routine

Gifting me a morning ritual

Gifting me a morning ritual

October 13, 2020
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The bottom line:
Building a morning routine, where I feel thrown off my game when time does not allow for it to run its course in full, and realizing that this morning routine, or perhaps even ritual, is a gift. A Gift. To me.

Getting thrown off my new morning routine where I wake up, of my own volition, at six am. Get up, pee, go downstairs to fetch phone and iPad, standing in the kitchen doing a slow morning Seven of pelvic movements, waiting for the kettle to boil while checking my email and doing a quick scan of SoMe (now that the ayurvedic challenge is over, no more morning videos to peruse). Armed with electronic (writing) devices, a cup of warm water, I head upstairs, doing my Wim Hof breathing regime (normally in bed, today I lay down on the floor, pulling the duvet off the bed, to keep me warm), before climbing back into bed, to do my morning writing while drinking the warmed up water.

Once I’ve posted my writings, somewhere or other, I head for the basement bathroom, do my regular morning Seven (lately, a lot of Lindy hop-practices, which is akin to cardio, let me tell you) before jumping into a two minute-cold shower, before getting dressed, ready to meet the world.

By this time, it’s nine o’clock, give or take, and I realize how anything scheduled by me before nine throws me off my game. Off my writing game, to be precise, because the other things I do, regardless. Not necessarily in the order described above, but more or less.

Yesterday I’d scheduled a CoachTalk at 7:15 am, and then the day simply rolled on… never granting me (me never granting me, that is!) the time and space to sit down and do my (deep dive) writing. And somehow the entire day feels slightly off.

Yesterday, I had a Zoom-call scheduled at nine am, in conjunction with the Bonnie Bliss Yoni Club-training I’m taking online right now, and I got into sharing something I will be writing about in my deep dive, so in a sense, I got ”it” out of my system, but… it’s still not the same.

There’s something to the writing that provides both an edge (the permanence of it? The shareability of it? The way my words take on a life of their own? The dance with fear at being rejected, shamed and shunned for writing what I am writing?) and an expanded opportunity for learning. When I write, I explore. It truly is a deep dive, regardless if I am deep diving into a topic (shame) as I am at the moment, of if it’s ”just” writing because I want to, because I blog daily (No. Not at the moment. Unless the sharing in a small online-community can be called blogging, which, in a sense, it actually can.), because it’s a habit I’ve gotten accustomed to.

The way I write, I learn.
About me. About you. About the world.
There is discovery and surprise, there is exploration and aha-moments, there are connections made visible that have previously eluded me, there are new questions arising.

Waking up today, I realized… I need to stop giving away my mornings to others. I want to give them to me. I want to honor the precious opportunity they are to me, and be much more deliberate in when I schedule something else during this time. Sometimes, it’s a necessity. I have clients requiring my presence at certain times. I have commitments to others giving me an opportunity to prioritize, making me truly look at how I spend –and value!– my time. But if I am to give my mornings away, it’s going to be for very good reasons.

Because I haven’t, ever honestly, been so aware of the need to value my time, as I was today, waking, and realizing how my entire system longed for my morning routine, the very same one I did not gift myself with yesterday.


#tankespjärn, for those who wish to discover. More. Other. New.
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eyes pop wide open

October 5, 2020
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The bottom line:
When the body is left to its own devices to find a routine that works.
And the moment of realization, that this is what has happened.

My body seems intent on making me get into, and stick to, a new sleeping regime. Or rather. A waking regime, as I’ve yet to stop wrestling with the I’m just gonna… do this too… before heading to bed-pattern that is so ingrained in me. But the funny thing is, regardless of when I finally stop with my this too and get in bed, I wake the same time. At six o’clock, ding, my eyes pop open, and I am ready to go. I’ve been playing with this for a few weeks now, and it hasn’t failed me once (or possibly once, but then again, I had a bit of a head cold then, so that’s fine).

Last night, I got off a Zoom-call at nine-thirty, and knew I s h o u l d head off to bed straight away, but instead, picked up the UFO (UnFinished Object, a classic knitting term…) I had grabbed a hold of just prior to the Zoom-call, having all but forgotten about it (thank God for alarms!). And as I had barely managed to knit one (1!) row before Zooming, I just wanted to knit ooooone more… and then, perhaps, why not, watch another episode of The Handmaid’s Tale? I mean, just one!

