mindfulness

Embody

December 16, 2023 By Allison

Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu was on this morning’s agenda, but a strained wrist is keeping me cozy at home. I am bummed to miss class and wonder which techniques I’d have practiced—takedowns, choke holds, hooks? But my tender wrist is telling me exactly what I need to do today: rest.

In the last few years, rigorous exercise has taken me out of my mind and placed me squarely in my body. While the language of ideas has always come naturally to me, the language of sports has not. I am a timid athlete. In elementary school, I was too polite to fight for the basketball. As a young tennis player, I had fun learning forehand and backhand but felt overwhelmed by the prospect of lobbing the ball. I grew into a scholar and participated primarily in gentle activities such as hiking, yoga, and brisk walks. Even now, I am competitive with myself but never with others.

I am not drawn to team sports, but strenuous exercise has done wonders for me. Thanks to regular weight training, I’m calmer and steadier in my movements. I am coordinated, strong, and light on my feet. I have learned to listen closely to my body’s messages, and it inevitably tells me what I need to know. Sleep a little more. Blow off steam at the gym. Walk away from this person.

This embodied existence is new to me. Intense exercise has taught me how to balance body and spirit. I have not abandoned a life of the mind, but I am now less likely to get locked in ideas and lost in intellectual questions. I am comfortable in the weight room and seek to be part of an inclusive athletic culture at my gym and on my campus.

Though my confidence has grown in the last two years, I remain intimidated by Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu. As I knot my white belt and get ready to step on the mat, I acknowledge a nervous tummy. I feel out of my element. Drills are invigorating and practicing new techniques is stimulating, but putting the pieces together and grappling with classmates overwhelms me. When it becomes too much, I back away and learn through watching rather than doing. I am still dabbling, curious though not quite ready to let myself go in the calculated movements of the martial art. I want to embody the grace of Jiu-Jitsu. When the time is right, my anxiety will melt away, uniting body and spirit.

Inspirations

Feeling Safe in My Body

Luxurious Boredom

Disenfranchised Grief: Ways to Deal and Heal

December 31, 2021 By Allison

Each of us has built a collection of seemingly small losses in the last few years—cancelled trips, lost time with family, missed events like graduations and weddings. The accumulation of these disappointments weighs heavy and cultivates disenfranchised grief. This type of grief is difficult to identify, and a lot of us feel guilty honoring it. When others have suffered more, what right do we have to mourn our more minor losses?

I believe it is essential to acknowledge disenfranchised grief, to speak it to someone with whom we feel safe, and then to find alternative ways to enact small joys. I’ve recently felt a diffused, latent grumpiness. I didn’t understand why my temper was short, and I didn’t know why I was feeling emotional. When I paused and went within, I realized that my quiet little griefs had brought on a palpable mood shift. The second I acknowledged my disenfranchised grief, I felt the tension in my shoulders ease a bit. It’s okay to feel sad for the lost moments with loved ones and the vacations that never happened. As I let my grief evolve, I distract myself in lighthearted ways. The feelings of disappointment will diminish, and in the meantime, I counterbalance my grief with happy activities.

Memory Travel

With travel severely restricted and very stressful, I’ve mostly traveled through my past. The last two weeks, my 2015 trip to Italy’s Val d’Orcia has been on my mind. I’m reliving the early mornings on the deck, when the sun came up over the valley, the wild boars squealed, and the birds chirped. Day after day, I’ve been seeing the glorious Tuscan hills in my third eye and almost tasting the fruity olive oil we drizzled on our pasta. Rather than leave me with a sense of loss, my Italian reveries are fulfilling and hopeful.

Awaken the Senses

Throughout the pandemic, the kitchen has been my happy place. Meal preparation calls upon multiple senses. I see the bright produce I pull from the grocery shelves, touch the ingredients as I chop, smell the herbs as I rub them between my fingers, hear the vegetables sizzle in the olive oil, and taste the dish resulting from my labor. After tinkering with my winter minestrone soup, I am ready to share my recipe, found at the end of this post. Please make it your own! Dried beans are even more delicious than canned, and dried herbs can be used in a pinch. My winter minestrone will adjust to your whims, your pantry, and your senses.

Work It Out on the Mat

Sometimes the best way to deal with grief is through movement. This week, my yoga mat has been a place of respite. I admit I’m not pushing myself hard. My exercise is slow and intentional. In the weeks to come, I’ll be ready for more rigor. But for now, I just need to process loss and disappointment. I am learning that acknowledging my grief is uplifting.

