Bird by Bird.

Part of my business school adventure involves a lot of miles on the road.  Every other weekend I drive about four hours south of Boston, not far from Manhattan, for 36 hours of classes, studying, quizzes, group work, and some quality bonding with my classmates.  These are long weekends, simply because SO much material is crammed into every single minute.  We are up and running, in class by 8am Saturday, and the pace doesn't stop until Sunday afternoon when we're released and all head back to our respective homes to enjoy what is left (nothing) of our pathetic weekend.


On Saturday night we do have about 90 minutes of down time between the last class and dinner/another Stats study and review session.  Thankfully, the program managers on staff were smart enough to hire a local yoga teacher to come and offer a class for an hour of that tiny block of free time.  It's no secret that I'm a huge proponent of yoga; obviously I signed up for the class as soon as the email gauging interest in participating went out to the group.  Never have I been so grateful for an hour of stretching as I was on Saturday evening after a long day of sitting and learning and more sitting.  One of the reasons, among many, that I find yoga so important and necessary in keeping me sane, is that it's a practice that forces me to just be present.  That's the whole point of yoga after all - the workout and strong arms and flexibility and muscle toning is an extra added perk.  But the point of the practice is to refocus.  To control our breathing, to pay attention and be in the here and now, to focus on what you have brought to the mat on this specific day.  One of my closest friends once made the comment to me that she loved the sound of a yoga mat being unrolled before class because that sound trigger the knowledge that she would have the next hour totally and completely for herself.


Now.  With all due respect and complete acknowledgement of the above paragraph, I will fully admit that for me being in the moment can be an extremely difficult practice to follow.  My brain often wanders all over the place as I move from downward dog to warrior one and through my flow.  Sometimes I catch it quickly and bring myself back to the moment, other times I'm too busy making a grocery list in my head, reminding myself I owe someone an email, or thinking of that thing I need to do that before I know it the hour is up and I haven't been in the moment and completely present even once.


As we finished our yoga class on Saturday, the teacher made a comment.  "Life is short and sweet," she said.  "A lot of us are living on autopilot for most of it.  Wake up.  Pay attention. Notice things."

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Here is a confession.  Once I was accepted at Cornell, I was equal parts elated and petrified.  I told almost no one about my acceptance for almost 24 hours.  I needed to process it, to think things through without anyone else's comments or opinions clouding my own judgment.  Of course, my gut knew deep down as soon as I learned I was accepted that I would enroll, but I needed a little time for the rest of my mind to catch up with what my heart already instinctively knew.  When I first told one of my friends about deciding to enroll at Cornell, I confided in her my feelings of being both equally excited and terrified.  "You're stirring the pot." she said.  I nodded. She went on: "I think that's a good thing though.  It shakes things up."  I nodded again.  I read somewhere once about how easy it can be to fall asleep and miss your own life.  While I don't wish for an onslaught of drama or craziness to befall me or my loved ones, I do believe in the importance of paying attention.  And I have found that sometimes, the only way to pay attention is to break out of our day to day routines - as comforting and lovely as they may be.  Sometimes that proverbial pot just needs a big and hearty stir.


Today marks exactly one month that I've been back in this world of being a student and working full time and trying to find a minute to catch my breath, say hello to the outside world, and maybe...take a second to do something crazy like eat dinner.  It should go without saying that I am a tad overwhelmed these days.  Oh yes, I brought it all on myself and I wouldn't trade it.  Still.  It is a lot.  In July our Stats professor opened his very first lecture with a bit that has now become legend among any student that has ever taken his class.  He drew a hot air balloon on the chalkboard with one little stick figure person inside it. "This is you," he said, pointing to the stick figure.  "And this is the Executive MBA program," while writing MBA inside the balloon.  "All you can do right now to survive is throw shit out of the balloon."  We, as a class, laughed outloud.  "I'm serious," he said. "You toss the friends, the girlfriend, the boyfriend, the family, the travel..." We laughed again, albeit it a little quieter, as the realization he was correct sunk in.

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One of my favorite books is Anne Lamont's Bird by Bird.  Over the past month I have gone from 0 to 60 in terms of work load, time management, and getting it all done.  Remaining, of course, cognizant and aware of the present too.  Often - at least once a day in fact - I find I am now thinking of the opening paragraph of Lamont's book:   


"Thirty years ago my older brother, who was ten years old at the time, was trying to get a report on birds written that he'd had three months to write. [It] was due the next day. We were out at our family cabin in Bolinas, and he was at the kitchen table close to tears, surrounded by binder paper and pencils and unopened books on birds, immobilized by the hugeness of the task ahead. Then my father sat down beside him, put his arm around my brother's shoulder, and said. 'Bird by bird, buddy. Just take it bird by bird."