 200 people popped in during the afternoon, and the vast majority were there in time to witness something extraordinary. As part of the general "blessing" of the event, we all participated in a traditional Japanese tea ceremony. In such a diverse group, sharing tea and good intentions for each other was a perfect way to find common ground, and community. It was only afterwards that I stopped to realize how different we all were, in background, experience, politics, religion -- but the universal values of hospitality, humility, beauty, and respect were ones we could all agree on. The effects of that ceremony are still with me. If values are contagious, what are you spreading?

Second example: 365 in 365. A small group of nuts in Houston, Texas decided to do something BIG in 2009. Their intention is to exercise every day, for 365 days. As part of the intention, a blog appeared where group members could document their progress and get acknowledgment and encouragement from the others. The best part is, the idea is completely for you to define and develop. There is no program, no uniformity, not even a standard! You decide what qualifies as "exercise," and how much of it, and you commit to do something every day -- that's it. Not surprisingly, the idea is appealing -- so appealing, in fact, that the blog and the group are gaining members every day, from around the world. Such is the power of the internet, and social media, and a good idea. What is the spark that makes someone think, "I could do that!"

Yes, one of my good friends (and Feldenkrais clients) is the founding"nut," so now I am one, too! Although I am a professional "mover," I've never been able to sustain a proper exercise program. I am completely captivated by this idea, as I imagine the personal benefits, the benefits to communities and to the world at large if people just set out to be mindful about movement and exercise, and do SOMETHING every day. You can check them out on their blog, 365 in 365. The group consists of devoted exercisers, and never-exercisers. Everyone is a valued member of the group, everyone is seen as having something to contribute.

The tea ceremony and the 365 group are powerfully contagious, because of the power of their intention. I felt a tremendous resonance with the work of the Feldenkrais Method. Our world-view is one of the dignity of each human being. In each Feldenkrais class, you are invited to shape your intentions for each movement, and for yourself. Some who come with the identity of "patient," with the intention "to be fixed" will blossom as they explore a new intention. A powerful shift occurs in the transformation from "patient" to "student," from "helpless" to "capable," from "thwarted" to "effective," and from "impossible" to "possible."

"What I'm after isn't flexible bodies but flexible brains. What I'm after is to restore each person to their human dignity." --Moshe Feldenkrais, D.Sc.

Star Wars, or whatever

We live in a Cliff Notes world. The executive summary reigns, "just the facts, ma'am," Reader's Digest Condensed Version, bottom line, get to the point! While useful in some contexts, in others, it can have hilarious, or disastrous, consequences. Take a moment to watch this skillfully edited funny short video. (3:43) "Amanda" gives an executive summary of an executive summary of the epic Star Wars saga. As one commenter said, "So close, and yet, so far, far away!"

I can see why Joe and Amanda are friends. She is a delightful AIRHEAD! Granted, she hits the high points of the Star Wars trilogy. (My favorite quote from the video is, "They blow up the Death Star, I said that, right? That's important.") The whole point is that Amanda has never seen any of the movies, but "she already knows what happens." Or, she thinks she knows. Gaps in her understanding are subsumed under the general category, "Whatever." I could riff for awhile about how Star Wars is iconic in our culture, go all "Joseph Cambell-y" on you-- but that's not what interests me at the moment. I'm thinking about times when we think we know about something, so that stops us from really knowing about it.

Knowing "about" something, as in knowing that it exists, is a theoretical, abstract way of knowing. Abstraction is, by definition, non-specific. It's easy to get into very muddy waters in the world of the abstract, or to go "far out," even farther than that mythical galaxy far, far away.
Most people have some need for clarity, for the specific, and for the experiential. True understanding can't come without depth. We long for the abstract to be made concrete.

Moshe Feldenkrais was interested in the relationship between thought and action. He used body movement as his laboratory in which to explore and observe. Over and over again, he saw in himself and others, that often we are certain that we are doing something that, in fact, we are not. Or, certain that we are NOT doing something, but we are. Why such a gap? HABIT. Our habitual ways of being and doing in the world make it difficult to see something new, or see it from another perspective. Instead of focusing on anatomy or pathology, Feldenkrais' work focuses on function, and on how functioning can be improved. As you pay attention to what you are experiencing, clarity and concreteness emerge from the physical, mental, and emotional fog.

When you stay in the present moment, and become aware of what you are experiencing, suddenly life gets a lot juicier. If the quantity is high, and the quality is low, you might as well get through it quickly, and with as little involvement as you can get away with. However, when the quality improves, it's worth spending a little more time to savor. It's worth spending a LOT more time. How would you like to spend your time?

We're surrounded by jargon, technology, and continuous streams of information. We think we already know what we're doing, which keeps us from exploring whether or not our actions are creating the desired consequences. In Feldenkrais lessons, movement becomes metaphor, and new possibilities for better clarity and quality emerge in other aspects of life as well. The key to sifting through the vast amounts of "stuff" that comes our way is to take time to discover and improve the quality of the experience.

Hmm. . . might have to rent the Star Wars trilogy from Netflix and fill in the gaps in my own memory and understanding! I know there is more to perceive and enjoy in the process. "Whatever" can never supply the depth necessary for appreciating nuances, relationships, and the next creative step forward.

The Human Slingshot

OK, let's get it over with. Click to watch this short video to establish the context for what is to follow. As a disclaimer, DON'T try this at home; and we don't endorse the website or any of the other content on it.

So, on some level, I get it. He's having a blast. The sheer novelty, the shock, the speed -- sort of like those extreme amusement park rides, except this guy did it out in his back yard. However, I also related to the image in a different way, that led me to consider once again our culture's attraction to all things extreme, and how that affects each of us on a personal level.

The human brain has a high need for novelty. The expectation of novelty keeps us focused, learning, and adapting to our environment. Extreme sports, with their speed, danger, and high performance demands, provide an ideal fantasy outlet for spectators who do routine work. Watching or participating in an extreme sport seems like a perfect antidote for boredom.

To digress momentarily: when was the last time you got excited about seeing a television program or a movie in color? Never, right? Unless you remember the year 1939, when The Wizard of Oz was one of the first movies to use the brand new technology of color film. If all you had ever seen on screen had been black and white, can you imagine the shock and amazement of seeing moving images in color? It's hard to imagine now, getting that excited over something we take for granted. Another example: watch the original Star Wars movie from 1977. The special effects were amazing at the time. Now, they look kind of quaint in comparison to what is possible today. To bring it back around to the point, our "threshold" for novelty has ramped up with each innovation in entertainment, culture, sports, business -- everywhere.

As a result of this higher threshold, it takes a lot more stimulation to even register on the scale of attention. Put another way, sustained levels of high stimulation actually makes you LESS SENSITIVE. The higher threshold, or the point at which a stimulus is of sufficient intensity to begin to produce an effect, explains why we quickly get bored or take things for granted. Soon, even being hurled across his backyard in a giant slingshot will not be enough to make our fun-loving friend feel alive.

