Save me Winter Park; A Rocky Mountain Christmas

This time of year brings out the child in us all. So I suppose it is legitimate to admit that I cried my eyes out when I received my Christmas packages from my Grandma and my Dad.

My parents split before I could recall any part of their marital status. For me, this never meant a lack of love or joy over the holidays. In fact, this meant a year after year tradition that would mold me and fulfill me in many ways. I never questioned as a child why Santa came twice for me; my Grandmother made this happen. I never questioned if Mom was lonely on Christmas morning when she scraped together her Christmas savings to ensure we had an abundant tree to be shared by the two of us.

I have taken an incredible leap of faith this year that has deleted my annual salary by $17,000 and has also forced me to adjust the holiday traditions that I have clung to for 23 years. Every year Mom buys us an ornament that symbolizes the year we have just lived so that when we leave home we have a full Pine display of our childhood. I can’t begin to imagine one object that could describe this past year. Maybe a measuring stick for I  have grown in so many facets, but still have much more room to be a student.

Lesson one is to recall that this is not the first time that my traditions have been toyed with. I remember having to leave the room the first time I had to share my Christmas morning with Mom. I was so upset that I was losing her. Little did I know I would fall very much in love with this family that she was creating. Lesson two is to remember that I do not love or receive love any less by being distant. My Grandma Jasin taught me this as I enjoyed Christmas Eve most because our family seemed so large. Growing up I did not know blood relative from close family friend because she knitted us all together as one. I can only hope to hold a piece of this mentality this Christmas.

I am very lucky to have family and friends to miss over the Holidays. I am also not lacking one bit. To appease myself, I took a step outside at the sundown over my beloved mountains. There are twinkling Christmas lights tucked away in those mountains and every time I look out I know that I have made the right choice. I know that there is something incredible to be completed by me in this next chapter. I am ready for this journey.

I hope that I have lived thus far in a way that projects my adoration for my extended family, friends included of course. I hope that everyone this year has their very own horizon to look to for peace and balance. If you do not, I am more than happy to share my Rocky Mountain magic with anyone in need.

Peace. Love. Merriest Christmas.

 

This is my message to you, ooo ooo.

I watched the “Marley” (2012) documentary last night. I expected screen shots of Bob’s home country that I grew significantly in and learned to adore. I expected a celebration of the music that sprinkled my childhood with light heartedness. I expected an explanation of how marijuana can bring you closer to God. What I did not expect was a rush of emotion and contemplation for my generation.

Parts of this documentary made me nervous because it is always an eye opening experience when your idols show vulnerabilities. We experience this with musicians, politicians, religious figures…even yoga instructors. If you’re lucky, these vulnerabilities will only widen your heart a little bit more for these icons to shape our perspectives. I caught myself forming mental judgments. “What do you mean Bob wasn’t faithful to one woman? What is this Three Little Birds bullshit?” “What do you mean Bob didn’t go in for routine checks on his growing cancer?” “What do you mean Bob thought women that changed their appearance from anything other than their natural state were ugly?”

Bob quickly reminded me. It is not my definition of wealth in this life that matters. It was his own definition. I saw what Bob’s words did to Jamaica first hand during two mission trips I attended in 2004 and 2005. The second I stepped into this country, I was greeted with a “welcome home.” Welcome home indeed. When you step outside the lines of the white sand beaches and all inclusive hotels, you see a landscape of simplicity that Western definition would belittle. If poverty is defined as a lack of monetary wealth, a less than satisfactory education and employment market and few export goods then yes, Jamaica is an impoverished country. If poverty is defined as a lack of zest for life, laughter and the ability to create abundance…then Jamaica is one of the richest lands I have walked.

Amidst jumping obstacles, I have structured my life on how I can find this same air to my mind and heart. I have found it in yoga and sharing yoga. I have found it in music. Sometimes when you combine the two something spectacular happens.  When Angie and I first went through yoga teacher training, we looked at each other and said, “Wow. Yoga can cure the world.” There is something to be said about movement, but there is more to be said about message. Bob Marley reached the entire globe with a message of love. Today my heart searches for a revolutionary that we seem to have lost.

Yesterday there was a shooting in CT where 20 children’s lives were taken. I am overwhelmed by the alarmed voice of social media. Is this enough? Have we succumbed to the fact that making a statement on a digital realm is enough? Yes, I have seen beautiful things come from mass communication. But are we still brave enough to stand in front of a crowd, fearing gun shots and violence, and look humanity in the eye and say the answer is love? Not a million loves, but just One. Love.?

Of this I am still unsure, but if my plea for revolutionary love reaches you in any way…I encourage you to share it. Every day. Share it.