Tonight's yoga class was punctuated by two teachings by Thich Nhat Hanh. One resonated soundly with me (to be honest, the chatter in my head was so distracting that I didn't hear the first teaching). The instructor read aloud a passage that explored the idea of the fleeting nature of emotion, and that in order to recognize that emotion would pass, it was important to get out of our heads, to go to our core. And, as my intention for the class was, "to clear space," this particular teaching resonated. I realized that I had been trying, unsuccessfully, to clear space in order to get to my core, and that my last series of musings have been an exploration of this. What she also shared, was the importance of this being a practice when we are feeling solid, when there are no heavy emotions surrounding us, so that we have an ingrained practice when we are hit by waves.
This, riding on the heals of a new workout regimen that has left most muscles in my mid-section quite sore, made me aware that I had a very physical (albeit metaphorical) reminder / awareness of my core that might help me practice stopping all emotion from bowling me over as I let it swirl around in my head.
How do we cultivate core strength? I think we begin by clearing the debris that hangs us up in the world of ego. It's possible, that we continue our practice of asking good questions and not expecting "right" answers. I think, quite possibly, we do it by thinking less and trusting more.
Thursday, May 9, 2013
Tuesday, May 7, 2013
Honing in on True North
I stopped on my way to work today to write down this quote from Ram Dass: "We're all just here to exchange notes about our own journey." And I thought, yes, that's what I'm doing... I'm offering up notes about my journey in the hopes that they are useful, not as blueprints, but in the spirit of transparency. And because I love exchanging notes about life. It's this amazing query with no answers, but lots and lots of theoretical memos.
I've had a bit of a battle with dishonesty and artifice lately, and what I've recognized is that I have very unproductive reactions to these components of human nature. And I've got some work to do on cultivating my own grace and generosity in situations when I am confronted by particularly overt displays.
In conjunction with this work on my ability to be graceful in the present, is a corresponding quest to consider what my "non-negotiables" for my life are. Because I'm in a rather unique position, in that I have no responsibilities outside of myself, I have time for these types of musings (for better or worse).
A friend of mine said, "Sometimes your skin just doesn't fit in certain places. You don't need to apologize for that." My skin doesn't fit when I inhabit some environs. I feel the need to try them on so that I can be certain, but I have to acknowledge when and where I am most fully me. I wrote once, "Look up. The stars will save you. They always do." I don't particularly need saving at this moment, but I realized that stars are non-negotiable (Yes, I know that they are always in existence, but I want to be able to see them). I've been weighing things: creating If/ then comparisons, considering trade-offs.
For example:
Do I need a Trader Joe's? Nope. Do I need seven yoga studios in a one mile radius? Nope. Would it be nice to have one? Yes. Would I trade good restaurants for a yard of my own? Yes. Is it possible for me to live for extended amounts of time without a dog? No. Do I really care about dating? No. (Great quote from Anna Quindlen: "It would take quite a man to replace no man at all." :) Do I need work that is fueled by passion and desire to make the world a better place? Yes. Will I succeed at this work? Probably not, but it's enough to try.
You get the gist.
Each experience I have, each situation I try on, allows me to hone in just a bit more on what is true north for me. And each experience also allows me to see, just a little more clearly, that the only person who can determine what is best for me is me. And I want to forgive myself the digressions because they are what help me find clarity. Someone else's "dream life" does not have to be mine, and vice versa. And slowly but surely I'm getting to a place where I can internalize this and operate from that stance.
I've had a bit of a battle with dishonesty and artifice lately, and what I've recognized is that I have very unproductive reactions to these components of human nature. And I've got some work to do on cultivating my own grace and generosity in situations when I am confronted by particularly overt displays.
In conjunction with this work on my ability to be graceful in the present, is a corresponding quest to consider what my "non-negotiables" for my life are. Because I'm in a rather unique position, in that I have no responsibilities outside of myself, I have time for these types of musings (for better or worse).
A friend of mine said, "Sometimes your skin just doesn't fit in certain places. You don't need to apologize for that." My skin doesn't fit when I inhabit some environs. I feel the need to try them on so that I can be certain, but I have to acknowledge when and where I am most fully me. I wrote once, "Look up. The stars will save you. They always do." I don't particularly need saving at this moment, but I realized that stars are non-negotiable (Yes, I know that they are always in existence, but I want to be able to see them). I've been weighing things: creating If/ then comparisons, considering trade-offs.
For example:
Do I need a Trader Joe's? Nope. Do I need seven yoga studios in a one mile radius? Nope. Would it be nice to have one? Yes. Would I trade good restaurants for a yard of my own? Yes. Is it possible for me to live for extended amounts of time without a dog? No. Do I really care about dating? No. (Great quote from Anna Quindlen: "It would take quite a man to replace no man at all." :) Do I need work that is fueled by passion and desire to make the world a better place? Yes. Will I succeed at this work? Probably not, but it's enough to try.
