Kurt Koontz's Blog, page 3

Repetitious Noise

A few weeks ago, I took a road trip with my 83-year old mom to visit Slab City near the Salton Sea in Southern California..  The abandoned World War II marine base is home to a small group of residents that have chosen to live “off the grid” without law-enforcement,  running water, electricity, trash service, or sewer.    The snowbird population approaches 1,000 but there are only 150 year-round residents that brave the simmering summer temperatures that can exceed 125 F.  We were drawn to the sculpture gardens of “East Jesus” where discarded material has been recycled or repurposed into art.  We were encouraged to imagine a world without waste, in which every action is opportunity for self-expression.

An artistic display of broken television monitors reminded me of one of my best decisions of this decade.  After walking the Camino de Santiago in 2012, I came home and cut the cord to all cable news.  I continue to read newspapers, but have sworn off the talking heads.  The major cable companies have designed targeted programming to appeal to our predisposed political beliefs under the guise of being informative.  These are business that sell advertisements designed to make you drink more Coke or achieve the Pursuit of Perfection after acquiring a Lexus.

In a previous incarnation as a businessman, I remember barging into my mentors office with an abnormally long list of complaints.  He patiently listened before teaching me a lesson of life.  He said, “Kurt, you know how many people come through my door and do what you just did?  I call them problem identifiers and you are quite skilled in that department.  If you want to succeed in this company or in life, become the rare person that walks into my office with a solution.”

The cable news companies are happy to put us on the hamster wheel and then lull us into a sluggish pace with the following repetitive plot.  Scene one identifies the problem.  Scene two identifies the villains.  The intermission is a reminder that our lives would be much better if we were driving a Mercedes.  Wash, rinse, repeat…..

For you to be right someone else must be wrong.  The us and them mentality is a very quick path to separation.  These news stations fortify the divide.  The exact same thing happens when we surround ourselves with like minded people.  How many problems are solved when all of your friends agree with your side of the story?

Now that I have done a fine job of identifying the problems, here are some solutions.

 Stop watching and start reading.  Bonus points are added if you choose newspapers that differ from your traditional viewpoints.
Turn TV time into nature time by walking outdoors.
Get to know a neighbor by helping them with a spring yard cleanup.
Spend more time getting to know yourself.  You cannot export harmony when your inner light is unknown.
Travel.
Shatter one routine.
Volunteer at a local humane society.
Practice yoga.
Apologize to a person you have harmed.
Be kinder to yourself.

 

The Driver

Last Thursday, I drove from Palm Springs to Tucson to visit one of my childhood friends.  It is 400 miles of freeway, sand, cactus, and massive rock formations.  My rental car had some whizbang technology features.  The first was an adaptive cruise control that allowed the car to automatically adjust throttle and brake depending on the distance between the vehicle in front of me.  After I set this feature, a note flashed on the car screen asking if I would like to engage “assisted steering”.  My first reaction was WTF?

I clicked the yes button and the car began to automatically steer and maintained the center of the lane.  There are sensors in the wheel that require at least one hand to be on the wheel.  My skeptical-self felt that the car would quickly run off the road.   The auto pilot was easily displaced by tapping the brake or simply turning the wheel against the slight resistance of the automatic feature.  The first curve was nerve racking, but the auto performed as advertised.  I did not become complacent, but quickly realized that I could trust the technology.

Looking back at my life, I believe there is an internal guidance system that will take me where I need to go.  This intuitive system works best when allowed to operate freely as designed.  The errors begin to appear when my mind determines that it knows best and overrides the automatic pilot.  If I let it flow, synchronicity foods my life.  When I engage my need to control, I encounter rough roads and crashes.

For me, the inner guidance comes from something much bigger than me.  Some call it god, spirit, or the universe.  What I call it does not matter to you.  What you call it does not matter to me.  It is a feeling of circulating in the flow of things as opposed to the world circulating around me.

My friend Bill Bennett made a movie and wrote a book about intuition.  Here is a passage from his book:

I DON’T MAKE DECISIONS ANYMORE, I FEEL THEM

What does that mean?

