Now it's December, and I'm still struggling with dark spirits.
Atheist Christmas Carol
Me to the season: Don't forget, I love, I love you.
I am sadness and joy and stress and resilience. All are part of the tapestry of my experience. So be it. So may it be.
Prayer to myself: May I be brave. May I welcome the connection and light that waits for me if I open the door to them.
Today, everything feels like too much. Too many things to do. Too hard. Too much energy needed to overcome the inertia of despondent now.
Tomorrow, there will be music and singing and cooking and cleaning and laughing and friends and games. All will be well. All manner of things will be well.
Today, there are meetings to get through. Plates to spin. Tasks to knock out. Discussions to contribute to (show up! be present! bring value!).
I've had an Insight mediation app on my phone for a few months now. Most mornings I listen to affirmations as I make my way toward my desk. Most mornings, I feel grounded afterward. Rooted in my body, confident and at ease in myself.
Today, the woman's voice was talking to someone else, and I was just eavesdropping. Nothing she said was for me.
Work has been full and stressful lately. Lots of brain power, emotional intelligence, organizational skills, task switching, energy expended. I'm depleted.
I skipped out on a church meeting to watch Dark Skies with the fam. I've done puzzles. So. Many. Puzzles. I've escaped into Stacey Abrams mysteries. I've done yoga. Tennis. Walks with the dogs.
I'm doing all the right things. Trying for good habits.
Today, it all feels for naught. Darkness is heavy in my chest. My shoulders curl over my quaking heart.
These feelings too will pass. Tomorrow will be a better day.
"Look up" has been on repeat in my head - as I went to sleep - as I woke up several times in the night - this morning. Yes, Joy. Thank you. I can be grateful even for this.
It's been a whirlwind fall. I've been co-teaching a class at UNM, which is so fun but soaks up all my "free time." Teaching requires a presence and an awareness of the moment that leads to richer experience. This practice carries over into the rest of my life, primed to find deeper meaning.
Rich but exhausting.
It's been a sweet few months with the kiddos. There's been tennis and running. Puzzles. Coffee. More delights from Ross Gay.
Lunches with friends, tea with a new friend, coffee with an old friend.
Life is sweet sweet sweet, and I am trying not to hang on or expect anything to continue. Just notice. Feel grateful. Shine shine shine on all I see.
The planet Mercury sings like a crystal goblet.
It sings all the time.
One side of Mercury faces the Sun.
That side has always faced the Sun. That side is a sea of white-hot dust.
The other side faces the nothingness of space eternal.
That side has always faced the nothingness of space eternal. That side is a forest of giant blue-white crystals, aching cold.
It is the tension between the hot hemisphere of day-without-end and the cold hemisphere of night-without-end that makes Mercury sing.
…
There are creatures in the deep caves of Mercury.
The song their planet sings is important to them, for the creatures are nourished by vibrations. ...
The creatures cling to the singing walls of their caves.
In that way, they eat the song of Mercury.
…
The creatures in the caves are translucent. When they cling to the walls, light from the phosphorescent walls comes right through them. The yellow light from the walls, however, is turned, when passed through the bodies of the creatures, to a vivid aquamarine.
Nature is a wonderful thing.
...
Each creature has four feeble suction cups – one at each of its corners. These cups enable it to creep, something like a measuring worm, and to cling, and to feel out the places where the song of Mercury is best.
Having found a place that promises a good meal, the creatures lay themselves against the wall like wet wallpaper.
…
They do not reach maturity, then deteriorate and die. They reach maturity and stay in full bloom, so to speak, for as long as Mercury cares to sing.
There is no way in which one creature can harm another, and no motive for one’s harming another.
Hunger, envy, ambition, fear, indignation, religion, and sexual lust are irrelevant and unknown.
The creatures have only one sense: touch.
They have weak powers of telepathy. ... They have only two possible messages.
The first is an automatic response to the second, and the second is an automatic response to the first.
The first is, ”Here I am, here I am, here I am.”
The second is, ”So glad you are, so glad you are, so glad you are.”
I'm keeping an intention to fold in physical activities high in my consciousness. It still hasn't turned into action much, but the realization that fun = moving my body is still motivating me to figure it out.
The latest scheme is to try for some family bike rides when it cools down a little. I think we're going to "borrow" my 80-year-old mother's Schwinn for Beckett (a much more appropriate age for biking!) so that we will all have decent-ish bikes. Umea's is a second-hand store find. Actually, I think Eric's is, too. And mine is the bike I bought in grad school, which I still adore.
The other goal is to play tennis Monday evenings.
And soon I'll be able to get back to yoga at lunch 2 times a week.
