If you’ve not heard of Alan Watts yet, I’m happy to make the introduction here. It’s a wonderful reminder at this time of year about what we’re all doing here, really. Put to stunning imagery, it’s worth the dedication of 4 minutes.

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In modern society we have to balance pursuing our passion and fitting into societal norms. Is it possible to have it all?

In today’s society we’re sold two visions of what makes a “good” life:

1. Pursue your passion and live your dreams!

We’re taught that doing what we love is a noble cause and it’s something that we should strive for. Get a better life/work balance. Focus on our talents and creativity. Do good things for the world. Be happy. Live simply.

2. Buy a house, save for retirement and be successful!

Success is defined by money. Climb the corporate ladder, be someone’s boss, make money so you can buy a house and be sure to start a 401k as early as possible. Being busy is a good thing. You should be putting your educational degree to good use. Drive a big car, have a house with a hot tub. Be a lawyer, a doctor, be a hedge fund manager, but whatever you do, do something that commands respect.

But these two approaches to life are often in complete opposition to one another. We’re sold an American Dream that is literally unattainable without some sort of compromise, and we like to glaze right over that compromise. “You can do it all!” we’re told. But can we?

If we’re freelancing, in charge of our own schedule, and generally happy with our tiny artsy studio apartment or tiny house, we’re stressed because we don’t have a retirement plan, our friends and family give us the “are you going to grow up soon” look and we wonder if maybe we should have been smarter about putting our degree to good use. We feel guilty for leaving early for a long weekend. “Shouldn’t I have become a lawyer by now?” you say to yourself as others around you buy houses, have babies and nest their way into domestic bliss.

But if we’re on the professional route, we work 60 hours a week, our health falls to the back burner, we’re stressed and burnt out, and despite the number of diplomas on the wall and raises in the board room we wonder, “shouldn’t I simplify and really focus on being happy in my life?”

If you have ever doubted your path in life, you are not alone. And asking whether or not you really can have it all is a common question.

Our culture feeds us two contradicting ideals. Since we live in a world driven by consumerism, it’s no surprise that money is the definition of success, and even if all the self help books have clearly outlined the way to happiness (hint: it’s not money) it’s a nagging thought at the back of our brains that never really goes away. Why do you think people spend so much time looking at inspirational quotes on Pinterest? Here’s a reminder: an inspirational quote is only inspirational if it actually gets you to take action.

Going after happiness is about navigating these worlds, being conscious that no matter how much culture tells us to “pursue our passion” there’s always a grim reality that comes with that pursuit.

How do we create a life where we get both? We don’t. That is to say, we can have elements of both, but we must come to terms with the fact that to do so, there will be some element of compromise. We must also be hyper conscious of the societal pressures at hand. No matter how much marketing and advertising tells you that you can have it all, you can’t.

Can you have it all? No. Because no matter what we do, there will always be a compromise, but it is learning to appreciate and understand that compromise that helps us to live better. We give up one thing and get another in return. We do a cost-benefit analysis.

We can do one thing and that is to live consciously. Make decisions that make sense for us individually. Sometimes that means dropping everything and moving to Mexico to become a yoga instructor. Sometimes that means taking a 9 to 5 office job and not having the flexibility to travel when you want. It’s up to you to weigh the pros and cons of each. There is a daily reality to both worlds, difficult moments and wonderful ones. But determine what your own dream is, don’t live someone else’s.

Life is meant for living, but it’s also about finding a balance. One that you and only you alone can determine. Define your own success and happiness, whatever that is.

Related on EcoSalon

The New American Dream: 7 New Definitions of Success

30 Best Quotes About Being Present

The Freelancer’s Dilemma: Should You Work for Free?

Image: martinak15

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VideoLife is extraordinary. Embrace it.

Take a moment, slow down and appreciate the simple beauties wherever you are.

Holi from Variable on Vimeo.

The post Video: Holi appeared first on EcoSalon.

VideoNurture and protect life in all its forms.

Do our mothers still have dreams, hopes and journeys to make? This video by Forge Motion Pictures reminds us of the “yes.”

OF SOULS + WATER: THE MOTHER from NRS Films on Vimeo.

The post Video: The Mother appeared first on EcoSalon.

Seeing the forest without the trees.

