Try announcing you’re blowing up your life. The response to the announcement is an experience in and of itself.

Here’s a response that surprised me: some people find my life change fascinating. Truly, and deeply fascinating.

There’s a range from: the true skeptics (or haters)…thankfully few and far between; the people who authentically say the equivalent “not my choice, but good luck to you!”; and the people who are genuinely enthusiastic for you.

Then come the fascinated. The ones who ask questions. The ones who have been reading my blog, including some intense, raw re-counting of life change but never commented publicly or privately. Until now.

That reaction from the fascinated stirred a lot of thoughts in my head, none of which were clear until I listened to an absolutely fucking incredible podcast by Michael Gervais (of Seattle Seahawks fame), with one of my role models, Rich Roll.

Why “fucking” incredible?

Because I listened to that podcast not when it first came out January 20 or when I downloaded it a couple days before my trip to New Orleans on January 29, but on the plane back from the Big Easy on February 2, when the events of that exploratory trip and thoughts about this journey and series of life change my lovely bride and I are on were bouncing around my head with vigor. That timing is not a coincidence. Such things never are.

Here’s what happened: for the first time listening to Michael’s wonderful podcasts in which he interviews people who have achieved mastery in their pursuit, I found myself thinking as Rich was starting to answer many of Michael’s questions: “how would I answer that? What’s that answer for me?”

Rich Roll was an upper middle class kid. Academically successful, good athlete. College grad. Successful professional. All the trappings of life that society usually says – and sometimes demands – is the formula for success…and happiness.

I was the product of an upper middle class family. I had academic success. I was a good athlete. I graduated from a good college. I’m a successful professional.

And just like Rich, the pain of that formula’s failure to align with my authentic self eventually forced a change.

Rich’s guardrails on the journey are wider than mine. He went to a high-end prep school in DC. He was part of an elite college swim team at Stanford. He graduated from there as well as an Ivy League law school, Cornell. He became a successful corporate lawyer.

And then it all came crashing down when the spiral of addiction led him to treatment for alcoholism. Came crashing down, but also started a new fork in his path that led him to quit his corporate job and leap – with a whole lot of faith and trust in the Universe – into something that produced what he does today: fitness and plant-based living evangelist and advocate. And a fabulous one at that.

Take some of the highs and lows out of that roller coaster and you have me. I went to a good, but not elite college prep high school. I went to a good but not elite college, the University of Mary Washington. I was a college athlete, at a NCAA Division III school, which is the minor leagues compared to a top Division I program. I’m a successful white collar professional: an executive at a large health insurer.

And just like Rich, pain is what forced me to my crossroads. I’m not an addict, but I had to spend a lot of time in Al-Anon and counseling to get out of the fucked up patterns of my living, get real with myself about my role in the pain of the past, and how I want to, should, and can live in the future.

Rich couldn’t go back to his corporate job one more day. I realized I could, but it would kill me if I stuck with it over time.

Rich does herculean endurance events, like Ultraman. He’s an athlete the likes of which many people can’t comprehend. He’s also one of the most famous advocates for plant-based living in the country.

I’m an athlete, but with a less mind-blowing resume. I run Tough Mudders. I swim. I lift weights. I practice (and teach!) yoga. I’m now plant-based, and step-by-step growing into my own practice of mindfulness and being present.

I’m not Rich Roll.

I am, however, Eric Earling.

And listening to that podcast was so enlightening for me not simply because of what Rich and Michael discussed (which was awesome!), but because of what it forced and triggered me to think about in myself.

I knew Rich Roll was a famous, plant-based, stud of an athlete before I listened to this podcast. I never knew the many parallels our different paths have included.

Emerging from listening to Rich and Michael talk, I can speak with even more clarity what I’m out to do in changing my life:

• To help people live healthier, happier lives.
• To love (a simple statement with a lot behind it that merits another post in the future)
• To live and spread the empowering reality of an authentic life.

That’s why I’m moving from Seattle to New Orleans. That’s why I’m creating a new path professionally. That’s why I’m studying to be an integrative wellness and life coach. That’s why my transition at my current employer means jumping from being a Vice President of Corporate Communications to a Culture Change Evangelist.

That’s right, Culture Change Evangelist. At a health insurance company. How cool is that?!?