The other side of the coin is this: sustained high levels of stimulation that are associated with trauma are equally destructive, in that the traumatized person can become overly sensitized, or hypersensitive. The sound of a door opening, a car hitting a bump in the street outside, or a siren in the distance can trigger a cascade of hormones, neurotransmitters, anxiety and panic that is Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, or PTSD. The brain's calibration system is out of whack.

The higher threshold may also explain why we increasingly mistreat ourselves. Our self-expectations are frequently built on notions that have no basis in reality. Why must we punish ourselves to lose weight? Why must we splurge unhealthily to celebrate? Why must we exercise to the point of exhaustion and injury? Ancient religious aceticism, the mythology of sacrifice, pain, and struggle as being part of the superperformer's compelling backstory, all contribute to our unthinking use of ourselves. It's as if we fear that without a punishing workout regime, we will lose all our strength and vitality, and die. Many refuse to see that their injuries and pain are self-inflicted, and unnecessary.

Living under this constant stress makes us less able to handle the inevitable stresses of life. You can waste your physical, mental, and emotional resources by "always giving 110%," or demanding it of others. Living 10% beyond your means will certainly lead to bankruptcy. Like a rubber band that gets stretched to the snapping point, we lose our resiliance, our ability to spring back. Put another way, life can lose its color, and eventually no thrill will restore it.

Moshe Feldenkrais, a revolutionary thinker of the last century, took a radically different approach to the idea of novelty as applied to learning. All achievement of any kind starts with learning, and learning begins with being able to pay attention. God and the Devil are in the details, and details are essential subtleties on the path to mastery. In Feldenkrais lessons and classes, I use body movements to teach people how to lower the levels of stimulation in their nervous system and in their lives. With directed attention and a quiet, slow pace, results occur quickly, seemingly as a little miracle. Stress levels drop, pain is relieved or eliminated, sensation and sensitivity recalibrate for normal functioning. Inner resources of strength appear, or are restored. The student discovers, under a gentle and playful regime, what simple and wondrous novelty there is in every moment, in this body.

One of my favorite people, Allegra Heidelinde, is a Feldenkrais practitioner in Portland, OR. I had the great good fortune to attend a class that she taught this summer in Boulder, CO. She began the lesson by telling the class to imagine an ideal dance partner for tango or other social ballroom dance. You wouldn't want to dance with someone who was rude, or abrupt, or rough. You wouldn't like being thrown or yanked around the dance floor with no consideration for your comfort or enjoyment of the dance. And yet, she pointed out, this is how we usually treat ourselves whenever we begin to move, exercise, or embark upon any program of self-improvement. We bully and insult ourselves if things don't go according to our expectations. Her next words will stick with me for a long time. She said, "Be the perfect dance partner for yourself. Treat yourself with the respect and gentleness that you would want in your partner. Be tender and kind to yourself. Be patient as you learn the dance. Treat yourself as the dance partner with whom you'd love to dance again."

SO-- it might not be necessary to torture yourself, or your organization, to elicit your best work. In the words of Don Miguel Ruiz, "If you try too hard to do more than your best, you will spend more energy than is needed, and in the end your best will not be enough." You don't have to build a giant slingshot in your back yard in order to feel alive, joyful, and effective. Give yourself some loving attention, lie down on the floor in a Feldenkrais class, and watch your wonders unfold.

You Won't See These in 2009

What do Bill Blass, Polaroids, and Chocolate-Cherry Dr. Pepper have in common? All will be moving on in 2009. (Click here for the complete list.) Having run their course, become obsolete, or just wanting to try something different, they will move aside to make room for The New, whatever that is.

Even people who are not particularly introspective will take the opportunity at New Year to take a personal inventory. We make our resolutions like sorting through a crowded closet: most people occasionally see the need to clear things out, and we use certain universal criteria. What don't I wear anymore? What has gone out of style? What needs to be pitched? What do I love?

People are at their most ambitious around New Year's Resolutions. We are pulled toward the grand statement and the bold gesture. We love the drama of the complete overhaul, especially if it comes with great sacrifice. Because of our love of overdoing, most New Year's resolutions are not sustainable. Any new behavior, whether we're starting something or stopping something, has a learning curve. Behaviors are learned, and get better with practice. It's no surprise, then, (since I'm a Feldenkrais teacher) that I favor incremental action, baby steps, and successive approximations as a way of sustaining our good intentions of the new year. If you learn as you go, and make small adjustments along the way, you'll vastly increase the likelihood of success. We can return to the image of cleaning out a closet.

"What don't I wear anymore?" Has anything become obsolete? This question doesn't just apply to articles of clothing. It can apply to your total self-image, and thus to your actions. What groups do you belong to, but never attend? (Include online groups as well as in-person.) What about all the email newsletters, blogs you read (including this one)? What about your relationships, clients, activities, beliefs? Anything just "taking up space," bandwidth, energy? Anything no longer useful, or fun, or joy bringing? Pass them along, throw them away, make a decision.

"What has gone out of style?" What has just run its course? That was then, this is now. Is there anything you keep doing, "Just Because?" All forms of over-indulgence can go here. It's fashionable to think of eating, spending, or things in the "Vices" category at New Year's. How about overworking, over exercising, spending too much time online? Realistically, it's not like we can stop anything completely. We must eat, we must spend, we must work, we must exercise. Our resolution can be to be more mindful about the quantities and make actual choices rather than staying on auto-pilot. Who do you want to be this year?

"What needs to be pitched?" Anything broken, and not fixable? Threadbare and worn? Recycle and reuse what you can, but let go of the rest. In movement, we can discover patterns that emerged long ago, after a physical or emotional injury, that helped us to deal with the pain. The guarding here, the holding there. The slump or slouch, the ramrod-straight back. Shallow breathing, muscles tensed. The pattern remains, although the danger has passed. It takes special awareness to shift away from these unconscious patterns of action.

"What do I love?" What can't you do without? What's really worth the investment of your time and attention? What would you like to make even better than it is now? What would you like to explore, discover, enjoy?

At the end of the process, you will have less "stuff," but more happiness, satisfaction, pleasure.

Moshe Feldenkrais was one who observed that the difference between the person who has mastered a particular discipline, and the person who is incompetent. Oddly, the difference is not in the level of skill, or dedication, or focus. Incompetents are often highly skilled, committed, and single-minded in their quest for achievement. The difference is, the incompetent person is always doing more than is necessary, usually unaware of this fact, and thereby gets in his own way. The master's efforts are efficient, streamlined, almost minimalist in comparison. Nothing is wasted, everything is conscious. It seems so counter-intuitive to us that we can achieve our goals by learning to do less. I like to think of each Feldenkrais lesson as being a little laboratory experiment, where I can learn how to reduce the effort, the noise, the stuff. Is it any surprise that everything works better, looks better, feels better, when the way is clear?

Perhaps you'll develop your own personal list of "Things You Won't See in 2009." What you WILL see in 2009 is the continuing presence of the Feldenkrais Center of Houston, and the Feldenkrais Method worldwide. We look forward to assisting you in your learning in the coming year!

