June 23 Today is trash day. It’s nice to have this routine. I plan my week around it. It’s a small moment of purpose: cutting up cardboard, placing trash in the barrel, cooking up the biggest dinner of the week just so the smell of onions and garlic won’t linger. It’s a very mindful procedure that I’m growing to appreciate. The same is true with the annuals on the porch: I tend to them imagining something grander. I’m not “here” on the side of the road hearing traffic and overlooking an abandoned Tim Hortons. I’m "there" on a veranda in southern Spain high over the coastal cliffs tending to my endless perennial garden. The meditation is the same: the small gesture of dead heading, anticipation of the next possible bloom, deciding that one stem has done its job and it’s time to pinch it back. Very small details that do so much for my soul. How often have I told myself, “ you just don’t have a green thumb” when truly all I lacked was the mindfulness of noticing when it’s time to pinch back, and trusting flowers will bloom again. That’s my life now. I’ve pinched back through necessity and circumstance, but I trust good things will bloom again. The lesson is clear now: go slow and hang your thoughts on purpose. Stay present to noticing when things have run their course. Don’t stay attached to what was, lay a foundation for whatever will be. In this way, with a purposeful willingness to let go, you’re ready for what’s to become.
July 2 Just got back from the store. I'd forgotten one item, the one item that drove me to spend $140.00 on four bags of groceries. I filled the fridge, sat down triumphantly, and then it hit me: I forgot milk. But there's good news. I happen to live off a strip mall of convenience stores and gas stations; grabbing a forgotten quart is easily done. So, I put my jacket over my newly purchased TJMAXX lounge pants (actually p.j.s) and trekked the two blocks to the nearest convenience store (on my side of the road.) Along the way, I played "I spy", the pedestrian version. I was the only spectator in a traffic parade of disappointed motorists. Sadly this 4th of July is going to be a wash out. I was almost too content, guiltily content, to see the look on the perturbed tourists. I wasn't feeling much love as I peeked into the cars, examining the out-of-staters that out numbered the in- staters three to one. I'm finding I actually enjoy the sound of traffic. Growing up I lived right off a very busy interstate that grew a lane for every decade my parents lived there. The neighborhood pool was very close to the highway. The roar I heard to this day reminds me of Coppertone and Sun-In. It's hard to explain what I like about it. Engines sound so different from the side of the road. You can only speculate the nature of a rush or hum or rattle, imagining someone is pressed to get somewhere. Or someone is tired of not being where ever they are (stuck in traffic) and they can't wait to finally get around Granny Slowpoke. Whatever it is making the noise, it's an interesting sound, and it means something: humans on the move. Perhaps it's the comfort not being on the road that brings me pleasure. Not that I'm wishing pain on the traveler, whom I'm sure would rather be as comfortable as I am, but it's more a reminder that I have one less problem. I am here. I am safe. I can close my eyes and nothing will go terribly wrong. To be honest, it actually lulls me to sleep. I guess that's it: I feel safer knowing I am not driving. All night long I hear the gentle hum, and I am lulled back to an easy sleep. When I looked at the faces, I saw boredom, disappointment, annoyance, baggage and lots of problems I don't currently have. And somewhat sadistically it helps. It helps me to count my blessings. I am not one of them. That's a good thing. Though I am single for the first time on 4th of July (in about 37 years...yikes!) I am still finding an ease to it. I'm finding I can look at the couples, the double daters, the families, and think how lucky I am to be free. I am free to grab my forgotten quart of milk in my jammies and flip flops. Free of judgment. Free to smile and be grateful I already paid in full to live in Vacation Land. In fact, I can walk there from here. Many years ago, in my late teens, I'd get stuck in the worst kind of Boston traffic heading north bound on Storrow Drive. I'd do my best to avoid it, but I always ended up just catching the tale end of the famed Friday rush hour. While inching along, my car in serious danger of over heating, I read the cheesy billboard advertising for an expensive condo that read, "If you lived here you'd be home by now." I did what I could not to give the sign the finger as I inched past it. So, when the sun comes out after this holiday is over, which it most certainly will on cue, and it turns out to be the best weather of the entire summer, which it is forecast to be, I'll be thankful all the more that I am, in fact, already 'home by now'.
