Wrapped in Stories

I want to wrap myself up in the coziness of a story--the kind that you lose yourself in, that makes you want to gather up yourself and your two favorite things and to step into a nether world.  I want a closet to Narnia, but without the Christian undertones.  I want Fairyland or Oz.  I want to hang out with Weetzie Bat.  I want to escape to a land that hasn't even been named yet.  As if I could escape into or control the outcomes in these stories any better than I can within the one I'm living...

One of my favorite lines regarding these thoughts is by one of my new favorite characters (September of The Girl Who Circumnavigated Fairyland in a Ship of Her Own Making by Catherynne Valente):

"The trouble was, September didn't know what sort of story she was in.  Was it a merry one or a serious one?  How ought she act?...  "  

The narrator offers her omniscient reply to this thought of September's:

"But no one may know the shape of the tale in which they move.  And, perhaps, we do not truly know what sort of beast it is, either.  Stories have a way of changing faces.  They are unruly things, undisciplined, given to delinquency and the throwing of erasers.  This is why we must close them up into thick, solid books, so they cannot get out and cause trouble" (p. 36).

I can't quite get a handle on the story I'm in right now:  It has beautiful scenery and a huge cast of characters, but the protagonist seems a little weary in the world.  It seems to be that moment in the story when the main character seems a bit adrift in her daily routines, and sometimes a bit overly sensitive to the world around her.

I guess what I'm wanting, is to believe that I'm in the midst of a good, rollicking adventure story (Like that great 80s classic Romancing the Stone--stop it, I can hear the eyeballs rolling, don't judge me for that one).  Right?  I want to splash down waterfalls, be thoroughly annoyed by brash handsome men, outsmart bad guys, and??  Write a bestselling novel about it in the end.  (Do I have this movie confused with a different one?  I'm going to have to watch it in the name of "research" I think.)  

I know that my (less fictional) alternative is a lot less colorful than this.  I know that I have control of nothing; I know that breathing through the moment is key.  I know that being in the moment is key.  I know that bringing myself back to present is key.  But, damn, I'd like to slip into a narrative where I was a cat burglar, where I talked with dragons and swam with mermaids... and I'd like to be wrapped in this fanciful narrative until I'm ready to bring myself back to the "real" world. 

(One last word from Valente's Fairyland:)

"All stories must end so, with the next tale winking out of the corners of the last pages, promising more, promising moonlight and dancing and revels, if only you will come back when spring comes again" (p. 247).

It's spring.  It's here.  I'm ready for the next tale.

Quiet

"A man has as many social selves as there are distinct groups of persons about whose opinion he cares. He generally shows a different side of himself to each of these different groups."  --William James

If you knew me only in a professional context, you would have a difficult time believing I am an introvert; I put on a fun show, and in the moment?  It's me.  Unfortunately for my temperament, the work I care most deeply about, and the work I continue to do is so unflaggingly social in nature, that if I'm not carefully attuned to seeking out "restorative niches," I will flatline, and it's not pretty.  Anyone who has seen me after a five or seven day work trip when I've had to be "on" for 10+ hours a day with people has seen this state.

I'm in a new situation now that requires not only extensive travel and working with large groups of people (which I love) but also an intense office environment and endless slew of interactions when I return...and I live in the most population dense place I've ever lived...So I've been looking for a little more guidance. I'm in a place of working through what will allow for balance in these spaces.  I just finished Susan Cain's Quiet:  The Power of Introverts in a World That Can't Stop Talking.   I cried through multiple chapters simply from the resonance of the ideas and case studies, not to mention the highlight of so many things I wish I'd tended to throughout my life (instead of beating myself up over); However, I was able to name so many things that I had previously just been confused by.   I have been clear for some time that I am introverted and become fully exhausted (not exhilarated) by too much social stimuli, but I'm also so drawn to deep connection to others that it has been difficult to reconcile these two ideas in my mind-- Turns out they're not mutually exclusive.  I have just had times in my life when I worked around these energy demands more effectively.

