Who Feels Blue in the Spring??

I’ve recently been told that my affect is flat and my energy is grey. Since this feedback came from two women I love and trust, I’m taking it seriously.  Other indications that something is off include a difficult situation with someone I love, more challenges at work, and snafus with money that are unusual for me.

These are all signals that I need to surrender--to what I'm not sure--but since I’m leading a retreat on “letting go absolutely” in three weeks, I’m curious about how to be with this discomfort without running to shopping and sugar for a quick escape.

I don’t have to know

Although I’m not sure what kind of help I need, I do know that it’s time to ask--others, the universe, and my own inner guidance. I don’t have to know what form the help will take, or how it will work, or even why I’m in this present situation.  Just the act of asking  for help releases the problem and opens me to a solution.

Answers are everywhere

So this morning I sat by a wise man I don’t know well at a meeting and asked him how he cultivates joy.  He looked at me for a beat and then answered that he does it in little ways all day long—having meaningful conversations, spending time outside, being present to changes without needing to control them.

In order to feel more connected to others, I spoke at this meeting without knowing exactly what I would say or if it would be helpful or wise.  Yesterday I started therapy with a counselor I liked who seemed safe. Today I’m inviting Spirit to show me what to read, who to hang out with, and how to be.   Images of golfing and gardening came as ways to play and to create, states I'd like to experience more.

Befriending Silence

I’m pretty sure silence is the way through this flat, grey period: sit still, plan nothing, stop consuming something every waking minute, be observant and curious. Taking a baby step in the direction of what brings my heart peace rather than finding the best bargain or eating copious amounts of sugar is the truest route to a sweet life.

Permission to Grieve

My 92 year old mother in law died last week, with no pain, in a homey hospice, surrounded by her six children singing, praying and professing their love. Unless you believe no one should ever die, this was a good death, the kind everyone deserves but too few experience. The setting allowed those of us left behind time and space to remember, celebrate, and mourn together. If sacred passages were the cultural norm, perhaps we’d have less fear of dying, more reverence for birth, and communal rituals to facilitate key stages in life.

No Time to Grieve

My own father died suddenly when I was sixteen and my sister was twelve. My mother, for unknown reasons, chose to proceed as if all were normal. That very night she sent Lori out Christmas caroling with the Spanish club. The next day I went to work, where they were surprised to see me and had called a substitute. It didn’t occur to me to go home, so I was an extra worker on the floor.  We attended the usual church services Christmas Eve (he died December 23) where I tried valiantly not to cry, as if that would have been a breach of etiquette rather than a genuine expression of my irrevocably changed reality. 

With no space or time to grieve, I buried that raw emotion only to have it emerge as anger, self-pity, or fear at odd times over the next decades.  With no permission to grieve, I learned to ignore my feelings and act as if something essential didn’t matter, living on a surface of pleasing others rather than acting from my heart’s desires.

So this week, I did it differently, even though this death was neither surprising nor tragic. I used bereavement leave to be available to the family, host meals, organize her few possessions, and take care of myself.  I feel lucky to work at a nonprofit that acknowledges these fundamental human needs with some paid time off. Isn’t this what every worker deserves?

A Life of Faith

Jill Rice was the least addicted, least materialistic, and least sentimental person I know. Her family and her faith were the important anchors in her life.  Her reading consisted of novels and materials published by various Catholic organizations. Her church attendance continued right up to the end, and she prayed immediately when told sad news.

Allowing Love 

Her faith was the source of her sweet love for others. Nurses, waitresses, her hairdresser, and her grandchildren all fell in love with her because she lit up whenever she saw any of us.  Though kissing hands was all that was left of her expressiveness towards the end, she always chose loving over complaining. She really was an instrument of peace.

Thy Will, Not Mine, Be Done

At her funeral, we entered singing Here I Am, the hymn reflecting Samuel’s willingness to do whatever God asks.  We ended with Breathe on Me O Breath of God, singing “that I may love the things you love, and do the things you do/ My will to yours incline, until this selfish part of me glows with your fire divine.”  I cried during both these songs, reminded that this is all I’ve ever wanted—to act from the best in me.

Jill Rice showed me how to love everyone for who they are, to delight in beauty and to simplify with ease. Most of the time I’m aware of falling short of this ideal, but my desire to be aligned with love is strong. Some days it even trumps the desire to protect myself by keeping people away through isolation or criticism.

 

Today, rather than try to eliminate my negative qualities, I’ll follow this sweet woman’s example--plug into the Great Love that moves through this world and offer it to everyone who crosses my path, like Jilly did.

On Dying without Children

My 92-year-old mother-in-law is in hospice, a day or two from death according to the nurse.  Her six adult children have gathered, and because the facility is a beautiful home with gentle, attentive staff, they are free to read to her, sing hymns with the music therapist, and stroke her head and hands.

