Health and Wellness – Page 3

The Bali journey: in photographs.

Posted on November 19, 2013November 19, 2013 by Sarah K Peck

I’m a little bit at a loss for words.

I’m back from Bali, landing back in the USA after a flight pulled me 13 hours backwards in time, depositing me into the winter hemisphere. While I was gone, our city decorated the streets of Brooklyn with holiday lights, and folks have pulled out their hats and gloves to stay warm.

And my mind is still on Bali time…

I’m back, but slowly–back onto the internet, back after nearly three weeks of detoxification; back having had time to rest, back after a long, winding, deep period of inner emotional and spiritual work. For ten days I left the world of coffee, wine, alcohol, sugar, meat, dairy, cooked food, work, the internet, and technology (exceptions: phone as camera and kindle book, and of course the things that are technology from other generations). Before I left, I had started building a course called “Gratitude and Grace,” a two week micro-workshop that begins December 1st. It’s clear now more than ever that this is an important and beautiful project, and I’m excited to be putting the details on it this coming week (as well as writing more, much more, about Bali). There will be many stories, and many adventures to follow. There will be an invitation to join me on the Gratitude and Grace journey.

In the winter I wake up, early to rise, early to greet the sun. Hello, world.

And today, as I ease back into writing, to talking, and to the working world, I’ll start with photographs of the Bali journey. The photographs make it glossy, shiny, sweet and surreal, but they capture a glimpse. The real trip was raw, messy, emotional, deep, dark, and light. I’ll go inside of it in good time, and the reverberations are already present within every moment, every cell, every day.

I’ll carry this inside, outside, through the heightened awareness of how interconnected we all are. You and me, we’ve got the strum beat of the universe inside of us; we’re connected by the threaded pulses of our heartbeats. Everything I do touches you, and you me. The ocean breathes and sighs, swallows and crashes; it too, dances to the vibrations. Here we go…

With gratitude and thankfulness swelled up in my heart,

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Arrival into Ubud:

The skinny streets:

My shared home for the retreat:

Running through rice fields in the morning:

Rice paddies:

Another stunning morning sunrise with volcanoes in the distance:

Every day, the rice fields changed–some cut down, some flooded, some grew–it was the same, but new:

The infamous Bali dogs:

Traveling up to Gunung Kawi temple, viewing the rice paddies:

The jungle abounds:

Gunung Kawi Temple:

Water purification, bliss in the heat (and soul):

IMG_1545 purification

Several of the lovely people who joined in this journey:

Yoga, every day, often in the rice fields:

More yoga, balanced between two (wet!) rice fields.

The North coast (Tejakula)–the last two days there I spent quietly by the sea:

Let yourself dance, let your voice speak. Sing, from the soul. Start with a whisper. Feel the sound of your breath and the touch of your body. You’re here, you’re supposed to be here.

The trip was incredible. I’m so thankful. More soon.

The power of breath: why breathing happens before anything else.

Posted on October 31, 2013October 28, 2013 by Sarah K Peck

06_San Francisco Golden Gate Bridge in Fog

It’s not always easy to breathe.

Breathing—the intake of oxygen and the exhalation of carbon dioxide—is life’s essential force. It’s the first step our physical bodies take towards making all other actions possible, including thinking.

In swimming, the rhythm of breathing is essential: you only have a few opportunities to catch a breath; it’s about timing your intake with your arms, kicks, and rotation. Without air, you can’t work the water.

Breath happens before anything.

Out in the open water, in the waves of the ocean, with the salt water sprays and the swells that take over, sometimes I turn my face upwards and a wave slams me in the face. I close my mouth, pass by that opportunity, hold the air in my lungs, and try again on the next cycle. Sometimes it takes a few turns before I get to suck in some oxygen.

My relationship with breathing has always been tenuous: when I was eleven, I was diagnosed with asthma. I learned my lungs were restricting my airways—and it would jump on me like a sudden cold, onset in minutes, causing breathing to be painful.