When you make a decision, you use an analytical process. You use your intelligence to process the information your intellect presents to you. You consider the advantages, the disadvantages, you weigh up the benefits, the risks, the upsides, the downsides. You refer to your storehouse of past experience, you include so-called “best practice, you take into account how your decision will be perceived by others, and perhaps most importantly you consider the consequences – what will happen after you make that decision.

After going through this whole process, you then make an informed decision – informed by all the knowledge and information this rational process has presented to you, filtered through a judgment system. You judge what’s the right decision to make.

Sometimes this process of making a decision can be instantaneous, but sometimes you can mull over a decision for days, weeks, even years. And often, having to make a decision burdens you. It can weigh heavily upon you.

I don’t do that anymore.

I feel my decisions.

I’ve learned to ignore the rational process of making a decision, and – if it feels right, I do it. No question.   

I understand now that making a decision is based on an intellectual process that tries to keep me in the past, that tries to contain me in what’s gone before. Making a decision is informed by past knowledge, accepted rules of thought or conduct, a societal or cultural collective belief, parental or peer conditioning, and fear.

Fear often informs the decisions that we make.

We don’t even realize it most times, because it’s become so ingrained in our way of thinking. We believe that fear is an essential mechanism that’s purpose is to keep us safe.  

This is why I don’t make decisions anymore.

It limits me.

When you feel a decision, you open yourself up to all the possibilities of the Universe. You open yourself up to what’s boundless. Because what you’re doing is shifting the decision making process from the hard-wiring of your intellect to the quantum environment of your energetic system.

In the quantum environment there are no boundaries. It’s limitless. And that’s where your mystical intuition lies. It doesn’t lie in the hard wiring of your ego based rational mind, it lies in the unlimited potential of your multi-dimensional energetic system.

I now don’t anticipate outcomes. I’m not afraid of the outcomes. I’m open and awake to everything that can come at me, and to me, knowing that my intuition will never present to me a bad thing. Remember what Caroline Myss said: How do you know what’s a bad thing?

I now welcome the boundless possibilities that Source has in store for me, and I don’t retreat in fear, because I know I am protected, I am guided, and only good can come from this.

That’s why I now feel decisions, I no longer make them.

 

 

 

The Art in the Moment

Last Wednesday, a long term cyber friend became a face-to-face friend.  We share a love of yoga and have wanderlust in our DNA.  She works for the airlines and turned her extra day in LA into a Kurt-day in Palm Springs.  When she arrived, my mom was creating some art in her sketchbook.  My mom said, “It is nice to meet you.  Kurt tells me that you like yoga.  He has tried to teach me, but yoga is not for me.”  We continued with some small talk before ditching mom to explore downtown and have dinner.

During the meal, my friend said, “I use yoga to connect to the moment.  The postures are physical but the practice brings me into a grounded meditation.  When I was watching your mom draw, she was totally using her art like I use yoga.”  Throughout the meal, we shared personal stories about how yoga has evolved in our lives.  She laughed when I said, “My initial foray into yoga was to firm my ass.  India taught me that yoga is much more about extracting my head from that same location.”

Every moment that we were together, we were both present.  We were present while observing the guitar player at Starbucks, present while admiring street art, and present while devouring a pablano pepper stuffed with dungeness crab.  It was a great evening.

The next day, I shared her comments with my mom and she replied, “That is absolutely correct about my art bringing me into a meditation.  That is also why I am enjoying weightlifting.  It is all about stopping my mind from wandering into the past and future.”

When I walked my first Camino in 2012, it was a walking meditation for five straight weeks and my first taste of being present.  For the past seven years, I have endeavored to find all things that lead me back to the moment.  Before the Camino, my mind was always everywhere except in the moment.   My time was spent worrying about yesterday’s regrets and then creating creating redemption through future tripping.

Spending time with my new friend was a nice reminder that many roads lead to the moment.  Practice keeps me there!

 

 

 

Rishi Retreat

During the past four years, I have lived in Rishikesh India for a total of six months.  I made many lifetime friends and have included a few of them in my recent book.  This is a chapter about my friend Aprit Gupta.