You get the gist.
Each experience I have, each situation I try on, allows me to hone in just a bit more on what is true north for me. And each experience also allows me to see, just a little more clearly, that the only person who can determine what is best for me is me. And I want to forgive myself the digressions because they are what help me find clarity. Someone else's "dream life" does not have to be mine, and vice versa. And slowly but surely I'm getting to a place where I can internalize this and operate from that stance.
Wednesday, May 1, 2013
Chaos Theories
"Where chaos beings, classical science stops. For as long as the world has had physicists inquiring into the laws of nature, it has suffered a special ignorance about disorder in the atmosphere, the turbulent sea, in the fluctuations of wildlife populations, in the oscillations of the heart and the brain. The irregular side of nature, the discontinuous and erratic side--these have been puzzles to science, or worse, monstrosities."
-From "Chaos" by James Gleick (1987)
I've been thinking about the types of problems we consider worthy of attention and the types of questions we ask (individually and collectively). I have been noticing that different people ask very different questions about the world (and argue for their limitations in being able to answer these questions--or, on the other hand, argue for the limitations of the questions themselves), and through these questions, we learn a lot about how people view the world. There are those who deny chaos, who want to control it, and then there are those who want to step in and explore it.
I was reading about Oppenheimer's Los Alamos lab today and the "Theoretical Division" which included a group of physicists and mathematicians (working on questions that were directed toward something I'd rather not think about), BUT, I find this idea of a fully funded, truly valued, "Theoretical Division" to be particularly compelling. I read about Mitchell Feigenbaum, who had published only one article, but was seen as "real smart," despite the fact that he spent his time walking darkened streets (during his experiment with shifting to a 26-hour day), taking airplane flights to view clouds from different views, and noticing, just noticing. Where did his wanderings lead? To places I don't understand: fractals and bifurcation of something or another. But the thing is, his wanderings led to something that probably couldn't have been arrived at in a more linear way. Maybe I'm not quite brilliant enough to have my wanderings lead to such monumental discoveries, but what I know is that I'm sick of asking the same questions. I'm sick of asking questions and then trying to fit the answers into someone's format for "productive contributions to the field." And, frankly, I'm sick of interpersonal relations and navigating human egos, and I'm sick to death of my own. I want new questions, and I want some new ways of exploring.
What if we each created, as a space in our lives, a "Theoretical Division" where we gave ourselves space to consider how clouds form, how they move, how light looks at different times of day, and we gave ourselves space to really notice...and to wonder? And what if we allowed ourselves to note not only the patterns of our daily lives, but the turbulence, fluctuations, and erratic movements that make up this world? And what if that helped us recognize how worthy the questions and the noticing is? And what if that allowed us to expand our view of the world? And to not feel quite so compelled to make everything linear, quantifiable, and wrought with the burden of one right answer? And what if there was freedom there? What if these universal characteristics that allow the study of chaos are only the beginning?
-From "Chaos" by James Gleick (1987)
I've been thinking about the types of problems we consider worthy of attention and the types of questions we ask (individually and collectively). I have been noticing that different people ask very different questions about the world (and argue for their limitations in being able to answer these questions--or, on the other hand, argue for the limitations of the questions themselves), and through these questions, we learn a lot about how people view the world. There are those who deny chaos, who want to control it, and then there are those who want to step in and explore it.
I was reading about Oppenheimer's Los Alamos lab today and the "Theoretical Division" which included a group of physicists and mathematicians (working on questions that were directed toward something I'd rather not think about), BUT, I find this idea of a fully funded, truly valued, "Theoretical Division" to be particularly compelling. I read about Mitchell Feigenbaum, who had published only one article, but was seen as "real smart," despite the fact that he spent his time walking darkened streets (during his experiment with shifting to a 26-hour day), taking airplane flights to view clouds from different views, and noticing, just noticing. Where did his wanderings lead? To places I don't understand: fractals and bifurcation of something or another. But the thing is, his wanderings led to something that probably couldn't have been arrived at in a more linear way. Maybe I'm not quite brilliant enough to have my wanderings lead to such monumental discoveries, but what I know is that I'm sick of asking the same questions. I'm sick of asking questions and then trying to fit the answers into someone's format for "productive contributions to the field." And, frankly, I'm sick of interpersonal relations and navigating human egos, and I'm sick to death of my own. I want new questions, and I want some new ways of exploring.