Paying Attention

Tom Brokaw said something very interesting this week at the end of "Meet the Press." In a warm, colleagial moment, he handed over the position of moderator to David Gregory today. As they reflected on the significant place that "Meet the Press" has held over the years, ol' Tom said this:

"People are really paying attention now."

That was music to my ears.

They were talking about the history of "Meet the Press," the untimely demise of the program's esteemed host, Tim Russert, and Brokaw's temporary assignment as moderator for the past six months. David Gregory has made his mark as Chief White House correspondent for NBC, and has honed his chops reporting for the national network since 1995. They were talking of the value of mentoring (Brokaw's and Russert's of Gregory), of the values of fairness, and preparation, and ultimately, holding up the belief that the truth is worth seeking, even if it makes you look like a jerk sometimes, and the truth will set you free.

They were talking about the momentous times we find ourselves in today. That "Meet the Press" is the longest running program in broadcast history (it started in 1947). That more people are making a point to watch "Meet the Press" now than that at any time since 1968. That people care about their lives, the economy, and the world, and are watching and waiting. People are paying attention, considering facts and opinions, deciding how to move forward.

Attention is the hallmark of any dynamic process. Every spiritual tradition on the planet exhorts its followers to be attentive, mindful, to "watch and wait, therefore, for ye know neither the day nor the hour." Attention is crucial for learning. Frequent, short periods of concentrated, directed attention will ALWAYS trump rote repetition. By paying attention, you are able to influence the unfolding of events. Through a process of successive approximations, attention allows you to make fine distinctions and adjustments to your course of action or thought. Paying attention allows you to ask the questions, "Is this clearer? Is it working? Is it beneficial? Is it fun?" The purpose of paying attention is not to gain answers. Answers end the process. Once you have an answer, there's nothing else. The purpose of paying attention is to get better questions. The better the questions, the more your "higher self" can activate, develop, and create the reality we all will share.

One of the hallmarks of the Feldenkrais Method is that each student is continually managing attention. At first, attention is close-range and limited, specific and precise. Attention grows to include the elements that appear as a result of that specific focus. The student practices a smooth transition of focus, from the immediate and local to the overall and global, and back. All of this learning takes place easily, gently, and humorously, in the safe and relatively inconsequential arena of noticing one's body movements, habits, and preferences. Awareness grows, and with it, a feeling of ease, of competence, of confidence, and of effectiveness.

It would be easy to say that the problems we face as a nation and on our planet today are the result of a prolonged period of SOMEBODY not paying attention. That statement may be too facile, because it hands over responsibility to "Them," whether elected officials or those in-the -know who were supposed to be taking care of everything. Increasingly, we are seeing that there's only us in this boat; that we're all in it together; and that we all need to be paying attention, every step of the way.

The ability to pay attention requires something of you. That's why it's called "PAYING attention," because you have to pay something. It's not passive and no-brain, it's not something that somebody else will pick up your tab for, it's not something that will just roll by and dawn on you. It takes a special intention, a humility to acknowledge that you don't know everything, that there's room for improvement, and that learning something new will make it better. It's really a small payment, if you think about it; one that is easily within the grasp of anyone; and yet how few choose to pay attention and make a difference.

So we're out of practice at paying attention, or at least paying attention to the things that require it now. That's OK. We can learn, we can develop our skill, and we can enjoy the new possibilities that arise. With awareness, the world changes.

Music to my ears.

Thanksgiving Week

I'm one of those people for whom "The Holidays" are difficult. Something about the season makes old griefs resurface, like finding a container of leftovers that you had forgotten about in the back of the fridge. What was a faint memory is rediscovered anew, not pleasantly, barely recognizable now, upon examination; no longer nourishing, and best chucked into the bin. Don't get me wrong: friends, family, and faith do sustain, as well as dogged determination and a personal pledge to stay in the present moment as much as possible. And it's still hard.

There's no time like the holidays to see habitual patterns in action. People make travel plans, clean the house, decorate, and prepare to play out family dramas. Even resisting the holidays is a habitual pattern! Some traditions make the season bright, and others heap on the stress. But there's one fixture of the holidays that you'd better not mess with--the menu for the holiday meal.

Each of us carries a mental and emotional template for the ideal Thanksgiving (or Christmas) dinner. The template is based on whatever was served for Thanksgiving when you were a kid. In my family, we had turkey, bread dressing, green bean casserole with the canned fried onions on top, mashed potatoes, and canned, jellied cranberry sauce. Pumpkin pie with Cool Whip. (I know, I know.) Dinner rolls. Relish trays with radishes, celery sticks, and ripe olives. I married into a family that also included sweet potatoes with marshmallows on top and a fruit salad with coconut. That's just wrong. But only because I didn't grow up with it. My daughter married into a family that mixes cornbread stuffing with the cranberry sauce, and she just can't take it. 'Tis the season for her to learn to make Her Favorite Dressing that she grew up with.

Even the most tolerant, accepting, diversity-spouting, easy-going omnivore can become dogmatic and unbending over the issue of holiday food. There's no more treacherous time in a new relationship than to meet the other family during the holidays. Judgments are made over the canned vs. fresh berry debate, wondering just what other oddities lurk under the surface of this seemingly ideal partner and their family. The gravy could be a deal-breaker. We base these judgments on nothing more than preference and familiarity.

Preference and familiarity can be unconsciously restrictive, or they can be the departure point from which to sample that which is new and potentially enlivening or transformative. You don't have to make everything an issue of "right" or "wrong," when it's simply a case of "this is my preference" (and, wow, you prefer something else) or "this is what I know" (and, this new food, person, idea, is really interesting). As the poet Rumi wrote:

Let the beauty of love be what we do.
There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground.
*
Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing,
there is a field. I'll meet you there.

The Feldenkrais Method offers a wonderful laboratory in which to try new experiences, always honoring your individual sense of safety and pleasure. In the context of movement, you learn via metaphor that it's possible to try just a tiny bite of the unknown, before heaping it on your plate. New possibilities, capacities, and revelations abound. The world seems more inviting.

Through the many metamorphoses of my home life as an adult, I've always tried to include "the stranger" sometime during the holidays. We would host foreign graduate students, or a single friend far from family. Guests bring a dish or a wine they like. I intend to find a way to make the experience a pleasure for everyone, including me. In those moments, I can let go of my resistance to the holidays, and actually embrace them. There's an outward and visible sign of this inward and spiritual grace. Our holiday feast now includes both canned AND fresh cranberry sauces. Small progress is sometimes the most significant.

Happy Thanksgiving.

MaryBeth's bread dressing (learned from Mary Fran, MB's mom) My dad was from Philadelphia, and my mom was from Little Rock, and we ate this every Thanksgiving I can remember, in Oklahoma and Chicago: so I have no idea if this is a Yankee stuffing or a southern stuffing.

