Since late October I’ve been practicing Yoga for Beauty in my living room.  I have two DVDs.  One for dawn, and one for dusk.

I practice five to seven times a week.

I love it.

The practice of breathing, stretching, and rooting down into my beauty has been vital to loving my way out of depression and anxiety.

Recently, feelings of failure started sneaking into my practice.  I noticed them whenever I dwelled on – still – not being able to float.

(It’s a transition pose.  The first 10 seconds of the video linked here will show you exactly what it looks like.) 

Lately, I’ve been doing a lot of research into the Law of Attraction and Visualization.  There are so many ancient and modern texts written on these subjects – but, so far, here’s how I boil them all down:

You get what you give.

The Law of Attraction is pure and perfect.  It dictates that whatever you fixate on, you get more of.  So, for example, my dwelling on NOT being able to float is actually what kept the pose out of my reach.

The Visualization part of the law is the first step in attracting what you want.  Apparently, first you “see” what it is you want – then, you need to “feel” already having it – then, the doing (as I understand it) kind of takes care of itself.

This isn’t to say that I believe you (or I) don’t have to do anything.  I think we have to do quite a bit.  It’s just that we don’t have to worry about what it is we have to do.  The path, the work, the how we get to what we want – that’s what is revealed.

A really easy way for me to initially grasp the concept was the adage: fake it until you make it.

And, when “fake” felt a little harsh for me, I turned it into: let your imagination take it until you make it.

Lately, I’ve been trying to find small ways to mindfully implement the Law of Attraction and Visualization into my day-to-day, and this morning it occurred to me that my float was a good place to start.

So, instead of dreading the moment  when my teacher (Rainbeau Mars) gently suggested that it was time to float – I saw it, felt it, and enjoyed it as the success it already was.

Briggs and Ken were already downstairs and I let myself feel giddy over them seeing me float for the first time.

And, then.  That’s exactly what happened.

For the first time EVER in this transition pose I felt my legs stay straight and my feet float off my mat and up to my hands.

“WOW!”  I cheered.

“What?” Briggs asked.

“I just floated.  I just floated.”

“Good job, Mum.”  Briggs said, as he immediately went back to his breakfast.

“Nice,” Ken whispered from the stove.

I floated three more times during the practice.  Each time a bit more successful than the last.

At the end of the hour, while sitting in Namaste (sitting criss-cross applesauce with your hands together at your chest in prayer position), I do exactly as Rainbeau asks, and I seal in the benefits of the practice by giving thanks.

I am thankful for trying.  I am thankful for the courage to keep coming back into my body.  I am thankful for the library and all the knowledge I’ve borrowed.  I am thankful for the strength and unyielding support of my family.

I am thankful that I now know that letting go and giving in have absolutely nothing to do with giving up.

I didn’t post yesterday.

Here’s why:

I’ve decided to return to work full-time.

This is a good thing.  I feel good at my job.  I’m making significant headway, and I’m still finding time for yoga, writing, therapy, and the ultimate source of my joy – home and family.

But, the switch in hours is still a transition.  And transitions, sometimes are tricky.

I had a really successful day at the office, but I lost track of time and left twenty-minutes late.  Though, instead of beating myself up, I simply call my saintly daycare provider and say:

“I just left the office.  I should get to you by five.  But, it might be a little later.”

“It’s no problem at all,” she assures me.

I spend the whole ride jamming to the Uptown Funk station on Pandora.  I feel good about putting in a full week.  Meeting my deadlines.

I’m excited to pick up Briggs and take him with me to a reading with John Jacobs at a local bookstore.

John is one of the co-founders of Life is Good.  Where I work.  He and his brother Bert (the other co-founder), have recently released a book with the same name as their company.

When I get to Briggs (at ten past five), he’s in a fantastic mood.  Pumped for the Friday night trip to the bookstore, and our prearranged deal:  I promised a cookie and a new book, and he promised to be a good listener for John.

