no one likes an office party

Friday night I attended an office Christmas party where I discovered that a dislike of office social events, including Christmas parties, seems to be an international phenomenon. I think I was the only person present that didn't desperately wish I were somewhere else, mainly because I don't live here - I don't have anywhere else to be.

We met at the office for appetizers, champagne and a visit from Santa who, in addition to distributing presents and regaling us with a story about his flu, put me on the spot by asking me whether I knew where Santa was from. This presented a bit of a problem. I figured that it was a world-wide given that Santa lives in the North Pole but it seems the Finns have this idea that Santa is, in fact, from Lapland. Poor, deluded Finns. However, I'm a visitor here so I deferred to the Lapland Santa idea as best I could. I trust Santa won't hold it against me when it comes time for the distribution of presents.

After the appetizers which included gloggi (mulled wine), bread cheese (finnish specialty), joulutortut (Christmas plum tarts), and reindeer meat (didn't try that) we left for the surprise event of the evening which turned out to be a play. In Finnish. Which I don't speak. Between whispered translations and great acting I understood enough of the play to enjoy it (think I enjoyed it more than the rest of the group, actually). A posh dinner followed the play where I confirmed another international phenomenon: people love talking about their kids. Which was a relief since dinner lasted for hours, without children to talk about my small talk skills would have been seriously taxed after the first 1/2 hour.

I'd imagined people arguing in their taxis about who had to sit beside the English girl. Not because their English wasn't up to it but because, lets face it, Christmas parties suck enough as it is without the added complication of making small talk in your second (or third) language. I shouldn't have worried, everyone was very nice. Well, nice in that Finnish more-reserved-than-Canadians-even kind of way (and when one is not thought to be in any way, shape, or form criticizing the Finnish habit of putting babies outside for their naps ;), that is.

I am thankful to that same Finnish reserve for one thing though: no one pointed out that "kulkuset" (bells), my one Finnish Christmas word that I proudly say as often as possible, is also slang for "testicles" - something that my Finnish tutor neglected to tell me (*ahem*). I don't have a camera so there are no pictures from the party but below is a picture from the very pretty shopping street (not its official name ;) in downtown Helsinki

Happy holidays everyone

fazer chocolates

Last night during a prolonged bout of insomnia I finally got up to check the clock. It was 2.50am. Instead of being irritated that I was awake at that time, my first thought was "Phew, only 3 hours until I can have chocolate".

Think it's time I cut back on the Fazer ;)

www.fazermakeiset.fi

om sweet home

I fell this morning during yoga. A full on, whole body smack down that was as loud as it was embarrassing, except I wasn't too embarrassed - I love it when I fall. Yoga, skiing, rockclimbing, whatever - falling, to me, means that I'm trying something, taking a risk. At least, that's what it usually means. This morning it just meant that I was feeling damn lazy.

A few days ago someone observed that I was trying too hard during yoga which is pretty much the single-worst thing anyone could ever say to me. Off the mat, I do try hard; this is something I've realized, in particular, over the last few months. Whenever I'm close to finishing a journal I read through it to see what's been happening. Reading this journal, one of the things that struck me was that, as difficult a fall as it was, it was multiplied many times over by how judgmental and intolerant and critical I was of myself. I was very much my own worst enemy. I thought my practice was exempt from this.

Yoga has always been that one space where I don't try too hard, where not only can I give myself permission to suck but I can feel compassion for myself in that place as well. At least that's how it's been in the past, at some point over the last few months, things changed. Yoga became work. Maybe its the injuries, maybe its being back with my uber-ashtangi teachers, maybe it's that my mind this fall was so hard to face that I retreated to the physical. Probably a combination of all three.

I remember reading an article where the author wrote that in times of sadness she had to crawl to her mat and that just being there was painful. It is. On the mat it's just you and your thoughts. There were times this fall where I really didn't think I could bear to bring myself to practice. On those days I made it my mission to just show up, that's all I asked of myself was just to be there. In hindsight, I think that I allowed myself to retreat from my thoughts by focusing only on the physical. Practicing at my shala made this easy, there can be a lack of compassion to dogmatic ashtanga yoga and my shala is nothing if not dogmatic. Modifications, sitting longer in one pose, allowing a compassionate practice wasn't really encouraged and that worked for me just fine.

