A message from the upside down

*literally

Dear Kula Diaries,

I’m writing this week’s post from the upside down… literally. Earlier this week, I was unpacking a small stack of postcards from a box at our Kula HQ. I was squatting down to do this when — very suddenly — my back went out. I was overwhelmed by severe pain, and I crumpled to the floor. My husband and my employee Ashley were nearby, and Aaron had to help me stand up. I was barely able to walk. Eventually, I hobbled down our steps to the car. When I made it home, Aaron helped me walk the few steps into our home so that I could lie down in bed to rest my back. To distract myself from the excruciating discomfort, I started writing out this post while awkwardly positioned in my bed - typing upside down on my laptop.

I don’t think that anything ‘serious’ is wrong — I (honestly) think that I just pulled my back out. I’ve done this 3 prior times: once while snow shoveling as a kid, another time while improperly lifting a very heavy, elderly dog that was struggling to go up a flight of steps, and another time while backpacking. It’s incredibly uncomfortable, but I know that — with rest — this too will pass.

It’s funny what happens when you slow down — even when it is seemingly ‘forced’ upon you. Suddenly, the things that you felt very busy about… the ‘important’ things that had an arbitrary sense of urgency to them… they… well… kinda just disappear. It’s a strange sense of being unbelievably present with what is: pain, breathing, and just being. When you have to struggle to take one step, there isn’t much room to ‘worry’ about anything else.

While I wouldn’t wish this type of pain or discomfort upon my worst enemy, I have to say: It’s humbling. It’s a beautiful reminder of the things that we often take for granted: the ability to move freely. The ability to move quickly. The ability to reach for something on a shelf. The ability to put socks on our feet. The ability to walk or take a step without even considering the motion itself. And yet, right now, every movement that I make feels deliberate and sacred — I notice every little twinge, every twitch, every muscle that works hard to help my body move in the infinite twisty ways that I don’t sense very often. In a strange way, pain has the ability to help us feel more alive — present in our bodies to what is happening. We are pulled from our mind, and forced to be with the discomfort — fully. There is no denying it… no worrying that can wish it away. We have one choice: to be with it. Being angry or upset about it only makes it worse, because it increases not only our physical discomfort, but also our mental agony — which is often more intense.

Cinder, relaxing in Homestead 2, which is getting more and more close to being finished!

On a ‘normal’ day in my life, I walk anywhere from 5-10 miles per day. And so, you can imagine, that it feels strange for my walking routine to come to a screeching halt. Yesterday morning, I was able to walk for a few hundred feet — back and forth in front of my house. Sometimes, on my normal walks, I find myself feeling distracted and busy — thinking about my to-do list or other things that are on my mind. Yes, I’m walking — but am I really there all the time? Am I present to the overwhelming beauty around me? Am I listening to the birds and feeling my feet on the ground — or am I lost in an imaginary world in my mind… one that dulls the vibrant green of the world around me? Today, when I walked, each step was so intentional — because it had to be. I felt each step — each time my foot delicately pressed upon the ground. I could feel the earth gently pressing back. I heard the dozens of birds singing around me — a Towhee, a Robin, a Dipper… the buzz of a humming bird. In that slowing down… in the shortest of all the walks I’ve taken in the past 5 years of living here… the world came back to life.

And so, I’m here today — simply to say that if you haven’t thanked your body for the incredible things that it does for you, don’t miss the opportunity. Dance… or jog… or run… or walk… or bike… or paddle… or climb… or hike… or skate… or whatever it is that feels fun for you, and be present to the remarkable ways that your body can move. Say thank you for its movement and it’s ability to twist and stretch and bend! Savor the feeling of vitality and aliveness that lives within each of us at all times. And, most importantly, slow down. Don’t let what you’re doing be a means to an end. Feel the sensations of living — and don’t be apart from them. Be a part of life — not simply drifting through it. Let each moment — particularly the challenging ones — show us how we may be more present and mindful to the beauty that surrounds us at all times.

If you have a few moments today, this is one of my favorite meditations for simply coming home to myself:

Friends, you are loved so much — take care of yourself!