(He’s met John before at the office – even played hide and go seek with him.  To say the least, Briggs is a big fan of John.)

Briggs and I get to the book store with about 15 minutes to spare.  Once parked, I let him crawl up to the front seat while I quickly do my makeup.  Once my face is where I want it, I run around to the passenger’s side to get Briggs out.

There’s a really cold wind blowing and he doesn’t want to put on his coat.

He’s very stuck on our deal regarding the cookie and the book, and before exiting the vehicle, he’d like to know in which order everything is about to go down.

“Can I get the cookie first, then my book, then be a good listener for John?” he asks – all while refusing to put his arms in his coat sleeves.

Through the debacle, I notice a very kind, young man standing by the trunk of the car next to us.

“Bubba,” I say to Briggs, “this nice man is trying to get going and we’re holding him up.”

“It’s really no rush,” I hear him say from afar.

I look over my shoulder, smile, tell him that I’m grateful for his patience.

Briggs finally gets out of the car – though, it’s meant abandoning the coat.

“Okay, let me just get my wallet and then we get your cookie, then go hear John talk, then pick out a book…deal?”

Briggs considers the proposition for a moment.  “Okay, deal,” he finally caves, slumped shoulders and all.

“Thanks, Lovey.”

I continue to rummage through my laptop bag for my wallet.

It’s not there.

I check the shopping bag, holding the colored pencils that I’d bought on the way into the office earlier that morning.

It’s not there.

Then, I remember.

There’s a third bag.  The one I used to carry my lunch…that I’d thrown my wallet in around midday…and left, under my desk.

“Bud?”

“Yeah, Mum?”

“I forgot my wallet at work.”

“Okay.”

“That means I don’t have any money.”

His eyes go wide and he take a long, deep inhale.  “That means no cookie and no book, doesn’t it?”

“Not necessarily,” I say.  “Dad has to come by this way and I can call him and see if he can meet us here, but it means we have to change our deal.  Good listener for John, wait for Dad – then cookie, then book.”

He doesn’t hesitate.

“That’s still a good deal, Mum.  High-five.”

The extremely patient man who’s been standing by the back of his car, waiting to get out of the cold wind, smiles wide.

“You’ve got a good one there,” he says.

“I do.  Thanks again.  You were really wonderful to wait so long for us.”

“It’s nothing, really.”

We shake hands and then Briggs and I hightail it into the store.

The first person we see is a lovely co-worker, who after hearing about the wallet, and the cookie, and the book, immediately pulls out three dollars.

“How about you get your cookie first?” she asks Briggs.

He lights up and so do I.

The event is going to start a little late, so Briggs and I have time to get the cookie and when we return, the kind, young, patient man has reappeared.  He’s standing next to my benevolent co-worker and says:

“It sounds like you might be having a bit of a hard night, and when I was going to leave I noticed your interior light was still on.  I figured a dead battery wouldn’t help, so I came back in to find you.”

I’m blown away by his kindness.

“Thank you so much.  That’s so above and beyond.”

“Really, it’s nothing,” he says again.

I walk out to my car, turn out the light, and soon after John arrives.  Before he starts his reading, John makes a point to say hi to Briggs and give him a fist-bump.  Briggs lights up all over again.

Early into John’s talk, my husband arrives, Briggs is able to get his book, duck out early, and it just feels like everybody’s won.

Despite not getting out of work “on time,” despite not having my wallet, despite Briggs refusing to put on his coat, despite leaving the car’s interior light on.

The good that was intended for me still got to me.

That’s why it was no big deal, once I get home and realize that my laptop’s power cord was also in the bag, at work, with my wallet.

Instead of dwelling on the fact that I couldn’t write a blog post, I reflected back on a passage John had read from his and his brother’s book:

“Our Mom was the first powerful optimist in our lives.”

And I realize – maybe for the first time – that, now, I’m the powerful optimist in Briggs’s life.  And maybe there were a bunch of circumstances on this day that weren’t “perfect” – but, turns out, they were all still good.