I would hide my inhalers, because I didn’t want something that gave me a crutch or a reason that I couldn’t be as good as anyone else. I learned how to push my back open against a floor, to rub my lungs to clear them, and how to hold my breath to stop my body from panicking.

I also learned how to hold my breath for a really long time. Getting into the pool every day gave me an intimate familiarity with the ways my lungs worked.

Swimming actually taught me how to breathe again.

Today, three years later, I’ve become an open water swimmer, chasing longer distances with each ocean adventure I find. I will routinely be late to work or leave for long lunch hours just to spend those hours in the ocean, my friend, the place where my soul is restored.

I need to touch the water, to splash, and to feel the curve of a wave beneath my hands. I’ll grab a board, and float out to sea, heart and head against the board, listening and feeling the rhythm beneath my body. My breathing will inadvertently sync up with the ocean swells, and the anxiety of my digital, corporate life gets left ashore. I’ll get up early, earlier than the sun, wander down to the ocean, and get into the water just to tune my body back into the rhythm of the earth.

But I had to learn how.

Your breath: check in with yourself:

First, right now, as you’re sitting at the computer or staring at your screen to read this post: what does your breath pattern look like? Do you notice it? Are you breathing? Some people stop breathing while they are reading, and they raise their shoulders and hold tension in their bodies while at the computer. (A telltale sign is if you let out periodic sighs. Listen to others if you’re in a room, or set an audio-recorder on yourself for an hour. You’ll forget about it and can then listen to the breath sounds play back. It’s fascinating.)

Next, find a space to lie on the floor. Take a deep breath. Take ten slow breaths, with your eyes closed. Push the air all the way in and out of your lungs. Where are the bottoms of your lungs? Where are the tops of them? Can you fill the space entirely?

Practice changing the cadence of your breathing. Take 10 very quick micro-breaths. Feel your rib cage move in and out. Feel your heart race, your pulse jump, feel the reaction.

Breathe again, slowly.

Your breath is the foundation on top of which every other activity takes place. You can train it, just like you can train everything else. Change your body rhythms by controlling your breath.

Breathe.

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I originally wrote this post for Julien Smith’s Homework series during the epic campaign to swim naked from Alcatraz to San Francisco. Breathe is powerful, so I’m reposting as part of this November series while I’m away in Bali.

What would you bring with you into the woods? Reflection questions on your own fire, the art of creation, the necessity of destruction, and your intrinsic value.

Posted on October 14, 2013October 11, 2013 by Sarah K Peck

Central Park - Autumn - New York City

Central Park by Vivienne Gucwa on NY Through The Lens.

Reflection, rejuvenation, and three questions.

This weekend, I left the city to join one hundred other entrepreneurs, creatives, and innovators to shake off some digital dust and retreat in the Poconos Mountains of Eastern Pennsylvania.

In addition to the typical packing instructions — sleeping bag, flashlight, yoga clothes, comfy fleece, warm sweaters, s’mores — we were also instructed to bring the following three things with us into the woods:

Something you’d like to burn (something you’d like to leave behind);
Something to improve somebody else’s experience;
Something that symbolizes who you are and what you’re passionate about.

Something to burn.

What can you burn, destroy, or get rid of? We all carry things with us–in our hearts, minds, ideas, thoughts, notes, and the physical stuff we carry. My fellow writers are ablaze with instructions towards destruction: it seems to be a theme in many minds. Goddess Kali encourages us to set ablaze what’s holding us back, writes Danielle LaPorte, encouraging us to welcome destruction as part of the act of creation. The theme is beautifully captured in Joseph Campbell’s work on The Hero’s Journey:

Joseph Campbell, on breaking, destruction, and letting go:

The old skin has to be shed before the new one can come.

If we fix on the old, we get stuck. when we hang onto any form, we are in danger of putrefaction. Hell is life drying up. The Hoarder, the one in us that wants to keep, to hold on, must be killed. If we are hanging onto the form now, we’re not going to have the form next.

You can’t make an omelet without breaking eggs.

Destruction before creation.