This is a recipe that you develop a "feel" for. Each successive approximation is better and more to your liking. It's also a magical recipe. You can make a little, or a lot, and it's always enough. I don't like it stuffed in the bird, so I make it in a dish. If you do stuff the bird, make sure to remove it immediately when you take the bird out of the oven.

Ingredients:
large loaf of plain white bread
onion
celery
poultry seasoning
sage (dried or fresh)
fresh Italian parsley (not in the original--my addition)
salt and pepper
vegetable oil
olive oil
chicken broth

Start the day before by taking the loaf of bread out of the wrapping, and putting all of the slices in a big roasting pan on the counter. Rip the bread, crusts and all, into bite-sized pieces. Let the bread sit out like this overnight so it can get a little stale.
About an hour before the turkey is due to come out of the oven, chop a big onion and several ribs of celery. Saute in a pan with a little olive oil, salt and pepper until the onion is translucent and the celery is just starting to get tender.
When the onions and celery are done, dump that on top of the torn up, stale bread.
Add a good palmfull of poultry seasoning (2-3 Tablespoons). Add the sage (you'll need less if using dried herbs-- perhaps 2 Tablespoons dried or 1/2 cup of chopped fresh sage).
I like Italian (flat-leaf) parsley, so I chop up a bunch for 3/4 of a cup to a cup. Don't bother with dried parsley. Add the parsley to the bread mixture.
Add as much salt and pepper as you like. Easy on the salt, since the broth will probably have salt in it.
Add about 1/2 cup of light vegetable oil, drizzled over the top.
Begin to combine everything by hand. Slowly and gradually pour in about 1/2 cup of chicken broth. You want everything to be moist, but not soggy. The texture might not be completely uniform, and that's OK.
When it's well combined, put it into a baking dish that you can cover with a lid or with foil.
Put it into the oven at whatever temp you have the turkey baking at-- probably around 325. Leave it for an hour. It should look kind of crispy on top and golden brown.

I remember one year, my mom added chopped pecans before baking. Meh. You might be tempted to add some craisins, or dried apricots, or some such. Resist. Less is more.

If you like to stuff your turkey, you can skip the chicken broth, since the turkey juices will do the job. Be sure to remove ALL the stuffing immediately after you take the turkey out of the oven!

Serves 4-6. Calories? Fugeddaboudit.

More Soup

Soup! I love to make soup, especially when the weather turns cooler and the fabulously redolent smells fill my kitchen. The next soup I make will be one of my favorites for this time of year, a pumpkin and squash combination with Indian spices that tastes so creamy without one drop of cream in it. I don't think I even have a recipe for it. I just throw it together, and consequently it's a little different each time, but always delicious and always deeply satisfying. I like knowing what's in my food, knowing that it's fresh, and knowing that food prepared with love tastes different than food without.

A new soup recipe is always an adventure. The first time I make soup, I follow the recipe to the letter. Well, not exactly. Once I get into it, I can tell that I'd rather use vegetable broth than chicken broth, or vice versa; I can get by with adding less salt. I know there's no such thing as "too much garlic" at my house. But I don't substitute ingredients, or experiment with variations, until I know what the basic recipe is and how I like it. Over time, I've learned which recipes are trustworthy as-is, and which one's I'll need to jazz up a bit. And, I've learned enough basics of soup-making that I can extemporize and come up with something edible, and often sensational.

I made a new recipe for the Book Salon last week. It was one of the recipes from an NPR piece about autumn soups, and so I went to the website and printed off all the recipes described. First up was a mushroom soup that sounded just perfect. Along with the onions, carrots, potatoes, and barley, the secret seemed to be a handful of dried porcini mushrooms, which made the plain-Jane mushrooms perk up and rise to the occasion. The aroma of that soup cooking was amazing. (Since our book this month was "The Emperor of Scent," we HAD to smell wonderful.) Our guests gobbled it down, and the soup was mighty tasty. But, to me, something was missing.

The soup was earthy and rich and delicious. I thought the taste was too "dark," with too many "low notes." In musical terms, it was heavy on the trombones and cellos, and all tasted like accompaniment to me. I wanted a voice, an oboe, or perhaps a triangle pinging to lighten things up and bring some focus. It needed something acidic. In leftover homemade soups, you can tweak the recipe for the next meal. Overnight, the flavors marry and the taste is more refined, without the rough edges. The solution to my low note dilemma with the mushroom soup was to add some seasoned rice vinegar, one of my favorite, must-have, pantry staples. The effect was immediate and miraculous. There was now a clear, high note, a little tart and a little sweet, and suddenly the other flavors sprang to life! There was harmony in my bowl.

Everyone has individual tastes and preferences. Now that I know this recipe, I can make it completely vegetarian if need be, or leave out the onions if I make it for my friend Martha. The important thing is not the exactness of adhering to the recipe, but the experience of dining with friends, of good conversation, and of pleasure. Makes you want to have a second helping.

I have several clients who have come to me because traditional solutions to their problems have left a bad taste in their mouth. Too much discomfort, and too little progress have made them curious to find out if something else is possible. Often they get a delightful surprise. Rather than being a diner, held hostage in a restaurant where they don't like the food, they find that they are the chef! They learn the basics of organizing a way of moving that will nourish them. With the basics, they can learn to move in ways that will reduce the likelihood of further injury, and return to activities they enjoy at higher levels of functioning.

Each Feldenkrais lesson is like a "movement recipe." What would you like today? Just as my friend knows that onions are not for her, there may be some movements that are not for you. To feel yourself move, in whatever way or range is possible for you in this moment, is the beginning of awareness, and an appetite for more.

Tell Tale Signs

As I sit here typing, I'm listening to a Bob Dylan marathon via streaming audio. I've been a Bob Dylan fan for years. When I was in the sixth grade, I began to learn to play the guitar as an aspiring "folkie." I could play and sing "Blowin' In the Wind," "The Times They Are A-Changin'," "Don't Think Twice, It's All Right," and other songs that stirred my WASPy Midwestern suburban pre-pubescent heart. I was taking piano lessons and singing in choirs, beginning down the long road of classical music training, but something about Bob Dylan's music grabbed me. I loved his poetry; and his voice, with all its limitations, captivated me. I was one intense eleven-year-old.

"Tell Tale Signs" is the latest in a series of releases of previously unavailable recordings by Bob Dylan. The two-disc set includes bootleg recordings from live performances, as well as outtakes and other "first approximations" from the recording studio over the past 20 years. It's some good listening, and Bob Dylan still fascinates me. His career has spanned more than 50 years, and he continues to write, perform, and tour. He has new things to say that are worth listening to. He continues to grow, explore, and transform himself and the culture.

Recording brings out the perfectionism in people. I confess to needing a couple of "takes" to get my outgoing voice mail message just right. Recordings of performances have an archival quality, and you know when you're making one that it will be preserved for posterity. We try to be extra good, to hit it out of the park every time, so to speak. We become self-conscious, awkward, stumbling around. A bootleg recording, however, captures something immediate, fresh, and real. The recorder surreptitiously captured the artist in her natural state, going about her business, unpreoccupied by the demands of perfection. We can see, hear, and feel the "Tell Tale Signs" that something special is going on. Small wonder that we treasure these recordings as representative of an artist's best work.

