Boot Camp for the Soul
A few months back, my good friend Curt started telling me about this boot camp fitness class that meets every Saturday morning, bright and early, down at a local beach here in Honolulu. Now when I first heard the words "boot camp", I had the same adverse reaction that most people probably have. It sounded so militaristic, so hideous, so unappealing. And at 7am on a Saturday, well, you can guess what the first words out of my mouth were.
"Hell no, Curt."
But Curt never stopped trying. Every week he would fill me in on the crazy routines he was doing and how challenging it could be, but more than anything, I would notice his face lighting up while relaying just how fun the class was and how good he felt afterwards. It took several weeks of cajoling, but finally I agreed to attend one of these sessions. So I hauled my butt out of bed at 6:15am one Saturday morning and biked my half-awake-self to the beach to try it out.
Lo and behold, Curt was right. It was challenging, for sure. It was hot and sweaty, but it was fun. The hour passed quickly. I found myself pushing my body farther than I had in quite a while, and when it was all over, I was thanking Curt for convincing me to give it a shot. I felt adrenalized. For about two days afterwards, my legs hurt in places where I had forgotten I had muscles. But somehow, probably because of the rush and the feeling of accomplishment it gave me, I was hooked.
Here I am, three months later. I still get out of bed at that ungodly hour every Saturday morning. Sure, some days it is harder than others to leave my pillow behind. But I have yet to regret the decision.
In today's class, while hopping on one leg from cone to cone, sweating like a pig, I mentally replayed the week gone by. I thought of the situations, the feelings, the fears, the challenges that seemed to present themselves at various times during the past five days. Some were brand new, others quite ancient. All of them made me look closer at myself. Most of the time, I didn't like what I was seeing. I questioned so often why I do what I do, say what I say, and react how I react. I wondered this week (aloud, even) what I am really doing here on planet Earth. What is the point of all this, anyway? Questions, questions, questions. Seemingly, everything was up for re-evaluation.
Gosh. This past week really was sort of a boot camp for my soul, I decided.
Every Saturday morning in those grueling sessions, I physically push myself through the workouts. It always starts with an open mind and a desire to do it. In my soul's boot camp, I mentally and emotionally push myself through. It is never easy. There are lots of moments where I want to throw in the towel, take the easy way out and pretend I have never started to question things. I try to convince myself that I should just ignore it all and go back to my old routine (whatever that was). Of course, I know I can't. I decided long ago that there was more out there than meets the eye. I must have (subconsciously) opened to the possibility that life, my life, has meaning beyond what I originally thought.
That was the start of my work, my real work here on Earth. Yes, the real boot camp began so long ago.
I must recall one situation that speaks volumes about where my head was all week. I went to Lanikai Juice (a local place much like Jamba Juice) and ordered my favorite menu item, the Monkey Bowl. It is basically a peanut butter smoothie but presented in a bowl, thicker, with chopped bananas, carob chips and granola on top. I sat down outside the store, sun beating down on me, and began inhaling my beloved bowl of happiness.
At the table right in front of me, I noticed a young man and woman, both probably in their mid-to-late 20's. Observing the energy between them, it quickly became clear to me that they were on a first date. The awkwardness, the overzealous facial expressions, the long dramatic pauses between monologues. I noticed them all. I couldn't hear their conversation, but I didn't need to. The body language(s) said everything. They were both so nervous, the poor things.
With each spoonful of peanut buttery yumminess, I watched my mind go into judgement on this poor infant couple. It went something like this:
Look at them. It is so obvious they are nervous. It will never work out between them. If they have to strain so much on a first date, it's not right. I think he is gay anyway. And she is sitting there, arms crossed. She's not having it. They should just call it quits and go home. Gosh, I hope that the next date I go on isn't this bad!
A-ha! And there it was. I sat there like I was Judge Paul or something, gavel in hand, tearing up this poor little pair. But the whole time, they were just doing something innocent, something sweet, something natural. Most importantly, they were doing something I wanted to do. They were putting themselves out there. Trying to make a connection. Who cared if they failed or not! And really, who am I to judge? I saw that the judgement being made really had nothing to do with them, and everything to do with me.
Ouch. The truth hurts.
I have always heard it said that when we judge another, it is because of something we find particularly gruesome or unworthy in ourselves. Truthfully, It is never the other person. I have seen this bear out over and over again in my own experiences, another of those Universal laws that I have found always to be true. And this episode of "Judge Paul" proved it once again.
So what am I doing here on Earth? What's the point of all this? Who knows, exactly. Maybe it is simply to wake up. Be conscious whenever I can. Keep trying. Push myself. Scale new heights, and don't be afraid to say 'yes' to new situations. See things through different eyes. Grow. Roll with the changes. Don't be afraid. Yes, I said that already but it bears repeating.
A third time, even. Don't be afraid.
Boot camps are never easy. Every time I pick my head up off my cozy pillow at the crack of dawn on Saturday morning, I have to remind myself that what lies ahead will make me glad I chose to do it. It is always worth it in the end.
It is the same with life. Every single time I question who I am and what I am doing here, I must remember that leaving my comfort zone is a good thing. I find the answers more and more by pushing myself, by being open and vulnerable. It might be scary at times. It will certainly be uncomfortable. But it is always worth it.
I can always skip a Saturday boot camp class if I want to. But with boot camp for the soul, there is no going back. Staying in bed and avoiding it is no longer an option.
Besides, there is endless potential here. Being conscious is like the gift that keeps on giving. There is always work to do. It is a long road ahead, and it leads to nowhere in particular. Heavy lifting is required, as is jumping over hurdles and occasionally stretching beyond my "limits". I will sweat, cry, and wish it was over at times. It will not be a walk in the park.