Out of perfection nothing can be made. Every process involves breaking something up. The earth must be broken to bring forth new life. If the seed does not die, there is no plant.

Bread results from the death of wheat. Life lives on lives. Our own life lives on the acts of other people.If you are lifeworthy, you can take it. What we are really living for is the experience of life, both the pain and the pleasure.

The world is a match for us. We are a match for the world. Opportunities to find deeper powers within ourselves come when life seems most challenging. Negativism to the pain and ferocity of life is negativism to life.

What will I bring? I’ve got a few ideas, but the first that leapt to mind was the “busy” badge I often wear. Busy isn’t good, and not managing my time well isn’t a mode of operation. I want to burn the busy badge, and make time for long lunches, for ample yoga, for walking. The work can take the space and time and shape it takes, and there will be an ebb and flow to it–but busy is not a means to an end.

What about you? What can you destroy, leave behind, or eliminate as we head into Fall and the season of darkness, replenishment, and restoration?

Something to improve someone’s experience.

What do you bring? What do you have to offer? What are the gifts that you bring to share with the world?

I’m packing my yoga mat and my massage hands to help heal and restore. The power of movement, stillness, awakening and connection through our physical bodies is healing.

Something that symbolizes who you are.

How would you characterize who you are? What objects, ideas, or processes encapsulate who you are–or who you’re working to be?

This one’s trickier. I have several ideas, but I’m still mulling it over.

What would you bring if you were headed to the woods and had to bring these three things?

Leave a note in the comments with your answers.

Signing off the internet for a short bit,

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When is the right time to make change? The changing of seasons is the perfect time to re-fresh and re-invest.

Posted on September 24, 2013September 24, 2013 by Sarah K Peck

Image by Graydon Foulger, Impressionist Oil Painter.

Oh, these times of transition…

Fall is a beautiful time for change and transition. The weather cools with winds that whisper at a coming winter, the hint of a chilly air brushing across my shoulder tops and threading cool breezes against my skin. I huddle in my jacket, tugging it closer and shaking out my fingertips. I notice that the mornings are getting slower and the days are getting shorter. This weekend marked the official beginning of Autumn, closing down with a startling clamp on the last of summer.

The cooling season and drier air makes me long for hibernation; I stay in bed, pillow atop head, and say a muffled NO into the bedding, my aspirations for morning workouts disappearing alongside the droopy sun. I want to lie for longer, hide from the world, and treasure the warmth and depth of my hidden blankets. My mood shifts; I crave hearty foods and thick soups; I am slower to start in the morning and my mind dips more frequently into the melancholy of lower light. Every psychological trigger begins to fire a reminder for me–from the Halloween candy dotting the grocery aisles to the orange hues of colored leaves to the warm smell of turkey cranberry sandwiches with brie. I grasp the fleeting remainder of warm days with bike rides and lunches on the water before it cools too much to enjoy.

Yesterday was the Fall equinox, a time marking the transition of seasons and temperatures into a new time. For those on the northern hemisphere, we’re closing our long summer days filled with light and energy, and rolling into a season of darker days, hibernation, a few extra hours of slumber, and a craving for rich, starchy foods, harvest vegetables, salts, and soups. For those on the southern hemisphere, blinking in the spring light after a long winter, you’re also awakening to change and transition, one of a different sort.

The equinox is a time to revisit your intentions, to shift, and to re-align yourself for the coming winter. A friend wrote beautifully about what the equinox brings to our life:

“The equinox is a time to revisit your intentions as well as to be in gratitude for your harvest–whatever it may be. Acknowledge all that you have at this time and focus on the abundance of the harvest rather than any lack. The equinox is also a time to think about cleaning, pruning, and making any changes that you are inspired to make as a way to make more space for what you want. It is a time for expansion, freedom and commitment. Take some time to ritualize change. Honor the change of season and use the energy of the fall equinox support the release of any burden you may have been carrying for someone else. Put it down once and for all.” (M.M. via The Power Path)

It made me thankful for the energy, change, and growth processes I’ve put into place this year. Leaving my job, moving across the country, selling my car, and setting up my own client roster–these were not simple projects. In retrospect, I bow in gratitude to the year’s work, and I’m thankful for the times I took risks.