Thing is, I'm out of that space now and I'm feeling the lack of balance in my practice. I think it's time to begin cultivating my home practice again, I miss the intimacy that comes with practicing alone.

Seeing as it's raining out and I've been quiet for a while, figured now is as good a time as any for an update from Helsinki. Problem is, there's not much to update. Unless you actually care about long, glorious yoga practices, hours spent languishing over coffee and daydreams and sleep...so much sleep. Yeah, I know, you don't care but me? I'm freaking thrilled.

Today I was asked how I like Helsinki in December. I like it just fine. In fact, I'm loving it. But I can't tell whether it's because of Helsinki or because each time I've been here I've been on holiday and, God knows, I love me a holiday. Morning yoga is followed by half an hour of relaxation and meditation which is pretty much the polar opposite of Toronto mornings which find me desperately cramming one foot into my workclothes whispering "shit, shit, shit" before running to the subway and stressing out for the duration of the ride while calculating just how late I'm going to be. So is sleeping 8 hours a night; I could get used to that.

Helsinki temperatures have been well above zero since I've arrived (there goes another 'Baltic' stereotype) offering the perfect weather for wandering aimlessly looking at 'stuff'. It's light by 9am, completely dark by 4pm, and the hours in between hold a grey, slightly overcast look that lead me to consistently assume that it's 4.30pm - even when it's only 10am. I had wondered whether I would find the darkness depressing, it's not. In fact, it's strangely comforting.

The early evenings bring an almost forced hibernation, like nature knows we've had a long year and conspires to get us inside somewhere warm and cozy where there's nothing to do but relax (and, God knows, I love me some relaxing :). And they grey days? They're difficult to explain, they're...soft. Kind of like the edge has been taken off so that sharp corners and bright lights give way to slightly fuzzy city streets lit with dozens upon dozens of twinkling, white Christmas lights. You see? Cozy.

Still raining though but my time at the cafe has been pushed to it's limits. I'm off. Happy Wednesday everyone.

smart AND cute!

I dropped the cat off at a friend's tonight for a stay at his version of Disney Land: a house with multiple floors connected by actual, oh-my-god, STAIRS. As my sister puts it, the cat acts like he's in 'Nam half the time as it is skittering around corners and hiding under rugs for waiting for just the right moment to unleash his assault but, let's face it, the options in my apartment are limited. Now with a whole three weeks and three glorious floors to play with, the options are endless. I don't even think he cared when I dropped him off, he was too busy running up...and down...and up...and down...

Although he ends up having fun wherever he is (or so I'm assured), transporting him is no fun whatsoever. After one horrific ride that I'm positive left me more traumatized than him, I gave up on cat carriers. Say what you want - I don't care - you've never been stuck in a car with the yeowling, mournful mess that is the cat in a cat carrier. So, he gets free reign to roam the car, sit on my lap, whatever. It's all good.

Tonight as I was flying down the highway at 140km/hr I heard something...then I felt something...it was wind, but from where? Turns out, the cat managed to place his cute little kitty-cat paw on the 'down' button for the back window and had succeeded in getting the damn thing all the way down before I could figure out what the heck was happening. Scary as it was, I couldn't help being kind of proud of him for figuring out how to work the window - smart little guy :)

This would be the same night that I developed a more intimate understanding of just how useful highway shoulders are and that I learned about child-proof window locks. Damn good ideas, both of them.

by the way

Since posting about the "Don't worry, Be happy" busker I've heard from a whole bunch of TTC riding folks all of whom knew exactly who I was talking about. It's official: "Don't worry, Be happy" IS the only song he ever sings.

My shala has moved and I'm back to taking the busker-free bus so I'm pretty sure this will be the last time you'll have to read the words "Don't worry, Be happy" on this blog and the last time I'll have to type them which is a good thing, the words have developed the power to irritate me through the very act of typing them alone.

But, while we're at it, it's Monday and it's cold; be kind to yourself today and don't worry, be happy ;)

home sweet home

My mother & two sisters came over yesterday to help me move a dresser and left 3 hours later having filled several bags full of 'stuff' for goodwill, convinced me to stick a "free" sign on my couch and leave it on the street corner (it was gone within 2 hours) and reorganized my living room, front room and bedroom. Wow.