And instead of being fueled by fear or worry or stress, my son saw his Mom, take a breath.  Ask for help.  Accept kindness.  Lean on family.  Laugh it off.  And take it all in.

And it was with that peace of mind that I decided – forgetting the wallet and the power cord wasn’t a mistake.  It was a reminder.

A reminder, that sometimes you need to let others be the ones to give.  And when a “night-off” presents itself – take it – love it – and, drop into it.

(John Jacobs reading a passage about his Mom, Joan from Life is Good, the book.)

I love the pull of rainy nights.

Somehow they make my favorite pajamma pants a little softer.  My comforter a little comfier.  The candles a little brighter.

More than the damp and the dark–it’s the sounds that get me.

The varied vibrations.  Echoes.  Changing speeds.  The accompaniment of whispering winds and whizzing tires.

There’s a peace inside nights like these.

A peace that just a few months ago, I believed was mocking me:

It’s miserable out.  Traffic was brutal.  You wasted two hours getting home,  so make up for it now.   Get something done.  Don’t use the rain as an excuse to read.  To watch a movie.  To pull in an extra hour of sleep.  Loser.

It’s no wonder that I used to wake up sore and tired.  I beat my thoughts (myself) into submission over and over again.

Now, all that beats are the heavy drops against the roof that I’m so grateful no longer leaks.

And our hearts, of course.  Our bright and open hearts.  Those keep beating, too.

My favorite line from one of my favorite Christmas movies:

Enough now, enough.

-Love Actually

Just for now.  Just for tonight.  Let’s just let it all go.  Shut it all down.

Get quiet with whomever is near and just be grateful…for the Peace.

Things clicked today.  Then they didn’t.  Then they did. Then they didn’t.

And I was reminded of something I recently heard someone say about striving for balance.

“When you’re balanced,” he said,  “you’re still.  Which is important, but it also means that you’re not moving.  Every time you take a step, you quite literarly step out of balance.  Then your other foot hits the floor, and your balance is regained.  Foot rises, you’re out.  Comes back down, you regain, and on, and on, and on.”

The point of the demonstration was that in order to move forward you have to find the courage to move out of balance – but with the confidence that you’ll quickly and steadily regain.

Today, I felt myself slipping.

At work, I noticed that I was trying to push an approval through too fast. Instead of continuing, I stopped and asked for help.  Regained.

I started straying on a conference call – thinking I could eat and concentrate at the same time.  I put the sandwich down and asked the kind person on the other end to give me the summary one more time.  Regained.

As the workday drew to a close I started to fixate on deadlines – which I realize are important, but I also know won’t be satisfied with obsession.  So, I took a yoga class.  Right in my living room.  Regained.

Briggs has been a bear to put to bed tonight.  Up and out for his bed four times already – and he’s only been laying down for an hour.

And just as I’m about to go total Grinch (threaten to take away Christmas) on him, I remember the lavender spray that I bought at a health food store yesterday.

“Buddy,” I say, as I sneak next to him in bed, “I totally forgot to tell you.”

“What?”

“Yesterday I got some super special nuh-nights spray.  It smells really good.  Here’s how it works: I do a couple sprays over you and your pillow, you take some deep breaths, and in no time you’ll be comfy-cozy-sleepy.”

So, far, so good.  He hasn’t got up again. REGAINED.

Now, of course I’d be elated to be completely stress-free all of the time…but I realize there’s still a lot of work to be done to reach that height of enlightenment.

And, I’m in no rush.

I’m pretty sure once you get there, you may no longer need to be here.  And, even in my most unbalanced moments, being here is still what I love the most.

When my sister Maria was in preschool she watched Disney’s The Little Mermaid every day.

Not necessarily the entire movie every day, but some piece of it.  This was back in the days of VHS.  So, as long as the tape didn’t need to be rewound, Maria was happy to watch it from absolutely any point.

This persistent film watching resulted in our entire household becoming fluent in Mermaid.  At the time there were five of us living at 13 Birch Drive, and all of us could recite every line and sing every song.