July 3 Here's the Facebook version of my day: woke up, did my pilates/ cardio/ ab workout, SKY meditation, swam a mile, took a hot tub, ran into some friends, came home, read, napped, and then cooked cauliflower and mushroom tempura with wild rice, and plans to binge watch Stars Wars from the beginning. Sounds ideal. (Ignore the spat with Jenn over the junk in her room I tried to organize, and how I begged her not to talk about the cats I miss so friggin' much! And don't let me know how it is she knows Keith is leaving the kayaks in the driveway.) I don't want to hear painful things. Keep me in this bubble for just a bit longer, please... I am hanging in there. Working my hardest to move forward with each breath. Learning that whatever I am attached to invites suffering if I can't let it go. Letting go is the goal. That's true for everyone, not just me. In a meditation Gurudev told of a story about a farmer who prayed for the drought to end so he could be free from his depression; then when the rains did come, there came a bountiful harvest. Once again the farmer was unhappy; he had no time for rest with all the work, so he became depressed all over again. That is an illustration of suffering caused by desire. I get that. I had a life I enjoyed, but it was far from perfect. But then it unexpectedly changed and I wished for it to be what it was. I caught myself and I learned to let it go. That wasn't a piece of cake, but I no longer wish to return to that life. I am ready to move forward and happy I had this sudden chance for change. I now have an opportunity to build a life that could be less painful and more sustaining. A life with fewer expectations, and more significance. A life in which my happiness does not hinge on anyone else's behavior but mine. A life in which I am devoted to my practice and taking care of the beautiful breather bringing in life force consistently, and without validation, for fifty-six years and counting. She just does it. Thank God for that. On a broader scale, Covid taught most of us to not take breathing for granted. We breathed through masks for more than a year, and it really sucked. Hopefully we learned the luxury of maskless breathing. And when we breath in that fresh air, we'll remember to give pause and thanks to our good fortune. And not slip back into complacency of taking our breath for granted. Post Covid is kind of like the farmer's angst. American's are in a frenzy to make up for lost time, but all too soon, they might notice the rise in gas prices, be shocked by the climate changes, and return to patterns of indulgence, busy-ness, and emotional neglect. Does the pandemic lie within the human heart? Is it destined to return? Or can we move forward with a renewed interest in our health and breath, the most basic necessity of human need, along with the health of our planet. Consider the beautiful breather from which we all came, planet Earth. Let's hope the lessons remain at the front of our concern. One breath at a time we live... One day at a time we change..."keep breathing, it works".
July 4 The weather has made this a cozy home day - not your typical, sweltering crowded gathering kind of day. That works for me. I started the day with a 9:00 group SKY Meet up. Gathering with an East Coast group appealed to me, so I paid the $3 fee and joined. Unfortunately, I felt more like an outsider. Clearly the leader knew the folks well. Instead of a welcome to the new comer, she just commanded that I turn on my camera. Of course I was a "newbie" and didn't really know how to work the Zoom setting on my iPhone. I figured it out, but it came at the cost of missing some breath work I was looking forward to. So, to be kind to myself, I've decided to check in later with my leader in California. (This meet up is already included in my plan.) The time there will be 5pm, so 8pm for me. That works, too. (There's a lot to be said about "feeling the love" when Zooming in your bedroom.) So this Independence Day will have me breathing in the day and breathing out the day. All good. Earlier this morning, I listened to a talk by Sri Sri that resonated with me. He was talking about "tapas", the various fires that burn within. He discussed the mind and it's propensity to close during times of uncertainty rather than utilize its deeper capacity to be spacious. He says much unhappiness is caused by a crushing of the mind's capacity for love.Rather than allowing the mind to expand to it's potential spaciousness, we literally crush it when we exert our will and try to smoosh our love into a narrow channel. In our attempt to control the emotion, or assume there is only one path to love, we crush our true nature. He says, " Your love is so big it needs a royal door to walk through." Powerful image. Other reading I've been doing is based on the idea of using radical acceptance to cope with chronic unworthiness. (Hello, Tara Brach.) In reflecting on my relationships, I see how I've been so willing to give up my own happiness and comfort in an effort to control others. Doing anything with a hidden agenda, leads to more misery. I'm waking up to one cause of misery: the gradual squeezing into a very small container of self worth. At every turn I could have taken a stand, but instead, I avoided taking up the space I needed to be fully true to myself. It's no wonder I now feel the spaciousness of my tiny room and single bed. It's smaller in every way, but it's a room of my own, and that's what makes it feel like a palace. My conditioning has been that if I have a