The harbinger of what was to come was my mother's question, "What can I do?", while we were waiting for my sisters. I was in the middle of making oatmeal raisin cookies and I looked at her, confused, how many people does she think it takes to make cookies? Turns out, she meant what can she do around the apartment because it was "pretty cluttered". Or maybe she said "messy". I forget. But I was concerned because, with the exception of the Saturday papers and the usual odds and ends hanging about, my apartment was waaaaay more organized than usual. At least I thought so.

I was wrong. Apparently my apartment was 'cluttered', 'messy', and full of 'India-yoga bullshit'. When my sisters arrived the three of them transpired into a whirling dervish of activity. I don't know how else to explain it - they just moved and moved and moved while my contribution was limited to standing, confused or trailing aimlessly behind them offering oatmeal raisin cookies. Well, that, and defending burnt-out lightbulbs (who notices that kind of stuff?), non-existent dishtowels (who uses those?), and explaining why I really, absolutely, can't possibly dispose of anymore books (I NEED every book I currently have. Or, you know, I might one day).

The general consensus when we (ok, they) were done was "there, now you can breathe". Part of me wanted to go on the defensive but I couldn't, it was true. It's not that I'm a slob (shut up), it's more that when it comes to aesthetics - I just don't get it. I like looking nice, I like my surroundings to look nice but I don't have that eye that tells me what to do to make that happen. Just tell me what to wear or how to organize my apartment and I'm happy.

Lucky for me, every other person in my family has that eye and they were generous with their Saturday mornings (thanks guys :). My new and improved living room with one less couch is so much lighter, the hallway more spacious without the additional bookcase and my room is absolutely perfect now that I've cleared out the extra dresser. I didn't want to leave the apartment this morning. I just wanted to stay home and enjoy it. But I dragged myself to yoga. And that. freaking. sucked.

I don't write about yoga often, there are no words, but lately, it sucks. My wrists hurt so chataranga (like a push up) kills, my ankles are sore so upward dogs/lotus positions kill and my hamstring tears are back in full effect so every single other pose kills as well. It has for the last few weeks and today was just enough. I left the room to cry my big, self-pitying alligator tears in private. So frustrating. And I know it's my head, not my body, but life is settled - I'm settled - so why the head stuff now? Whatever.

All I know is that all I really wanted was to be back in my airy, gorgeous apartment with music playing, cat cuddling, and tea brewing which is exactly what I'm doing. And it's perfect.

the key to a traditional christmas

8am Wednesday morning found me running around my apartment tossing cushions aside, scrambling through coat pockets, and standing idly in the middle of each room, perplexed. I couldn't find my keys anywhere. I missed two buses while I was busy crawling around on the floor looking under couches and I was beginning to get a bit frantic. It really wasn't a good day to be late and I never lock my door anyway so half way through my search I figured 'screw it - I'll just drive' and I would have but I COULDN'T FIND MY KEYS.

Finally, in a last ditch effort, I opened my front door to look outside and, there they were - my keys - still hanging in the keyhole where I'd left them the night before. They jingled happily at me as I opened the door wider to take in what else I'd left in the hallway: my hamper full of clean laundry and several bags of groceries. Apparently I was REALLY tired Tuesday night. As relieved as I was to find everything safe and sound I was a bit peeved; really, keys in the door, grocery bags and folded laundry waiting outside - would it really have killed someone to let themselves in and do me the good turn of putting some things away? What does a girl have to do to get some help ;)

I'm leaving for holidays in less than a week. The full on sprint that has characterized life over the last few months will carry on right up until Thursday night when I head to the airport. This will be the second year in a row that I'll miss Christmas, a fact that my sisters are trying to turn into some kind of 'get out of jail free card' by hinting that, since I don't have to be there, they're going to skip it too.

In an attempt to assuage their sisterly rage I let them in on a little secret I've been carrying for 2 months: I've arranged for a surprise to be delivered to my mom's house Christmas morning. Although I shared this with them in two completely separate conversations, the first words out of both of their mouths when I told them there was going to be a surprise were the exact same: "Is it a stripper?".

Yes girls. I've arranged for a stripper to be delivered to mom's house Christmas morning. After all, what would the holiday be without the time-tested, traditional favourite Christmas stripping elves?

don't worry, be happy

My obsession with the "Don't worry, Be happy" busker continues.

On Saturday as I walked up the stairs of a subway stop on a completely different line from usual I was met with the familiar notes of "Don't worry, Be happy". It was him.

