Creating A Square Hole

I resisted a regular yoga practice for years because of how positively uncomfortable even the most remedial postures (like sitting on the floor) felt. It was analogous to the guy who doesn’t go to the gym because he’s so thin that he’s embarrassed doing ten pound curls, so underdeveloped are his muscles. For such a person, even the most basic of exercises with the lightest of weights feels so excruciatingly difficult and awkward that motivation and discipline can be completely sabotaged by horrific self-judgement. 

That was me attempting yoga. I would be doing a very simple posture and feeling like a completely defective physical being. “You’ve got to be kidding me”, I would say to myself. “There must be something seriously wrong with me. I can’t even hold or do this elementary posture without hitting a wall almost immediately. I’m hopeless. I’m a lost cause. Why fucking bother?”

Spending almost three months here at Kripalu has radically shifted my perspective, and, more importantly, my self-compassion. When I stopped crucifying myself, and just accepted where I was at, as uncomfortable as it may have been, everything shifted. This was an internal shift. Nothing on the outside changed. 

This shift allowed me to put my energy into figuring out the best way for me to practice yoga, instead of putting energy into what a complete boob I was. I realized that I had special needs when it came to yoga, and that I had to treat my body with unlimited kindness, unlimited compassion, and unconditional love. Getting mad at my body for not performing the way I wanted it to did about as much good as getting mad at my self for suffering from the malady of depression. That is: No Fucking Good At All. 

Once I was in a place of love and acceptance, rather than judgment, I was able to come up with ideas on how to further my practice. I hired a private yoga coach (like, duh, Clint). It never occurred to me to do that before. I mean, when people who are neophytes to the world of weight training want to build their muscles, they often hire a personal trainer. It’s the best thing they can do for themselves. But I was blind to that option because I was in so much self judgment. I was blind to exactly what I needed, even though I already knew exactly what I needed.  

My first session with my new private yoga coach went like this. “I’m not interested in doing any sort of flow. Currently, I move through the poses with about as much grace as Trump moves his way through the presidency. I also don’t want to focus on strength right now. My muscles are already heavily taxed with resistance training. My triceps scream bloody murder, even a week after I hit them at the gym, just supporting myself in upward dog (which made me realize I had to stop pushing myself so hard when I lifted. So I modified my routines accordingly). I want to focus on alignment, making my body longer and more flexible, and educating myself to the intricacies of the practice. I’ll worry about isometric yoga strength and grace later.”

What I did was take myself out of “Supposed To” mode and moved into “This Is What I Know I Need Right Now” mode. I was avoiding flow classes at Kripalu like the plague, for good reason. My body was telling me “Not Now”. Instead of sucking it up and doing it anyway, I was actually taking care of myself by not doing any flow classes. When I realized that not doing those classes, classes that I was intuitively resisting, was in fact an act of self love (and not undisciplined avoidance), I could focus on what I did need. Instead of trying to jam a square peg into a round hole, I just created a square hole. What an epiphany. 

Initially, yoga was a demotivating practice for me because my body was trying to tell me something, but I wasn’t listening. I wasn’t feeling better about what I was doing, I was feeling worse. So I wanted to do it less. When I started listening to the wisdom within, I opened myself up to a constructive, motivating process, as opposed to an unmotivating, destructive, one. 

In some areas of my life, I’m an expert at listening to myself. In other areas, not so much. But when I cultivate paying attention in one area, I strengthen my ability to hear myself in all areas. Moreover, I particularly develop paying attention to the wisdom in those places where I have traditionally told myself to just shut the fuck up. 

That’s it. I’m happy with this piece. So now I’m going to shut the fuck up. 

©2018 Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart LLC, and Red F Publishing. All rights reserved.

Game On

 

Watching the last Super Bowl, with my beloved Patriots down by a whopping twenty-five points, mid-way through the third quarter, I remember checking in with myself. I asked myself "Why haven't you given up?". I couldn't answer that question. I couldn't answer "why". So, I asked myself a question I could answer. I asked myself "Have you given up?". No. No, I hadn't. 

In that moment, I knew something I couldn't articulate; but not being able to articulate it didn't diminish the power of it's conviction. The whole experience was quite familiar to me. As a child, I was often aware of things I could not articulate. I was an incredibly sensitive, aware, emotional, astute, deep feeling, deep thinking, little fucker. I felt like I was picking up 100 channels while all of my peers were picking up less than ten. I constantly experienced and felt so much that was far beyond my capability to describe, and it frustrated the fuck out of me. Sometimes, I still feel that way today. As an adult, I've gotten better at managing it. Not always. Just sometimes.

Watching the Patriots get dismantled in the last Super Bowl, I was aware of an inner belief, that, fuck me running, I could not describe. I just sure as shit knew it was there. And I sure as shit knew I had to hold onto it. Don't ask me why. I don't have a clue. Nor do I care. When you know something that deep; in your bones, in your cells, in your molecules, in your atoms, in your quarks; when you know it there, you are willing to bet your entire experience of life on it. Because, without your own very personal experience of life to call yours, what do you have? Nothing. Absolutely Shit Ass Nothing. So Life becomes worth that. Every time.