If you’ve come to know me at all, you won’t be surprised that just one episode turned into two and a fifth before I finally called it a day, plonking into bed half-past eleven. And then, doing what I always do, I picked up a book to read a few pages. (My reading is going a lot slower these days, as I plonk into bed later and later, having me too tired to read but a few pages.)

And then… d i n g – my eyes pop wide open, and I turn to see what time it is, only to giggle to myself when it reads *drum roll* 6 am. I get up, pee, go downstairs to fetch phone and iPad, standing in the kitchen doing a slow morning Seven of pelvic movements, waiting for the kettle to boil while watching the daily video of the 21-days-ayurvedic-challenge I’ve been participating in for the past three weeks (day 21 tomorrow). Armed with electronic (writing) devices, a cup and a bottle of warm water, I head upstairs, climbing back into bed, for my morning writing, drinking the warmed up water before I do my Wim Hof Method breathing exercise.

Mind reeling, there’s a lot that wants to be written, and I let it flow onto (digital) paper, accompanied by soft music of some kind, and an hour or two easily passes, before I am ready to leave bed and meet the day, full-on.


#tankespjärn, for those who wish to discover. More. Other. New.
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Writing

August 24, 2020
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Third day in a row.
Sitting in bed, iPad in my lap, leaning against the headboard, supported by pillows.
Writing.

Oh!
At long last, getting back to this lovely routine.
Waking up, getting out of bed to go pee, and then sneak downstairs, fetching my iPad, before heading back under the covers. Setting myself up for a few minutes, half an hour, an hour, of writing.
Writing.

Writing, intentionally, a deep-dive into a topic (or rather, into an exploration within), a strong enough Why to get me to commit, to take action, to Do in order to match who I want to Be. An exploration I am, for now, keeping to myself, or at least, to a small group of people. Figuring things out, discovering, uncovering, not wanting to publish, as this specific baby is far from ready to meet the world. Perhaps it will be. One day. Perhaps it never will be. Ever. Regardless, it feels very good to be writing.
Writing.

And as always (often?), when I start to write, more wants to be written. It’s as if I open the faucet, and out it comes. Like this. Writings related to the experience of writing, or other; experiences, urges and insights, all of a sudden start to flow, wanting to come out, wanting to be written.
Writing.


#tankespjärn, for those who wish to discover. More. Other. New.
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Insights that truly shake me to my core

May 17, 2020
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I haven’t gotten the text on the victim vs perpetrator-perspective in the bag yet. Did discuss it with some wise friends today, and… it will come. I won’t let it go. But it’s still not ready.

And then… I wrote another text last night, after having done three more prompts in The Creative’s Workshop. The prompts gave me an insight into two modes of mine, perform/deliver and discovery, and the text I wrote a few hours later was directly related to this.

You see, a while after finishing those prompts, I got such a massive insight into my own behaviors, into where I slide easily into discovery mode, and where I stick to perform/deliver as if it was a life-raft, even though it’s most likely dragging me down, rather than saving me.

And it’s gotten to be a habit – a routine? Or perhaps even a ritual? – to write in situations like this. When hit by insights that truly shake me to my core, putting fingers to keyboard helps me find, what it is I suddenly see. It’s a way for me to step fully through the door that the insight invites me into, which is the way I describe what tankespjärn is. So yes. Insights, for me, are most often tankespjärn of the highest quality!

This insight is personal. Deeply personal.
And I don’t know if it’s to be shared widely.
Not yet.

I have to digest it a bit, wrap myself (not my head. My self! Significant difference for a recovering head-footer-person, i.e. the head with feet attached that small children draw as their first attempt at humans, that I am.) around it, and just let it be.

I did share it with two of my absolutely closest compadres, directly. They are as close to me as my own skin, in many ways, and I know, there’s nothing but love and support to be gotten from them. And within minutes and hours, I had gotten just that, from both of them. Love. Support. And more love.

The process… now and again, there are variations to the general process of writing, and this is one of them. When it’s something that hits home, deeply affecting me, I need to make sure that I am not bleeding from any wounds, before sharing. If I am, the reader gets more than they should, and it’s not fair on them. It’s not for me to spread my hurts, wounds, sorrows, on others, widely.


#tankespjärn, for those who wish to discover. More. Other. New.
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Yesterday I went on a strike.

April 21, 2020
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Yesterday I went on a strike.