Cain identifies our ability to seem effervescent in large groups of people, to appear gregarious and extroverted in different settings as "effective self-monitoring."  And I am very glad to have developed the skills I have in this world, because I truly love what I do.  What I am working on developing skill in is taking the time I need for restoration, and figuring out what boundaries I need to draw around the energy output.  We all are to a certain extent, right?

All I Needed to Know

If there were moments when we could actually step back, step out, and view what's around us, then there would be increased opportunities to truly see, yes?  I don't know any one who doesn't get so caught up in the action of it all that there is little time for the thinking--all doing and no time for deciding if the doing is actually leading us where we want.  And I don't know anyone who doesn't feel the need to apologize when they take a much-needed moment to simply be quiet and still.

I was moving through some more "choose your own adventure" sagas in my mind this past week--where I realized I had turned to pages I didn't want to be on.  The scariest realization for me was that I continue to do so...even with all of the lived experience and the cues I've become aware of.  The cues most often are made apparent when I move without grace, when my words and actions don't reflect who I truly am.  I can make excuses:  I've been in constant motion for months; I've had too many transitions and too few days off...and on and on.  But these are just excuses in the moment.  When I look closely at myself and sit with the truth beyond the moment-to-moment, that's when I can see that some combination of a swift kick in the ass (metaphorical) and compassion for self must come into play.  And I can see that, once again, I'm one fallible human.  And I see that I need to step back and stop the motion to see clearly.  And I want to be able to do this without feeling like I need to justify my pause.  I want us all to be able to.

Do you remember that book All I Needed to Know I Learned in Kindergarten?  [I feel like it was a late 80s early 90s text]...I accompanied a colleague on her journey to drop her son at his kindergarten classroom this week, and I was fully struck by the supremely logical trajectory of his morning:  We entered the classroom, chose a text, invited a few people to read with us, and read a good story; this was followed by a run around the track and a snack.  Seriously.  That is a beautiful morning routine.  I am pretty sure we could take our cues from small, graceful kindergartners.  Read, think, move about, eat food with your friends.  Tell people when you're tired and you need a break.  Ask for help when you need it.  I can't go back and change where I've landed, but I can sure as hell shift my routines to move with a little more grace.  Without apology.

Unchained and Unfettered

I was just feeling constrained by a deadline and a task that I have been struggling to complete this week, and as I bemoaned yet another evening of writer's block, I realized, yet again:  I chose this; I'm writing this narrative I'm living; I'm the only one making these decisions.  AND, no matter who we are,  no matter what our life conditions are, this is true.  There is always a choice.  

One of my favorite moments of late was a concrete feeling that I had no one to blame but myself for ANYTHING.  Let me qualify this, though:  I'm not blaming myself for anything, nor do I want to change anything.  This feeling was in reaction to a concrete experience that reminded me that I own every decision I make, every reaction I have, and every feeling I dwell in.  I also realized that blame and victimhood is so pervasive in our culture that it's hard to escape the narrative.  People all around us buy in at any given time--hell, I've done my share of paying the price of this.  It's so boring.  The counter-narrative--free will, ownership, agency--is somehow less popular (possibly because it requires us to acknowledge full responsibility for ourselves), but it's a hell of a lot more fun.

I think we should celebrate this counter-narrative.*  How about a few, "Hell yes I just fully screwed up...and guess what?  The world did not come to an end!!"  How about, "Hell, yes, I just did something so awesome it surprised even me!"  How about, "This is really who I am and I'm not afraid to let you see this...and if I am?  That's okay too."

*Please know that I am not at all intending this to be a statement that relates to critical race theories, nor am I intending to make light of social inequities.  We all know that the growing distance between haves and have nots is exponential and tragic.  I am appropriating this idea for those of us who inhabit a privileged space and who sometimes forget.

