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Category: Living Well

Mind Party

One of the most interesting classes I took while at Burning Man was a meditation and beats class.

A young, shaggy haired fellow, wearing loose, oversized clothing sat at the front of the group—maybe 30 of us, all lined up in a Tetris format with some sitting in lotus, some upright in chairs, and some laying down diagonally with hands folded across their chest—and guided us through a meditation with a banana mic.

Yes, a mic that was dressed as a banana.

…When at Burning Man, eh?

For the first 30 minutes, he got us to relax into our bodies, had us do body scans, guided us through breathing exercises, helped us quiet our minds, and spoke about recognizing moments of mindfulness as celebrations.

…It was that last point that I found most interesting.

A moment of mindfulness, he explained, were those particular moments when you noticed your mind has wandered and you came back to the present moment.

This is the moment when many of us, myself included, would normally get most frustrated. Because it’s the moment when you realized you failed to stay present.

But, reframing those moments as celebrations and not frustrations made perfect sense.

Why frustrate over a moment successfully reclaimed? …It should absolutely be seen as a victory! In fact, it’s the very thing that we’d want to reinforce if we want to facilitate more of the same.

…And just as I was making this connection and beginning to practice—our shaggy haired leader suddenly started playing psychedelic music and for the next 30 minutes, it was like a party in my mind.

Paper, A Little Ink, and Some Nice Words

One muddy morning at Burning Man, the day after the rain concluded and while many of our camp’s campmates were hanging out after having mostly sheltered in place, one campmate started clapping, cheering, and complimenting people who walked by.

“Looking great in that fur coat and top hat!”

“Rocking that outfit today—love the boots!”

“Amazing color combinations—woop woop!”

…Were the types of things I heard in the background as I engaged in conversation with others.

Not long thereafter, I got a piece of watercolor paper passed to me with a “10” written on it.

And not long after that, everybody had a piece of watercolor paper with a “10” written on it.

And just a few minutes after that, our camp would announce (over megaphone) each person who would walk by and each of our campmates would “score” them based on their outfits or demeanor or bike peddling strategy or whatever… and “10’s” would flash before their eyes and everybody would cheer and shout.

…Our camp must’ve “scored” over 100 people that morning.

And you should’ve seen how each person reacted with nothing short of pure joy and delight.

…And from what? Paper, a little ink, and some nice words?

This is one of my favorite lessons (and memories) from Burning Man: Don’t overestimate what it takes to make a difference in this oftentimes dark, cold, and mucky world. Doing good often requires far less than you think.


P.s. I kept my “10” and have it posted on the mirror in my bedroom—to remind me that “10s” are subjective and I can choose to be a “10” every day.

Massaging Feet

The day before the ultramarathon last week, I got a foot massage.

…One of the theme camps at Burning Man was offering and I certainly wasn’t denying!

This is how I met Christina—the reflexologist.

She didn’t just massage my feet, she took me on a whole inner work adventure.

She asked me about my upbringing, inquired into my current life role, made observations about my character, dug into the perceptions I shared, and challenged me to answer interesting questions—all while radiating warmth and presence.

Now, although inner work is my jam—I didn’t ask for this or take the lead in any way. The massage for the sake of massage was all I was expecting.

She was the one who turned it into a whole experience and facilitated the creation of a bridge that allowed us to connect in a deep and completely unexpected way.

…When many people think of foot massage, I think they think of it as low end work—especially when you consider the fact that she was doing it in the desert where there’s an absence of showers and toiletries—but, the work she did in that desert was far from low end work. It was some of the best foot work I had ever had.

And what’s most impressive to me as I sit here and reflect… is that it was completely obvious to me within the first three minutes of meeting her that she didn’t just massage feet… that she was doing something far greater.

…Meeting Christina was a beautiful reminder that it’s not the work that defines the person; it’s the person that defines the work.

A More Compelling Reality

My average screen time per day while at Burning Man was 22 minutes—which came exclusively from capturing memories and recording notes.

I don’t know about you, but whenever my average screen time is down… I notice in myself, upon reflection, that my average happiness felt like it was up.

Because what it represents in my mind is a reality that outweighed the pull for any distraction.