I wrote that title while ideating on what a transition out of my employer in the Seattle-area could be before my wife, daughter, and I move elsewhere. The title for the temporary role stuck as the new gig came together. Talk about writing your dreams into reality (and talk about gratitude for my employer being willing to explore a great fit for both the company and me in way that is truly mutually beneficial).

People at my job have come out of the woodwork to say they love that title. They have a twinkle in their eye, a spark in their voice, eagerness in their questions about it…just like those on Facebook or elsewhere that are fascinated with my bigger life change.

There’s no universal reason people ask about those things. They all have their own motivations. Just like everyone has their own reason for making changes in life, big or small.

Here’s what that tells me: there’s a hunger for this. A hunger for the raw, authenticity of living that change out loud, warts and all.

Warts, because sometimes change is a bumpy road. There’s a vulnerability to this journey being public. Transparency means people see your success, and might see your failure.  Being that vulnerable is good. It’s how we get real with ourselves. And often how we can influence others.

I identify with so much of what Rich said in that podcast, but some comments went deeper to my core, like referring to knowing when he gets off kilter. Rich said, “a good barometer of my spiritual fitness is how irritable I get.” Because when he’s centered, present, and mindful, he’s not as irritable.

Hello laser to my soul.

When I get real with myself, I’m irritable when I get similarly out of whack. And when that happens, I’m rarely the husband and father I want to be, and less likely to be the professional I want to be too. I had an experience in the last couple days where I got irritable with circumstances coming back to life life in Seattle, and most definitely did not show up well as a husband and father.

That’s unpleasant to admit, vulnerable to say…and powerful to publicize.

Because acknowledging that publicly will trigger something, for someone. Just like Rich and Michael triggered something for me. Just like this journey my lovely bride and I are on is triggering thoughts and feelings for others. And not only triggering them, inciting people to talk to us about it. People with whom we don’t often converse, but are now sometimes having the most interesting of conversations.

Conversations about the things that really matter in life: like happiness, love, and fulfillment. Not degrees, titles, and a pat on the head from a societal stereotype. Conversations about things that lead people to make their own changes…again, big or small.

That’s fascinating. It starts a snowball rolling down a mountain that will create something spectacular in many people’s lives over time.

I believe that and am truly grateful to play some role. For now, I’m eager for more fascinating conversations on this journey to come.

Update: title changed, along with minor edits.

Yes, you read the title correctly.

It’s time for radical change.

Later this year my wife, daughter, and I will move out of Washington state.

I’m choosing  to leave my job as Vice President, Corporate Communications at Premera Blue Cross to take a temporary role at the same company as Culture Change Evangelist (which I’m thrilled about for the next several months!).

Why?

I’m forcing myself to move.

We’ve had the itch for quite a while. Well before I changed and Stephani changed in 2013, she in particular wanted out of here. The topic of why we’re moving makes for a longer post; for now I’ll summarize:

• We hate the weather (Seasonal Affective Disorder is not a joke)
• The Seattle area is increasingly unaffordable
• The traffic sucks…and is getting worse
• We want distance from broken family relationships

Those are the things we will leave behind. Here’s what we’re going after:

• A sunnier climate
• Simpler living
• Less traffic
• A new community
• A chance to start over

And by start over I mean capitalize on the fact we’ll be empty-nesters in our early 40s. We paid a high price for starting a family very young. Now we mean to capitalize on the opportunity to lead an entirely new adult life.

Joseph is a freshman at college. Sophia is the equivalent of a sophomore, but now in online high school and taking a very non-traditional track (including becoming a yoga teacher herself!). Stephani and I are both healthy, talented individuals ready for the next phase of our lives.

Our time is coming.

Later this year the lease on the house we rent will end. My temporary job will come to a conclusion. And we’re out.

Confession: that can be completely fucking scary.

We don’t know for certain where we’re going (but New Orleans is a very strong front-runner). I don’t know what I’ll do for work, other than knowing it won’t be what I’m doing today.

Another confession: I’m not that scared.

I’ve been searching for jobs for roughly 10 months. Nothing panned out, in part because I put a lot of parameters about what that job might look like. Mostly, the jobs were way too traditional and tied to perceived financial needs versus being something I loved. The one I did love — and would otherwise chase other opportunities with that employer — is in a city we like but eventually ruled out (Portland, OR) because it’s only a marginal improvement on much of what we dislike in Seattle.

So, I’m committed to moving without a job being secure. It’s time to take a chance.

