Observer

I have determined, through reflection as well as through more obvious factual circumstances, that the main part I play in this life is one of an observer. From preferring to go off and wander up the big hill  in the school yard and sing songs to myself, or living as a foreigner in far away lands, I find myself falling into the category of "outsider" time after time. This is okay with me. It may have bothered me occasionally in the past, but I have come to accept this role and feel a safety here. I'm not saying that I go through life at a distance and separating myself and closing off. I have merely settled into this mind set of being ever so slightly stepped back from whatever I'm in.

What I mean is, I still enjoy being involved, being active, being out and about, as we Canadians are bound to say ;). But even while I'm IN something, I still have another set of eyes that I see through - an outsider's view. This is how I describe it and it's how I feel. I know it is just my perception, but I believe I come closer and closer to peace in fully understanding this perception. I'm sure many people who are labelled as "quiet" have this feeling at times due to our nature. I remember being told by my drama teacher in highschool that he could tell I was a person who took in everything around me; a person who internalizes. A person who internalizes doesn't always see a necessity to put extra effort into being heard and seen and otherwise be overly concerned with "output". I agreed with my teacher although I hadn't thought of it in those words. I liked that word though: internalized. It made me think of absorbing what is needed or beneficial, and rejecting or avoiding what is not. Nourishing the inner world. 

This tendency matches the kinds of things I am drawn to as well - dance (although it does usually have to be seen, it is more about the inner world than anyone who doesn't dance can begin to know), music (again usually heard but clearly a link to the inner world), yoga (duh), and enjoying the beauty and joy of nature and animals. When it comes right down to it, I think the world could use a little more observing. When we practice yoga we are learning to observe. We are asked to be IN something - a twisty pose, and yet stay aware of our breath and watch our thoughts and impulses without reacting right away. We are asked to sit or lie in stillness and watch our breath, feeling the motion and stillness at once. This is a state of observing, and according to Eckhart Tolle, the place where our true self lives. 

While, of course, life requires actions and reactions, there is also the need to BALANCE that with observation and non-reaction. Our day and age is one of hyperactivity, short attention spans, extreme highs and lows, good and bad tensions, etc. The trick is to level out the extremes. If we could all learn to take ourselves outside of the small pictures, maybe even step outside the big picture all together, we may find more peace. As an outsider, it is not my place to outwardly judge or control. I am not in a position to influence or change. I am an observer so the judging or changing will be within myself. The most I can do is to take in what's around, keep what I consider to be helpful and discard what I consider to be harmful. By observing as much as acting we can manage the extremes and move through life more easily. I am a huge fan of action - not the movie genre, although some are good. I fully embrace the drive to create, to improve, to communicate, to interact, to care, to try things. I just feel the QUALITY of our actions are being affected by a lack of observing before, during, and after. 

Practicing Presence in Times of Reminiscing

I think we all have at least one time in our life where we reflect back and say, I wish I could go back. Those good old childhood days, the crazy college days, the passionate days of a new relationship...ahhhhh. If only we could time travel and enjoy those times again. I find myself looking back to a few times that I'd like to revisit, just for pure enjoyment. I don't regret anything, but I do feel a bit of sadness at the passing of time. I guess that means I'm really getting old, oh man! Getting flare ups of misty-eyed-reminiscing-syndrome!

Of course, self reflection is a continuous and necessary process for personal growth and what not. So I shouldn't feel so bad for having a nostalgia episode. Here goes. My whole life I was involved in dance. Since the age of three I began dance classes and never ever wanted to stop. It was my number one passion and joy. I began with ballet, as most little girls do it seems, and right away my teacher noticed I had a knack for the subtler side of dancing. Right down to the expression in the fingertips, the toe pointing and feeling the music. By the time my childhood teacher wanted to retire I had wanted to branch out and try some new types of dancing - acro, jazz, funk/hip-hop, and found each style brought out different sides of myself and I appreciated these different qualities. I remember coming home from classes feeling completely energized, tired and sweaty yes, but so full of happy bubbly energy.

As I danced all through high school and continued on to university, I could tell my identity was now intricately wrapped up in being "a dancer". We even talked about it in some classes where our professors urged us not to forget about other aspects of our selves and check out our other interests, because as all dancers know: it is a short-lived life. Even if the best dancer lasts into her thirties and beyond, it's just not the same as when your body is young and your mind is eager. I was as naive as the typical, plucky, optimistic girl in any story of wanting to "be a star!"(insert jazz hands). My version of being a star did morph and change and become a dream of just having access to dance space, creative people, and the occasional performance venue - such as choosing a clearing in the park between some trees. And I did begin my yoga training during this time and opened up another side of myself.

But I still cemented my personal identity in dance. How could I not. I felt the greatest, most meditative, ecstatic, highs while dancing. Beautifully imaged combinations in technique class, matched with spontaneous music. Exhilarating and exhausting performances indoors and outdoors, on cement, grass, or glossy black dance floors. The swirl of costume fabric and particles of old theatre dust. The various pre-performance rituals and the otherworldly, in-between, potential space of standing in the wings, ready to reveal yourself.
        

When school finally came to a close and I whisked myself off to Japan to gain life experience and some debt-paying-off salary, I came smack against a brick wall. I slowly realized, even though I was determinedly dancing on my own in my tiny apartment, I was no longer a dancer. I tried to call myself a dancer still and the more time passed since an actual performance or class, the more and more I felt myself fading into nothingness. Yes, I still have great friends, great experiences, great learning. But up until this day I haven't quite fully mourned the passing of Heather, the dancer. Which was who I was for my entire life. Not to be her is oddly empty. I haven't faced it fully until now. I have told myself that I am still a dancer at heart. I have told myself that if I can get on my own two feet someday (financial stability, a place to live, food to eat, etc. ) I will immediately go to the nearest dance class and enjoy an hour or two as my true self again and as often as possible. I have told myself there is nothing stopping me from dancing around the bedroom and feeding that identity in a smaller way. Which I do sometimes.

I am not closing off the possibility of dancing "for realsies" ever again. I am just trying to recognize and reconcile this identity crisis. It's not good or bad, it just is. Now is a time for drawing on yoga teachings. This is yet another way to practice presence. Sitting in this head space of being uncertain of my identity. Staying present with the uncomfortable feeling of uncertainty. Not judging this feeling as being good or bad. Not running away from it. Taking the opportunity to observe the back and forth, tug and pull, of thoughts. After all, as Eckhart Tolle says in his writings, we are not our thoughts. Our true selves are somewhere beyond our thoughts. The proof of this is the fact that we can observe our thoughts, as I am doing now. I am observing my thought patterns of nostalgia. And all the while the real "me" is beyond any of these thoughts. 

I am bigger, in the outer space. 

We all are. 

Hmmm maybe I should do a dance about it... :)