I am co-hosing a unique yoga retreat in Rishikesh this year from Nov 4-13.  If you have interest, we have seven of ten spots open.  You will definitely meet my friend Aprit on this trip!  We also have a day-trip planned to visit Devprayag.  Click here for:  YOGA RETREAT INFO

 

ON THE ROAD WITH ARPIT

Arpit’s father owns a local Rishikesh restaurant that serves traditional Indian dishes along with a wide variety of cuisines including Chinese, Israeli, Italian, and American. I still laugh at the idea of ordering thali, margherita pizza, fries, and vegetable chow mein from the same menu. Arpit manned the cashier station and was always friendly and inquisitive during our exchanges. At the end of my second trip to India, we became Facebook friends. Over the next year, we exchanged a few messages to keep in touch.

On my third trip, he was quite happy to see me and asked if we could spend some time together. We made plans to meet the following night at 8 p.m. I assumed that we would get a quick cup of java. Well, after eating a big meal, I met at the assigned time and was looking forward to some coffee and dessert at the nearby café. Upon arrival he smiled and said, “Hop on my bike. I am so hungry. We are going for pizza.” Moments later we were weaving in and out of traffic for a few miles on the way to Topovan.

We arrived at VJ’s Italian restaurant. The open-air dining area had a few covered tables, but the gems were on the grassy hilltop with panoramic views of Rishikesh. The mighty Ganges looked a bit tamer from this elevated distance. Arpit took charge and ordered pizza, spaghetti, and a sandwich.

Arpit then began sharing his plans for life—plans as big as his appetite. At the ripe age of 20, the only thing holding him back was his intense loyalty to family.

I asked him why he had so much interest in dining with me. “You are twice my age and have seen things I will never see,” he said. “I would like to learn from you.” I tried to put myself in his shoes at that age and could not imagine myself seeking anything other than self-gratification.

During our dinner, we made plans to visit Devprayag, the sacred confluence where the Alaknanda and Bhagirathi rivers merge to forge the headwaters of Mother Ganga. Although Devprayag is located just 40 miles from Rishikesh, the trip takes at least two hours in a cab and is ill-advised to attempt without Dramamine. Arpit asked, “Mr. Kurt, would you mind if I brought my girlfriend on this trip?” I replied that I would look forward to meeting her.

A few days later, we met at the taxi stand behind Parmarth where a Tata was waiting to take us upstream. The car arrived at 8 a.m. and was reserved until 5 p.m. for a total cost of $30. Arpit, lugging a small blue backpack, arrived alone. “Is your girlfriend coming?” I inquired.

He said, “It is a problem you will likely not understand. For an Indian girl to take this kind of journey, she would need permission from her parents.  She was afraid to tell them about you and was considering leaving that part out. I took back the invitation, so she would not be tempted to dishonor her parents with a story that did not match reality.” I tried to compare my modus operandi at his age and silently shook my head in awe of his character.

I asked, “How many times have you been to Dev?”

He shocked me by replying, “Never.”

After the stomach-churning drive, we stepped out of the car for our first view of the merging rivers. The Bhagirathi begins at the foot of the Gangotri Glacier. The glacial meltwater, cloudy with minerals, arrives at the confluence violently, as rapids. The Alaknanda begins at the Indian border with Tibet. This glassy river is a deep shade of teal. While smooth and graceful, the Alaknanda’s powerful flow has carved an ancient path into the solid rock canyon walls.

The merging occurs at a large ghat stairway built into the natural rock.  From above and for about a quarter of a mile, there appears to be a distinct squiggly line as the gray and teal waters unite and eventually become a single body with gorgeous turquoise hues.

We descended about 50 stairs to the yellow suspension bridge that crossed the raging Bhagirathi. The bridge, built for scooter and foot traffic, was obstructed by a lone cow sprawled out, lounging. Like us, she was just enjoying the view.

After a quick chai break, we climbed more than 100 stairs to arrive at the Raghunathji Temple. This temple, established in the eighth century, had a cubed, chimney-like structure that towered above a myriad of pastel-colored homes. We were lucky to arrive just in time for a Hindu service that began with the ringing of the 15 large bells hanging from long chains.

To arrive at the actual river ghat, we descended another 50 to 60 stairs. I stripped down to my underwear, stabilized myself with one of the long chains provided for safety, and stood knee deep in the cool waters. For a small fee, a local Hindu filled my hands with marigolds and water while chanting a prayer for me. An uplifting spiritual energy flowed at this divine location.