I don’t know how the finances are going to go, but I believe in the power of the Universe and God to provide, and I believe in the power of manifestation to help Stephani and I wake our dreams into reality. I also believe in the ability of talented people to chase their passion. And that’s what we’re doing.

Some of the best part about doing — and writing — this?

It’s exciting.

And. Totally. Fucking. Liberating.

Maybe if you’ve read my posts in recent months you could sense the angst in me.

Several days after I wrote this post about “chasing your joy” one of my employees said, “I liked your post…but it doesn’t seem like you’re able to do that lately.”

I had to chuckle inside because it was so very true. Little did she know all this was brewing for me.

A physical move. A career change. A new phase in married life. A new adventure.

That’s huge.

And thrilling.

And I’ll chronicle it right here in the months to come.

I love what you’ve done with the team.

Truly.

The Seattle Seahawks are now among the great franchises in the NFL. CenturyLink Field is a feared and famous venue. The team is a regular part of conversations about best squads in the league, year-after-year.

That’s damned impressive.

And so much of that success is based on the culture you have created and the roster you have built.

I couldn’t help but notice today the entire starting linebacker and secondary units of that famous defense are players you found in the draft. Meanwhile, the defensive line starters are largely an assemblage of expensive and affordable free agents you successfully pieced together, while stocking up mostly on talented draftees as their reserves.

Again, damn impressive. Hats off to you.

On the offensive side of the ball you have perhaps the greatest 3rd round pick of all time at QB. Your trade for Marshawn Lynch was masterful. The needle in the haystack find of Thomas Rawls was superlative. And the value you have found at wide receiver via undrafted free agents and all-purpose threat Tyler Lockett in the 3rd round as well is mind-blowing.

So much so, you get a pass on the pricey swing-and-miss for Percy Harvin. Oops.

All of this is excellent. If there were awards for best coach and/or GM over the last five years, rather than just annual accolades, you’d be at the top of the heap.

But. That. Offensive. Line.

F. M. L.

Russell was under siege back there against Carolina.

A common Sunday scene: Russell under duress behind the line of scrimmage. Credit: Seattle Times.  

I just saw 13 Hours. I don’t think the six well-armed CIA contractors/elite armed forces vets in that tale, who held off dozens upon dozens of bad guys in the flick, could have stopped everything pouring through the offensive line toward #3.

Maybe that’s harsh. It was one playoff game. On the road. With a 10 am PST start. Against a great defense.

Here’s what bothers me though: Russell Wilson was tied for 3rd in the league for most sacks, 45, during the regular season.

If you had told me at the start of the season that the most elusive QB in the NFL would be sacked nearly three times a game in the 2015 campaign I would have drawn one conclusion: disaster.

Russell’s development into a crushingly awesome, three step, pocket passer down the stretch threatens to make us forget how inadequate the offensive line was for key parts of the year, not the least of which were the repeated failures to move the ball and protect a lead during those five, Fourth Quarter, come-from-ahead losses that put us in that #6 seed, back-to-back 10 am PST starts, on the road in the playoffs scenario.

Let’s not do that again, ok?

So, pretty please: you guys are smart. Your football record speaks for itself. The roster-building Force is strong in you. Put together an offensive line worthy of the rest of this team.

The Legion of 12s would be even further in your debt.

Hugs, kisses, and screaming cheers at the Clink,

A Seahawks fan

P.S. Go Hawks!

Footnote: ribbing and plea for improvement aside about the at times porous offensive line,  the culture the Seahawks have built really is amazing. Read more about it here, here, here,  here, and here. It’s an amazing organizational culture, whose lessons apply way beyond sports.

We have an elf on the shelf in the Earling household. It’s a mischievous little punk, who entered our home last year and brought joy to the parents of the home and dismay to our son, Joseph.

If you’re friends with my lovely bride on Facebook you’ve perhaps seen some of the carnage. Stephani introduced Pixie the Devil Elf to Joseph last Christmas season, pretty much to torment the boy. Since that time, Pixie has had some interesting adventures, met an unfortunate demise, and now the charming tale has taken an unexpected turn.

Here’s a chronological summary in pictures, in the finest tradition of naughty, inappropriate…and hilarious, uses of Elf on the Shelf:

Pixie the Devil Elf appears during last Christmas season with a public service announcement about brushing your teeth, which Joseph is prone to forget.

Joseph’s mood: befuddlement.