I've done fairly well going for one long-ish run on the weekends.
One of the fun things at camp was playing "ga ga ball," which I hear is taking the nation by storm, following the pickle ball revolution. My son was surprised but pleased that his mom did pretty well - for a beginner! It was a reminder that I'm kinda athletic. Felt like being little and playing baseball and kickball and all kinds of other things - and being pretty good at most of them just by being fairly coordinated.
Although ABQ does not have gaga ball pits, it is embracing pickleball. Many of my older friends are enamored. Once the City opens the registration for pickle ball lessons, I'll sign up to learn that. Then I need to find a partner to play with!
All of this requires carving out time in the week for something that I actually find fun, even though my kids don't. The past 14 years have been trying to find things to do as a family. Now... it's probably ok to strike out on my own again and leave them to their screens and their friends.
We just got back from a week-long UU kids camp. I've been wanting to go for years; we hear a lot during the year about "camp magic" -- a place where generally reluctant UU kids actually want to go every year.
There are no "families" at camp, even though most (but not all!) adult "counselors" are parents. Some were, but their kiddos are now adults.
Like most camps, there are campers 3rd grade through 8th grade. Then there are Counselors-in-Training (CITs). Because people continue to want to come back, there are also "Young Adult Mentors" (YAMs).
My 14-year-old leaned into the no families rule -- generally not making eye contact but not actively avoiding me.
My 10-year-old declared the rule stupid and refused to follow it, but even so, he did not seek me out much, although bedtime was still important. Lots of singing! Which worked out well for his roommate, who was more homesick than most.
So I was left as just myself - an adult among kids - parental but not a parent. At camp but not a camper. I found myself SO SELF-CONSCIOUS! Walking the delicate tightrope of asking questions but not be prying, being silent but not withdrawn, being present but not centering myself. I was the only adult who had not been to camp before, so I found myself empathizing with the new kids, who were also the quiet kids, on the edge of every game, sitting alone during meals. What is more tortuous than being a new kid? Turns out... being a new adult. The responsibility to do something about both my own discomfort and theirs made the discomfort urgent. So I went about gathering the loners into community. And by day 3, the CITs had been admonished enough that there were many helpers in this quest.
And by day 5, there were no outliers. There were certainly still moments of discomfort and shyness and awkwardness that all kids - and all people - have. But camp magic worked. Many became one. And had fun. And accepted our infinite, unique quirkiness.
I think all camps do this, some better than others. Some more intentionally than others. Our UU camp was very intentional, teaching the skill of inclusion and practicing the courage to show up. So vulnerable and so beautiful.
The call to worship today at church:
Let's not go building new walls around our hearts
We have already enough that keeps us from each other
Enough that keeps us from ourselves.
For this hour we practice showing up with a willingness to see, to be seen
To remember ourselves, whole, and still becoming better
To believe it is ok to not be ok
That we are loved, even when we feel unlovable
That we belong, even when the ground comes out from under us
To be for each other a surprising generosity, a sudden
sweetness, a sign of hope the start of a new day.
Together, we can be this brave.
The welcoming song:
I pray for you; you pray for me. I love you; I need you to survive.
I won't harm you with words from my mouth. I love you; I need you to survive.
Umea asked me if I was ever fun. An old friend asked me what I did for fun. A new friend told me how he fills his days with joy now that he is retired.
I have a new answer: tennis. To be more specific, tennis lessons. Turns out, I do not like playing matches, but boy do I love drilling! I've been doing it for several summers now, and this year, I seemed to come into my own.
And the other things I fantasized about when picturing my retirement were similarly active - riding my bike, going for hikes, running. Turns out that what's fun is moving my body.
How ironic when what I prioritize is being in my head.
It's so easy to get lost in there.
When we talk about grounding ourselves, we so often mean in our bodies. Moving our breath from shallow to deep. Settling our weight into our hips.
The metaphor for grounding to me has always been the rootedness of a tree - slow growth outward to grasp the earth and hold on, hold onto more and more as you grow. But today, listening to a meditation about courage, the metaphor the woman used was lighting, and I realized lighting grounds, too. A flash of electricity that connects sky to earth with violence and awesome beauty. There and then gone. A strike.
I had asked some people at a party on 4th of July when they felt grounded in who they were. My friend's mother said - "Oh, very early. I was lucky to have people who mentored me toward leadership." This matches what I knew of her but was not the answer I was hoping to hear. But today, after telling that story, my friend said, "Sure, she felt grounded early, but she never felt free." She could never jump into a new situation, travel to Europe by herself. She was rooted to her spot in the world but didn't see much of it as a result.