Fast forward to my life today. For most of the past year, not long after The Super Bowl, in fact, I have been in treatment. For depression. For Anxiety. For Trauma. For the maladaptive behaviors that are a result of such afflictions. For addiction. I just relapsed, again, failed a piss test, and got discharged from my last facility.

And yet, here I am. I have not given up. I know something inside of me that I can not explain, that I can not describe. Just like when I was a kid. Just like when I watched the last Super Bowl. Maybe it's as basic as survival. Maybe it's about rising up against something that is still trying to kill me. And I won't let it. Depression tried. Trauma tried. Addiction is trying. Hell, my own brother and sister tried to kill me emotionally when they sued me. They all failed. I'm still here. Fuck You.

This whole experience must be positioned as fuel that propels my life. I will take all of the agony, all of the failure, all of the doubts, and questions, and sleepless nights, and desperation, and tears, and I will repurpose them for my own growth.

I was a child of the suburbs. I have lived a very cushy, privileged life. Yet, I am in touch with my Inner Street Fighter. I've known him, I've felt him, often before. He's helped me survive. That's his job. He loves me up when he has too, and he kicks my ass when he needs to. He's been with me this whole trip.

Game On.

 ©2018 Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart LLC, and Red F Publishing. All rights reserved.

Adventure Of A Lifetime

Ah, Music: Mystical. Evocative. Healing. Magical.

2017 was a motherfucker. In music therapy the other day, each of us had to chose a song that somehow symbolized the past year. We then went around the room, announced our very personal choice, and that song was played while we all listened to it. The person who chose the song then talked a little bit about what the song meant to them and why they chose it. The experience proved incredibly powerful and moving.

The choices were as varied as the people who chose them. Everything from "Float On" by Modest Mouse, to "So Far Away" by Staind, to "Change" by Tracy Chapman. And people chose them for different reasons. Some chose a song that represented the year as a whole. Some chose a song that defined their throes into addiction during a very rough period, while others chose music that has helped them move through their recovery. 

I thought long and hard about what song I would pick. There were so many. I had a laundry list that felt relevant and poignant. And I could have gone in a million different directions.  

I considered the song "Ship To Wreck" by Florence + The Machine, because it was a song that I answered with a vehement "No" as I listened to it on the night of my last birthday (see my post about it). I considered a song called "Wicked Soldier" by Tonic, an upbeat rocker that's on every workout playlist, because I felt like a soul warrior for most of the year, battling my inner demons. "Mean Street" by Van Halen, another all time favorite, also resonated with a resounding clang of the heart; for I had walked my own self induced Mean Street for enough of the year to know I do not wanna go back. I ping-ponged with these choices, until another song hit me between the eyes and felt like a hot needle in my heart. 

"Adventure Of A Lifetime", by Coldplay.

I haven't been able to listen to that song in almost half a year. That song was Our Song; Me and My Sweet Angel's. I had heard it for the first time just before we got together in April of 2016, and I immediately fell madly in love with it. It was instantly one of those precious and rare songs that strikes the harp of your heart and the cello of your soul, and you have no idea why, nor do you care; You just accept it as an is, and you roll with it. Our first weekend together, in New York City, we played the song together and realized we both loved it. We fell for that song about as quickly and powerfully as we fell for each other: Instant-Head-Over-Heels-Ass-Over-Tea-Kettle-Full-Blown-Double-Whooper-With- Extra-Cheese-Madly-In Love-With-Each-Other. Magic. Just like the song.

I played that song when we weren't together to remind me of her, and it usually turned on my water works. I even sent her a video of me listening to that song and balling like a baby to it. That song was her to me. That song was us to me. It will always be her to me. It will always be us to me. A marriage of physical and meta-physical  form that defies words or explanation. It just Is. It just as sure as fuckin' shit, IS.

Sitting in music therapy group at Zen Recovery the other day, surrounded by people I trust and love, going through so much of the same shit as I am, I felt to myself "This is the time to hear it again. This feels like the right moment. This is It." 

So on it came. And on I sobbed, in front of a tribe I have I have only known for less than three weeks. 

I didn't chose that song because I wanted it to mean something different. I chose it because I wanted the support to be able to listen to it, at all. I chose it because, in addition to it being Our Song, my life over the past year has been the Fuckin' Adventure Of A Lifetime. I've spent most of it in treatment, doing the hardest work I've ever done in my life. 

It will never replace the meaning it has always held. It will just add to it. David Lee Roth once said "Everything I do in life is 'in addition to', not 'instead of' ". I connected so strongly with that quote, that I have attempted to live my life along those lines whenever possible. 

I'm not going to to blasting that song anytime soon. I'm just grateful that I could find the love and support to listen to it, Period. I'm not looking to redefine it, because, I can't (nor do I want to), and that would dilute what that song means to me. I am, however, looking to recover, to heal, to connect more deeply to this tribe I'm with and to my process of recovery. Any and all means at my disposal are thus fodder for that healing, for that connection, and for my own growth.