Pixie offers some lessons on bathroom etiquette.

Joseph’s mood: dismay.

Pixie explains, in a fine homage to Charlie Sheen, that drugs are not the answer.

Joseph’s current mood: horror.

Pixie encourages honesty, in the most vulnerable of moments.

Joseph’s current mood: rage.

Pixie offers some prudent thoughts on the treatment of the opposite sex. Also, I think he wanted a lap dance.

Joseph’s current mood: revenge.

Seriously, I think this was the one that triggered Joseph to seize Pixie, which we had to barter back from him.

Pixie returns from his unexpected captivity with a lesson of incredible import in the age of social media. Yes, that is a gingerbread house behind him.

Joseph’s current mood: homicidal.

Oh, and we had to barter for Pixie’s return again.

And in the spirit of homicidal…

Pixie’s 2014 Christmas swan song was this remake of a scene from the show Dexter, where the main character solves murders…and commits them, you know, just to release some stress now and again.

I had to steal Pixie back from Joseph’s thieving hands after this one.

At which point, unbeknownst to Joseph, Pixie went into hibernation, only to return as Joseph arrived back home from college in Montana for Christmas break. Here’s what he found waiting for him in the fridge when he got home in the middle of the night late last week, searching for food after a long drive home:

Pixie welcoming Joseph home as only the Devil Elf can.

Here’s where the proud parent portion of the tale comes in, because this was Joseph’s response:

Tough to read, but Joseph re-worked the eggs to read: “I’m F’ing Hitting Back Fuckers!” …with a middle finger drawn on the egg at lower right.

Pixie, minus his hat left standing next to the eggs, was gone. And this time there was no bartering him back.

Really:

Pixie’s unfortunate demise.

Joseph blew Pixie’s head off while out shooting with some friends, with a taunting suicide note from Pixie, making reference to the “sadistic” torture of the poor boy being too much for Pixie’s conscious.

Yes, that’s ketchup that Joseph used for blood.

And, really, Pixie was toast.

Pixie got blown to smithereens.

There was really only one parental response to this escalation:

Amazon Prime same day delivery.

Quickly resulting in:

The introduction of Tootsie the Tormentor, with an important lesson about staying humble in life. And yes, that’s a condom on his head.

The key to Tootsie’s survival given Joseph’s, uh, decisive response to Pixie’s re-emergence is quite simple. Stephani sets up Tootsie’s latest torment. Takes a picture. Disassembles the gag. Then sends Tootsie into hiding for about 24 hours…before texting a picture to Joseph and posting it on Facebook.

Despite this constraint, Tootsie is indeed hard at work:

It seems Tootsie understands quite well the challenges of modern life. Sometimes, you just need a cup of clean pee to get you through that drug test.

What comes next? Tale to be continued and I’ll report back here on Tootse’s antics to include the holiday season!

In the meantime, Merry Christmas!

Is there something that really makes you happy in life?

I say chase it. Make space for more of it.

It’s an especially dark and dreary December in Seattle. It’s the holiday season, which can easily be a grind of activity and obligations rather than an opportunity for true happiness. My professional world is full of challenges and stress. And I recently found some unadulterated joy.

Where? The US Swimming Winter Nationals recently hosted near Seattle at the King County Aquatics Center.

A calm pool awaits the start of evening finals.

I love swimming. It was my year-round sport in high school and part of college, until bum knees helped turn me into an assistant coach rather than an athlete. I’ve been to a World Championships with my lovely bride (Montreal in 2005) and other big meets with my kids at the King County Aquatics Center, including nationals and NCCA championships. When Olympic swimming is on TV at my house, it’s a big event.

This national meet was a 3-day affair, with my schedule allowing me to attend one night as a father-daughter date with my whip smart, sassy, beautiful daughter. That day, I found myself anticipating the experience with a passion that I realized is not present enough in my day-to-day life.

Sophia and I enjoying some good seats!

Why that anticipation?

Was it because some of the greats of the sport would be competing that night, such as Michael Phelps, Missy Franklin, and Natalie Coughlin? Kind of. But, that cast was really just icing on an already sweet cake, because my passion for the sport runs that deep.

Michael Phelps behind the blocks before the 100 meter butterfly final. The greatest Olympic swimmer in history was rocking a sweet, neon suit!

Don’t we all have something that awakens our soul like that? But how often do we actually get to engage with the thing that stirs such passion?