Yet somehow, all of this sounds welcomed at the moment. What can I say? In this boot camp, the end always justifies the means.
Good thing too, because I'm hooked.
"Hell no, Curt."
But Curt never stopped trying. Every week he would fill me in on the crazy routines he was doing and how challenging it could be, but more than anything, I would notice his face lighting up while relaying just how fun the class was and how good he felt afterwards. It took several weeks of cajoling, but finally I agreed to attend one of these sessions. So I hauled my butt out of bed at 6:15am one Saturday morning and biked my half-awake-self to the beach to try it out.
Lo and behold, Curt was right. It was challenging, for sure. It was hot and sweaty, but it was fun. The hour passed quickly. I found myself pushing my body farther than I had in quite a while, and when it was all over, I was thanking Curt for convincing me to give it a shot. I felt adrenalized. For about two days afterwards, my legs hurt in places where I had forgotten I had muscles. But somehow, probably because of the rush and the feeling of accomplishment it gave me, I was hooked.
Here I am, three months later. I still get out of bed at that ungodly hour every Saturday morning. Sure, some days it is harder than others to leave my pillow behind. But I have yet to regret the decision.
In today's class, while hopping on one leg from cone to cone, sweating like a pig, I mentally replayed the week gone by. I thought of the situations, the feelings, the fears, the challenges that seemed to present themselves at various times during the past five days. Some were brand new, others quite ancient. All of them made me look closer at myself. Most of the time, I didn't like what I was seeing. I questioned so often why I do what I do, say what I say, and react how I react. I wondered this week (aloud, even) what I am really doing here on planet Earth. What is the point of all this, anyway? Questions, questions, questions. Seemingly, everything was up for re-evaluation.
Gosh. This past week really was sort of a boot camp for my soul, I decided.
Every Saturday morning in those grueling sessions, I physically push myself through the workouts. It always starts with an open mind and a desire to do it. In my soul's boot camp, I mentally and emotionally push myself through. It is never easy. There are lots of moments where I want to throw in the towel, take the easy way out and pretend I have never started to question things. I try to convince myself that I should just ignore it all and go back to my old routine (whatever that was). Of course, I know I can't. I decided long ago that there was more out there than meets the eye. I must have (subconsciously) opened to the possibility that life, my life, has meaning beyond what I originally thought.
That was the start of my work, my real work here on Earth. Yes, the real boot camp began so long ago.
I must recall one situation that speaks volumes about where my head was all week. I went to Lanikai Juice (a local place much like Jamba Juice) and ordered my favorite menu item, the Monkey Bowl. It is basically a peanut butter smoothie but presented in a bowl, thicker, with chopped bananas, carob chips and granola on top. I sat down outside the store, sun beating down on me, and began inhaling my beloved bowl of happiness.
At the table right in front of me, I noticed a young man and woman, both probably in their mid-to-late 20's. Observing the energy between them, it quickly became clear to me that they were on a first date. The awkwardness, the overzealous facial expressions, the long dramatic pauses between monologues. I noticed them all. I couldn't hear their conversation, but I didn't need to. The body language(s) said everything. They were both so nervous, the poor things.
With each spoonful of peanut buttery yumminess, I watched my mind go into judgement on this poor infant couple. It went something like this:
Look at them. It is so obvious they are nervous. It will never work out between them. If they have to strain so much on a first date, it's not right. I think he is gay anyway. And she is sitting there, arms crossed. She's not having it. They should just call it quits and go home. Gosh, I hope that the next date I go on isn't this bad!
A-ha! And there it was. I sat there like I was Judge Paul or something, gavel in hand, tearing up this poor little pair. But the whole time, they were just doing something innocent, something sweet, something natural. Most importantly, they were doing something I wanted to do. They were putting themselves out there. Trying to make a connection. Who cared if they failed or not! And really, who am I to judge? I saw that the judgement being made really had nothing to do with them, and everything to do with me.
Ouch. The truth hurts.
I have always heard it said that when we judge another, it is because of something we find particularly gruesome or unworthy in ourselves. Truthfully, It is never the other person. I have seen this bear out over and over again in my own experiences, another of those Universal laws that I have found always to be true. And this episode of "Judge Paul" proved it once again.
So what am I doing here on Earth? What's the point of all this? Who knows, exactly. Maybe it is simply to wake up. Be conscious whenever I can. Keep trying. Push myself. Scale new heights, and don't be afraid to say 'yes' to new situations. See things through different eyes. Grow. Roll with the changes. Don't be afraid. Yes, I said that already but it bears repeating.
A third time, even. Don't be afraid.
Boot camps are never easy. Every time I pick my head up off my cozy pillow at the crack of dawn on Saturday morning, I have to remind myself that what lies ahead will make me glad I chose to do it. It is always worth it in the end.
It is the same with life. Every single time I question who I am and what I am doing here, I must remember that leaving my comfort zone is a good thing. I find the answers more and more by pushing myself, by being open and vulnerable. It might be scary at times. It will certainly be uncomfortable. But it is always worth it.
I can always skip a Saturday boot camp class if I want to. But with boot camp for the soul, there is no going back. Staying in bed and avoiding it is no longer an option.
Besides, there is endless potential here. Being conscious is like the gift that keeps on giving. There is always work to do. It is a long road ahead, and it leads to nowhere in particular. Heavy lifting is required, as is jumping over hurdles and occasionally stretching beyond my "limits". I will sweat, cry, and wish it was over at times. It will not be a walk in the park.
Yet somehow, all of this sounds welcomed at the moment. What can I say? In this boot camp, the end always justifies the means.
Good thing too, because I'm hooked.
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