need, I had better keep it to myself. It could offend someone, and it's best to devote yourself in obvious ways, deny all sense of entitlement. Keep your unhappiness limited to your shelf of self help books, and read them only in private to avoid making your spouse squirm. (Not a good self care plan.) “We may listen longingly to the message that wholeness and goodness have always been our essence, yet still feel like outsiders, uninvited guests at the feast of life. “ Self denial has been my practice. I grew up to believe that if you rock the boat by stating your needs, you will suffer all the more. In this closed system, I was trained to believe that having my own opinion was the cause of others suffering. To bring it up was even worse. Doing anything else: becoming addicted, pregnant, or even suicidal, was far better than rocking the boat with your opinion. Rejection by the clan was the ever looming threat. Every clan, the family clan the work clan, the friendship clan, they have their leaders. The leaders speak on behalf of the clan. And its always political. Pandering is the norm. No subservient member is allowed a voice (unless they're a carefully chosen pawn.). Best to get that straight. Now fall back asleep and stop asking so many questions. But I see it all from my new palace window. I look out from my comfortable royal bed and reflect on that life of unfairness. I don't feel sorry for myself because I am free. I have discovered the source of my unhappiness. I discovered that I've been squeezing my infinite capacity for love into a tiny hole in the wall. And it's just been too narrow and too restrictive to survive. My love has been extinguished through smothering. Here, in the space I've created for myself, I can discover the potential that awaits. I can gravitate toward a collective on a mission to embrace the same quality of expansiveness. And draw to myself like minded teachers that help me stay afloat and help me, as I help them, to navigate a journey toward an accepting selfhood. That's a happy holiday. Time spent in passive celebration of the feast within. A day of independence, reclaiming a life that has yet to experience the comforts of living with ease in its own beautiful skin. July 5 Wounds from loved ones take time to heal. Like wounds to the flesh, personal offenses from those we trust hit hard and then quickly disperse into a pile of other wounds. It's hard to manage pain when it hurts everywhere. Time heals, it is true. The sore spots consolidate leaving a localized wound. But a heartache, like a contusion, is protected with swelling. When the swelling subsides, the stinging can be more acute than ever. That's where I find myself today, at the end of the swelling phase, and now I'm seriously feeling the sting. I am reliving so many moments where I should have seen the problems. What I once thought was an unshakable bond, was a facade. I kept my doubts at bay, telling myself that being with is better than being without. That's the biggest sting; the sting of self deception. I think about the signs of disrespect, the conflicting values, and the mischaracterizations. Each offense, now localizing, compiling themselves into a lifetime of settling for less than anyone deserves. The players, like scars, have their role in my unhappy narratives. They're woven into layers, as if my own skin would be improved by tattoos of defamation. When I think about sharing my life again, I question my intentions. Do I need these wounds? Is the sting my teacher? I wonder how long it will take before these wounds are no longer stinging. How long before I stop thinking about them every day? How long will I be walking alone? I want to stay on this path, a path that is clearly lit with no dark shadows of self-deceit.
July 7 The apartment is so quiet with Jenn gone; though she's pretty quiet, and never awake at this hour, yet, it somehow seems even quieter. The quiet is kind of loud, but I'm okay with it. I am reading another novel. This one is about an apocolypse. The characters are in Australia fleeing from a rising wall of water following an epic storm. The storms have become common all over the world, and a life on the run and living in abandoned structures has become the norm. It's a fast paced thriller. I get that cozy, safe feeling as I'm reading it, like awakening from a night terror. And I have my own apocolypse to deal with. The divorce seems to be progressing. The only evidence is the lawyer's fee. She seems to have taken several hours to review my meager income statement that I did myself, but I'm not upset. I'm relieved it's happening. No news is a relief. Some days I have to will myself to open the mailbox, but I do. I wait until I'm feeling strong. Sometimes knowing bad news would suck, I avoid peeking in it until the time seems right. On my way to the pool or a walk are my preferred times. I imagine I might need to process something: a guilty letter from my mother or brother, a notice from Jenn's stubborn health care service refusing to pay, Keith's lawyer contesting something on his behalf, any crazy mean spirited information I might stress over, can wait. The weather today is sublime. I'm debating what to do with it. I finally decided to walk Reid State Park tomorrow at low tide. If I went today, the tide would be rising and already high. I'd like to arrive right at low tide, not in the heat of the day, but early morning. That way I can play in the warming water and not expose my skin to too much sun, leaving time to catch a swim at the Y on the way home. Perfect