ca·pac·i·ty

When we make a resolution, how do we choose how much? Do more yoga. But how often? Eat more healthy. But eat what, when? Drink less coffee. How much less? Drink more coffee. Every day? Twice a day? Once a week? We choose based on a line. A line we have drawn. On one side we've put bad. The other side good. And if we do this thing more, or do this other thing less, we'll move to the good side.

But really it's about how we feel. How we interact. How we navigate our day. Is it enjoyable, rich, fun, challenging, scary, stimulating, calming? Are we happy? Are we healthy? Are we following our path? Or someone else's path. Are we getting what we need? And if we're not, what changes? Can we really add something else? Isn't the problem having too many things in the jar already. It's stuffed full of rocks. And if I add something else, it'll have to be pebbles to fit into the cracks, and then sand to fill the spaces. And then I'll be really full. And things will start to pile on top. Balancing the new things, the gym, the green drink, more sex, and the jar will crack. Split. And things will fall apart. The rocks will avalanche. And all those fancy resolutions making life better will blow away.

But what if it's not about piling stuff on top. What if it's not about the rocks at all. What if it's about the container. Instead of jamming more stuff in, what if we made the container larger? And flexible. Resilient. A larger resilient container that has more capacity. Space to interact with grace and skill. To be present with the people around us. To make a difference. To live a big life. So that we navigate our day with patience, compassion, even raw anger, joy, feeling the rush of being alive. Of moving, taking life in. And softening those anchors, holding them as polished stones in our pocket, to guide us.

ca·pac·i·ty

noun

1. 1.

   the maximum amount that something can contain.
2. 2.

   the ability or power to do, experience, or understand something.

   
   

Under the Outhouse

Commitment. Intention. Resolution. Decision. To do something. Action. To take action. For me, the only way I DO anything is to tell someone else. To commit to them. To make a promise. It's not about them. It's about something I want to do. To be active. Go outside every day. Eat better. Write. To live my life in a way that feeds me. Nourishes me. And it's not about them. It's about me. And for me. But I need them. I need accountability. Someone outside my own head. I need to put it Out. Into the world. Into time and space.

But why do we falter? In our resolutions. Why are we not resolved? Feel resolved. Complete. We do have good intentions. To change something. Be better. Live better. Feel better. See more people. Connect. See less people. Be alone. Meditate. Breathe. And yet, inevitably, we slip. Back into old patterns. Back into the rut. Our familiar rut. Even if it's full of muck, a festering trench. Below the outhouse. Because it's comfortable. We know it. It's our Outhouse. And it's warm. We know the stench. And it reminds us who we think we are. Proves it. Despite it killing us. Sometimes slowly. Sometimes quickly.

We need other people. We think we can figure it out on our own. Mull it over. Churn the butter of our own mental shit. We grew up learning this way. Stay at your desk. Figure it out yourself. Don't talk to other classmates. Buck up. Don't be so lazy. So stupid.

And yet, what if we did? What if we did tell someone else what we wanted in life? What if we did ask? Our classmates. Our friends. Our neighbours. Our co-workers. Maybe. Just maybe something might happen that we couldn't see from our rut. What if we poked our head out through the hole? Climbed up. Opened the door. And had a conversation. Told someone else what's important to us.

And so I am now committing. To write. To write a blog post three times a week for ten weeks. By noon Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Whoa. It's out there now. And if I slip back in. I will climb back out. Smell the flowers. And tell you.

Before Breakfast

Rowan: What I believe is God is us.

Rowan: What I believe is God is everything.

Rowan: What I believe is God is the Earth.

Rowan: What I believe is God brings us the things.

Rowan: She gives us our food, our water, nature.

Rowan: God is all around us.

Rowan: We are God.

Me: Ok.

Me: Um.

Me: Anything else?

Rowan: No.

Me: Where did that come from?

Rowan: I believed it my whole life.