What have you harvested this year? What can you acknowledge that has gone well, or shifted significantly? What are you growing? Are you still setting foundations in place for great harvests next year, and next spring?

What can you let go of, or refocus your energy on? What rituals can you take towards change?

More than just writing… a workshop and a journey.

This Fall, 20 students joined me in the Writer’s Workshop, a 4-week course designed to discover your writer’s voice, teach essential writing skills, unlock your inner creative, and grow as a writer within a small-group community. Their inspiration and enthusiasm has been breathtaking.

Each person came to the course with a mind and heart open towards learning, towards improving, and wanting to grow in an area that’s critical for success: communication. Writing allows us to clarify who we are, what we want, and share our ideas. Beyond writing, however, the four-week course is a journey into creativity, into storytelling, into memories and dreams, and into mind-mapping.

It’s a commitment to yourself that you want to get better. It’s a ritual of change. It’s a recognition and a dedication towards growth.

Learning is one of my favorite things. It’s an incredible gift to pour new knowledge and ideas into your brain, synthesize them, mull over them, contemplate, and then create your own works. The best bloggers and creatives I know are all incredibly smart and phenomenally hardworking–likely far more than what is publicly visible, in fact–and they take the time an energy to invest in themselves, to create day in and day out, and to hustle when they need to.

For writers in our writing workshop, here’s what a few of them had to say about why they joined the journey:

“I love to write but have challenges finding the time and space with a demanding full-time (non-writer) job. I’m hoping this class provides both inspiration and structure to help me build writing into my daily life going forward.”

“I thought that getting back into writing regularly might help me find a voice that hasn’t been as vocal lately.”

“I want to hone my most crisp and compelling writing voice and develop a regular writing practice.”

“I’ve always wanted to engage in personal/creative writing but never did much of it. I’m looking forward to using the experience from this course as a catalyst to begin a daily practice of writing, mostly for myself.”

“I have a blog on my website, but I haven’t been too consistent with it. The goal for me is to be more consistent, disciplined, and always have a plethora of new ideas to write about.”

As someone who is hungry for knowledge, I love diving into new projects, courses, and ideas. It’s a joy to teach people who feel the same way. These talented professionals from around the world are brilliant peers and colleagues–and yet they are taking the time to join the workshop, often alongside day jobs, families, side hustles, and other endeavors–each of them coming together to invest in their dreams and take the steps towards improving their lives and businesses.

You don’t have to have it “figure it out” to partake on the journey.

Why do people join in new adventures? Sign up for new classes? What do they want to improve?

I find the most common denominator of people who make change successfully in their lives is that they start before they feel ready–they dive in before it seems right. And it’s true in my own life: I long delayed signing up for Yoga Teacher Training because I thought I had to be better before I could start (some idea in my mind told me that I needed to be “a great yogi” before I could indulge in deeper learning). And then I realized that I was putting up the same barrier: I didn’t need to wait for the perfect time to improve myself and learn something new. So I signed up to take my first deeper dive into Yoga Teacher Training. You don’t have to wait to get better. You can begin your journey exactly where you are.

It’s been an incredible year of change for me, and the year isn’t over yet. As I transition from traditional employment to building my own practice and business, developing my own patterns, and investing in my own journey, I have quite a bit to discover as I grow.

Getting better starts now.

What are you letting go of this Fall? What are you starting? How are you editing your journey and building your life?

With strength during all times of transition,

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Are You A Watcher Or A Judger?

Posted on April 7, 2013August 12, 2015 by Sarah K Peck

A few weeks ago, I was teaching some of Spring’s early-season open water courses down at Aquatic Park near Ghirardelli Square in San Francisco. A group of new swimmers stood, shivering, outside of the water while the coaches and I explained the process of getting acclimated to cold water temperatures and critical things to know about the differences between pool swimming and open water swimming.