It truly is the only song he sings.

scaredy cat

So. I've been busy. I quite literally have more work to do than hours in the day to do it and it shows. My apartment is a living diary of what I've eaten, worn and read over the last two weeks: newspapers scattered; half-read books tucked away in random corners; yoga clothes hung over doors, cupboards and chairbacks to dry; sweaters and scarves discarded here and there; plates, glasses, coffee cups and take away containers left to sit wherever I happened to be while I was eating. It's gross.

If incessant meowing, licking and running madly up and down the hall are anything to go by, my cat thinks so too. At least, that's what I thought he was trying to say. Ok, I also thought that he might be feeling a bit ignored but figured that, like a good night's sleep, he'd have to hold for a few more days until I get through this crunch. He disagreed. And he was pissed.

After my failure to translate non-stop meowling into "pay attention to me please" he decided to send his message a different way; he went *ahem* number two in the middle of the living room floor. I think the message this time was "pay attention to me NOW". I've been told that cats, normally fastidiously clean, will do things like this when they're angry. That may be so, but not my f'ing cat!

Suffice it to say, he got my attention, but I doubt it was the kind he was hoping for; I kind of lost the plot. We've since made up but it might just be a miracle if the little guy dares to go to the washroom ANYWHERE ever again.

short notes at the end of a long day

Took two spectacular spills today. Kind of like the ones you take when you step onto ice, lose your footing, and do that arm-flailing-trying-not-to-fall dance. Except there was no ice (and thus, no excuse), I was inside and walking on carpet.

"Don't worry, Be happy" was the not-so-surprising busker song of the morning. Made me laugh. Which made him laugh. We had a moment.

Street guy called me beautiful AFTER I told him I didn't have any change. Upon reflection it occurred to me that were it not for streetpeople and family members (who are required to think I'm beautiful, it's in the contract) I'd have made it to the ripe old age of thirtysomething with only the annoying label of 'cute' to call my own.

Same guy asked the person after me if they could "spare half a million dollars". Quite a sense of humour that street guy. Hey, wait a minute...

values

Last night, when I wasn't busy laying awake creating "to do" lists that must be completed NOW, NOW, NOW, I had a dream. I dreamt that my car had been broken into and that I returned to it while the thieves, all three of them, were sorting through their bounty. I tend to treat my car as a second home, a mini apartment of sorts, so there's a lot of stuff in there. Enough stuff that it might seem, at first, like the thieving equivalent of hitting the jackpot, but that illusion wouldn't last long. Really, boxes of work files, old clothes and crappy homemade CD's are the kinds of things that hold a lot of value for me but very little on the black market.


In my dream, I was anxious about what they were taking, I use just about everything I have squirreled away in that car, and ran over to stop them. I was most anxious about my yoga stuff which was in my laundry hamper and an old family photo album that was in a box with a bunch of old work files.

I was able to negotiate that they leave both behind asking what exactly they thought they would do with a bunch of dirty clothes and a box of paper files. They agreed, dropped the hamper and the box, and made off with the other piles of things they'd collected.

Both parties left feeling satisfied: me thinking they were total idiots for overlooking the most valuable things in the car just because they didn't look all that expensive and they thinking I was the idiot for worrying about a bunch of junk instead of all the other, more valuable, things they'd taken.

I woke up from my dream remembering that out of all of the things I had in that car that were taken from me the two that meant the most, and that I fought to keep, were yoga and my family. Interesting what comes up when the "to do" listing stops.

halle-freaking-lujah

Loved my internship today. Looooved it. After spending October paralyzed by fear that I would break someone and wracked with doubts about what I was doing with my life, it was so very great to be in that zone again. That place that felt like not only did I kind of know what I was doing but I kind of didn't totally suck at it either. In fact, I was in my element and I loved it.

As the counsellor on call for crisis/emergency walk-ins I met with clients who were recent assault victims, witnesses to traumatic deaths, and at high risk for suicide. It was intense, I loved it. There's nothing good about those experiences themselves, that the clients had to live through them and will have to live with the ramifications in the days to come is just wrong, but being there in that moment of crisis and helping - that felt good. And I did good.