And so I now have 2 metaphors for groundedness that give me more freedom, more hope that whatever I am feeling is what I am supposed to be feeling - connecting to the here and now, digging deep and wide - and branching out (oops, still tree metaphor!) because I feel safe in who I am and so can leap into something new, strike out in a new direction and see what there is to see.
For today, this feels revelatory. And enough.
As you breathe, feel how your anxiety is the high strung vibration of too much too fast, and how as you breathe out, you can deepen that tone, bring the high whine from your head and your face and your throat into a low vibrato in your core, like a tiger's roar, pushing you forward into movement from the icy block of your stuckness and fear.
I'm struggling this week with feeling out of balance on multiple tightropes. (Warning: much whining ensues.)
Work feels so overwhelming that I don't have time to get organized enough to delegate work to others and free up time to work on what needs to be done. I am canceling meetings so that I can meet with others. I am working on the weekend so that I can actually put in time on tasks that take concentration. It's ... exhausting. And feels like there's no end and no solution and no way to continue.
Exercise feels like there's never enough and no motivation to do more. I had been running with some ladies training for a marathon, but a few weekend trips away left me behind the wagon. Now I'm dragging myself 3 miles before it gets too hot by 8 am. Thankfully, yoga at work twice a week seems to be holding (and holding me steady), but while that is a GREAT deal and good value, it's still too much money. But I know investing in myself and my balance is worth a whole lot more.
My relationship feels distant. My partner's been not feeling well for a couple weeks, which has left our schedules out of sync and our energies missing each other. And I have been hiding. Turning inward and then wondering why I feel so alone.
My daughter continues to struggle with cutting. She seems joyful and yet emerges from multiple nights with visible scars of her anxiety. I do not know how to help her, and she seems wrapped in teen solipsism that leaves any solutions years beyond her reach or consideration.
My son is addicted to a video game with shooting and death at its center. He rolls his eyes at us when we express worry and actively resists any attempt at redirecting his time and attention to other things. We have some leads about how to keep making other activities more viable, easier to choose, and yet the effort to keep them in front of him is relentless.
My mother is far away in Michigan, and the physical distance is only one symptom of how far away she feels. My oldest sister went to my niece's wedding shower and wedding and did not give her a gift. I'm struggling with how to feel about that and whether there's anything I should do with my feelings. I'm angry and disappointed and feel protective of my niece and righteous about what my sister should have done.
But there are blessings, too. This Friday I'm meeting up with one of my favorite work people who is in town. Next weekend, my neighborhood friend growing up is visiting from California. The next night is my 30th high school reunion. Then I spend a week at church camp. Then go to Navajo Lake with my old boss who has become the summer grandpappy for our family.
And today I'm headed to a friend's house for wine. Tonight I'm meeting up with high school friends who were all thespians together.
There are many blessings. And maybe a little of this is an introvert feeling overwhelmed at living out loud in front of so many people.
But maybe it's also that I am hiding from myself and what I should be doing to make my life what I want it to be. And it's hard to hide with so many people asking questions and loving me into showing up.
47 seems to be a year of reconnecting with my past. This summer will be my 30th high school reunion. 30 years. I dove into the rabbit hole of my high school year books and cybersleuthing to find those whom I remembered and cared about. Some have died. I'm reaching out to set up a Zoom reunion with my fellow Thespian officers from my junior year.
And a poet I loved once passed away this summer. I re-entered a closed chapter of my life at his memorial. So strange to be remembered. And cared about by people who have kept me in amber as a twenty-something fun person in their memories.
Umea had just asked me about my past - how often had I done drugs, was I ever cool, was I fun? I tried to explain to her that if you live long enough, you have eras in your life. Your own experience of yourself is continuous, but you are constantly changing, growing, pruning, shedding parts of yourself and what you used to care more about, what you used to do more of. And it's not just life and time that spurs these changes. Every person brings out more of this or that in you, the alchemy of connection or repulsion. You learn from it all. Learn about life but also yourself. What you like. Who you like. Why.
I drank a bottle of wine this week with a friend made during that poetry era. I liked who she loves. She sees the steamroller in me and knows it can make paths for those I value - like poets, like community-makers and storytellers.
I dine tonight with my oldest friend, who came to every birthday since my 2nd ever through high school. We drifted apart in college but reconnected when we both ended up in Seattle after the turn to the new millennium. And stayed in touch through her saying goodbye to her father in a prison hospital. We grew life at the same time, gave life within a month of each other. We had girls, then, later, boys. We have lived our lives in parallel. Not the same. Not even together. But coming together every so often to witness, to share, to commiserate, to wonder and take turns feeling lost and confused.