Winter Minestrone

Created by aconnolly24 on December 30, 2021

Yield: 6 servings
Category: Celebrations, Dinner, Soups

Ingredients

1/4 c extra-virgin olive oil, plus more for serving
Parmesan cheese, grated
1/4 c extra-virgin olive oil, plus more for serving
1 medium-large onion
2 ribs celery, diced
2 carrots, diced
3 cloves garlic, sliced or chopped
1/2 tsp. chopped rosemary
1 tsp. chopped sage
1 bay leaf
1 can diced tomatoes (14.5 oz)
1 bunch kale, stemmed, washed, and chopped
1/2 butternut squash, peeled and cut into ¼ inch cubes
4 c water
1 can cannellini or great northern beans, drained and rinsed
salt and pepper

Instructions

Warm olive oil over medium heat and sauté onion until light gold, about 8 minutes. Add celery and carrots to pot with 2 tsp salt, and cook to a rich golden brown, about 8-10 minutes. Add kale, garlic, rosemary, bay leaf, and sage. Cook over med-low heat for about 5 minutes, taking care to keep the garlic and herbs from burning. Add water and tomatoes, turn up heat, and simmer for 15 minutes. Add squash and cook until tender, about 15 minutes. Then, add the beans and cook until heated through. Remove the bay leaf. If soup is too thick, thin with hot water. Serve in bowls, garnishing each with a drizzle of extra-virgin olive oil and one spoonful grated Parmesan cheese. Variation: For a thicker soup, use two cans of beans.
Warm olive oil over medium heat and sauté onion until light gold, about 8 minutes. Add celery and carrots to pot with 2 tsp salt, and cook to a rich golden brown, about 8-10 minutes. Add kale, garlic, rosemary, bay leaf, and sage. Cook over med-low heat for about 5 minutes, taking care to keep the garlic and herbs from burning. Add water and tomatoes, turn up heat, and simmer for 15 minutes. Add squash and cook until tender, about 15 minutes. Then, add the beans and cook until heated through. Remove the bay leaf. If soup is too thick, thin with hot water. Serve in bowls, garnishing each with a drizzle of extra-virgin olive oil and one spoonful grated Parmesan cheese. Variation: For a thicker soup, use two cans of beans.

Inspirations

New York Times on disenfranchised grief

Slow Looking

Beauty in Grief

The Nourishing Power of Gentleness

December 10, 2021 By Allison

©Danesh Mazloomdoost

“Once in a while we meet a gentle person. Gentleness is a virtue hard to find in a society that admires toughness and roughness. […] Gentle is the one who does ‘not break the crushed reed, or snuff the faltering wick.’ Gentle is the one who is attentive to the strengths and weaknesses of the other and enjoys being together more than accomplishing something. A gentle person treads lightly, listens carefully, looks tenderly, and touches with reverence. A gentle person knows that true growth requires nurture, not force. Let’s dress ourselves with gentleness.” –Henri Nouwen

One evening several weeks back, I experienced a transformative moment that continues to stir in me. It was a delicious fall evening. The air was cooling, and the trees were still green. Night had not fallen, but the blue hour was approaching.

My friend and I were leaving his office, laughing about God knows what. When we stepped out, we encountered a young woman in crisis. Her clothes hung off her bony frame, she was covered in sores, and she seemed to be doing some sort of distressed dance on the lawn.

I was startled and scared for her, and I froze. My friend maintained his calm. He approached her gingerly and asked what was wrong. His voice was steady and soothing.

The young woman was apparently addicted to heroin, had been clean for seven months, and had recently relapsed after the death of her uncle. She was sobbing. Her story was disjointed, but her fear was clear.

She asked us to call an ambulance to take her to the University of Kentucky hospital. As we waited with her, my friend maintained his compassionate, caring way. He saw her, acknowledged her, and validated her. He trod lightly, listened carefully, looked tenderly, and treated her with reverence. Though I mostly stayed quiet, I held a space of compassion for both of them.

Within about 3 minutes, firefighters, EMTs, and police officers arrived. The lights and sirens were jolting, and it must have been overwhelming for her to suddenly be surrounded by nine men in surgical masks. But they were kind to her and helped her to the ambulance. As she lay on the gurney, she thanked us profusely.

I have always admired my friend’s steady demeanor. He is a gentle soul through and through. That evening he reminded me that gentleness is life-giving. His tender approach fortified a young person in crisis. He helped her find the courage to wait for the ambulance and to maybe seek help.

His gentleness also nourished me. I witnessed its power to soothe and effect change. After a long day at the office, he exercised focus, restraint, and compassion. I aspire to this. I have since deepened my commitment to gentleness and its beauty. I imagine wearing it like a cloak, flowing softly and creating an aura of safety and tenderness.