With a temperature of 52 degrees in early March, the sting upon entering is brutal and shocking: it takes every swimmer’s breath away, leaving people with the feeling of hyperventilation for a minute or two before you acclimate to the temperatures.

One of the things I notice with both myself and with new swimmers–particularly talented adults who are very competent in other areas of their life, but new to swimming–is how quickly our thought processes jump from an observation to a secondary judgment.

In open water swimming, one of the many difficult things to do is swim in a straight line, and also to sight–to spot off of a land mark in the distance to help guide your course. With your eyes at the water line and waves chopping up around you, it’s easy to get disoriented or confused or not see something the first couple of times you take a peek up at the horizon line. Add a group of swimmers surrounding you, and it’s easy to get lost or confused pretty quickly.

“Be present as the watcher of your mind — of your thoughts and emotions as well as your reactions in various situations.” – Eckhart Tolle (Tweet this)

What happens, however–and this goes beyond swimming–is that people will take a stroke, try to sight off of an object–and for any number of reasons, won’t see the thing they are looking for. A wave, a swimmer, a mis-calculation, some foggy goggles–all of these make the chances that you’ll get that perfect “sighting” on one stroke very small. I often have to sight three or four times before I get any information that’s helpful to me. So, I put my head back down, take a few strokes, and try again. After a couple of tries, I get the information I need, or at least partial information. I can begin to piece together a map of my environment over time with lots of additional clues that I keep looking for.

What happens to new swimmers, however, is that when they miss that first sighting–and they don’t see anything–they start to judge themselves. “What the heck! Why can’t I see anything?” The self-talk pattern happens pretty quickly (and believe me, I know this because it’s true for me, too)–“I’m such an idiot! Why can’t I get this right? Why is this so hard? What am I doing wrong!”

We — capable, smart, talented adults — are very quick to collapse a judgment on top of a behavior almost immediately after something goes wrong.

I encourage and coach my swimmers to adopt an “observational” philosophy and to leave the judgment part, or analysis, until after we get out of the water. “Just watch what goes on, and state it as a fact, and leave it there for a bit. Practice letting your thoughts come, but don’t be hard on yourself about them,” we’ll tell the swimmers before we get in the water. It really is okay if it doesn’t all go perfectly.

When I breathe while swimming out doors, I often don’t get a breath every time I take a stroke. Often the elements–waves, wind, timing–slam water in my face or make it hard for me to get the air I need. I keep going, without skipping a beat, working into the rotation. Head back down, spit out the water, roll over to the next breath cycle, and try again. After years of training, missing a breath doesn’t phase me–I know that a couple seconds down the line, I’ll grab some air and it will all be fine. As a newbie, however, this is both terrifying and also unknown territory. While breathing is perhaps the most extreme of examples, if it’s possible to stay relaxed and calm even amidst very scary things happening, chances are you’ll end up just fine and you’ll get another chance to improve (or breathe) a couple seconds down the line.

“It doesn’t always go right the first time. Remind yourself that that’s okay.” (Tweet this)

In another, non-athletic personal example, the same “observational versus judgmental” tack came into play. A while ago, I was struggling with an overwhelming amount of lethargy and exhaustion, and I wasn’t able to do all of the things I normally do. I found myself arriving at home, exhausted, and falling asleep by 8 or 9 PM at night–and sleeping straight through until 8 or 9 AM. All of the time I usually spent working on side projects, training, or working with clients was gone. There were a couple of months I didn’t get my regular workouts in, and I had to take some time off of work to stay back at home, and I didn’t take on any new clients or projects. In a conversation with my roommate (and dear friend), I sighed and said,

You know, I’m going to have to be okay with just watching this. Observing. I don’t fully know what’s going on, or why, but I don’t have the energy to be mad at myself for not being able to do everything right now. I think I just need to be patient and observe what’s happening. I can’t collapse judgment on this and be so hard on myself about not doing everything I had hoped I’d be doing at the point in the year. Something’s going on, and I’ve got to give it some space and time. All I can do right now is look at my behavior and actions over time, and look for patterns. Before I jump in and get really hard on myself, it’s worth being gentle and asking myself why I think this is happening.

