where can we lean into what’s hard?
Wow, here we are again. Meeting each other as summer shifts into fall’s crisp inhale. This summer I was inspired to take a step back from the keyboard and give myself some breathing room while setting up our fall programming. At the same time, I’ve been pushing myself in new ways. I started running (if you’ve been in class, you’ve definitely heard me bring it up). And now that we’ve been named Best of Portland, I’ve been asking myself: what’s next? How do I keep growing as an individual so I can keep challenging you?
I heard something recently about how we’ve become almost too good at being gentle with ourselves, always coaxing and putting things off for another day, rarely pushing our ways of thinking. But sometimes what we need is a little tough love. Discipline, when rooted in clear and wholesome intent, is its own form of mindfulness. For me, it’s not “work smarter, not harder”, it’s doing both. Hard doesn’t have to be heavy, it can be the spark that builds the fire.
The first five minutes of the run are usually me negotiating with myself, convincing my brain that, yes, I actually like this and yes, I do want to run a half marathon. It’s become an act of joyful discipline. And I’ve noticed the runner’s high doesn’t end when the run does. It shows up throughout the day, reminding me to ask: Where else can I lean into the things I tell myself are hard? Where else can I practice building discipline, noticing which habits hold me back from being my best, peaceful, and balanced self?
I recently learned about the anterior midcingulate cortex (MCC), the part of the brain tied to motivation and resilience. It lights up when we do things that are challenging, especially movement. And because it can grow or shrink depending on how we challenge it, we actually get to shape it over time. Every time we do something hard, we’re tossing another log on the inner fire. The more we feed it, the steadier it burns, keeping us fueled for the long run. Of course, rest has its place.
We all need seasons.
Summer can feel fiery and expansive with big exhales, bold action, leaning into challenges, or showing up for class when you’d rather be scrolling. Winter is the quieter burn, an inhale of conservation, tending the coals with rest, meditation, or reflection.
And now, as we learn to do more with less light, we arrive in fall - that threshold season between harvest and storage. It’s where we gather what’s ripened in the bright months and decide what seeds of discipline or joy we want to tuck away for winter, knowing they’ll be what sustains us when the days get quieter. I’ll leave you with this: Where can you lean into what’s hard, not as punishment but as practice? How can you use this time of transition to prepare yourself to flow into the next cycle with strength, steadiness, and resilience?