"Burn through the fog, break through the facade. Dissolve all the walls just let em all fall. Shake off the chains till they all fall away. Feel the lotus unfold inside the ribcage" - MC Yogi

Second Guesses

I'm engaged in some ridiculous second guessing these past two days.  I decided to commit to a long-term place to live in my new city and start building a space I want to inhabit.  However, after being head over heels excited for the past week, a couple of snags have arisen (that are too silly to go into), and this has shaken my resolve.  Monkey mind ensues with an endless stream of "maybe's":  Maybe I should have just been content with what I have.  Maybe I could have found other ways to make myself feel more at home here.  Maybe I could have grown more comfortable in my current space if I had just given it a little more time...  Maybe...

And I recognize that this is something I need to work through yet again.  I am able to make decisions about what I believe is best for me, but sometimes I spend an inordinate amount of time second guessing these decisions, and, then, after all of the fretting, they work themselves out, but not until after I've worked myself into a frenzy.  There's nothing life or death in the decision I've made, of course, but I seem to have imparted to it more power than is necessary.   I don't want to have to make any more major logistical decisions for a while, but I felt I needed to make one more major logistical decision in order to move myself closer to the stasis I'm seeking...  It's a quandary.

And this brings me back to an idea I've been mulling the past couple of days about the role of self-talk--and the fact that very often, the language we use when we are talking to or about ourselves isn't as kind as it would if we were describing a friend.  I know for a fact that some of the language I've used in the past 24 hours, to describe my decision has been language I would never think, let alone speak, to a friend.  And there are so many great quotes in the loving kindness world about self-love and self-care--ideas about removing barriers for love, practicing cultivating loving kindness for all sentient beings, etc., etc.  But the person we walk around with all day long?  Us?  We tend to not be as thoughtful in our word choice and thought patterns.

I don't know where this leaves us, except with a more intentional practice to be a little gentler with ourselves.  I'm going to work on this.  In the meantime, however,  I'm also going to try to remember that I've spent the past two months looking for exactly what I found, and it's all going to be okay.  It always is.

Awaken

I'm new to the practice of Yin Yoga.  A few weeks ago, I was running late leaving work, and I missed my usual vinyasa class, but made it to a later class that I knew nothing about.  What ended up happening was that I got exactly what I needed from it.  Slow, intentional, deep postures with a narrative to accompany them provided by one of the most thoughtful yoga instructors I've come across to date.  I have stuck with this class each week when I'm in town, and it provides a nice counter-balance to my generally yang life.

This back story is intended to situate the learning from this week.  For the record, I'm not a huge fan of acronyms, and I tend to avoid them.  However, a little word play, I'm game for.  The instructor shared an idea, from a yin yoga text by Bernie Clark, regarding intentional and open-hearted living.  That's not, I don't think, as she framed it, but it's certainly what I took away.  She went through a series of thoughts and words that corresponded with the letters in "awaken."

The first, "A"--to allow.  The first suggestion being that we allow what is to be what is, and to acknowledge the truth of it.

The second, "W"--to watch or witness.  This is the most difficult for people, I think.  I have a tendency, when in new situations, to take in so much and to need so much processing time, that people have to prompt me to speak and to say what's on my mind.  I need this time to quietly take in what's around me, because there is so much I do take in.  I felt validated that this was a recommendation.

The third, "A"--act.  To act once you've taken the time to notice and acknowledge.

"K"--Keep going.  This is a tough one, yes?  This persistence that is only possible because of our resilient natures.  I've been doing a lot of thinking about resilience of late, and, thankfully, my own has resurfaced.

"E"--Expect goodness.  I don't love the word "expect," but I do appreciate the encouragement to always cultivate an attitude of positive presupposition for the world.

And, the lifelong quest--"N"--Now.  Live now.  I saw a lovely cartoon the other day where a dog was looking over at his human companion who was struggling to meditate, and the thought bubble above the dog said, "What else is there?"  Yes.

I've been allowing and watching for the past few months as I've made a rather huge life transition, for what seems like the millionth time in a short while, and I am so happy that I have reached a point where I feel it's time to act.  And I know that my actions are not a rejection of living in the now, but an extension of all that I've noticed and allowed to be.  There are these moments when I feel so truly awake and giddy even, and these, thankfully, are the emotions that are arising after the long wait of the settling in and figuring.  I'm tweaking the dials just a bit so my full self can come full circle in this situation.  And I think these ongoing tweaks most definitely require space and time to plan, so that they aren't reactionary, but they are truly based on what we need in the long term.  Yes.  Now.  I love this idea that I've circled back to this idea of awakening.  And how appropriate it is that we do awaken, literally and figuratively, again and again.