And after finding pictures of our parents enjoying games and drinks, I sent them to my childhood neighbor friends. In some ways, those are my strongest memories. Because they were my first memories? Because they were so full of love and fun and joy? All of that.
And this blog is filled with me realizing again and again that I don't remember if I don't write it down. And weeks and months and years pass, and the continuity of my experience means I don't learn, don't note the passing of time and lessons and love and joy. So, here is one. I am so grateful. I am so full right now of the bigness and strangeness of life.
Martha Beck - we carry 2 different selves in our heads, some speaking more loudly than others.
Be here, be present. At peace with what is, and if not, pushing in the direction I want, if things can be changed, and if they can't, pushing back on my want to change me so that I can be at peace with what is.
Talking to my friend this morning about how he fills his days, since he's retired (and has been for 6 years, starting at age 56).
It's got me thinking about how I would spend my days if I wasn't on the treadmill of all that I have to do - driving kids to school, going to work, driving kids to therapy, cooking "dinner" that everyone will eat. There's probably 2 hours of "family time" that's either watching something together, doing homework, or playing games (not as often as we should, but supposedly every Tues/Thurs eve). Then there's 2 hours of time that I can read or watch something that I want before sleep. Too often that's falling down the rabbit hole of news or Seth Meyers or Stephen Colbert while I play Yukon solitaire or do an online jigsaw.
Good nights are when I do a 20-minute Yoga with Adrienne. Or walk the dog. Or read when I go to bed. Or fall asleep early.
And if I don't make great choices most nights with my 2 hours of me time, what on earth will I do with a whole day? A whole "rest of my life" of days?
So, to set some intentions or imagine the world I want to birth with possibilities, here's an ideal day:
I wake up when I wake up. No alarms. Go for a run or walk. Yoga. Meditation. Puttering/picking up. Put something in crockpot for dinner. Lunch with a friend. Head to volunteer job at church or around town. Reading with kids? Working in the church office? Then dinner with my husband. Watch a little something. Yoga or meditation or walk before bed. Maybe a little reading or journaling. Sleep when I want. Wake when I wake.
That sounds SO GOOD.
What we pay attention to makes up our lives. What we practice grows stronger.
Affirmations:
1.
I make plans but remain flexible. I try to say
yes as often as possible.
2.
I cultivate patience, and by doing so, I
cultivate self confidence
3.
I welcome the opportunity to step outside my
comfort zone, and I do not let myself be guided by fear.
4.
I love myself unconditionally because it’s
essential to my happiness. I love the person who I am, and I do not need other
people’s approval to love myself fully.
5.
I’m going to drink water, eat fruit and vegetables,
walk, take stairs, and exercise. Today, I’m giving love to my body.
6.
I give everywhere I go, even if only a smile, a
compliment, or my full attention. Listening is the best gift I can give to
those around me.
7.
I try to be impeccable with my word and to speak
only to spread positivity. It’s counter productive to speak against myself or
others.
- after Gwendolyn Brooks
Exposure
Experience
Education
Empathy
Then audit / scan for Effectiveness.
Tonight’s meditation come to us from David Steindl Rast, a 96 year-old author, scholar, and Benedictine monk.
He offers, “we [need to] wake up. Wake up to what? To surprise. As long as nothing surprises us, we walk through life in a daze. We need to practice waking up to surprise”.
He suggests as a meditative practice, a simple question – used as a type of alarm clock: “Isn’t this surprising?”
[and] “Yes, indeed!” will be the correct answer, no matter when and where and under what circumstances you ask this question.
After all, isn’t it surprising that there is anything at all, rather than nothing?
Ask yourself at least twice a day he says, “’Isn’t this surprising?’” and you will soon be more awake to the surprising world in which we live”.
As we sit in silence with one another – you’re invited to reflect on where you experienced surprises today.
You can prepare
but still
it will come to you
by surprise
crossing through your doorway
calling your name in greeting
turning like a child
who quickens suddenly
within you
it will astonish you
how wide your heart
will open
in welcome
for the joy
that finds you
so ready
and still so
unprepared.
(quoted parts from “The Aesthetics of Joy”)
“Research shows that small bursts of positive emotion
can help reset the body…”
“can reset …[our] physical responses
to stress…”
Joy.
Research says
and yes, somehow we already know…
that joy…prepares our bodies.
JOY makes it possible
for us to show up
and show up…
to keep showing up.
Oh joy.
Sometimes hidden.
Sometimes found in unexpected places.
joy… silly and small.
The free flowing sweetness,
and unbridled giggling.
sometimes even found in overwhelming sadness.
Oh joy.
Let this light be a reminder.
That “JOY is resistance” .