You probably agree that it's hard to do your best work when you are self-conscious. Legion are the theatrical productions that give their best performance at the dress rehearsal, when no critics are present. But self-consciousness is not the same as self-awareness. Self-consciousness makes you worry about the judgment of others, constantly compares you with someone or something else, and takes you out of the present moment. Self-consciousness has its own "Tell Tale Signs;" it makes you stilted, stiff, and uninspired. Self-awareness, on the other hand, allows you to respond spontaneously to whatever is before you. Self-awareness elicits the peaceful, yet energized, flow of attention, expression, and creativity.

The work of Moshe Feldenkrais offers the opportunity to transform self-consciousness into self-awareness. When you experience yourself moving effortlessly, with comfort, ease, and grace, it's almost like having a "bootleg recording" of yourself, capturing your individual genius. My students often say, "WOW! I had no idea I could do THAT!" This ability to see yourself in a new way makes the "recordings" dynamic and alive, rather than static. Feldenkrais knew that we can't learn, adapt, or attain our full potential when judgment and self-consciousness take us out of the present moment.

Don't be afraid: you don't have to aspire to nirvana-like states of awareness perfection to benefit. Even small, incremental improvements in your awareness can lead to surprising returns. The dawning awareness inspires you to go deeper, broader, more specific, more general, to find what else might be possible. Rather than being pressured from the outside to accomplish something, the rewards come from within. It reminds me of a few lines from the old Kathy Mattea song:

Now here is the one thing I keep forgetting
When everything is falling apart
In life there's enough no I need to remember
There's such a thing as trying too hard

You have to sing (sing) like you don't need the money
Love (love) like you'll never get hurt
You gotta dance, dance, dance like nobody's watching
Its got to come from the heart if you want it to work . . .

Frequently, Moshe Feldenkrais would instruct his students to move in such a way "as if it didn't matter." I think that's the equivalent of "dance like nobody's watching." In that atmosphere of freedom, the "Tell Tale Signs" of your own brilliance begin to emerge.

Ike: Part 3

The most-often asked question around Houston in the past two weeks has been, "Do you have lights yet?" Utility workers from across the country have come to Houston to help out, and they are being greeted with a hero's welcome. They are still working, now seventeen days after the storm.

"Having lights" is one of those things we won't take for granted again for awhile. It's really amazing, when you think of it-- that light should be available, at any time you want, for as long as you want, simply by flipping a switch! A light to read by, to see yourself in the mirror, to keep the steps safe. "Having lights" means even more: the refrigerator runs so you can make your own ice. The air-conditioner makes living in a swampy climate possible. The computer links you to the rest of the world, and you're back in business. It's said that the dying words of the German poet Goethe were, "Light, more light!" All of Houston would answer, "Amen!"

Chris and I only had to endure four days without power. We joined Richard and Elaine upstairs for breakfast each morning. We contributed the coffee beans and French press; they boiled water on the gas grill, and they had a hand-grinder which held together the civilized world for us. We'd get together again at dinner, to share news of what we'd seen and heard around the apartment complex and the neighborhood. Richard was the Grillmeister. Elaine and I planned menus based on strategic consumption of rapidly-thawing items from the freezer, accompanied by whatever fresh fruits and vegetables we had on hand. We wined and dined by candlelight far into the night, probably about 9 PM, to repeat the next day. The four of us celebrated our re-electrification, the first Tuesday after the storm, with a bottle of Prosecco, immensely grateful and relieved.

In the large scheme of things, four days without power is simply an inconvenience, not a catastrophe. However, many have been without power for over two weeks, and some without their homes, or food, or loved ones. So if you want to help, please give to the Red Cross or Gulf Coast Relief Fund.

The day our power came back on, I left on a business trip to San Francisco, where I lived in luxury with lights and computers and cool weather for nearly a week. I'll never forget the experience of flying back into Houston on Sunday evening, the 21st. It was getting close to 8 p.m., and the sun was rapidly sinking. I looked out the window to orient myself to familiar landmarks, and thought we must still be quite a ways out, because there were no city lights. From the air, Houston usually looks like a glittering blanket that stretches as far as you can see. The landscape gradually emerged: small, concentrated areas where the lights twinkled merrily, surrounded by total darkness. It looked like a patchwork quilt of mostly dark, with lighted sections still few and far between. In some neighborhoods, there would just be one pinpoint of light. (Those were probably people with a generator, and no doubt they were very popular, hosting friends and neighbors for a meal, a shower, or to recharge laptops and cell phones.) Other neighborhoods, dark, silent, and still, dissolved into invisibility.

In Awareness Through Movement classes, we usually begin with a sensory "scan" through your body as you lie on the floor. What parts of yourself touch the floor? What parts are lifted away? At first, the sensations cluster together like the patchwork quilt of the Houston power grid. Some places on your body feel very present, "lit up," and detailed. Other places or parts seem more "dim," less distinct. And some places are just "in the dark," where sensation is absent and movement is unimaginable. As you begin to move gently, with attention, your sensations and perceptions gradually change. By the end of the lesson, more of you is "on the grid," present in your mind's eye, lights on, someone home.

We all have that "inner light," the light that we're supposed to let shine. Attention and awareness can bring light, lightness, enlightenment. . . Here's to LIGHTS ON!

Sensitivity to Initial Conditions

Moshe Feldenkrais often said, "If you don't know what you're doing, then you can't do what you want."

This whole know what you're doing thing is a key ingredient of awareness. It's astonishing how many people, in many different ways, will embark upon a program of improvement without really knowing what they are doing. They will rely on someone else's opinion of what they are doing, or what they should be doing, and then just follow the instructions. The "authority" is external: acting on the basis of what a doctor, a therapist, a bodyworker, a teacher, a TV commentator, a parent, says is "right."

The Feldenkrais Method includes the missing ingredient for a successful life: YOU. Your experience, your sensations, your emotions, your thoughts, your actions are essential to being engaged in any meaningful process of change. Feldenkrais' work, "to restore each person to their human dignity," validates and develops one's ability to have "internal authority."