Maybe it’s relationship. Maybe it’s a job. Maybe it’s family. Maybe’s it’s a hobby or personal pursuit. It’s different for everyone.

Are you really chasing your joy? Is there enough of it in your life?

There’s not in mine. I realized that starkly on the day I took my daughter to that swim meet.

No, that doesn’t mean I’ll chase my joy simply by traveling to swim meets. That’s totally unrealistic, though you can bet I’ll seize chances to attend them wherever I can!

What I can do is be more intentional about chasing joy in life? I’m teaching yoga once a week now. I really enjoy that. Maybe I should do it more.

Over the holiday season my lovely bride and I have decided to go on yoga field trips, having dates centered around traveling to studios we previously haven’t experienced. We both enjoy yoga and time together in those kind of environments, plus it informs our ultimate reality of owning our own yoga studio (and juice bar!).

There’s more for me to do as well, and I’ve had time to think about that with my wife and daughter on a girls trip to New Orleans this week, but you get the idea.

So where do you need to chase your joy? Is your work life too draining? Is your family life more chore than love? Do  you have enough of your personal interests and passions in your regular routine?

That’s a tough question to answer when our default is to put on a good front that everything is ok. Our life is good.

We do that because we’re afraid to let everyone know it’s not ok.

What if it’s not? Or what if it’s kind of ok, but your passion is slowly dying.

I’m guilty of all that, even as I’ve awoken inside to who I want and am meant to be. That’s what daily living can do to you if you’re not intentional.

So, I say chase your joy.

Fearlessly. Even if that means not just little changes in your life, but changes that could inspire more fear.

To hell with life influenced by fear.

I’m committed to chasing my joy. I hope you are too.

Today is one of those shitty Seattle days in late fall: dark, 40-something degrees, and steady, light rain. A poster child for seasonal affective disorder, a more serious depression-like affliction than many realize.

Today is the kind of day that it’s easy to mail in early. To crawl through the day like a slug, just hoping to get through it. Here’s our chance to choose something different.

My version of that: punch that dreary, rainy, cold Seattle day in the face. Then slap it once more to say I care.

I’m tired.  A little sore. Not looking forward to my work day. Facing about $700 in expenses for my home-from-college son, between snow tires (he goes to school in Helena, Montana, home of some serious winters) and a replacement for his shattered cell phone.

These are the ingredients that could kick my ass…and have in the past.

It’s my choice to choose something different.

I’m typing this post while rolling through a cardio workout on an elliptical machine at the gym. Doing so on the heels of a splendid yoga class last night. The kind of class that was just what I needed. More thought provoking than physically challenging (but still not easy!).

On the heels of my last post about being grateful for yoga, it is probably no coincidence that class’s theme was true gratitude, in a season otherwise prone to glaring, superficial thanks. It is zero coincidence the short reading at the end of class spoke deep into my heart and soul.

In the midst of this shitty Seattle day, I am truly grateful to be emerging from a chronic injury that has been wrecking my workout routine and impeding daily life since mid-summer. To know me is to know those limitations were not easy for my personality to accept. A lesson in humility, and being present with what is, not what I hope or prefer things to be.

The cardio workout I’m doing is long. I did that yoga class last night. I tore up a a long weight room workout yesterday morning. Sunday I took my wife’s yoga athletes class, then later hit the gym for another cardio session. Saturday was a fun, ass-kicking of a hot, power vinyasa class from one of my favorite yoga teachers.

That combo would not have been available to me a couple months ago. Today it is. And I happily choose it. And I’m grateful beyond words for all of that.

What can you choose today? What can you look in the eye, punch in the face, slap it again for good measure, laugh, and choose something different?

Maybe that’s a shitty day. Maybe it’s a job you don’t really like. Maybe that’s a bad family situation you face every holiday season that is crying out for radical change.

Whatever it is for you, I hope you choose it. Boldly and with a smile on your face.

Being grateful is good.

Being the annoying grateful person is annoying. We’ve all seen it on social media. Some jackwagon who is often grateful for the superficial (pumpkin spice lattes!)  or conveys a sunshine and lollipops view of gratitude that papers over the human reality of negative feelings.

Barf.

I find myself being grateful more these days, and expressing it, not because it’s my default. But, because being grateful has not exactly been a natural state of being for much of my life.