It’s not easy — so often I find myself discouraged on top of my failure, adding judgments on top of my already unexpected performance. For people who work really hard, especially exceptionally talented people (and I know many of you out there are like this), being able to pause and “just watch” yourself and suspend the early judgment can be tremendously difficult. Sometimes I think of it as a moment, or a pause–time to stop, observe, and try to understand. Give yourself a couple of days before you get on the analytical bandwagon.

What about you? When you find yourself trying something new, or doing something differently than you expected, do you jump in and criticize yourself immediately?

As Eckhart Tolle so eloquently writes, “Be present as the watcher of your mind.” When I’m in the open water, I let myself watch my thoughts roll in and out, seeing them as pieces of neural firings and slowing down from collapsing judgment on them. This meditative, gentle attitude can be practiced. Start with watching (and don’t judge yourself if you find yourself judging!). When, over time, you find the ability to separate from your immediate thoughts and see them as streams of information and not actually constructing your reality–it’s a very powerful moment. As Tolle writes:

“Be present as the watcher of your mind — of your thoughts and emotions as well as your reactions in various situations. Be at least as interested in your reactions as in the situation or person that causes you to react. Notice also how often your attention is in the past or future. Don’t judge or analyze what you observe. Watch the thought, feel the emotion, observe the reaction. Don’t make a personal problem out of them. You will then feel something more powerful than any of those things that you observe: the still, observing presence itself behind the content of your mind, the silent watcher.” – Eckhart Tolle

Words for walking: what kind are you?

Posted on February 26, 2013July 10, 2013 by Sarah K Peck

What’s one thing that almost every one of us have in common? The ability to walk, wander, and be bipedal; we are a species that has, historically, spent most of our time on our feet.

In my Walk + Talk adventures in San Francisco this past year, I’ve been reading literature on the importance of walking and ambulation. Geoff Nicholson’s “The Lost Art of Walking,” devotes an entire section simply to the number of words we have in our language for walking. (Before you read further: how many words do you think there are for getting out and about on our two feet?)

Words for Walking, by Geoff Nicholson

“The word walking looks and sounds like a simple, honest, straightforward one, and in some ways it is. The dictionary tells us it has its origin in late Middle English, and therefore doesn’t need a Greek or Latin precursor. Latin terms such as ambulare or pedibus ire seem needlessly fancy; the classical Greek peripateo, stoicheo, or erchomai are just downright unfamiliar.

Yet perhaps that very simplicity in English is why we need so many qualifiers, so many synonyms, or not quite synonyms, for walking, each word with its own shade and delineation of meaning. I found It revealing to see which of these words applied to my own walking and which didn’t. Tell me how you walk and I’ll tell you who you are. Continue reading “Words for walking: what kind are you?”

William James on consciousness and movement

Posted on February 4, 2013July 10, 2013 by Sarah K Peck

William James, from the University of Amsterdam

In the 1961 text titled Psychology: The Briefer Course, William James, (an eminent theorist and one of the founders of modern psychology), writes a series of essays on habits, consciousness, the self, attention, association, memory, sense of time, and several more topics. The book, a compilation of James’ (1842—1910) writings, was one of the foundation texts for advanced introduction to the history and systems of psychology during my undergraduate education.

I found myself re-reading Chapter 14, on Consciousness and Movement—particularly the ideas that our thought patterns are influenced by our ability to move, or moreover, the fact that we are first and foremost mobile creatures—implies that consciousness itself is a motor activity. It’s been a while since I’ve dusted off my psychology textbooks, but I found myself up at night re-reading texts and trying to figure out what the relationship between movement and thinking implied.

In chapter 14, Consciousness and Movement:

“All consciousness is motor. The reader will not have forgotten, in the jungle of purely inward processes and products through which the last chapters have borne him, that the final result of them all must be some form of bodily activity due to the escape of the central excitement through outgoing nerves.”