For example, let's say you have a painful neck today. Again. Perhaps your personal trainer gave you some stretches and neck rolls to do. Maybe you have a prescription for pain killers. Just wait a few minutes before you do either, and try this:

Stop and breathe for a moment, and do nothing.
Notice: are you comfortable sitting in your chair? Does anything change if you sit so that both feet are flat on the floor? Sit for a moment like this.
Does any other place in your body come to your attention?
Does any place in your body feel particularly comfortable?
Make the smallest movement you can make to turn your head.
As you turn your head to the left and the right, are you approaching 90 degrees and feeling a stretch, or twinge? Which side is more comfortable, in this moment?
Notice what happens when you only move about 10 degrees in each direction, or less.
Notice what happens if you find the most comfortable range, instead of turning until you feel pain.
Notice what happens when you move your right shoulder forward a little bit, slowly, and then back. Does your left shoulder move back a little as the right shoulder comes forward? Could it?
Is your head moving a bit with the movement of your shoulders?
Keep the movement slow and smooth, and make sure you are breathing.
Let your head turn a little to the right when your right shoulder moves backward.
Let your head turn a little to the left when your left shoulder moves backward.
How could you make the movement smoother, easier?
What does it feel like to keep your head in the center as your shoulders continue to move in this way?
Stop for a moment and breathe.
Resume the small, smooth movement of bringing one shoulder forward, then the other.
Make a small movement to turn your head, just the tiniest bit, in the direction of the shoulder that is moving forward. Turn your head less than 10 degrees each time, make the movement small and smooth.
Stop for a moment and rest.
See if anything has changed. Is it more comfortable to turn your head now?
Does including your shoulders in the movement make things easier in your neck?

* * *
Before you set out on a journey, you need to know more than the destination. You need to know where you are NOW. Scientists call this, "sensitivity to initial conditions," and it can be seen as the environment in which action takes place. The route to Houston will be quite different if you are starting from Santa Fe, or Atlanta, or deep space. Each Feldenkrais lesson begins with noticing your initial conditions: your contact with the floor, or chair; where movement seems to feel the easiest; where are the places of greatest comfort. When you know your starting point, you can begin to make incremental changes, and test them out. Are your actions taking you in the direction where you want to go? Are your sensations the same or different, better or worse? As you experiment with small changes and stop frequently to notice the effects, you'll find that your actions become more refined and efficient. You will begin to do more of the things that are working, and less of the things that are not working. With awareness, you're less likely to make a wrong turn. If you should make a wrong turn (and we all do, from time to time), you're more likely to know sooner than later, and can modify your actions at a low personal cost.

The advice and actions of others are environmental factors, and must be factored in to the equation. The environment (our surroundings, our relationships, everything that is "outside of you") acts upon you as surely as you act upon it. With awareness, we can use our powers for good. "When you know what you're doing, you can do what you want." This is the key to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, for everyone.

Olympic Moments

This is not the week to decide to cut back on time spent in front of the TV.

Along with several billion people around the world, I'm hooked on watching the Olympics. I'm not in total Couch Potato mode, but the TV stays on. As I go about my business, passing through the living room to catch a look at the screen, sometimes I just have to sit down and watch for awhile. It really doesn't matter what's on. Swimming, cycling, beach volleyball, and basketball this weekend have all been inspiring and plain good fun.

The highlight for me is always the Opening Ceremonies. Even when they are bad, or incomprehensible (what WERE they thinking in Athens?), they are still fascinating. The opening ceremonies last Friday evening were amazing. Two-thousand-and-eight dancers, 2,008 drummers, 2008 boxes -- the choreography extended to the magnificent fireworks, coordinated all over town, all with exquisite and astonishing precision. That many people, moving in perfect unison, as if with one mind, as one organism, struck deep emotional and symbolic chords throughout the world, and across cultures.

The theme that has me captivated is Attention to Detail. From an engineering and technology perspective, think of all the LED screens, the cables, the switches, the computer networks employed to create the special effects and coordinate the entire operation, from the performance to the broadcast. From an artistic perspective, each performer had to be totally committed to the creative director's vision, executing it as if he (or she) were a soloist. All the participants were in agreement for the embodiment -- the manifestation -- of ideas into action, into an artistic, philosophical, political, athletic, musical, mathematical, technological marvel. Right down to the start time: 8:08 PM, on 08/08/2008. Auspicious indeed.

If you've ever been in a marching band, then you know how hard it is to get a bunch of people all doing the same thing. Band members are not dancers: they play instruments and walk, or march, all together. If your legs are long, and you're standing next to someone whose legs are short, you both have to adjust your stride so that each step, from each person, is exactly the same length, every time. Then, you have to play the music correctly too, probably from memory. The Olympic Opening Ceremonies were the marching band phenomenon, increased in complexity by several exponential levels. The "bird's eye view" from high atop the Bird's Nest Stadium offered a vista of perfect spacing, perfect coordination, perfect memory of the routine, and perfect technical support. It was beautiful, and inspiring, a blend of ancient and modern, the past and the future meeting in each detail. I think of the level of self-awareness of each performer, able to do his best, and also adapt the size and scope of each movement so as to fit into the Big Picture.

When you think of "Olympic Qualities," what comes to mind? Is it strength, endurance, agility, speed, power, persistence, or skill? Surely, it's all of these. I'd like to think that awareness is also an essential ingredient in the making of a champion. How much of any element is too much, too little, just right? How do you get perfect balance, perfect velocity, perfect timing, a perfect landing? How do you win the audience? Awareness of self is the first step toward improvement, or excellence, in anything you attempt. Moshe Feldenkrais knew that awareness of self also leads to awareness of others, and one's surroundings -- the environment in which you find yourself. Awareness, commitment, and harmony lead to a good outcome for all.

Awareness can help you to be a champion, even in the little corner of the world where you are. What details are asking for your attention?

Make Room!

It's always a poignant moment, saying good-bye. I've never been good at it. Even as a small child, I wept bitterly at the end of each Mickey Mouse Club episode. As soon as the farewell theme began to play, "Now it's time/to say good-bye/to all our com-pa-ny. . ." I would begin to wail. We're talking MAJOR attachment issues, right? Fast forward to adulthood, to midlife, and to this past weekend, when I sat before one of my book cases, ready to say good-bye to some old friends. I felt anxious. Some had been with me for years; others, pleasantly but briefly. I'm talking about BOOKS.

I love books: I love their weight, their smell, the texture of the paper, the fonts, the cover art, even the index. Reading on my computer screen doesn't compare with the sensual delights of The Real Thing. I love a room full of books. They are a comforting, comfortable and essential part of the decor and personality of any home. However, as with the landscaping around the house, a bookcase must be tended, weeded, and yes, even pruned from time to time.

I don't know what inspired me, as I cast a ruthless eye upon each shelf. Within about fifteen minutes, I had selected about twenty-five books that I was ready to part with. Some I remember buying after a particular occasion, like having heard the author speak. Some, I had no idea when or where they had appeared. I remembered each one; this one was pretty good, that one was a big disappointment. And yet, I had kept them hanging around, even though I hadn't read some of them in years. Into a big bag they went, awaiting a trip to Half Price Books later today. The books that remain are truly useful, beautiful, or loved. Best of all, there's now room for more.

Over a lifetime of experiences, we "fill up" just like a bookcase. We acquire our own ways of doing things, from putting on our trousers to beating an egg to reading to speaking to walking. Some of these preferences and patterns are learned on our own, some are studied, and some arrive as a compensation for pain or hardship. Our nervous system stores all of this learning, all of these patterns, and accesses them when needed. It also keeps stuff around that, while useful at one time, is now obsolete. For example, the protective postures you develop after an injury can persist long after the damage has healed. Old beliefs ("that's just part of aging," or "I could never do that") hang around, unexamined and taking up space.