“Anyone who cannot come to terms with his life while he is alive needs one hand to ward off a little of his despair over his fate… but with his other hand he can note down what he sees among the ruins.”

-Franz Kafka

Image: Natalie K Beats

The post Seeing the Forest Without the Trees appeared first on EcoSalon.

ColumnConscious life, hear me roar.

“I want to go ahead of Father Time with a scythe of my own.” – H.G. Wells

My oldest brother, whom I had not talked to or seen in some 10 years, just left my house. For years, I’ve envisioned all the things I wanted to tell him. All that mess that went down when he left, how we all had to pick up the pieces, how I felt bound to hold everyone together and make them see the lighter side of things, but I didn’t.
I saw him standing in my home, looking the spitting image of my father, and hugged him and cried while he, big brother style, tried to make me laugh.

It takes a lot in this world to be human. To let go of anger and mend bridges we thought were burned or too weak to ever repair. To let time be the true salve for our hurts and realize that ultimately, life keeps propelling us all forward.

But oh, that in-between time of figuring it all out.

I started writing this column on Wednesday and it was to be on how much happens in a week of our lives. The idea came to me on Christmas when my grandfather died, gathered speed when my estranged brother called my mother to say he was sorry for her loss, held steady when my dearest friend called to tell me he was separating from his beautiful wife and crashed hard when my second oldest brother had a nervous breakdown Tuesday night from all the stress.

In just a week, life hung in a precarious place, diverging into two roads where at one juncture the potential for a complete emotional apocalypse was readily available and at the other, a place of learning and growth. By Thursday, I’d strapped on my sneakers and headed out into the cold morning to run until I couldn’t take it. Stop and go, stop and go, catching my breath, losing it all again, pushing, sweating and finally crying while running, realizing that no matter what happens in this world, I am in control of how I react within it. We all are. It just hurts sometimes, these pit stops in rest areas we didn’t expect to pull into.

Tomorrow is a new day and the Bufflehead ducks on the pond at the bottom of my street will be pushing through the water, quietly looking for food. Every morning when I walk the dog I stand there and take them in and watch the long slants of sun breaking across the water. All along the water’s edge they swim in groups, diving underneath for food in the dark silence they always come up out of. Sometimes, I hold my breath without realizing it until they pop back up and are safe in the warm sun. Until I know they are back with their feathered clan pushing further out into the blue, where they live without my help.

Between the Lines is a weekly column navigating the sometimes-sharp, sometimes-blurred lines of life and culture between city and country.

Image: S-A-M

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QuoteDaily quotes at EcoSalon.

“May your trails be crooked, winding, lonesome, dangerous, leading to the most amazing view. May your mountains rise into and above the clouds.”

– Edward Abbey

Image: visualpanic

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ColumnThe masochism of spring cleaning.

Was it Ma Ingalls of Little House on the Prairie lore who invented spring cleaning?

My own mother kept a very clean house, or rather, we helped her keep a very clean house, especially when winter turned to spring. Suddenly it was all about gutters and polishing pieces of wall-sized wood furniture I didn’t even know we had.

Begging off on the grounds of homework, I festered in private as I read whole paragraphs about the joyous seasonal beating of rugs and gay shaking of springtime sheets over the bubbling banks of Plum Creek beside the little cave or cavern or whatever the hell it was. That Ma, so seasonally attuned. The delusional bonnet.

And so I should have known better than to embark on a virginal spring clean this year. A great fan of stowing Laffy Taffy wrappers in the My Little Pony castle turret as a girl because they fit, I might have guessed I’m not the best candidate for seasonal rebirth. My mother was helpless in the face of my bedroom’s Lego and Nancy Drew chaos, eventually washing her hands of her unwashed nine-year-old and commanding my father to step in.

Dad introduced me to the half-pint’s version of the spreadsheet: a large white chart with gold stars awarded for snugly made beds and cleanly shelved toys. The first week went well and Dad was awash in the heady stew of his disciplinary success.

By week two I was negotiating for concessions (how could the cereal bowl under the bed count against the gold star when I forgot it was there?). My mother would shake her head as she passed by yet another heated scene of The Stray Sock Was an Inside Job and make predictions about my future in politics.