We crossed another suspension bridge above the calmer river. Arpit bought a bag of peanuts from a local vendor and shared them with me, a cow, and a kitten.

After several hours of wandering, we reversed course and walked back to the taxi. After driving about half a mile, Arpit asked the driver to pull over.

“Why are we stopping?” I asked.

“We cannot make such a long journey home without a proper lunch,” Arpit answered.

“But we do not have any food,” I observed. “What are we going to eat?”

Arpit unzipped the blue backpack and spread a sheet of newspaper on the backseat of the car. He then pulled out several containers covered in foil. With a big smile, he said “My mom has prepared our afternoon meal. She told me to tell you hello and to enjoy the offering.”

We devoured Mama’s chana masala (chickpea dish), tomatoes, cucumber, hot chilis, and paratha (flatbread). With full bellies and enlightened hearts, we began the two-hour drive back home to Rishikesh.

One Dance

Last week, my mom was reading the on-line edition of the Boise newspaper.  She said, “Do you remember Rich Jordan?”  I did remember him as our neighbor in McCall.  He passed last week.

I trained her not to take out-of-state phone calls but the 208 numbers are like nectar.  If they are not in her contact list, her self imposed rule is to ignore unless they call three times or leave a message.  She returned a thrice caller that was unfortunately not a stranger.  It was the son of one of her best friends from college.  The news was not good.  Earlier in the same day, we took a long hike with one of my friends from Palm Desert.  She mentioned that her husband had passed many years ago.  My mom pried and we learned that one day he just got off the exercise bike and had a heart attack at home.

I am at an age where a friend dying from natural causes is rare.  My mom is at an age where the pool of friends becomes more shallow each week.

About ten years ago, I was on a week long 400 mile group bike ride through Northern Idaho.  I had the pleasure of meeting a spry lady named Ellen that happened to be 82 years old. With the exception of one ridiculously long hill, she rode the entire course.  I had dinner with her one night and challenged her to give me some advice.  I asked her to dig deep into her history, wait three days, and then give me one sentence that would improve my life.  On the third day, she said, “Eliminate hate from every aspect of your life.”

Like everyone else, I have one dance on this planet.  Too often I get caught up in some trivial problem or squabble and lose sight of the bigger picture.  This week was a great reminder to stay focused on gratitude for being alive.

Natural Unfolding

When I released Practice last October, I ordered 1000 copies and mailed them to random yoga studios throughout the country.  It was my dandelion marketing plan to just let it go and see what grows.  While the books were landing, I was landing back in Rishikesh.

A few weeks into the trip, I received the following message from a stranger:  “Good morning! Well, good evening to you actually. I’m sitting in a hotel room in Dharamsala awaiting the sunrise on Thursday morning, Thanksgiving in the U.S., I brought your book with me (it found me, it was offered up as a pass along from a studio owner in NH). From the sketch of Rishikesh I was intrigued, and as I read on I was brought back to my trip last year, where I also stayed at Parmath Niketan Ashram! As you unfold your experience I drift between fond reminiscence and new curiosities! I’m not finished reading, I’m about to read part 3 and hear about your TTC. Yet, I’d love to revisit Rishikesh through your eyes! My next trip back may have to be on my own rather than with my sangha! Thank you for sharing!”

I responded to my new friend, Shivani, by saying,  “Well good morning to you too. I am back in Rishikesh for another 6 weeks. My trip ends on Dec 3. I am so glad that my book found a way into your hands.  Pure magic. How long will you be in India?

Dharamsala is located about 300 miles north of Rishikesh and is home to the Dalai Lama.  We continued to communicate and agreed to have a follow-up phone conversation when we were both back home.

A few weeks ago, we had our first chat.  Shivani asked me if I had any interest in co-hosting a nine day yoga retreat in Rishikesh for this November.  About ten seconds later, my intuition kicked into overdrive.  It looks like my new friend and ten more people will be seeing Rishikesh through my eyes.  We have created a nine day excursion from Nov 4-13.  We will practice yoga each day and then enjoy the sights and sounds from this holy city on the banks of Mother Ganga (Ganges River).