After months of worrying over my choice of words trying to find the perfect phrasing, about whether or not I was being empathetic enough, and whether I was being too directive; today it came. It was the easiest, most natural thing in the world. I'm used to feeling competent at what I do, to leaving work at the end of each day knowing I did my job well and looking forward to going back the next day so these last few months have been hard. Today was a much needed breath a fresh air and a glimpse into what it could be like if I could just ease up and let myself do what may come naturally if I would just relax into it.

It's a day for loving things, I came across this caption which I also looove:

"Humans cannot come to Truth through any organization, through any creed, through any dogma, priest or ritual, not through any philosophic knowledge or psychological technique. They have to find it through the understanding of the contents of their own minds, through observation and not through intellectual analysis or introspective dissection"
J. Krishnamurti

And, finally, chickens can run up to 15 miles per hour? Can that be true?

catchy little song

The first time I heard the subway busker playing "Don't worry, Be happy", it made my day. Rushing from platform to platform juggling my yoga bag, knapsack, and coffee; feeling slightly harried and aleady running late with the day just starting -the song was perfect. After a couple of weeks, however, the novelty has worn off. It's become less of a happy coincidence to catch that particular song at that particular time and more a realization that it doesn't matter what particular time I pass by, this is the only song he plays. Ever.

This morning as the now familiar sound of "Don't worry, Be happy" met me as I rushed through the subway I felt irritated. Ticked off. Enough with the song. Still, as I drew closer to the spot where the busker stood, I couldn't help myself, I began to smile. Maybe it's the way he peppers the song with little comments, calling out "Happy Monday", "Just take it step by step", and "You'll get there", or maybe it's just that the damn song itself is just so likeable; but by the time I reached him I sported a huge grin and cheerfully greeted him with a "Happy Monday" of my own.

And, yeah, the song has been stuck in my head all morning but, really, there are far worse things then having "Don't worry, Be happy" running on repeat through my mind.

Happy Monday all.

sunday's lesson

Never, ever attempt to drive home when your drive brings you past the annual Royal Agricultural Fair at closing time. Took me an hour to clear the exhibition grounds and would have taken a lot longer were it not for my skillful citygirl driving (shut up ;).

Once finished collecting used coffee cups into a tidy pile, browsing through the glove compartment, and seat-dancing to the Backstreet Boys CD I found hidden deep in the car's recesses; I spent the rest of my time in traffic purgatory pondering the usual existential questions: why did I have to have that last, extra handful of pecans (now I feel sick)?, what the heck did I accomplish this weekend (socializing, eating and sleeping scoring top points; housework, schoolwork and workwork scoring anxiety-inducing low points)?, and the Royal Agricultural Fair - who still goes to that?

Despite the extra hour granted by the traffic jam gods, I never did figure out an answer to that last question. Kind of glad that people do still go though; seems like a nice, wholesome kind of thing to do on a Sunday afternoon. Besides, the 'questions stupid city-folks ask' radio segments that follow the agricultural fair crack me up.

autopilot

Today I stood at the bus stop for 10 minutes waiting for the bus before I remembered that I drove to school today.

What can I say? It's been a busy week :)

tuesday rundown

5.45 yoga, 9.00 meeting at work, 10.30 groceries, 11.00 baked cookies for tomorrow, 12.00 coffee with friend,13.00 project meeting for school, 14.00-20.30 classes, 22.00 home.

It's been a fantastic day and a gorgeous night. After 9 hours indoors it was a relief to step outside into the crisp autumn air so I decided to walk to the next subway stop...and then the next...and then the next...until I ended up just walking the whole way home (after stopping in little Korea to buy walnut cakes from my favourite walnut guy - a girl needs some sustenance).

The walk home has chased away sleep. While blogging can't counter the effects of the night air it does offer a darn good way to put some of the random 'stuff' floating through my mind 'out there' so, here goes:

--was reading the emergency directions for those with mobility impairments at school today (they were there, I was bored). They can be summed up as the following "get to a phone, call xxx extension, and sit tight until someone comes for you". Really? If my institution's emergency plans were that flimsy I think I'd avoid posting them altogether.

--"I joined a gym so that next time I'm attacked, I can run", so stated during a recent intake. I can't shake the matter-of-fact way the student shared this information. Nor can I shake the fact that given her age, her gender and where she lives it very likely is a matter of 'when' not 'if'. The resilience of the clients I work with is as great as their stories are horrific. It's truly humbling.