By week three, I came to the obvious realization that gold stars were stupid. Luck rewarded me as ever in the form of siblings, for my little brother had taken to digging custom-shaped “lakes” in the backyard about this time, and I returned undisturbed to my nest of gum wrapper sagebrush and drifts of expiring socks.

Arriving fashionably late to the spring cleaning party last week, I had high hopes of transformation which were quickly abandoned. But at least I’m aware, and that’s the real victory. I’m owning my shit, including all the shit I own.

It began with my closet. Once I really took a look, I was horrified at the disorganized, overfilled storage containers – cracked! plastic! unmatched! – and the corner of designer heels gathering dust like grosgrain skeletons. Out of the closet it all came and soon half my apartment was a textile Appalachia of handbags, shoes, boots and bathing suits. I posted about a tote and jeans I could part with to friends on Facebook, clothing swap plans were made, and before I knew it I had myself a new pair of jeans with clutches and a laptop bag on the way. Success, any way you look at it.

Twirling in front of the mirror in my new jeans, I realized how much the mirror needed repainting. So I hopped to with a new black high-gloss, only to realize halfway through that for one thing, painting always takes longer than you think and, further more, how oppressively dingy and un-springlike my fireplace mantle is and also how have I been living in this place with its unacceptable wall smudges in at least four locations below ankle level? Casting my eyes to such lows was my next mistake: the floors. A shameful sea of scratches, hiding in plain sight all dreary winter.

Couldn’t I just buy a house plant and bring out a new throw pillow or two?

Momentarily deflated, I fled from my disaster which had the day before been an adorable city studio to buy a birdhouse because birds are lovely and chirp, and I’m sure the landlord won’t mind them hanging out on the fire escape for a while. While I was at it, I bought new drapery rods since brass isn’t really a very “clean” color.

Then I called my hair stylist, who is also an artist and professional upholsterer, about recovering the occasional chair, which was looking frayed. And the drapes: what fresh hell is this? Sagging. Completely sagging. And the bedskirt, which isn’t there but wouldn’t one look gorgeous? Lena of the scissors has no idea the spring cleaning carnage she has enabled. I did manage to stop myself when I ventured the word “bolster” with a straight face.

Digging up my drill, painter’s tape and tape measure, I knit my brows in further riot: why was there gift wrap and a birthday card from an ex in this box of handygirl tools? And so apart came the storage cabinets and my heart. What a mess.

Spring cleaning: the Russian nesting doll of chores.

Last year, when I moved into this same apartment during a hectic week, I quickly shoved everything into drawers and closets just to have some space. Not one to abide clutter, after a few weeks, I pulled it all out to organize and arrange my new digs properly. The rooms became fjords of questionable navigability, cardboard cliffs of swaying boxes covered in the sorts of things you hate having around but feel like you might need someday: cables to electronics you’re not even sure you still own, diplomas, wrist guards.

I sent a picture of my “progress” to a friend, who texted: “Congrats! Your place will look so awesome.”

“…When you’re done next year!”

Such an apt observation would rightly be called domestic delusion at any time of the year other than Spring Cleaning, when instead it is packaged and sold as a perfect happy Martha cake covered in twig-woven icing bedecked with fondant woodland ribbons that say things like Connection to Life and Personal Renewal but actually makes you fat and gives you a migraine headache.

And here I was just getting over the holidays.

This is the latest installment in your editor’s column, The Insider’s Guide to Life, exploring topics such as media, culture, sex, politics, and anything else. Cheers and spellcheck!

Image: Shereen M

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Here’s a mighty powerful question: What’s it going to take?

We usually mutter that question in dire circumstances. Worst case scenarios. Rock-bottom situations. What’s it going to take for you to wake up? What’s it going to take for me to stop? What’s it going to take for them to realize?

But life is always an urgent circumstance, when you think about it. Birth – miraculous. Survival – miraculous. Death – inevitable. Suffering – optional. Life – urgent.

I wonder what my days would be like if I approached my happiness with the same sense of urgency that I dedicate to deadlines and to-do’s.

Like, I’ve GOT to meet my dancing quota! Wild horses couldn’t keep me from lunch with my girlfriends! Come hell or high water, I WILL get a facial and lay in the sun! Most important deadlines: to meander, to laugh until I snortle by noon every day, to make pizza with my son.