“The whole neural organism, it will be remembered, is, physiologically considered, but a machine for converting stimuli into reactions; and the intellectual part of our life is knit up with but the middle or central part of the machine’s operations. “

A bit further into the chapter, he talks more specifically about the relationship between feeling/thought and movement, which I find particularly interesting:

[…]

“Using sweeping terms and ignoring exceptions, we might say that every possible feeling produces a movement, and that the movement is a movement of the entire organism, and of each and all its parts.”

The implications of this are fascinating. If every thought is a movement—that is, if every time you think, you produce some motor reaction (a neural stimulus, a twitch, a physiological shiver or reaction to stimulus; if each thought is related to stimulus that is transmitted through mechanical means throughout your body,

Then every single movement in your body is correlated to some extent, to thought.

And if this is true in one direction—if every motion in our body maps to some sort of thought process and embedded, historical thought;

Does every thought we have recall that initial motor stimulus and reaction?

…

And if so,

Does the act of movement, of creating mirrored movements and using each component part of our bodies, from walking to sitting to bending to lifting to exertion, to micro-movements and patterns of the smallest, indiscernible increment, but movement nonetheless—

Then cause us to think, even if only to recall previous thought patterns?

…

Certain physiological processes and therapies, massage in particular and yoga as another example, have foundation in the idea that movement is training for the mind.

The implication, however, for a society that prizes sitting, creating, and laborious hours behind a computer unmoving, — does this cause the resulting correlating conclusion of an equal and opposite reaction–or possible that a lack of movement may be correlated to an unmeasurable or intangible lack of intelligence happening on a widespread scale?

I suppose I’m suggesting: is a sedentary nation also a stupider nation?

Perhaps this is too far-fetched and unproven to be real; hence it is entirely (at current state, in my current mind) a speculation exercise: but sometimes, I wonder, after the glorification of Steve Jobs has waned a bit longer, after people thoughtfully critique his unique ability in a unique time and tease apart his contributions; –I wonder if the application of modern computers, with wide exception of course, will also be seen to perpetuate the numbing of a certain type of intelligence.

Thoughts for pondering.

I’m working on a series of essays and thought pieces about the importance of movement and thinking and the relationship between the two. I host a series of events called “Walk and Talk,” in San Francisco that marries the ideas of movement and analysis and provides fodder and opportunity for philosophical discussion. The groups are small, but feel free to request and invite if you’re in town.

Also–if you’re in San Francisco this week, I’m teaching a class at General Assembly this Thursday, February 7th on Storytelling and Narrative. I’d love to see you there!

Just One

Posted on January 21, 2013January 21, 2013 by Sarah K Peck

What would just one of something look like?

Not a diversity of items, but a simplicity of things. A specificity, a selection, and a deliberate choice between several?

Not three workout programs, but just one workout program.
Not seven yoga mats or towels, but just one.
Not eight new dresses or blouses, but just one. Your favorite one.
Not two sets of bedding, but just one.
Not four new books, but just one.
Not three bedrooms, but just one bedroom.
Not two cars, but just one car.
Instead of two sets of tablewear, just one set.
Instead of eight dreams, just one dream to work on.

Sometimes I get caught in the trap of needing more. I have a brown pair of boots, but now I need a black one. I have a black pair, but now I need a tan one. And I need a pair of rain boots. Four pairs of boots? Do I need four pairs of boots?

What would just one look like?

[Or none at all?]

Let’s Go For A Walk and Talk: Experiments in a Creative Series.

Posted on January 17, 2013March 24, 2013 by Sarah K Peck

“Modern literary theory sees a similarity between walking and writing that I find persuasive: words inscribe a text in the same way that a walk inscribes space. In The Practice of Everyday Life, Michel de Certeau writes, ‘The act of walking … is a process of appropriation of the topographical system on the part of the pedestrian, it is a special acting-out of the place … and it implies relations among differentiated positions.’ I think this is a fancy way of saying that writing is one way of making the world our own, and walking is another.”

— Geoff Nicholson, The Lost Art Of Walking.

Walking is critical to thinking, yet we are an increasingly sedentary society. Let’s move, think, wander. There is language and brilliance in movement, in walking and exploring.