Intentionally Upright

I have been thinking a lot lately, it seems, about what exactly keeps us upright through this life (There are a lot of people on the streets of my daily world who have laid down, and are not getting back up).  It takes a huge amount of will to remain upright, to continue forward, and to be intentional about what we let into our lives.  The secret that very few people let us in on is the fact that if your wisdom and adaptability do not keep pace with the increasingly complex challenges of living, then there is more than enough impetus, just in daily living, to lay it all down.  It's hard.

I become increasingly aware that our "problems" keep pace with our phase of life--I would kill for my own 20-something problems again.  Adventures are hard;  they seem glamorous, and maybe they are in the long run, regardless they are all there is--a series of adventures, even the most mundane, are what make up the patterns of life.  But, I'm noticing, that my energy ebbs and flows for adventure.  I feel like I capture it for a while, but then the energy is tempered by some sort of desire for stasis, for comfort, for consistency that simply isn't available.  And then there's the fact that all of life seems glamorous if we view it from a distance and in sound bites.  And then people develop the "grass is greener" syndrome when all they see are soundbites from others' lives.

What is becoming increasingly clear to me is that life is lonely; no matter what the circumstances of anyone's life, it will feel lonely at times.  Life is a series of really difficult moves. These are even more difficult when we don't have stores of energy saved up to deal with them.  I have to be very present to not lose what is truly dear in the midst of all.  I've been working through a tension of late regarding acknowledging all of the beauty, and how much I have, but also acknowledge that there is more that I want in my life.

I want to be that person who is totally serene and content in any given situation, and with any life circumstance.  Anyone who knows me well knows I have not reached this space yet.  I'm certainly more patient than I used to be, but I also acknowledge that this, in itself, is a practice.  Gratitude is a practice.  Setting intentions is a practice.  The most recurrent reminder of late for me?  There is no greener, but there is also no reason to not want "more," whatever your particular "more" is.  There is a both/ and kind of thing going on here.  I am happy in me.  I am happy on a very core level.  Does this mean that I can't mourn the fact that I won't have children of my own?  Does this mean I don't want to one day have a successful partnership with someone who actually gets me?  No.  It means that on occasion, I break down in tears when I see a pregnant woman, and sometimes I have stroller envy.  I don't want to apologize for this mourning, and I don't want to dwell on it.  These aren't things you can predict in life that will trip you up.  I moved through my twenties and most of my thirties absolutely oblivious to a biological clock.  There are some things you learn in retrospect.  And that's okay.

My biggest conundrum of late has been rectifying my belief system about what it means to be "strong" and what it means to be "happy" with what it means to be these things, but also to say, "this isn't enough" in a long-term sort of plan.  Is it okay to say that, yes, my life is quite lovely:  I have only first-world problems, and even those are pretty minimal, but to also say I want more.  "Happy" and "strong" only exist in the moment.  They can't be permanent states of being or they would cease to be real or fulfilling (maybe I should put "real" in quotes too.)  And there's more of the work.  Forward momentum while also acknowledging the good stuff:  a quandary.  Last week's yoga practice centered around the idea that we carve a path through, and that this path is our choice--it can be a rut or a groove.

Complexity in life is underscored when there are moments of absolute bliss contrasted by moments of absolute sorrow.  And what I'm realizing more and more is that these states of being are not only complementary, they are necessary.

This is one of those posts that I'm going to post even though I liked it a lot better when it was in my head, in sound bites.

From my favorite book of late, The Girl Who Circumnavigated Fairyland in a Ship of Her Own Making:  "My dear, labyrinths ensnare and entangle; they draw one inexorably inward...All of the underworlds are labyrinths, in the end.  Perhaps all the sunlit lands too.  A labyrinth, when it is big enough, is just the world."  Read it.  The book is utterly fabulous.