Why distract yourself from a reality you’re completely captivated by / content in?

…Which, of course, is easy when the reality you’re immersed in is Burning Man.

But, the takeaway—the idea that I’m reflecting on from this insight from my phone—is how can I create a more compelling reality that makes me want to use my phone less? …Or makes me forget about my phone altogehter?

…This is a question I think we all could spent some time reflecting carefully on and doing something swiftly about.


P.s. In case you missed it, you can read the best of what I posted to MoveMe Quotes last week, here.

The Noise of Paradise

The 50k run I completed last week was composed of four laps in and around Burning Man city.

The absolute hardest moment of the run happened when I was completing my third lap.

Just as I turned the corner and the checkpoint/finish line came into sight, I saw a group of around 50+ people celebrating, cheering, and lounging after having completed the run.

…They finished an entire lap ahead of me.

…And I had an entire lap to go.

…As in I had to deliberately choose to go back out into the heat, windstorms, and longgggg stretches of uninhabited desert WITH the agony of already wrecked ankles and knees when what was right in front of me looked nothing short of paradise.

…I seriously considered stopping.

….I seriously questioned my life decisions.

…I seriously wanted nothing more than to collapse and complain and lounge.

…But, something inside me told me to just keep moving.

To slowly, slowly, move away from that finish line—my checkpoint—and let the noise of paradise fade into the background… until it subtilely disappeared.

And not long thereafter, it did.

…And I was back in it.

…Undistracted by the sounds of other people’s victories and the visions of other people’s reward. I no longer had other people’s voices in my head nor did I have their relieved faces in my sight. I was free from the temptations of comfort that were trying to pull me more and more forcibly back towards its favorite zone.

…And I was running my own race again.

This was the key decision—the crux point—that got me through.

This was the moment I actually finished the race.

Pressing Firmly Into The Earth

We find our way forward by moving forward—not by standing still.

It’s tempting to want to chart out the entire journey before beginning—to minimize the surprises and unknowns. And to a certain extent, thorough planning can be quite helpful. But, at the other end of the spectrum, too much can be a handicap.

The reality we must accept with moving into the unknown (the future), is that there are going to be unknowns—things you couldn’t possibly have planned for by staring at the drawing board. And so we plan and prepare for a “good enough” amount of time—no more—and then we venture forth.

I aim to spend 30-60 minutes thinking carefully each day about my path and my trajectory (this blog). And the rest of the time, I try and spend walking, playing, teaching, training, trying, failing, doing, creating, interacting, producing, shipping, reading, experimenting, etc—pressing my boots firmly into the erasing nature of the earth.

Because it’s much easier to figure out which way to go when you can look back at where you’ve come from—and can utilize all of the info that accompanies that history. Moving forward from a singular point—with no past trajectory—makes forward exponentially harder to figure out.

My questions for you are: How much time to you spend thinking vs acting? Do you like this ratio? What might your ideal ratio be and what adjustments can you make to get there?

An Unintentional Legacy

What does what you’ve posted publicly online say about you?

Imagine for a second that all of your social media posts and comments from all of your accounts, all of your websites, all of your blogs, etc… were neatly laid out in front of me in a multi-tabbed browser. No time for curating either—everything that’s public right now is what would be opened for me to review.

Does the thought of that make you feel proud or cringe? Do you think it would be a fairly accurate representation of you or not so much? Do you think this profiling would match what I would say about you if we spent a few hours in conversation in person together?

Here’s the thing…

A big part of your legacy will be what’s left publicly online. It’s where so many of us spent so much of our time. It’s where so many of your loved ones keep in touch with you and your life’s story.

…And it’s where so many of us will go to remember you.

If you’re not careful, you might end up leaving behind an unintentional legacy. One that makes you cringe or feel superficial or one that just plain misrepresents the “real” you. And not because what you shared didn’t authentically come from you, but because it was shared unintentionally with other people in mind—and became tainted.

This is your reminder to be mindful with how you use your public tools.

Everything you do contributes to the overall picture that ultimately becomes your life’s legacy. To think otherwise might lead to patches in your picture that feel out of place and that you ultimately regret.