Of course, none of us could really hit any of the notes, but more on that some other time.

Tonight, when I picked up Briggs from daycare he asked if we could go to the library.  While we were there he asked if we could get a few movies.  He let me pick them out.

“How about three you’ve never seen before?” I asked.

“Okay,” he agreed.

We ended up with Jungle Book, Santa Clause 3, and Little Mermaid.

He picked Little Mermaid to watch tonight.

I was a little shocked (but mostly heartened) to discover that even after more than twenty years since Miss Maria was Mr. Briggs’s age, I hadn’t lost any of the Mermaid language.

Though, I did hear some it differently now.

When Ariel started in with her classic delivery of Part of Your World, I couldn’t help but think of a recent visit with a kind, strong, talented woman I’m humbled to call a friend.

She wants, what so many of us want.  Peace.  To be a part of a world that so obviously and lovingly wants to be a part of her.  Of you.  Of me.

I’m just guessing here, but I’m pretty sure at one point or another we’ve all pined (wished, hoped, prayed) to feel truly wanted.  To be completely and effortlessly a part of something big and bold.

Today, my gift was reminding those I care for (including myself) that we already are.

(PS – For the record, I believe my sister Maria may be the one person who doesn’t need reminding.  For even when she’s staring down her fiercest demons (her Ursulas if you will) she manages to retain a grace and grit that is absolutely divine.  She’s a deep well of inspiration and way prettier than Ariel.)

Last night, on the way home from a Christmas party, I asked Ken to pull into a Michael’s.  It’s a craft store that’s running a special on adult coloring supplies.  Books, colored pencils, markers, etc.

While picking out a few sets of markers to complete a few other yankee swap gifts I’m putting together, I came across a pack of window crayons.

Made me think of Halloween.

In the next town over from where I grew up, the recreation department would hold an annual Halloween window painting contest.  My sister Lindsey and I entered every year.

I’m pretty sure I never won (she may have once), but I always remember having a good time.  Coming up the design, waiting in desperate anticipation for paint pick-up day, and being almost mesmerized by the ease in which that thick, rich acrylic moved across the glass.

It was Fun.

And while extra cash is a bit nonexistent at this point in the month, I  saw that last box of window crayons hanging from the rack and gave in.

I’m glad I did.

Briggs and I spent the morning turning the bottom panels of our 12-light front-door into stained glass.  He scribbled to his delight and I filled the spaces in-between with different colors.

It was pretty.  And Fun.  And a wonderful way to spend some time together before I left for a holiday outing with friends and Dad took over for the rest of the afternoon.

I wasn’t out of the house for twenty minutes when Ken sent me a text.

A picture of how he and Briggs were keeping the Fun going with some more designs of their own.

That little picture said so much.  Represented so much.  Rang out that Fun (with a capital F) was now free-for-all at the Goodwin household.  Briggs, Mom, and Dad were now all getting in on it, and the getting was good.

And all I could think, as I smiled at Ken’s (amazing) drawing of the Grinch, and Briggs’s (darling) little face, was how my heart had just grown three sizes on this day.

Today was Kling Family Christmas.

Kling is my mother in-law’s maiden name.

Helen’s 9 children, their spouses, and their children, and their children’s children.  With a few friends, too.  And one beloved dog.  It’s a lively and loving bunch.

Everyone at the party knows about my experience with depression and anxiety.  Many of them read this blog.  All of them are unconditionally supportive.

And today all of that love and support was cystalized in the most heart-warming conversation with Uncle Jimmy.

Uncle Jimmy is my mother in-law’s, brother in-law.  While it may be an over used adjective during this time of the year, Uncle Jimmy is the purest definition of jolly.

Now matter what he’s facing (recovering from surgery,  missing those he holds most dear, moving homes, changing jobs) in the 11 years Uncle Jimmy has been a part of my life, he has always (always) greeted me with sincere smiles and open arms.