Jill Rice had eight children in twelve years, each one confident, unique and adored.  While she sleeps and her breathing changes, while they administer pain meds every two hours, the siblings plan the funeral, write the obituary, and share memories with various cousins, grandchildren, and in-laws who visit.  Someone is always with her, and when I left the other day, the room had filled with eight of us.

She is having a good death. And her dying brings up memories and questions: I’ve lost both parents, one quickly and one in hospice care. I have regrets about how I showed up around both deaths.

I don’t have children--who will attend my death? Years ago I was a volunteer with hospice, and during the extensive training a group of four women spoke to us.  They had worked with a patient who didn’t have family, tag teaming for weeks so she was never alone.   Would strangers do that for me?  

In the end, I suppose it won’t matter because I’ll be dying.  Although I hope to die quickly and gently in my sleep after a day spent golfing, writing, and visiting with friends, I’m not sure we get to precisely plan our exit. I just hope we have some say in the when and how and that my ending will be surprising and fast, for everyone’s sake. In the meantime, I marvel at the love of the Rices for this beautiful spirit who was their mom.

Loneliness or Solitude?

“Don’t surrender your loneliness too quickly.  Let it cut more deep . .  . /Something missing in my heart tonight/has made my eyes so soft, my voice so tender/my need of God absolutely clear.” Hafiz

How do you know when you’re lonely? How do you soothe yourself when you feel lonely? How might loneliness, which had a role in my addiction and now fuels numerous ways of distracting and numbing myself, actually be a tool for developing spiritual connections? 

Loneliness is like those little plastic bags that protect the newspaper, helpful for the moment but useless for any other purpose.  Loneliness signals I need more connection to myself, others, or Source. Often I don’t welcome that feeling, because I interpret it as meaning that I’m a loser nobody wants to spend time with. Once I start down that path, it’s not long before I question how I’m spending my day and if my life even matters. No wonder I do about anything to avoid feeling lonesome. 

Lonely in a Crowd

But I can also be isolated surrounded by people when the conversation is shallow and I’m not hearing or sharing anything real.  Time with someone I want to be close to but feeling unseen may be the loneliest.

Joyful Solitude

On the other hand, when I’m spiritually connected being alone can be joyful. In solitude, I’m curious, eager to explore, open to spontaneous ideas and welcoming of feelings, memories, connections, and even emptiness. I’m never bored in solitude, but when I’m lonely, I'm desperate to entertain myself.

I can move from solitude to loneliness in an instant of self-pity or comparison. It usually takes longer to move from loneliness to enjoying my own company.  I do know that eating, shopping, smoking, drinking, mindlessly consuming social media or other forms of entertainment only keeps me isolated and postpones the move required for me to be happy and helpful to others.

Oh, that I could notice the edge of loneliness and welcome it into my heart as an invitation to intimacy with spirit, my whole self, and others. Becoming familiar with the beginnings of loneliness, being curious about that feeling and aware of what is missing can be an important tool for recovery.

To Explore

What do you typically do when you are at loose ends or bored, overwhelmed or not sure what to do next?

How do you feel when you’re lonely? When or where are you most often lonely?

Who in your life do you feel least lonely around?

What role does a higher power have in feeling lonely or enjoying solitude?

With a partner, share two moments from your life:

1) When you were alone and loved it. What were you doing? What connection did you have to nature, a higher power, or the best in you?

2) When you felt most alone in the world. What did you do to not feel so alone? Was it effective? What’s the healthiest thing you could have done? What prevented you from doing that? How is that habit, belief, or tendency to isolate still present in your life today?

Is Your Life Big Enough?

Everyone has some creative endeavor to immerse in, whether it’s creating a family, a home, a career, art, or community. If we don’t follow our heart’s desire, then we may turn that energy into perfecting things around us, redecorating, revising relationships, or even destroying things in order to rebuild them. In my life, I’ve lost the same 30 pounds multiple times, then gained them to make that my project, yet again.

If you don’t have a bigger project, your health becomes a project.  I’ve been saying no to flour and sugar without saying yes to what I truly want, which is to write new ideas, revise old essays, and publish it all so actual people read my work.When I make my top priorities losing weight, getting the perfect wardrobe, keeping care of an already fine home, or fretting about teaching something that will save or at least transform lives, then I dissipate the energies that could go into writing, revising, editing, rewriting, imagining, sharing, listening, telling stories, and being filled with wonder.

I don’t receive new ideas until I put the current ones occupying my mind on paper and release them to be critiqued, expanded upon, or affirmed. It really is that easy. The food always slips into the background and becomes delicious fuel rather than my main source of entertainment or the bane of my existence when I put my energy behind what I know to be the real point of being alive—sharing all of me with whoever wants it. 