Or, perhaps as Austin Kleon says: “You are a mashup of what you let into your life.”

This past year, I designed an event series around spending time walking and talking with a small group of people in San Francisco (and expanded to Boulder, Colorado for a special session with the Bold Academy). The purpose of the Walk + Talk series was to explore different conversations and new spaces, as well as to test an idea that I’d been mulling over for some time: That walking (and movement) are critical to thinking, and that a walk can enable more vulnerable and in-depth conversations in ways that sitting and talking don’t always do.

For each event, I put together a set of ideas loosely related to a particular topic (with suggested readings and prompt questions), but certainly allowed for people to be free to wander off point and engage in their own imaginations.

Over the past dozen events, there have been several emerging themes and realizations. There are several reasons why walking is conducive to better thinking, from the positioning of our bodies in space, the the idea of a destination, to the elevation of our heart rates to 100-110 beats per minute. When you design scenarios that enable trust–and walking with friends can be designed to create a space of safety and exploration–the ideas and innovations and possibilities that result can be astounding. And sometimes, you just need to walk it out. Just as the peripatetic philosophers did years ago, let’s engage in a short walk and ask good, hard, interesting questions.

I believe in the importance of conversation and wandering and connectivity, and I’m exploring a theory that movement is essential for unlocking the thinking in our minds. I also want to create a space for respectful, fearless conversations, idea exchange, and explorations. Particularly or equally important was the group curation–I invited minds that I admired, thought leaders and people willing to be vulnerable and inquisitive; and kept the size small enough to create space for long-form conversation.

The fact that we’re creating a small but growing group of philosopher-wanderers who gather to muse about the future of the world, modern issues, and other topics at hand makes me incredibly excited. Each walk, a new theme is put forward, with suggested reading passed around in the group.

If you’re in San Francisco, ask about next event or email me to find out more–I tend to keep the groups very small, so space is limited. The idea, however, is free. Walking and talking are inherently human activities and no one owns them, and I’ll be posting the reading sets for people to borrow on this website (please, take them!). If you find more readings or articles related to movement, thinking and consciousness, please send them my way. The world needs more walkers and philosophers. (And as a bonus: if you come up with your own reading set, send it my way and I’ll use it for a future group).

Thoughts and musings for the afternoon:

How often do you take a walk?
Are you a solitary walker or a group walker?
When do you do your best imagining and thinking?
Is thought and movement related? How is movement important (and critical) for innovation and creativity?
Do you wander in places that are familiar or unfamiliar?

“It’s not about where an adventure ends, because that’s not what an adventure is about. Let’s get going.” – Matt Damon (In the movie “We Bought A Zoo”).

Tell me your story in the comments! I’ll be writing more on movement and consciousness in several future posts, and I’d love to hear from you.

What’s On Your Mind?

Posted on January 14, 2013January 14, 2013 by Sarah K Peck

“We’re not here, for that long, anyway. But to spend almost half our time lost in thought, and for the most part unhappy at that–well that’s pretty tragic, isn’t it?”

— Andy Puddicombe

How does your mind work? What brought you here? What patterns occupy your thoughts and recur, repeatedly?

Andy Puddicombe talks about the power of meditation and how beneficial it is for each of us to stop for ten minutes each day and simply to look at how our mind is working. (The link takes you to a 9-minute TED talk).

When you stop and look at your thoughts, he asks, do you notice–

That you’re dwelling and ruminating on one particular, circling, repeating thought?
That you’re reinforcing certain story lines and patterns of mind?
That your mind is restless and agitated?
That your mind is dull, boring, or mechanical?
That you have a nagging thought that comes around and around?

How does your mind work, anyways?

The point of mindfulness isn’t judgment or instantaneous change, but rather, an awareness of what is actually happening in your mind, without judgment. It’s familiarity with the present moment, and an awareness of how, in fact, your mind is working.

Sometimes in order to know what’s on your mind, you have to slow down and take a look at that very mind. What’s in it?

Enjoy,