Whatever the fuck I'm doing these days, and whatever the fuck I'm doing for the rest of my life, I'm moving. I'll keep moving. Sometimes, so subtly, that I can't even see it, that I can't even feel it. But that doesn't mean something isn't happening.

Like the rock that becomes a geode of glistening Amythyst; like the slab of limestone that becomes gorgeous marble; like the hunk of aluminum oxide that becomes a sapphire; and, just like it says in "Adventure Of A Lifetime", I'm a "diamond taking shape".

©2017 Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart LLC, and Red F Publishing. All rights reserved.

In Good Company

Hubris. Ego. Machismo. Combine all that with a lot of success, and it can make you feel invincible. It certainly did that for me.

When I returned to Boston from treatment, I felt like a rock star. Hell, in treatment, I was a rock star. Because I rocked it. I got it. I attacked the work; tenaciously; tirelessly, passionately, energetically; honestly; with integrity and courage and a smile on my face. Others looked to me for help, for support, and I was always there for them. I was told that I was an inspiration, a role model, a one of a kind character amongst characters. 

I loved the people I shared my experience, our experience with, in treatment. I loved them with everything I had. And I felt their powerful love for me. I felt a sense of community, of family, of love and support that I had never experienced. I felt powerfully connected to my Spirit Guides, and spoke to them; and heard them speak back. 

On top of all that, I was doing Yoga. Meditation. Working out. Writing. More of all that than I ever had.

I felt the best I ever had in my life. 

As soon as I got back to Boston in early August, it all crashed and burned. I felt like "Hey, I Got This!", and that's when my ego and my hubris and my bullshit lead me to believe I could coast for a while. So I stopped doing all those things that had made me so healthy. I had a clear aftercare plan in place, but I didn't execute it. I was like a Ferrari with no gas.  

I got triggered by some old shit, temporarily forgot everything I had learned, everything I had absorbed, all that I had embodied, and started hitting the bottle. I didn't tell anybody I was having a hard time (there's my male macho "I can do this myself" bullshit), and I soon developed a bad case of the "Fuck Its": so I quit my anti-depresent meds cold turkey (an absolute unquantifiable No-No) and practically had a psychotic break down. 

Put all of that together, and it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out why I went through a full blown relapse.  

Despite all the work I had done, there were a few pieces missing. The biggest piece was that I was in denial about my addiction to alcohol. I admitted that to myself about a month ago, but even after that, it's been a struggle to stay off the juice.

So hello from detox, my third stint in six weeks, my fourth overall (first one was in February). I have no plans on ever being here again. Ever.

I'm going to attack my sobriety as tenaciously, as seriously, with as much energy, passion, and excitement, as I did the work I did on my depression; as I did with my my work on my racing negative thoughts; as I did with my work on my often elusive sense of self love; as I did when I dealt with the traumas of my past. 

When I accepted that I suffered from depression and stopped beating the crap out of myself for having it, I embraced the process of getting better. When I approach my addiction that way, I can not fail. I will not fail. 

My shame around my addiction is gone. My hubris, my ego, my male macho bullshit around this shit, has been shattered. When that happened regarding my depression and my anxiety and my trauma, I hit the ground running and started to heal, immediately. I'm using that as my blue print for recovery from addiction.

I've realized that most of the people who have made the greatest impact on my life, who have touched me the most, have (or had) addiction issues. For example, most of the therapists I had in residential and outpatient treatment are recovering addicts. Those people changed my life. Then there are the artists who have profoundly moved me, who have also changed my life: Steven Tyler. Tommy Lee. Eddie Van Halen. Robert Downey Junior. Stevie Nicks. Tchaikovsky. Ben Affleck. Elton John. James Bond. 

I'm in good fuckin' company.

©2017 Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart LLC, and Red F Publishing. All rights reserved.

Hard Head Huge Heart

When I boxed in college, I never got knocked down. In one fight, my nose got broken so badly I looked like a cartoon character. I incurred black eyes, bloody lips, and gashes on my face. I could take a punch. Because, literally, I have a hard fuckin' head.

That's an asset in fighting. Not so much anywhere else. In the figurative sense, I'm capable of having a hard head when I do life. I can be one resistant, stubborn mofo. Not proud of that, but at last coming to terms with it. Particularly around my struggles with substances. 

At the same time, I have a huge heart. When I love you, I love you with all I have. When I love you, I'll take a bullet for you. 

Sometimes, my hard head and huge heart are at odds with one another. My stone headedness comes from a place of fear, whilst my big heart comes from a place of love. The two don't mix well. They don't play well together. 

I'm working on softening both. And strengthening both. At times, I don't have a clue how to do that. Really, my ultimate objective is to change the paradigm. To change the game. To raise my whole life to another level. To approach the whole challenge from someplace else. From a wiser, more enlightened place.

I know I have that in me. I proved it to myself in treatment. I'm proving it to myself every day.

I don't want it to feel like a war, anymore.

I'm doing that one day, one hour, sometimes, one moment, at a time.

 ©2017 Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart LLC, and Red f Publishing. All rights reserved.