I woke up today anxious. That’s not been an uncommon occurrence of late. Work is too overloaded and stressful, with too many big ticket items demanding concurrent attention. That has spill over effects on the rest of my life; big ones if I’m not intentional about balancing that.

So, yes, I was anxious. I also had a comparatively lazy morning to start. Sleeping in, allowing myself to doze after I first woke up — after I quieted my mind down — rather than leaping into chores and other duties. I’m grateful for that after a long draining week.

I’m grateful too for the full-on ass kicking of a hot power vinyasa yoga class taught by fellow yogi and friend, Leslie Whitecrow this morning. I set an intention to have fun in it, which as a little optimistic given my sore body facing what is always a challenging class!

Mission accomplished. It was fun. It was hard (my body is kind of shaking afterward), but I sweated like crazy, pushed my mind, body, and soul…and got out of my fucking head.

Perfect. My kind of Saturday morning. I’m grateful for that.

Which got me thinking, when I really consider what I’m grateful for in terms of people and experiences, so much of it relates to yoga.

• Yoga was and is a big element in the ongoing transformation my lovely bride, Stephani, and I have experienced as individuals and as a couple.
• Bindi Yoga studio, where I began practicing seriously is where I grew as a student, learned to be a teacher, and now have the pleasure to teach (and I like teaching way more than I ever would have guessed!). Thanks, Michelle and Susan for welcoming me in all ways at Bindi. Thanks Irene Toklar for teaching me to teach. And thanks to the whole crew of employees and students at Bindi for being part of a community!
• Twist Yoga studio, where my lovely bride earned to teach — and teaches today — has its own vibe I’m grateful to experience. Jenn Mitchell is a cool owner and together with Heather Falkin have a greater teacher training, which feeds the vibe of the studio itself (and I love taking classes with them!). I’ve also met more of my people there, like fellow swimmer and yogi, Meredith Storey.
• Breitenbush: the retreat where Stephani (and Meredith) finished their teacher training was an awesome experience. Our daughter and fellow yogi, Sophia, joined us on that trip, which was a remarkable, totally disconnected from the rest of the world opportunity to be our authentic selves without interruption.
• Wanderlust: a festival for yogis, and my God, if Wanderlust at Whistler, BC this summer was one of the best experiences my lovely bride have had together (see that same link as above for more!).
• Yoga gives me balance. Physically, to balance out the rest of my workout regime and manage my injuries. Emotionally, giving me an outlet to release the bad and amplify the good. Mentally, to quiet the mind when I need it most. And spiritually, to combine the previous three into a unified mind, body, soul connection.
• Indeed, Yoga makes connections. I’m a swimmer. I love meeting and talking to other swimmers, especially successful ones. The best conversations I’ve had separately with two local, Olympic swimmers have been about yoga and how some of its key concepts are applied to our lives. One, Ariana Kukors, is someone I met professionally and now consider a great friend. A second, Emily Silver, I’ve talked to once at length, and by the virtue of yoga, got real and deep in the conversation almost right away. That one conversation helped cement in my mind I should take teacher training (Emily was in teacher training herself at the time and is a teacher today). I’m grateful to Emily for her willingness to get real and play a role in prodding me on my own path. That’s the power of one conversation.
• Teachers: you don’t love every yoga teacher or class you encounter, but the yoga focal points I’ve experienced all have brought me in their unique way to experience teachers I appreciate, beyond those I’ve already mentioned: Alexis Zudro and Shanah Walters at Bindi, Janell Hartman at Twist  and Breitenbush, Jackie Elliott, Ally Maz, Chelsey Korus, and Matt Giordano at Wanderlust. I didn’t even actually meet everyone I named, but they’ve all had an impact.

That very fact you can have that range of interactions, from experiencing a class (and never meeting), to having the deepest of conversations about the topic describes yoga in an anecdote. It is what you make of it, starting exactly where you’re at, and moving forward from there.

Maybe you’re reading this, and maybe you’re even aware of a little of my story, and am surprised that my gratitude for yoga runs so deep beyond just the physical practice…going deeper into the people and experiences, as well as the full quadrinity of the physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual benefits one finds within the practice itself.

That’s because the power of yoga goes is truly deeper than that powerful quadrinity. It goes to the tribe you chose to be around. The tribe that brings out the best in you. The tribe that keeps you wanting to come back for more: 1 on 1, in small groups, in big classes, and in giant, hundreds-of-people-in-one-place festivals. That’s the power of yoga.