Belonging Is an Inside Job

I recently attended a workshop with what I had hoped would be my tribe, women working the same program for food addiction. Throughout the day, though, I felt separate and very critical of the participants. By the time I left, I was bereft: if I don’t belong here, where do I belong?

I’ve left myself vulnerable to feeling excluded because I’ve thought belonging depended on someone else’s welcome, invitation, and desire to know me. I’ve come home from many a gathering where no one asked me a question, convinced I didn’t fit in, when I could have more generously interpreted their silence as shyness or a different set of rules for social interactions.

 I see now that I typically enter a social setting looking for evidence that I don’t belong, and of course whatever we seek we find. Even overt assurances that I am welcome are fleeting when I’m determined to find the ways that I’m better or worse. Mostly I’ve used quite superficial standards of appearance and weight to determine my ranking. I’ve bought the social lie that thin equals happy, so that particular gathering of women, who were mostly heavier yet clearly happier, jarred loose that old idea. To feel like I belong, I need to look for similarities, and when I’m aware of differences, to become curious rather than judgmental.

Instead of waiting to feel happy once I’ve achieved a certain goal (book publication, number on the scale, number of readers, etc.) I need to first belong to and with myself. This is tricky because my self-critical pathways are so strong, that I’m mostly in a state of feeling like a project in need of perfecting, which bleeds into every encounter I have. (For instance, I’m currently “working” on stopping caffeine and recreational shopping.) When I don’t belong anywhere, I know it’s time to up my meditation, which, for me, is the primary practice that soothes that critical faculty. When we meditate, barriers and boundaries the ego has created for protection diminish, soften, and go into the background as my inner being comes into the foreground.

Perhaps that’s why sitting down to meditate feels like coming home. The 12 Steps and 12 Traditions says, “Perhaps one of the greatest rewards of meditation and prayer is the sense of belonging that comes to us” (105). Sitting with the intention of being in conscious contact with a power greater than myself, with my inner being, and in connection with all souls striving to be loving and kind may not alone change a world that demonstrates indifference and cruelty each day.  But my desire to be connected to a larger goodness that is also within me is the soil from which helpful public actions grow.

When I even glimpse that I belong in the most cosmic sense of the word, I breathe easier, become clear-minded, and grow more tolerant. No longer am I awaiting a welcome from someone who may be struggling today. What would happen if I made a decision to belong, starting today with this human body, just as it is?

Setting Intentions for 2018

My three guiding words for this year are Curiosity, Creativity, and Courage.

Curiosity is the route to growth. If I pay attention to what feels stale, where I’m just going through the motions, what bores me, and when I want to disengage, it’s amazing how quickly a new invitation crosses my path. A class or workshop, a book or movie, a talk or new friend invites me to wake up. If I don’t listen to these stirrings of restlessness and discontent, I’ll have more difficulties until eventually I’ll be in despair, flailing for relief. To keep my life as non-dramatic and chaos-free as this world allows, I want to listen for the next stretch. Curiosity is a gentle path to surrender.

It’s also time to clarify what I want to learn, where I want to visit, and with whom I’d like to spend more time. How exactly does a belief in something greater than oneself facilitate abstinence and recovery from drugs, alcohol, shopping, food, and other addictions that encroach on one’s freedom? I already have some books and people to guide me. After being in the field of spirituality and addiction for nine years, I’m ready to do my homework. (Reminds me of my time at UT Austin, when, after prompting, I added the primary literature review three weeks before my dissertation defense.)

After 30 years of practice, I want to learn more about meditation and have found even the opening pages of Pema Chodron’s How to Meditate helpful. I’ve signed up for a four week class at Common Ground to learn a Buddhist approach to joy and equanimity from someone I identified as a potential teacher on a five-day silent retreat years ago. Apparently, sometimes the next step takes time to incubate and ripen.

Creativity will help me focus on writing and publishing. I’d like my writing to be so honest that it’s risky—perhaps even controversial. I hope to discover where I’ve censored myself to win approval, which I may only notice after I’ve crossed a line. The joy of creating should build enough momentum to make mistakes, forgive myself, and keep going.  Creating something daily might alleviate the cravings for shopping and sugar that plagued me so last year.

I want to be a better friend, and oddly enough that also requires courage. I’ll schedule a conversation every week with someone dear, ideally without an end time, so we can connect, meander and travel to new territory. That will be better than therapy because it’s mutual, free, and I can sit in my favorite chair at home.

To live a year of curiosity, creativity and courage requires a foundation of meditation, journaling, mutual support meetings for my sobriety and abstinence, enough sleep and exercise, and giving and receiving love and kindness daily. Plenty of people are critiquing reality brilliantly.  In 2018, I’d like to offer glimpses of hope, strategies for renewal, and invitations to connect.

What nudges are you noticing that will help you live more fully awake to the wonders of your life?