I. Did. Not. Blog.

I just didn’t feel like it. I had nothing on my mind worth saying, and no inkling of what I might come up with, and… most importantly, no desire to.
So I let myself off the hook and simply did not blog.

It’s not much of a strike really, but given the ease with which I stick to habits, deliberately not sticking to them once in a while is more of a stretch for me than sticking to them. So, in a sense, by not blogging I was putting myself on the spot, not letting myself off the hook as much as getting me on it, because it takes more for me to break a habit than stick to it.

And I need that.
Once in awhile, I need – want! Thrive on! – to stir the pot, to surprise me by not going on routine and habit, but deliberately, consciously, with engaged awareness, question my habitual choices. Like daily 1) blogging 2) morning seven-minute exercise 3) deep-breathing-practice 4) 10+ kilometers in my body, and a number of other things I do daily or weekly.

Do my habitual practices a l w a y s serve me?

Are there moments when I am best served by not doing them?

What happens to me when I do them without really wanting to? W
ithout being present to what I am doing?
Do they still serve me then?

Is there a threshold when habits go from serving to not-serving, perhaps even becoming harmful?
And what does it take for me to pick up on that?

Who do I need to be, in order to give me the nourishment I need, when what I need shifts?

So many questions.
And luckily, no need to actually answer them as such, but rather, just to let them be. Throw them out there, and see, if anything comes back to me. An answer? Another way to look at things? A new question, deepening my reflection?


#tankespjärn, for those who wish to discover. More. Other. New.
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Willing myself to write

September 30, 2019
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It’s past ten pm, I have yet to blog and finish a meditation challenge-activity as well as send off a challenging activity of my own to my digital #tankespjärn client, before I hop into bed. Pop the cat is draped elegantly across the sofa, right next to me, my guess is he’ll run after me once I get off the couch, to beat me to bed.

I am not really in blogging-mode, and yet, here I am, willing myself to write. You see, these past months I’ve not made time for blogging in my extremely jam-packed calendar, and it affects me. I ground myself when I write; I become aware of what I am, where I am, who I am when I sit down to let my fingers tip-toe across the keyboard. So the fact that I’ve been a busy bee coupled with the fact that I haven’t blogged is starting to take its toll. Blogging is a part of my wellbeing practice.

Had a friend suggest I ”just write, you don’t need to publish it”. But that’s just it. I don’t ”just write”. Or at least, way too seldom. Publishing my writings is what makes me write, especially as I have the intention to blog daily. That means I write daily, and that is of huge benefit to me.

So here I sit. Ten past ten at night, after a long day of three different networking meetings, four almost-half-hour bike rides, and both choir and guitar practice. Writing. Getting into the habit of blogging daily again. A habit that serves me.

Possibly I should take a helicopter view of my blogging routine, and set up a new set of intentions. Perhaps daily isn’t optimal? Perhaps it should be every other day, perhaps only on weekdays, perhaps… well. Who knows. For now, though, getting back on the horse again seems like the wisest thing I can do.

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Working 9 to 5

March 16, 2016
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Barely awake. Still tired from a night of slightly restless sleep. Then a blasting alarm – which for me has become a rare occasion, normally I get up when I wake up, whenever that happens to be. But this week has been exceptional that way. Ordinary routine in the morning for most? Having to leave the house by twenty to eight every morning is a habit I have totally fallen out of. Which is the way I want it. This week it’s like that though, all week.

sunshineI took a short breather at lunch time, getting something to eat, breathing in the crisp and slightly chilly spring air, and lifting my face up towards the sun, rewarding myself with a few precious moments of pure golden sunshine.

Makes me realize. How extra ordinary my life has become, without the trappings of 9-5-life. And I love it. It’s what I want, desire, rejoice in. I don’t feel drawn to a more regular daily work routine, having an office to go to each day. Not at all. Every day different from the next. It’s not for everyone, I guess. But I am so glad I have listened to my inner voice, telling me to no longer accept full-time long-term assignments. It’s not my cup of tea anymore.

I rejoice in this: Sometimes no planned activities. Other days back to back meetings, of all sorts. Writing days. Coaching days. Days filled with collaboration of various forms. And my very own days. Every week, there’s a full day marked off in my calendar with HERO’s own day. And once in a while, a week comes along just like this one, where I am on site at a customer, day after day.

Again. I reflect on it, look back at the way I am being drawn to live this way, and I see how – right now – I am in love with the diversity of my days! Tomorrow – who knows?

 

 

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