What if we each created, as a space in our lives, a "Theoretical Division" where we gave ourselves space to consider how clouds form, how they move, how light looks at different times of day, and we gave ourselves space to really notice...and to wonder? And what if we allowed ourselves to note not only the patterns of our daily lives, but the turbulence, fluctuations, and erratic movements that make up this world? And what if that helped us recognize how worthy the questions and the noticing is? And what if that allowed us to expand our view of the world? And to not feel quite so compelled to make everything linear, quantifiable, and wrought with the burden of one right answer? And what if there was freedom there? What if these universal characteristics that allow the study of chaos are only the beginning?
Saturday, April 13, 2013
Present Pressing
I filed for an extension on my taxes today, and I bought asparagus at the farmer's market. These two events are related only because 1) I realized two nights ago as I sat down to do my taxes, that I had not received a W-2 form from one of the organizations I worked for last year, and 2) This day that I had dedicated on the calendar to completing my taxes instead included a trip to the farmer's market.
Now, neither of these events on their own are of any great import, but what is exceedingly clear to me is that time is passing--and quickly. Yet, when I look back on the past weeks, I feel as if I've lived lifetimes--both in my waking existence and in sleep. I woke Sunday night only to hear myself yelling "stop it" to some unknown (and scarily eye-less) assailant who was (in my dream) channelling negative thoughts into my mind. I'm sure there's some fabulously Freudian explanation for my dream, but I'm not terribly interested in a heavy analysis. I have been doing some heavy-lifting emotionally as I continue to make sense of my space and the transitions that I've worked through in the past months, and, really, there isn't much more space for figuring.
What is becoming clear is that once you stop the motion, particularly after a transition, there is space to think and feel. And this? Well, this space seems to offer up harder conditions than the constant motion. Virginia Woolf writes:
Now, neither of these events on their own are of any great import, but what is exceedingly clear to me is that time is passing--and quickly. Yet, when I look back on the past weeks, I feel as if I've lived lifetimes--both in my waking existence and in sleep. I woke Sunday night only to hear myself yelling "stop it" to some unknown (and scarily eye-less) assailant who was (in my dream) channelling negative thoughts into my mind. I'm sure there's some fabulously Freudian explanation for my dream, but I'm not terribly interested in a heavy analysis. I have been doing some heavy-lifting emotionally as I continue to make sense of my space and the transitions that I've worked through in the past months, and, really, there isn't much more space for figuring.
What is becoming clear is that once you stop the motion, particularly after a transition, there is space to think and feel. And this? Well, this space seems to offer up harder conditions than the constant motion. Virginia Woolf writes:
"The past only comes back when the present runs so smoothly that it is like the sliding surface of a deep river. Then one sees through the surface to the depths. In those moments I find one of my greatest satisfactions, not that I am thinking of the past; but that it is then that I am living most fully in the present. For the present when backed by the past is a thousand times deeper than the present when it presses so close that you can feel nothing else"
("A Sketch of the Past," from Moments of Being, p. 98).
[Woolf presents this as a seemingly positive state, but, although she was brilliant, I have to take this with a grain since we all know how that all turned out.] What I'm noticing is that I'm not fully in either space: I'm still trying to figure out my present, but I have enough figured that my past is creeping back in willing me to tie some bows and close up some open-ended thinking that has been lingering. And then there's the whole idea that distraction is actually quite pleasurable--How much "easier" (emotionally) is it to operate on a purely survival level (though it never seems easy in the moment) than it is to say, "Whoa, I've been operating on a purely survival level and now I have to figure out what the fuck is really going on in my psyche and in my world." There is this idea of really local concerns and really global concerns in life: If I wonder where I'm going to get a couch for my new apartment, that is so much easier than wondering why it is that I'm living in my new apartment. (Note: My apartment is absolutely lovely; I just haven't lived in one since I was 19).
And so...I continue on a journey to clear space, to clear out what is superfluous (and clear out the to-do bin) so that I can see...so that I can watch the shift in the season and be a part of it. I know there will always be mourning in shifts, but I want to focus on the celebration. And I simplify things as much as I can, recognizing for the millionth time in this lifetime that operating from a clearer stance leads to a clearer view of the beauty--of the asparagus, of the flame red strawberries that can be smelled from two stalls away. I don't want to be afraid to wake up and to see, to appreciate. And to let the present flow over the past because the past makes it richer, not because the past is haunting me.
"As you simplify your life, the laws of the universe will be simpler; solitude will not be solitude, poverty will not be poverty, nor weakness weakness."
--Henry David Thoreau
I'm still teasing out the ideas of the above quote (and, yes, its author always demands a certain level of criticism), but there's something here. Above all, simplify. Note the shift in seasons. Note the shifts in mindset. File for extensions, but don't extend the past's impact on the present. Trying.
Tuesday, April 2, 2013
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 narrator offers her omniscient reply to this thought of September's:
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.
Sunday, March 24, 2013
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?
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?
Wednesday, March 20, 2013
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.
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.
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