And I’m grateful for it. Namaste.

“Death Rates Rising for Middle-Aged White Americans…” says a headline in the New York Times.

Wait, what?

In an age when advances in health care and rising awareness of the importance of healthier eating and fitness are extending life, middle-aged Americans are dying more frequently?

Here’s why:

…rising annual death rates among this group are being driven not by the big killers like heart disease and diabetes but by an epidemic of suicides and afflictions stemming from substance abuse:alcoholic liver disease and overdoses of heroin and prescription opioids.

The reporter says the trend is from a dynamic that has been:

puzzling demographers in recent years: the declining health and fortunes of poorly educated American whites. In middle age, they are dying at such a high rate that they are increasing the death rate for the entire group of middle-aged white Americans.

Put more bluntly:

“Wow,” said Samuel Preston, a professor of sociology at the University of Pennsylvania and an expert on mortality trends and the health of populations, who was not involved in the research. “This is a vivid indication that something is awry in these American households.”

A “vivid indication” indeed. While experts puzzle at the trend, let’s get real. We know those big killers of heart disease and diabetes lurk across our populace because as a society we eat like shit and aren’t active enough in our daily lives. That becomes more of an acute problem as you go down the socio-economic ladder as raw realities of life result in less healthy eating and less activity.

So, why are people also drinking themselves to death, wrecking their bodies with drugs, and killing themselves?

Because they hate their fucking lives.

Why do they hate their lives?

Because they’re treading water. They’re too often trapped in jobs they don’t like, travelling too long to get there (which means less time for meal prep and being active), to pay for a life they can barely keep up with…and every reader with kids has probably been through that immensely stressful phase in life. On the upper-income side, you throw in the stress of constantly connected white collar jobs. On the lower-income side, the financial stress of modern life coupled with flat or declining real wages and…BAM…it’s not an environment prone to produce strong emotional and mental health.

Thus, the vodka, heroin, and pills.

A perfect example that popped into my Facebook feed while working on this post:

Took me almost 3 hours to get to work today because of traffic. Literally as soon as I turn the ignition off, my phone rings. It’s school calling to tell me that [my daughter] has a fever and I need to pick her up. Luckily it only took me 45 minutes to get back to [her school]. Needless to say I will be working from home for the rest of the week.

I anonymized that because this person’s life might be perfectly pleasant, but it’s an example of sort of chaotic ingredients that are all too present in our constantly connected, always moving lives.

And it’s fucking killing us.

II think it’s zero coincidence I encountered this article as well on my Facebook feed recently: “Stressed, Tired, Rushed: A Portrait of the Modern Family.” My friend who posted it extracted this quote:

“…while family structure seems to have permanently changed, public policy, workplace structure and mores have not seemed to adjust to a norm in which both parents work.”

Yep.

So.

Is life killing you? Maybe only slowly…but definitely surely?

It’s time to do something different. Maybe radically different.

That’s scary.

But isn’t scary that better than a slow, miserable, self-inflicted death?

I read this article on things changing in society recently. It talked about increasing rejection of traditional corporate culture…and a whole slew of other paradigms that have been societal norms for decades, but aren’t serving us now. Example: my daughter is in online high school today exactly because of #8 in the article. That system wasn’t serving her, so we found a better way.

With that in mind, what could stop your life from killing you?

And what’s stopping you from taking the leap to make that happen?

UPDATE: And maybe not only taking the leap to make that happen for you, what can you do to support someone else in taking that leap? I posted this splendid Chris Christie riff on compassion for the addicted on Facebook recently. It’s a powerful reminder of the importance of compassion and support in helping people get to a better place in life.

I’m grinding right now.

Not in a good way. I’m struggling with finding myself in a balance where I can have the impact in life I want; where I feel like I’m following my dharma: my purpose in life.

So, juxtapose that with this note I just received from an old professional colleague and friend:

I love travelling. Why?

It’s definitely not the process and amenities of traveling by air.

It’s the people. The people you meet. The people you see. The communities you encounter.

I’m in Chicago right now for work. Monday and Tuesday meetings for me, so my wife, daughter, and I flew in Saturday to give us some time to check out the city before I earn my paycheck, a couple days for them to go on adventures on their own, then  today together before we fly back in the evening.

One of the things I’ve enjoyed most: the diversity of our country.