"Pruning" the book case doesn't have to be painful, and making room within ourselves for new possibilities can be surprisingly simple. Moshe Feldenkrais developed an ingenious way for people to become aware of the habitual patterns ingrained uniquely in each nervous system. The patterns show up in the way you move, sense, feel, and think. Movement can become streamlined, efficient, graceful, and comfortable. Changes in movement allow emotional tone and thought to improve. Your system recharges, regenerates, reboots itself. The more your awareness develops, the easier it is to clear out the old and make room for the new.

Springboard

My friend Robert Reed has a new blog, "The Random Button," and I think you'd like it. In his latest post, he talks about "Paying Attention Deficit Disorder," joining the chorus of convincing voices and numerous researchers who all say the same thing-- STOP IT with the multi-tasking! His post was apparently initially inspired by a brush with death, at the hands (or fingers) of a texting-while-driving moron. It's a great rant, fun reading, and it will make you think. . .

Robert made me think a bit more deeply about The Problem: that people just don't seem to pay attention to what they are doing anymore. Stopping the elective multi-tasking is a step in the right direction. At a deeper level, however, is the truth that our nervous systems are ALREADY multi-tasking to an astonishing degree of complexity. As I went for a morning walk today, I was aware of the humidity and temperature, the comfort of my shoes, and the slant of the sidewalk, to which I adapted, mountain-goat-like, in gracefulness. I was also aware of traffic, of curbs, paving slabs thrusting away from their neighbors, and a light pole installed right in the middle of the sidewalk! I also became aware that my creaky knees, stiff ankles, and sore feet got more comfortable as I paid attention and tried to make my walking easy and pleasurable. That's a lot going on, and most of it might have stayed "below the radar" if I hadn't taken the time to write here about it. Clearly, there's an evolutionary advantage in being able to attend to multiple stimuli from the environment and adapt to it that enhances the probability that I will survive my walk.

Fortunately, we can do lots of things without having to consciously control them. Think about blinking, or swallowing, or even the mechanics of walking or standing. Chances are, you just do these things automatically--unless there's a problem. We rely on the primitive brain for our speedy reactions, like slamming on the brakes to avoid hitting Robert as he mindfully bicycles in our neighborhood. Conscious control of every movement would vastly increase the amount of time between realization and response. Quick, automatic reactions to danger are the result of our nervous system's ability to multi-task and prioritize what is most likely to increase survivability.

Our devices and distractions: the cell phone, the iPod, the Blackberry; the mascara, the breakfast tacos (one of my personal guilty multi-tasking confessions); put a barrier between us and our environment. Put another way, technological "connectivity" with others can actually disconnect us from our selves and our own senses. The people who are driving like maniacs with the phone stuck on their ear are not self-absorbed, they are OTHER absorbed. They have disconnected from their own capacities to move, think, sense, and feel. They are not in the present moment.

I also thought of a young friend of mine, Jennifer Moore, a soprano who has had a contract with the Zurich Opera this year. She once said to me, "I can't relate to Attention Deficit Disorder. I think I have Attention SURPLUS Disorder!" Jennifer knows how to be in the present moment, experiencing whatever she is doing to the fullest. She becomes totally absorbed in whatever she is studying, exploring, or experiencing in each moment. The moments can turn into hours or even days when she is "on a roll," and she must wonder where the time went. She often finds it difficult to pull herself away from whatever has her so absorbed, when she is so focused and "in the zone." Her ability to be present also makes her a compelling and thrilling performer, well on her way to a successful operatic career.

The fantastic thing is that we can direct our attention and shift our focus with changing conditions. Narrow focus, intensity, and absorption alternates with a broader focus, sensitivity to external conditions, and an ability to react appropriately. As Moshe Feldenkrais said, "If you don't know what you're doing, you can't do what you want." That's the best sales-pitch for awareness and presence that I know of!

There are lots of opportunities to practice being present. Time spent in nature, with a beloved animal, with a lover. . . meditation, painting, writing. It doesn't much matter WHAT you do, just pay attention to what you are doing. I'm still growing in my ability to detach from the demands to multi-task compulsively. The Feldenkrais Method has been my tool for learning more about being present. And you know what they say: You must be present to win.

Habits

What's in a vacation?

I've just returned from a trip to visit my son in Pennsylvania. Geoff celebrated his 20th birthday while I was there, and we both were eager to spend time together. We had had our spring break plans curtailed in March by a snowstorm that shut down everything near Lake Erie, so this was "catch up time."

Geoff had a few days off from work, and I had rented a car, so we decided to hit the road and do some visiting. Pennsylvania is a BIG STATE! (Texas is my adoptive home, and I know from big states. PA: Big.) You can check a Google map: Edinboro, PA, to Warren: Warren to Cornwall: Cornwall to York: York to Pittsburgh: Pittsburgh to Edinboro. We paid calls on my brother in Warren; my 101-year old Aunt (truly the "last of the Mohicans") in Cornwall; a "cousin by choice" in York; and back to feed a pack of starving students at my son's place in Edinboro. When I turned in the rental car at the Pittsburgh airport last Thursday, the attendant said, "WOW--you put over 1,000 miles on this car!" I felt a little wistful to acknowledge with my son that the days of the Great American Road Trip may be over for good. It felt great to get in a good last shot at it.

Why do I tell you this whole travelogue? Ah, dear reader, because the entire trip took me not just to Pennsylvania, but into Non-Habitual Action. That's the whole point of a vacation, if you think about it. Well, I came right up against some of my deeply ingrained habits, and it wasn't easy, to tell the truth. We always do what we always do---and I am no exception.

For starters, food. The grocery store was set up wrong. Not only wrong, but idiotic. More to the point, it was not arranged like my favorite store at home. I kept having to backtrack to find the things I needed, the produce was very limited, and prices seemed higher. Although we visited two really terrific restaurants, the casual dining scene there is dominated by fast food chains or the ubiquitous "family restaurant," where cottage cheese, stuffing, and mac & cheese appear on the veggie menu. I wouldn't have described myself as a picky eater. When it comes to food, we all have our habits and preferences, easily overlooked until some adaptation is required.

I had a blast cooking for my son and his friends, and I think it's the most appreciative audience I've ever "performed" for. He and his roomies have a decent stock of kitchen utensils, pots and pans, even proper dishes -- impressive. I found that they needed a good knife, a vegetable peeler, a grater, and dish towels. And a blender! It then felt more like my kitchen, and I was better able to function, as I learned what they had and made my own additions. Did I adapt to them, or did they adapt to me? Probably some of both. They are already adjusting to the "improvements" quite nicely.