Every.  Single.  Time.

When I worked in television, Uncle Jimmy was always the first to let me know when he caught one of my performances.  Regardless if I’d flubbed a line, or had a bad hair day, he always had glowing reviews.  And, today was no different.

Except, today the praise was for starting (and continuing) this blog. For finding the courage to share and for sharing so eloquently.

“If you’re writing it,” he said, “I’m reading it.”

And on instinct, I replied, “Well, as long as you’re reading, I’m going to keep writing.”

It is truly miraculous how finding the gumption to dig deep inside yourself can help enrich those connections that keep you rooted in what really matters most…each other.

It occurred to me on the ride home that Uncle Jimmy shares a nickname with the great American actor who, even after his passing in 1997, continues to personify the Spirit of Christmas for so many.

Every year since 1946, Jimmy Stewart has been reminding us that It’s a Wonderful Life.

And, for more than a decade now, my Uncle Jimmy has been reminding me of the very same thing.

Today at work someone gave me a bracelet that says:

Whatever you are, be a good one.

Already being A. Good-win,  I figured I was already pretty close to being a good one.

And, today I was a good Mom.  A good wife.  A good employee.  A good friend.  I was a kind stranger.  A patient customer. A grateful receiver.

And, now as I sit on my comfy couch with the candles lit and the soft Christmas lights on…with the incense burning and the deep comforts of Reiki calling, I am going to be a good me.

I’m going to give in to everything that feels good and just let go.

Exhale it with me, “ahhhhhhh.”

Now, that’s a-good-win for every-one.

Happy Friday.

Today I attended the Massachusetts Conference for Women.  10,000 powerful and connected women all in the same place at the same time.

I was grateful for all of it.  To spend an entire day thoroughly engaged.  Inspired.  Ready.  And curious.

Multiple times during the conference – in keynotes, breakout sessions, and hallway conversations – I kept picking up on this buzz about how successful women are profiled.

When sources (magazines, radio, television, digital content providers) profile a man’s work, they tend to stick to the work.  When women are profiled their marital and maternal status almost always arises from the get-go.

I was surprised that all of these conversations seemed to be trying to figure out why the profiles of our most successful and admired women, don’t read like the profiles of our successful and admired men.

And, unfortunately, the answer there is sad and simple:  because in the workplace (as in many other places) women are still not treated as equals.

And while the answer upsets me, I think we could ALL do well to expand the question.

Why are we still acting as if we have multiple selves?  

We’ve conned entire generations to buy into this idea that there MUST, at all times, be a distinct and clear line between personal and professional.  Heaven forbid the two should ever meet.

I think this may be one of the great divides that got us so deep into workplace inequality in the first place.

Every successful person I’ve ever come in contact with has attributed their success to connection.  To their connection to their own creativity.  To their capacity for risk.  To their ability to lean, trust, and confide in those closest to them.  Even to their connection to their hangups and bangups, and their propensity for crawling (then walking, running, and eventually sprinting) their way back up.

I don’t believe there’s a good business person alive who would deny the significance of connection.

And yet, when we talk about “connections” at work, much too often we’re referring to LinkedIn or the contacts in our digital address books.

Truth is – those deeper connections.  The ones with the people, places, and creatures who help us find and connect with our best (our highest) selves – we carry those wherever we go…including to work.

And so, maybe when admired people (women and men) are being profiled – when they’re being sought after for advice and asked to share their stories- less attention should be devoted to marital status and number of dependents, and much more attention should be placed on the importance of their connections.

Let’s focus on the what and the who they are connected to, and how those connections continue to help them see, do, and reach their greatest good.

Of course those lovely partners and dear children may still show up (they would for me), but this way they’d appear in the context of vital, positive connections.  And maybe that could keep everyone – the successful people being profiled AND the most important people in their lives, from being treated like sideshows.

(PS – I think this profile of Beyoncé from 2011 stays pretty focused on connection in a pretty powerful way…and the performance kicks ass.)