Tuesday, January 15, 2008

January 2008 Christine's Corner

I imagine that few people would name January as their favorite month—the holidays are over; spring is still many weeks away; and for those of us who live in northern climates, the weather can be very unpleasant, even treacherous. This January, however, I’m reminded of a quote often attributed to Mark Twain: “Everything in moderation, including moderation.” Certainly the period between Thanksgiving and the New Year is a time when being immoderate is expected and encouraged, but come January it’s probably a good idea to start practicing moderation again.

Instead of equating moderation with deprivation, though, I think it’s helpful to think of it as offering an opportunity for calm, introspection, and renewal. In a similar way, although January doesn’t bring the excitement of December, the blooming of May, or the color of October, I find that its austerity can actually be restorative. After the holidays I enjoy the peace that comes with fewer obligations and the beautiful simplicity of a snow-covered landscape without the sparkle of electric holiday lights. I welcome the time to slow down and appreciate the many small things that often get overlooked at busier times of year; in January something as seemingly insignificant as a cup of hot tea on a cold day can feel like a real gift. And I must admit, for me personally, I find the energy and wonder of the New Year to hold such promise of new life that I find it nearly as intriguing and filled with promise as the holidays.

I believe that one of the essential elements of leading a balanced life is living in the moment. In many ways, of course, this is impossible; we must save for retirement and plan for emergencies. But there are ways we can cut down on the time and energy wasted on mourning what’s past or yearning for what’s to come. Appreciating the tranquility and minimalism of January is one way to do this.

It recently occurred to me that if we focus too closely on the future, we end up wishing away the present. If I catch myself doing this, longing for June in January, for example, I try to remember that I would not want to give up all the time with friends and family, all the laughter, all the opportunities for personal growth that will happen in those intervening months. Time is precious—and fleeting—and I don’t want to spend it wishing it away.

For Christians and Jews (and anyone who’s ever heard the Pete Seeger song!), the following verses from Ecclesiastes can provide a powerful reminder of the importance—and ultimate inevitability—of living in the present.

To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven:

A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;

A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;

A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;

A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;

A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away;

A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;

A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.

There is indeed a time to plant and a time to pluck up that which is planted—and there’s also a time for January and a time for June, a time for snow and a time for flowers, a time for moderation and a time for excess.

With all of this perpetual change, however, it can be comforting to remember that some things are constant, such as our breath, which sustains us our whole life long. The very constancy of the breath means we usually don’t pay attention to it, though. It goes on without our having to do anything at all, which makes it easy to take for granted. But what a miracle that it continues even while we sleep!

It may seem silly to refer to a basic function of life as a miracle—what could be more mundane than breathing?—but acknowledging the remarkable in the everyday can increase our feelings of gratitude, make us more mindful, and remind us that beauty and sacredness are all around. And what better time of year to appreciate the simplicity of the breath than in January, when we also have the opportunity to appreciate the simplicity of a pared-down schedule and a barren landscape?

By focusing on the breath, we focus inward. We notice the air moving through our mouths and noses; we notice the rising and falling of our chests; we notice the filling and emptying of our lungs, those extraordinary organs that supply our blood with oxygen; we even notice the steam we produce outside in cold weather.

By noticing our breath, we can tune in to our emotions and our state of mind as well. Is our breathing deep and calm, or is it shallow and ragged? By changing our breath, by reminding ourselves to breathe deeply and fully, we can actually decrease anxiety and increase our sense of well-being.

When we do good things for our bodies—getting enough sleep, exercising, eating right—we tend to concentrate on the outward effects; we’re proud of our lost weight, toned muscles, and tightened skin. But the most important consequences of treating our bodies well happen on the inside, and by being aware of our breath, we can remember to be mindful of all the organs and tissues that keep us going.

Breath is an integral part of many spiritual practices, including varied forms of yoga, meditation, and prayer. It provides a natural rhythm and a way to focus the mind, which, in turn, help practitioners connect to spirit. But you don’t have to follow a particular practice to be more conscious of your breathing. All it takes is some inward attention and a few quiet moments—which may be easier to find in January than any other month. Maybe the best resolution any of us can make is to be more mindful and appreciative of the present moment—whatever it is.

Happy New Year.

posted by Christine, 9:38 AM