The other habit I encountered had to do with my driving. In PA, the speed limit is 65, tops. Most places, 55 or less. And get this, they actually enforce the speed limit. Cops and state troopers were everywhere. I had a really hard time keeping my speed under my habitual "comfort zone" for highway driving, 70-80 mph. In Texas, if you go 65, you'll never get anywhere. I realize I am making light of a serious safety issue. I was aware the entire time behind the wheel that I was having to pay attention to things I don't really give a second thought to when I'm at home. Happily, I drove sensibly and escaped without a ticket. I wonder how long my better driving habits will last, when I get back to Houston traffic?

I learned, again, that adaptation is a challenge. In the case of food preparation, I was most comfortable adapting my surroundings to my preferences, rather than changing my preferences. With driving, I had to adjust to an unfamiliar car and the prospect of undesirable consequences if I didn't curb my speed. With the grocery stores and restaurants, I mostly complained and then just made it work. Sometimes an adaptation causes additional trouble. For example, if you're dealing with chronic pain, a recurring injury, or insomnia, all require adaptations that can wear you down over the long haul, and can make some problems worse. As human beings, we are "engineered" to be almost infinitely adaptable. Sometimes you adapt just to do the best you can. And as you know better, you can do better.

The Feldenkrais Method helps people to make the most of their ability to adapt, to learn, and to thrive. Some habits evoke irritation as we examine them, like a tendency to drive too fast or exercise to the point of exhaustion or injury. Others, like having a new kitchen tool, can lead to more versatility, more possibilities, more enjoyment as we go along. Our functioning always improves when we've experienced some choices, and when we've had the opportunity to fine-tune what works best. Each Feldenkrais lesson helps you to discover your own best actions, in whatever activities you enjoy. Like a good vacation, each lesson brings learning, renewal, and enjoyment, a new lease on life as you return to your routine.

What is routine for you? How do you adapt?

Artifacts

I saw something amazing on Saturday.

In advance of a group field trip expedition, we went to Houston's Museum of Natural Science to see "Lucy's Legacy: Hidden Treasures of Ethiopia." There were many amazing aspects to this exhibit, not least of which was the pièce de resistance, the 3.2 million year old skeletal remains of "Lucy" herself, an early hominid.

The story of how the archeologists happened upon the world's most famous fossil was inspiring, humorous, and very moving. What touched me even more is that all of the objects in the exhibit are truly part of the national treasure of Ethiopia. I was struck by the extraordinary generosity and trust of whatever powers-that-be in that country, who approved sending these priceless artifacts on a six-year, round-the-world tour, so that their national and cultural story could be told. Controversy surrounded the tour: should these objects leave the country? Are they too fragile to travel? Can adequate security be provided? Then, my irreverent mind imagined the scene of the people hired to pack everything for shipping. Are the pieces numbered? Do they come with a diagram for reassembly? Was Lucy transported in bubble-wrap? Do they save all the containers, or get them new when it's time for Lucy to move on? Mercifully, I stopped short of completing my "Saturday Night Live" sketch, but it did make me giggle. I also felt appreciation for the countless people behind the scenes who packed, sorted, insured, transported, negotiated, arranged, displayed, dusted, filmed, wrote, and otherwise contributed to produce the exhibit. There's a lot invested in preserving and transporting those artifacts!

Artifacts, however valuable, are ultimately leftovers, just found objects. When they are discovered, the artifacts provide evidence upon which a story or explanation about the objects can be created. We want to know the origins, and we want to assign meaning. One can wonder what archeologists from the future will find and surmise about us, and our lives!

Similarly, muscular tensions, aching joints, and other physical limitations provide evidence about your life. Your habitual patterns of action and use of your own body can leave artifacts---leftovers-- in today's experience. (If you get quiet for a moment, you might discover evidence of the local pollen count, this morning's traffic, or that last phone call.) Habitual patterns of thinking and emotion also leave their effects, seen in your body. While some people see evidence of defects to be fixed, the Feldenkrais Method has another viewpoint. The Method does not judge the artifact, and does not attach a story to it. The artifact is information, something to be curious about, to explore, to relate to a coherent whole: and then to create different possibilities for an improved future.

What artifacts have you discovered, preserved, transported?

(This piece was originally published in the Feldenkrais Center of Houston newsletter 04/14/2008)

The Jetsons

I grew up with Judy Jetson.

If you are too young to know about "The Jetsons", get thee to YouTube, Google, or Wikipedia to fill in this important gap in your cultural and historical knowledge. (Pictured above, left to right: Astro, the dog ["Rastro!"], daughter Judy, meet George Jetson, Jane, his wife; his boy, Elroy. . . dee dee deep da deep dah dee dah. . .)

Strange that after spending a couple of weeks pondering the Houston fossil display of 3.2 million-year-old Lucy and our human prehistory, that I should leap to my childhood memories from 1960's TV Land and everyone's favorite family of the future, the Jetsons. I guess I'm pondering A Big Question: What makes us human?

Perhaps because the 60's were so tumultuous, the Jetsons were a comfort. The moral of the story seemed to be, "The more things change, the more they stay the same." In spite of space travel, civil rights, and urban blight; or video phones, robots, and flying cars; teenagers would still be teenagers, dogs would still tear up the house, and your boss would still be a jerk. "The future is safe. No matter how much change occurs, we will still be --
HUMAN."

George Jetson's car flew him safely to work at Spacely Sprockets as he read the newspaper. (Kind of funny to think of it now. Even Hanna and Barbera had not imagined email, Blackberry, or NYT Online.) Jane sat in front of a mirror that applied her makeup and fixed her hair. She could whip up a scrumptious steak dinner instantly from a pill (just add water), and clean up afterwards in a snap. Take that, June Cleaver! Jane also had Rosie the Robot as housekeeper, nanny, and confidante. The most memorable episodes always involved the hilarious malfunctioning of some piece of technology -- Rosie on the fritz, conveyor walkways standing still, cars careening between planets -- forcing the Jetsons to solve the problem on their own, "the old fashioned way," as it were. As it ARE. Was "The Jetsons" actually an archetypal hero's epic journey, in which human qualities withstand bombardment by technology, and triumph? Hmmmm. . .

When my clients in the Feldenkrais Method ask me, "Will I be able to (fill in the blank: walk better, stand taller, sing, golf, move without pain, etc.) without thinking about it?" I understand what they mean. We idealize a George Jetson life, where the mundane and the unpleasant are dealt with remotely, or on auto-pilot. When we deal with problems, we want things fixed. We seek out experts, substances, or programs of various types to fix us. However, to experience the potential for pleasure in life (which lies at the heart of the Method), you have to be involved and engaged. You have to be paying attention. Ultimately, it's your ability to learn that lets you ride the wave of change.

I used to envy Jane Jetson, but now I enjoy preparing meals for friends and loved ones. The shopping, the chopping, the stirring, the tending, all connect me with my senses and my experience of aliveness. Our technology -- from ancient implements of chipped stone, to the iPhone, to bionic limbs and organs and beyond, even to flying cars? -- can help us feel more alive, or more disconnected from ourselves and our own capacities to create, to survive, and to thrive. The choice is ours.

When do you feel most alive?

(This piece was originally published in the Feldenkrais Center of Houston newsletter 04/21/2008)