Inspirations

Self-Soothing in Hard Times

Extreme Rest

Between, Within, Beneath

Resting Bench

February 6, 2021 By Allison

“I am that living and fiery essence of the divine substance that glows in the beauty of the fields. I shine in the water, I burn in the sun and the moon and the stars.” –Hildegard of Bingen (1098-1179)

The bancs-reposoirs (“resting benches”) of Alsace are sandstone memories of 19^th-century peasant life. Spaced about 2 kilometers apart on well-traveled ways, the benches provided a place of rest for farmers headed into town on market day. Women, who carried their goods in baskets on their heads, placed them on the lintel topping the structure. The resting benches were often shaded by linden trees.

Throughout Alsace, about 170 bancs-reposoirs remain, built in 1811 and 1854. Found along a windy road in Hilsenheim, France, this bench offered a moment of respite to people carrying a heavy load. Visiting it in the 21^st century, I try to imagine the trek to the next town and the weight of the wheat and bran the women carried on their heads. What emotional burdens weighed on them? What were their passions? Did they enjoy aspects of this work?

It goes without saying that there is a disparity in experience between 19^th-century Alsatian peasants and a 21^st-century college professor from across the ocean. Though as I trace my finger on the lichen covering the stone, I remember that time is fluid and that in this spot, the centuries touch. I sit on the same resting bench. The landscape I take in resembles the backdrop of their lives—neat fields, spring greens, unruly grasses in the ditch. They may have felt a similar May breeze on their skin. Stone, place, and air connect us.

This moment also reminds me that rest is essential. The world is currently burdened by a pandemic. After almost a year of living in crisis mode, we need to sit on our own figurative resting benches. Let us stop and catch our breath. Let us remember our fiery essences. Let us also be still and smile, seeing how we glow in the fields, shine in the water, and burn in the heavens.

Extreme Rest

September 28, 2019 By Allison

Every so often I take a day or two to engage in extreme rest. I have created a structured life for myself, so it is never convenient, never easy to drop everything in favor of rest. But I’ve found that stillness staves off burnout. Letting my thoughts fall away energizes me. And successive naps in the span of a few days reengage my creativity, helping me to maintain levity and optimism.

So what does extreme rest involve? It is boring! My quiet interludes are lazy. I can hardly read a page without dozing off. I find it difficult to get lost in a series on Netflix. I putter, I take walks, I do a little yoga. I may try a new recipe, but I am more likely to live on avocado toast and eggs. I always sip tea. I always put the phone away. I never push myself. I am unambitious.

Life has its glamorous moments—trips abroad, professional achievements, family milestones—and those events should be celebrated. I propose that we also honor downtime. Occasional spans of extreme rest are necessary parts of my self-care. Taking care of oneself goes beyond massages, manicures, and a night out with the girls. For me, self-care is a harmonious blend of the sense of purpose I find in work and family, carefree escapes from my responsibilities, and the diligent, daily work that involves rest, nourishment, and exercise. Extreme rest is incompatible with Instagram and against the ethos of Twitter. Yet, for me, it is a delicious, indulgent, and necessary element of life.

Inspirations

Luxurious Boredom

Light and Sky

Hygge for One

Nana Ding: Lessons of Tea

October 2, 2018 By Allison

…le mouvement de la vie est pris dans un réseau de constants échanges et d’entrecroisements
…the movement of life exists in a network of continual exchanges and intertwinements
François Cheng, Cinq méditations sur la beauté

Nana Ding’s tea shop is on a quaint street in Strasbourg, France. Quiet and elegant, the rue des Charpentiers winds behind the Gothic cathedral. When I was visiting in March, her toasty shop was a welcome escape from Strasbourg’s damp and chilly weather. When you step into Nana Ding Thés d’Exception, you enter a tea haven. Delicate Chinese tea objects occupy every shelf and corner—tiny Yixing tea pots, painted gaiwans, fragile tea bowls, all selected by Nana Ding during her trips to China. Behind the counter reside rare and special teas that she sources from China. Puerhs, oolongs, rock teas, green teas, red teas, white teas… how to choose?!

Madame Ding and I spent two lovely mornings together, infusing, sipping, and observing. Our encounter felt hushed and sacred. The teas she shared with me were ethereal. A green tea from Sichuan Province that we steeped six times and a red tea from Yunnan Province harvested from uncultivated tea trees that are more than 2,000 years old. I found both teas to be otherworldly and subtle.