plan. I have so much to be thankful for. The blessings are over flowing, truly. And yet the codependent in me is confused. Where is the stress? Where is the struggle? Having no one else to control or work around? It just seems so foreign. Yet I know that getting used to this, enjoying this, craving this, it's what having self-reliance is all about. It's a muscle I aim to build. Fortunately the summer is young. I am an eager student of inner consciousness. The pay off will be grand. Summer, take me into your arms, I am yours. July 8 Summer is once again on pause. That's a good thing. With the mirky skies not showing a hint of sun and the cool air putting out hopes of a beach day or even a nice stroll, I am attending to business. I cleaned, donated clothes, made appointments, or at least began some inquiries, and did things I like to put off until days just like today. The morning routine is a breeze. Thirty minutes of pilates and the SKY meditation are just an easy way to greet the day. I'm feeling good, and I think it shows. (I tried on a size "small" dress and it looks good, so that's an improvement. Meeting up with Ben tonight. He made it easy, pick him up and we'll go to the closest place near him. Can't wait to see him. It seems like longer than it is. It was before my "nose job" anyway. Putting together my new identity. Started with a pic of me in my new glasses. I did my own photo shoot. I have to say it went well. I'll likely change my mind, but that's what a mind is for...changing! Un-layering. That's what I think I'm starting to do. I have fewer looped thoughts. I see them coming, and I think, "well, there you are again, but I'm kind of busy". I think I can sort them better. I know I don't have to listen to every harsh opinion of myself or imaginary dialogue. One trick I'm learning is to replace a thought with a random memory. For example, if I find myself thinking about a conversation with Keith, questioning why he chose to toss me on my ass, I think about a birthday party I had when I was eight and we made Valentine's. Totally random. My mind doesn't know what do do. It works, in an odd sort of way. Tomorrow night I have committed to being a SKY angel. Why not? The fee is waved and I can be like a leader. Though I'm so new, greener than green, but I do know a bit more than others who are just checking this crazy thing out. It's a step anyway, so I'm game. Deepak seems awfully nice and very devoted. I want to support anyone who has positive energy and thinks I have potential to lead. So I am making the most of a crappy day. Not in the fast lane, but not a couch potato, just me, doing something with a bit of ease. Happy to be present more often than not. I hope I make a good impression on Ben. By that I mean, I hope I shine positive vibes his way. I hate regrets. I want to embrace him with good energy. It will help me keep afloat on this new raft I'm building. July 9 A lovely day for sleeping late. The rain is gently washing the streets, softening the usual gritty traffic noises. I smile to myself, feeling so fortunate not to have any pressing agenda. I can float through my day with ease. In meditation this morning I imagined myself back on Damariscotta Lake. I'm floating near the island I swam around all last summer. I'm lying in total comfort, the cool water soaking into my skin, and the bright sun warming my face. I'm bobbing thoughtlessly. Relaxed into summer. A year to the day later, I'm on a hot pink yoga mat on the polished wood floor of my single bedroom. Floating in my mind. Asking myself if I miss the lake. A reply from the deepest part of me does not. It tells me my experience is a lake. I am now, and have always been, floating through circumstances. Sometimes the water is choppy, and I need to really work to keep myself from drowning, other times, the water is calm, and I can be proud of how I've kept my raft from sinking into despair. I like feeling safe. And it's probably the first time I've really felt this way. I've always steered myself toward danger, and dangerous people. I sometimes feel that urge creep back in. I sometimes think I should find a quick fix, meet a new partner, dance some more, regardless of the risks. Take a chance on life. But that's kind of crazy self talk, and I do my best not to listen. The more I stay at home with just myself to care for, the more I uncover layers. Each layer is a part of myself I turned away from once. Listening to folk music, signing in a band, acting on a stage, dancing like no ones looking. That's me. But that's also been kept quiet, kept in a box somewhere. (Pay no attention to the noisy, needy child.) I loved her, but hated her. She caused problems, so I agreed to keep her in the box.I needed to take on the needs of others, put myself last. It was the only way to still feel real: to be needed by others, and discredit my own true needs. If I could manage, I'd find someone to long for me. It became my dance.It made my own longing feel less needy. It was compensation for not being real with myself. I'd look into the eyes of a lover to see myself. But, that's an impossible feat. It involves a shit ton of denial. And it's been exhausting. I can see her now. I'm agreeing to let her live in a room, no longer a box. She's quite okay. She loves a lot of things, and I'm noticing something new every day. May that light of the love I am finding for myself be enough to keep me afloat, even when my raft drifts in its angst and longing for another hit of choppy water. May I stay true to myself.
Anne with an E 