I have no idea how this all happens but know that when synchronous events are happening in my life, it is an affirmation that I am on the right path.  If you feel called, please consider joining us as this story continues to unfold in a natural manner.  It just may bend your life!

Click Here for RETREAT INFO

Control

For thirty years in a row, Palm Springs has become my home at some point each spring.  The Coachella Valley is a desert that extends roughly forty five miles to the shores of the Salton Sea.  It is  fifteen miles wide and surrounded on three sides by enormous mountains with the highest peak exceeding ten thousand feet.  There is a series of interconnected drainage systems that is commonly referred to as “the wash”.  When I hike with my mom, this is one of our go-to spots.  At 83, her days of climbing mountain are over, but she will kick your ass on a five mile hike up the wash.

In all of these years, I have rarely seen a drop of water in our trail.  This open space of the drainage system is about eighty yards wide and the concrete walls can be as high as twenty feet.  In some areas, the border is more natural like a gentle sandy slope or a wall of natural rock.   One way or another, it is a giant canal system with a sandy floor.

The epic rain began to pour last Wednesday night and it continued throughout Valentine’s day on Thursday.  We rented a full-size pickup for this trip, so I felt OK about driving to the gym for our morning exercise.  The street gutter in front of our rental home was full, but there was no excess water in the street.  When I took my first right, things changed and the cars were creating huge plumes of water as they slowly progressed down the roadways.  When we reached the bridge that crosses the wash, I could not believe my eyes.  The entire thing was overflowing with chocolate colored water topped with violent whitewater rapids.

The natural banks were collapsing the the concrete was barely able to contain the massive water flows.  Full sized palm trees appeared as toothpicks as they were on the fast track to the Salton Sea.  I later watched a video of a small white car floating down this massive river.  It looked like a tiny marshmallow bobbing in a sea of hot chocolate.  The photo in this post is from one of our walks last year.  Try to imagine a steady stream of water two to three times taller than my mom and eighty yards wide.  That was our scene last Thursday.

There are many times in my life when I have a false sense of security about being in control.  It reminds me of a famous line from Top Gun where an actor says, “Son, your ego is writing checks your body cannot cash.”

Watching the rain combine to form a massive river in the desert was a nice reminder that I control very little in my tiny amount of time on this planet.  Instead of letting my thoughts wander into the sea of problems that are beyond my control, which is just about all of them, this soggy Valentine’s Day was a nice cue to refocus on a few things I can control.  Here is my short list:

 How many times  I smile each day.
The amount of time I spend thinking about the past.
The type of food I eat.
My commitment to honesty.
The words spoken by my inner-voice.

By the end of the day, 3.7 inches of rain assaulted the desert.  It was the most in 76 years, and the third highest of all time.  While I am sad for the destruction, I am thankful for the lesson.

 

Soulful Road

For this week’s blog, I have included another sample chapter from Practice.  To promote the book, I sent 1,000 copies to random yoga studios throughout the United States.   With all of these efforts….the book is not selling.  I mean like a bomb.  In the last 30 days, I sold 4 copies on Amazon.  At this pace, I will break-even in 125 years.

I need help.  Please consider buying a copy, writing a review, or sharing with local influencers.  If this book is not for you, then please buy a copy and give it to a friend or just drop it off at a local yoga studio.  If this sounds like begging, you are correct.  I need help.

BUY HERE

This chapter is about a very unique friendship with a women I have never met in person or spoken to on the phone.  I hope you enjoy our connection.

 

COSTA RICA SOULFUL ROAD

In 2013, when I was writing my first book, I hired a local company to help with the cover design. After reading the manuscript, their creative team came up with four options. It was hard for me to choose, so I posted them on Facebook and decided to let the social-media crowd help with this process.

A new Facebook friend named Soulful Road was quite drawn to one of the images. We exchanged a few private messages about our mutual admiration for the Camino de Santiago. She had already walked the path and was contemplating writing a book about her experience as a pilgrim.