I often sip exceptional teas with tea-loving friends. Over tea, we learn from one another. Nana Ding taught me that the tea itself speaks to us. Each infusion seemed to unlock and share a lesson—lessons that I continue to unravel, many months after our tea mornings.

Since those blustery March moments, I have taken to honoring the tea leaf. I sip more slowly, I infuse more respectfully, and I attune myself to the messages that each tiny cup of tea offers me.

…the movement of life exists in a network of continual exchanges and intertwinements

Nana Ding Thés d’Exception
13 rue des Charpentiers
67000 Strasbourg

Snowy Day Breakfast Salad

January 27, 2018 By Allison

Here at the hermitage, in deep snow, everything is ordinary and silent.
—Thomas Merton, 1963

Last week, snow slowed me down. After many busy weeks, I welcomed a few quiet, snowy mornings. I moved slowly and intentionally. Minutes and hours seemed to expand. These mornings were ordinary and uneventful. I gave more time to waking up and more time to breakfast.

My “breakfast salad” is so simple that it doesn’t require a recipe. But it does have a few components and is not for busy work mornings.

Here’s how to pull it together:

“Jammy” Eggs

Bring saucepan of water to a gentle boil. As water is coming up to temperature, prepare an ice water bath in a large bowl. Place on counter, next to burner. Once water boils, use a large spoon to ease eggs into the bowl, one by one. Boil gently, for 6.5 minutes. (7 minutes if you want a more solid yolk.) Use spoon to move eggs from saucepan to ice water bath, to stop cooking. When they’re cool enough to handle, remove peels under running water. Set peeled eggs aside.

Bread

Prepare toast and set aside. I made pita toast last week. Use whatever bread you have on hand. No need for butter.

Salad

Chop English cucumber, tomatoes, and radishes in to bite-sized pieces. Place in a small bowl. Toss with a little extra virgin olive oil, lemon juice, salt, and pepper. If you don’t mind onion in the morning, add a little red or green onion. Set aside.

Yogurt Base

For each serving, scoop 3-4 generous tablespoons of whole milk or Greek yogurt into another small bowl. Squeeze juice of ½ lemon into yogurt, more if you’re preparing multiple servings. Add a pinch of salt and stir. Spread onto breakfast plate(s). Set aside.

Assembly

Gently place salad on yogurt. Slice eggs(s) the long way and nestle into the yogurt. Drizzle a little extra virgin olive oil, squeeze a little lemon juice, and sprinkle with salt and pepper (Piment d’Espelette, if you have it.) Serve with toast.

Revel in your slow morning.

Light and Sky

January 8, 2018 By Allison

“Space is the breath of art.”
–Frank Lloyd Wright

Sometimes big cities suffocate me. It seems that every inch of space is occupied by buildings, kiosks, and concrete. I often find myself needing more green and more sky.

My recent trip to New York was bitterly cold, and the wind was brutal. Venturing out was a process and a challenge, but my walks were freeing—the icy wind invigorating, the snowflakes dreamy. Ice and snow dotted grey-green Central Park. I easily weaved my way through the crowds on 5^th avenue, stumbled into a toasty bookstore when my toes were too cold, and late one afternoon, found a French bistro serving soupe au pistou.

The constant chill of those days froze my senseless, minor worries, and the wind then blew them away. Amongst and between the traffic and skyscrapers, I reclaimed my inner spaciousness. New York gave breath to an elegant artfulness that refreshed and reset my own desire to create. I bring home color, texture, light, and sky.

Inspirations

Afternoon Tea in Astor Court

Pablo Picasso’s Bird on a Tree at the Guggenheim

Odilon Redon’s Pandora at the Met

Mozart and Tchaikovsky at Lincoln Center

Embroidery II

October 21, 2017 By Allison

Two threads of opaque light

At One with

Invisible needles,

Moving in and out of silent space

Embroidering,

Creating colors unseen

A work of art,

Felt in the Heart

This post was created in collaboration with the lovely Shelley Richardson.

Inspiration

Embroidery

Our Imperative

October 6, 2017 By Allison

During my last visit to Paris, I spied a few of these messages of love, all sprayed by the same hand. They delighted me. Moving about Paris can be stressful, especially given the security measures of recent years—more soldiers, more police vehicles, more security checks. In short, more fear.

The unexpected love signs were an antidote to the tensions. They brought a pause, a smile, and a reminder of loving kindness. This week, in the wake of mind-numbing violence in my own country, people are grasping for words. I have not pieced together my own thoughts, and I don’t know that I will. Yet the Paris love graffiti wells up in me. Its clear, direct message resonates. Love is an imperative. Love is our duty, our privilege, and our pleasure. And this week, it is our balm.