--recent conversations about love: one person hypothesized that sometimes you love someone until the hurt they inflict grows greater than the love you have for them, and the other was less a conversation than an observation; I. has been married for 37 years, in the time I've known him I've seen him cancel travel plans, care incessantly for an ill wife without complaint, and recently curtail almost all of the activities that sustain him to be there for both his sick wife and her mother (who's not so nice to him). That, too, is love.

--tonight when I stopped to wish on a star (yeah, I still do that), there was nothing to wish for. I gave thanks instead.

A few months ago I put to paper some of the goals/hopes/visions/whatever I held for myself and then promptly forgot about the entry until today while flipping through my journal during class. It's amazing how many of the things I'd envisioned have happened or are well on their way to happening. More than that, it's interesting to see just how much has happened since I've returned to Toronto and to see that (despite myself at times ;) learning is there.

The cookies I mentioned at the beginning of this entry are down four, definately time to get myself to bed before there's nothing left to bring into work tomorrow.

And so ends the longest entry ever :)

I'm attending a series of workshops this weekend presented by A.G Mohan and his son, Ganesh which is very cool; the Mohan family have studied yoga in connection to Ayurveda, physical and mental health extensively and I've been reading their books for years (A.G. Mohan and his wife, Indra, literally wrote the book on Yoga Therapy). Although I was looking forward to the workshops on an intellectual level, interested in what I might learn, I wasn't expecting to be this jazzed. Something happened tonight, I left the workshop filled with a sense of quiet excitement and found myself making plans as I drove home.

More and more I'm interested in yoga as a form of therapy. In keeping with that, more and more I feel like my Masters is just another step in preparing me for something larger instead of the means to an end that it was when I started it (this is both frustrating, another 'beginning' step?, and ridiculously exciting). Mohan studied with Krishnamacharya, as did my teacher Pattabhi Jois, however his approach is quite different from Jois'. Mohan, like Krishnamacharya's son, Desikachar, works with students in individual sessions assessing their needs and creating tailored asana and pranayama programs. I love this.

I planned on travelling to Chennai to study at Desikachar's institute in 2005 before the powers that be brought me to Mysore instead. I've no doubt that Mysore was where I was supposed to be at that time and I can't see myself ever leaving my ashtanga practice, it's as much a part of me as breathing is, but I've never really seen myself teaching it in the traditional way. Actually, I've never seen myself as a yoga teacher, period, but I have always known that I was going to work as a therapist with individuals/groups and that yoga would play some role in that therapy. Lately it feels like the drive to start moving towards that vision won't be put off much longer.

Desikachar runs a 2 year teacher training program that I expect to enroll in one day, there's a teacher training program beginning in Toronto in January and the Mohan's run a 2 month intensive training program every October-November, also in Chennai. It's a good thing I picked up some contract work to carry me through this school year because it looks like I'm going to be a student well beyond April as originally planned ;)

And the Mohans? They were knowledgeable, humble, light and filled with humour. I'm looking forward to the rest of the sessions.

Tuesday

So, yesterday was a good day.

Left the house at 5.30am and returned at 10pm. In between I practiced (lovely), prepared & delivered a presentation (went well), and had 7hours of classes (which were interesting) before catching the subway home. Like I said, a good day.

Except for the fact that yesterday I DROVE into the city.

Lately I've sensed an energy of questioning among those I've met both personally and professionally; not an unhappy or depressed questioning but more a curious one - what else is out there? It's a strange autumn in that sense; far from preparing for a long winter rest, we seem to be rousing ourselves to seek what it is we need. At the same point in time, there's an urgency there, a drive to figure it out now, have the answers now; this I feel very strongly.

Whether I feel frustratingly immobile or amazingly blessed depends so much on the situation. When I think about it, one of the biggest differences is the degree of commitment I bring with me; the very areas where I'm struggling are the same where I haven't actually arrived at a decision yet. In some cases they're also the ones where I've been waiting for others to help with decisions that are mine alone to make. Still, I'm reminded that there's no rush.

Playing with the possibilities is as relevant as committing to a dream. The beauty of this time of year is that the winter provides time to allow our questions to gestate and play with the possibilities that emerge, all we have to do is make room for the dream to form. And, really, there is no rush (I say this more for my benefit than anything else, I seem to have to remind myself a million times a day to just sit with it - whatever it is I'm struggling with - just sit with it. Surely it'll stick one of these days ;)