In early 2016, when I was considering my month-long trip to Costa Rica, I noticed several Soulful Road Facebook photos from the country. We resumed our conversation, and she gave me a few recommendations on some spiritually oriented communities and resorts. She also noted from my posts that I had recently been to Rishikesh and expressed an interest in making her first journey to India. I sent her a few links to my blogs with some highlighted stories from that country. As she was preparing to leave Costa Rica, she sent me a photo of a coffee cup adorned with creative monkey art and wrote, “Last coffee before heading out. It all unfolded beautifully. I saved some waves, monkeys, magic for you. Kim.”  This note was the first time I ever saw her real name. She was heading back to Colorado to be with her ailing mother.

I did visit Montezuma, Costa Rica, and practiced yoga there for the month of May. Although the setting was beautiful, I did not feel much of a spiritual connection to the area. For the first time in my life, I cut a trip short and came home a bit early.

In November of 2016, I was back in Rishikesh and resumed posting many colorful photos on social media. Apparently, India was still deep in Kim Soulful Road’s head. She pinged me with a few questions about ashrams and ground transportation. My note said, “I am here for a month and stay at Parmarth Niketan. I do not have a good handle on the guesthouses, but there are many options. I would spin the wheel and book for just a few days. During that time, you can explore and find the correct vibe. Just arrive, wander, and wonder.”

In January of 2017, I was feeling the urge to visit a new place, perhaps in Costa Rica. Kim was there in Nosara, so I sent the following message: “Kim, you are a true gem. I am now sure that one day our paths will collide in a really cool manner. I am looking for a place to go for the month of May. My list includes Greece, Sicily, Trinidad, or Costa Rica.”

In her reply, Kim sent me a beach photo of a tree with roots exposed from natural erosion of the seawall. The base of the tree was painted white with the number “86” sprayed in a messy blue. Her message said, “On my last morning, I walked down to my favorite spot to give thanks to the big mystery for all of the beauty I’d witnessed during these past few months.  On my way in the early morning, a sea turtle had just reached the beach to lay her eggs, a small white butterfly followed me for a while, and I passed a man who was sitting on a giant piece of driftwood playing the ukulele for a one-being audience, his pup. In the spirit of spirit, I have hidden something for you behind #86, up in the roots, just behind the painted part. Maybe it will be there when you are in Nosara in May or it might disappear. Either way, it is all magic.”

Although I had not yet decided on a destination for May, Soulful Road Kim already knew the spot.

In May of 2017, I rented “Casita Peace” for a month-long stay in Nosara. This sleepy surfer community had the spiritual and health vibe that was missing from my previous trip to Montezuma. The main beach, Playa Guiones, stretched for 3 miles of soft sand and had a fantastic surf break. Just days after arrival, my routines morphed into enjoying gallo pinto (beans and rice) with eggs and daily yoga classes at Bodhi Tree Yoga or The Harmony Hotel.

On the third day in Nosara, I sent Kim a message asking her for a map to tree #86. She advised me that, if I needed directions, her secret gift was not meant to be found. The next day I was wandering down the beach and noticed the number “19” painted on a beach-side tree. After many more steps, I found tree #20. Given the distance between these two trees, tree #86 was likely to be about 2 miles up the beach.

A light breeze blew as I walked along the smooth sands. Pelicans flew by in groups of three to four, perfectly aligned like drafting bicycle racers. A constant cycle of breaking waves pushed water across the sand. The ebbing water moved random shells that were remixed by the next crashing wave.

I tried to imagine Kim’s thoughts when she walked this stretch on her final day in Nosara. Was she thinking about her mom’s death? Her next journey? Her purpose?

To arrive at tree #86 felt quite intimate. The roots were exposed in a mazelike manner­—wide at the bottom and narrowing on the upward path to the foundation of the tree. At the top point of the roots, the tree’s base protected a tiny cave. I reached in and was able to feel something unexpected. My fingers gripped a piece of twine tied to something both smooth and sharp. I pulled on the object and was soon holding Kim’s scallop shell from her original walk on the Camino de Santiago—a prized possession for any pilgrim, and hardly an item someone leaves for a Facebook friend.

While I had followed Kim’s footsteps to Costa Rica, she had followed mine to India.

After departing Costa Rica, she went straight to Rishikesh for 30 days of satsang with Mooji, a famous spiritual teacher. These spiritual discourse sessions were intended for people to question their purpose at the deepest level. On a random day in March of 2017, I received a solitary photo from Kim. Although the snapshot came with no caption or message, it was immediately familiar to me. It focused on a cardboard sign hanging from thick twine that read, “Yogi’s Brown Bread Man Shop.” At that time, Kim had no idea of my connection to the store or my dear friend Narayan.