So, in the spirit of urgent vitality – and not knowing if today will be my last – I’m asking myself, lovingly but firmly: LaPorte, what’s it going to take for you to be incredibly joyful? What’s it going to take for you to make an evolutionary leap as an artist, lover, mother, friend, human? What’s it going to take to get you to walk to the lake that’s four minutes from your house? What’s it going to take to get you on the dance floor? You want to eat life whole? To know God? To radiate pure love? Urgently, now: what’s it going to take?

I think it’s going to take everything I’ve got. Deep breath. Pause. Softening. And, smiling. Because I’ve got what it takes. As do you.

True desires rise from rich capacity.

Editor’s Note: Danielle LaPorte is the creator of WhiteHotTruth.com, which has been called “the best place on-line for kick-ass spirituality.” She is the author of The Fire Starter Sessions: A Digital Experience for Entrepreneurs, an inspirational speaker, former think tank exec, and news show commentator. You can read all of Danielle’s EcoSalon guest articles here, and find her on Twitter @daniellelaporte.

Image: shaggyshoo

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“A week without your computer, are you going to be okay?”

I raised my eyebrows and shook my head; sometimes people just don’t get it. Yes, I was about to take off and leave my computer sitting right where it deserved to sit: on my desk. No, I was not going to live-tweet about my trip or post pictures on Facebook. I was going to take six whole days off from the technical world, not even my cell phone was going to get turned on, and I was going to be just fine.

A New York Times article that I read almost a year ago has stuck with me, and I’ve cited it in several conversations regarding our inability to truly disconnect. Titled “On Vacation and Looking For WiFi,” the central topic hits a little too close to home, but raises an important point: we have created a society where we are so connected that we have practically made it impossible to ever truly pull ourselves away.

Five years ago, in Barbados, none of us consulted a computer. Three years ago, in Costa Rica, a few family members walked to an Internet cafe and checked our e-mail one afternoon just for the novelty of being online in a faraway place.

This year I stood in a long line in the lobby of this resort in the Dominican Republic, to wait my turn to sign up for 25 hours of Internet service for $25. Several family members brought laptops and we checked our work email daily.

It’s not about keeping in touch with what’s going on; no matter where you are in the world you probably have access to a newspaper, even if it’s a few days old. The fear of disconnecting stems from our need to be in control. What if an important email comes in while we’re out and we don’t get to it? What if the person needs an immediate response?

Well, what if? We’ve somehow traded our ability to trust that other people can handle themselves, answer their own questions, and even learn to wait if they can’t get an immediate response for the false sense of security that comes from thinking that we can always be in control.

Two days into a week-long stay in Mexico and those questions seemed very far away. Insignificant even.

Little did I know that while I was contemplating how unimportant all the stuff I had left really was, the document I had diligently prepared for my business partner and emailed to her at 1 a.m. – a document which included all that needed to be done while I was out – was in fact the wrong one. An attempt at making myself feel in control, yet slightly failing in the process. But, like any sound, intelligent human being, she called my neighbor, got let into my apartment and sent the document to herself from my computer. Smart woman.

Meanwhile – my everyday virtual duties switched for overlooking the ocean – I wrote in my journal:

Disconnecting. A whole week of it. And what does it remind me? That most of what we do isn’t that important. The constant updates, the information overload. In the end, we can turn it all off. In fact, it’s easier than we lead ourselves to believe.

So what can’t we turn off? Feelings, emotions, creativity… those the the things that are always there, often impended by our everyday routine that we deem necessary.

It’s easy to overlook the things that make us feel alive, to quickly get out of balance. But in taking time to slow down, we remember how to find that balance.

We can’t give up our jobs and we can’t give up email. To be an active citizen, we have to be educated, so we can’t give up consuming information. I would never argue for any of the above. But we can take time to assess how much of all of these things is healthy.

We can take time to focus on the slower activities that cultivate our friendships, our emotions and our creativity. Drawing, writing, traveling, walking, cooking, talking, sitting, thinking – all those good things that we often put into the “quality of life” category.

And as for that creative inspiration that only comes when I myself truly disconnect? Here are some Mexico photos.

Images: Anna Brones

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