• People are staring at my daughter. Why? She’s a natural blond. In the Pacific Northwest that’s a common sight, with the heavy infusion of Scandinavian and northern European lineage. In downtown Chicago, with its heavy slice of southern and Eastern European heritage, not so much. Well, some of them are also staring because she’s a beautiful young woman with large breasts. FML.
• We act differently as you traverse our nation. In the Pacific Northwest, our collective demeanor is described as “Seattle nice,” which translates to “passive aggressive pain-in-the-ass.” We couldn’t tell you what’s actually on our minds if our coffee-drinking, Seahawks-cheering, outdoor-gear wearing selves depended on it. In Chicago, people are a tad more direct. An oft-used tap of the horn of any steering wheel is a helpful exclamation mark to such candor.
• In the Pacific Northwest, there’s a massive presence of Asian-Americans built into the fabric of the community. In Chicago, African-Americans are the dominant minority. And just like other places in the East, like Washington, DC, the overwhelming prevalence of minorities in service industry jobs reminds me we have so much more work to do as a country to improve our schools so that the concept of equal opportunity comes closer to reality.
• You rarely see a cop walking the streets in Seattle. In some parts of downtown Chicago, like the Magnificent Mile, they’re everywhere, usually traveling in 2s or 3s.
• You can’t move throughout the Seattle area without running into a Thai food joint, or Vietnamese, or Japanese, or Indian. That’s not the casein Chicago, but man, can I interest you in some Italian food, steak, or pizza? They have it covered.
• Chicago is like East Coast-lite, in that the sense of history and related landmarks is constantly visible if you pay attention. In much younger Seattle, there’s all too little of that because we our heritage as major urban areas is so much younger. History adds character, and I wish the West Coast had more.

Here’s the best part: it’s all the same damn country. There are US flags all over downtown Chicago, the most beautiful of which in my sighting was one floating gently over the WGN building. It’s the kind of meticulously and ornately carved building, you rarely see in the West: cathedral meets skyscraper. And in the midst of the hustle and bustle of a huge urban jungle, I saw Old Glory floating majestically in the breeze above it all.

Awesome.

Other observations and reminders that jumped out:

• We love our sports. The Bears and Raiders played at Soldier Field on Sunday. Jerseys and team garb everywhere. It’s no surprise, just like you’d see outside CenturyLink Field on a Seahawks game day, but still fun to see.
• My wife is hot. Whether casual as can be to workout or take a yoga class to being decked out for heading out on the town, she’s gorgeous! Yes, I love her for way, way, way more than her looks, but I’m reminded she is a beautiful woman! In an Uber the driver asked her about the temperature in the back of the vehicle: “Are you hot?” I instantly responded: “Yeah, she’s pretty hot!”
• You can have Starbucks on every corner like Seattle, but that doesn’t make a coffee-drinking culture. You serve coffee in a restaurant for breakfast or at a conference in tiny cups? You don’t take your caffeine seriously.
• Yoga is yoga, but each studio and teacher has its own character. We visited two different studios. The first: great studio, bad teacher. The second, ok studio, pretty good teacher. And totally different vibe from each of those ingredients and their respective community. Another reminder why I strive to teach as my authentic self when I instruct a class, not anyone else. And a reminder that when my lovely bride and I open up our own studio that it will be what we create, not an image of any specific studio we’ve encountered.
• Embracing your inner bad ass is fun. Walking around like a lemming, plowing through the obligations of life is no good. I saw way too much of that shuffling along the streets of Chicago. Grab life by the horns and make it yours.
• Speaking of which, my daughter is one independent young woman. She’s not afraid to be herself, and not going to tolerate any of the BS typically tossed the way of an attractive young woman strolling in a major urban environment [insert grateful father face here].
• Uber > taxis.
• We’re all ultimately dealing with the same stuff. In life, and at work. The professional challenges my peers in 36 different Blue Cross Blue Shield plans across the country described in my work meetings? The same as mine. Oh, there are nuances, but only serious variable is the geography.
• There’s something about this blog. Two professional acquaintances from other parts of the country mentioned it and the impact it’s had on them. Getting real and raw really does have a market. A big market. I’m still thinking about that.

All in all, Chicago was a cool place to visit and a good trip. But, it’s not home.

I’m glad to be leaving, and eager to keep moving toward the life my lovely bride and I are destined to lead.