The Uplifter

For the past 30 years, Palm Springs has been my home at some point during the spring.  It began as a traditional week-long spring break to coincide with my mom’s elementary school teaching job.  Is has since morphed into a two-month celebration of desert life.  Over the years, I have passed out, gambled, lost girlfriends, found girlfriends, golfed, hiked, biked, made friends, made enemies, played tennis, watched tennis, skydived, snowshoed, ridden in a hot air balloon, consumed a gazillion calories, experienced family drama, lounged by pools, shopped, toured galleries, and experienced many cultural events.  The one constant on this trip has been my mom and her amazing passion for life.  Each year, there is always some unexpected event or theme that becomes the heart of the trip.  While the current trip is in its infancy, my first surprise began on day one.

On the first morning as I was preparing to leave for the gym, my 83-year old mom said, “Wait for me.  I am coming with you and want to learn how to lift weights this year.”  She has made this threat in the past but it quickly dissipates.  Not on this trip!

We waltzed into Palm Springs Fitness, filled out the paperwork, and waded into the gymnasium.  I am a gym rat so being there is second nature for me.  This is new territory for my mom.  As we walked towards the lockers, I did notice many of the regular older gents pulling in their guts, sitting a little more upright, and trying to catch the eye of the new hottie.  They need to up their game to have any chance.

On the first day, we focused on biceps and chest.  We did three sets with ten repetitions for each muscle group.  She began by curling ten-pound free weights and then moved to bench pressing the forty-five pound bar.  At the end of our first session I was getting ready to leave and she said, “What about our cardio??  I thought you rode these bikes.”  Her maiden voyage was thirty minutes on level ten of twenty.  I thought we were finally done but she demanded some abdominal work.

At the end of her forth day of lifting she said, “How about we skip the indoor cardio and hike Indian Canyon this afternoon?”

It is my dream to be open to new things throughout all of my remaining upright years.  I have an excellent teacher.

 

Mystical Murray

A childhood friend recently reached out for some solicited advice regarding his ongoing alcohol addiction.  I quit drinking in 2001 and enjoy helping anyone in need.  Over the years, I sent my friend several books from my favorite authors including Eckhart Tolle, Wayne Dyer, and  Deepak Chopra.  The underlying theme from all of these books is guidance on how to embrace the present moment.

With a month of sobriety under his belt, my friend sent a short email that said, “Watch The Bill Murray Stories.  It’s about an hour and there was a huge takeaway for me.  I know you will get it.”

My initial reaction was a bit puzzling.  I send recommends for classic spiritual literature and my pal wants me to watch a documentary on Bill Murray??  I had a hard time imagining a deep message from Bill, but do remember his classic line from Caddyshack.  For those not familiar with movie, here is Bill’s line after being stiffed on a caddy tip from the Dalai Lama,  “Hey, Lama, hey, how about a little something, you know, for the effort, you know.” And he says, “Oh, uh, there won’t be any money, but when you die, on your deathbed, you will receive total consciousness.” So I got that goin’ for me, which is nice.

With a few scoops of Ben and Jerry’s One Love (my new favorite), I lounged on the couch to enjoy The Bill Murray Stories on Netflix.  It turns out there are several websites dedicated to Bill and they document his accolades.  This mega-star enjoys inserting himself into the lives of strangers with the intention of being helpful and being in the moment.  He never shows up with a god-like attitude.   He even has a 800 number where anyone can call, does not have any staff, and never travels with an entourage.

In one instance, he made a quick friendship and was invited to a party where he simply did the dishes.  He showed up at an Austin house party and played the tambourine for the house band.  My favorite was about a long taxi ride.  He asked the cab driver about his passion.  The driver said he loved the saxophone but  never had time to practice.  Bill asked where he kept his sax and the driver told him it was in the trunk.  Bill drove for several hours while the man practiced in the back seat.

A different friend recently left me with a nice imprint.  He said, “It is always better to be interested than to be interesting.”

If you have an hour, get some One Love and enjoy meeting the real Bill Murray.