Life can be hard. Wretched. Exhausting. Sorrowful.
Life can be easy. Beautiful. Energizing. Joyful.
The pull of all the things that are difficult, even horrifying, in this world can drag us down into hopelessness and fear. Into feeling as if nothing we do could possibly matter. We become weighted.
I was talking about this with a friend today in reference to a mutual aquaintace (a friend of her's, who I know). This friend is an amazing person. An inspiration to other people, but also a person who often wonders if there is any point to trying to make things better, when there are so many negatives to battle against.
I also went to a Thanksgiving Day yoga class this morning in which the theme was Gratitude and how it has the power to change our perceptions, if not our day-to-day realities.
Both of these ideas rooted in my mind around the same time and I asked myself..."How do we get here (to letting gratitude change us) from there (feeling adrift in an ocean of the world's heavy burdens)?"
I think we do it, as in yoga, one breath at a time. One moment, in which we choose to look up and notice that the world is full of goodness. That the light touches everyone of us. That the fear touches everyone of us, too. We aren't alone and we cannot battle alone.
I think we do that by using those moments to create an oasis inside of ourselves. A deep pool we can draw from when overwhelmed. A pool filled with the knowledge of those who love us and whom we love. A pool also filled with all the *small* things we have to be grateful for.
Sometimes that pool feels really shallow. It's not easy. I am grateful for my family. I am even grateful for the hardships I've faced and the lessons I've learned from them. My good fortune at having enough to eat and live on. Some days those big things are more than enough. But, I've found it that changing my perspective requires something often more frequent and tangible than that:
The warmth of my yoga studio. Warm wool socks. A simple, heartfelt "Good Morning." The fact that I knew both of my maternal grandparents well into adulthood. The Internet. The color blue. Pickles.
There are things I don't have. Things I don't do. Things and people I miss. Things I wish I could change.
The counterweight to all of those is Gratitude. The oasis I create for myself is Gratitude. Gratitude begets Gratitude, Clarity, Creativity, Abundance and a willingness to share it. Count your blessings even if you can only do it on one hand. Even if the only blessing you can think of is that you *have* working hands.
In Gratitude,
Happy Thanksgiving!
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Conscious...What? Wander...Where?
Consciousness. To be awake. Aware. Not just physiologically (though, that helps. Believe me, there are days I've kind of tried it the other way...) Present. Aware, not only of the existence of oneself, but also of the existence of life as it's being lived by other life. Sentient. Responsive, but not Reactive. Appreciative of Breath. To See oneself reflected in the joys and sorrows of others. To See others reflected in the joys and sorrows of oneself. To See and not pass by. To pause and notice...object, detail, relationship, emotion, physicality, spirit. To try love instead of judgement. To try to love even the unloveableness...in yourself, in those you love, in people and situations you don't agree with or understand, in strangers doing strange things, and friends or family, sometimes stranger still.
Wandering. To move along at a pace suited toward observation. To choose a path and see where it takes you. To sometimes let the path choose you. To be open to the fork in the road, the unmarked journey, the chance offering. To stop and rest when that is good. To stride ahead, when that, too, is good. To learn to recognize that *good* isn't always as recognizable as one might think. To make a sweet plan and follow it. To know when to throw the plan out the proverbial window and set it free.
These are my unofficial definitions. I sat down to write them without much forethought, letting the words flow from my fingers. The Conscious Wander isn't a place I'm trying to arrive at. But the process by which my family chooses to live. Not a perfect set of rules, expectations or regulations. But a state of being-ness. Sometimes we (I) fall flat on my face. And now you all get to read all about it :-)
The name came to me in writing this post at the blog I wrote about becoming expats and living in India. And the words stuck with me, almost as a manifesto, of sorts. I've know for a while that I wanted to begin blogging again, but in a new space. The old blog is a bit of a love story. Our India love story. Since returning to the U.S., blogging there felt like a tresspass. That probably sounds odd. But odd is our specialty around here. We like odd...or at least spending time out of the main stream. I also wanted to write on more varied topics: Homeschooling. Birth. Food. Books. Writing. Yoga. Conscious Living. The Parenting Journey. And because I am a glutton for punishment...Philosophy, Politics and occasionally, Spirituality and Religion. And of course, my favorite...Travel.
Of course, at the moment the only reader I have is myself. That makes it easy ;-)
Bom Sankar Bholenath! (definition to come...)
Wandering. To move along at a pace suited toward observation. To choose a path and see where it takes you. To sometimes let the path choose you. To be open to the fork in the road, the unmarked journey, the chance offering. To stop and rest when that is good. To stride ahead, when that, too, is good. To learn to recognize that *good* isn't always as recognizable as one might think. To make a sweet plan and follow it. To know when to throw the plan out the proverbial window and set it free.
These are my unofficial definitions. I sat down to write them without much forethought, letting the words flow from my fingers. The Conscious Wander isn't a place I'm trying to arrive at. But the process by which my family chooses to live. Not a perfect set of rules, expectations or regulations. But a state of being-ness. Sometimes we (I) fall flat on my face. And now you all get to read all about it :-)
The name came to me in writing this post at the blog I wrote about becoming expats and living in India. And the words stuck with me, almost as a manifesto, of sorts. I've know for a while that I wanted to begin blogging again, but in a new space. The old blog is a bit of a love story. Our India love story. Since returning to the U.S., blogging there felt like a tresspass. That probably sounds odd. But odd is our specialty around here. We like odd...or at least spending time out of the main stream. I also wanted to write on more varied topics: Homeschooling. Birth. Food. Books. Writing. Yoga. Conscious Living. The Parenting Journey. And because I am a glutton for punishment...Philosophy, Politics and occasionally, Spirituality and Religion. And of course, my favorite...Travel.
Of course, at the moment the only reader I have is myself. That makes it easy ;-)
Monday, November 15, 2010
"Change Your Mind & Change Your Life"
No, it's not original, but it does sum up what I'm trying to do. See, I've spent a significant amount of the past year and a half looking either backward or forward. Given that our family motto is "Be Here, Now" it is quite possible that I've strayed somewhat from that ideal.
Life has a funny way of teaching you lessons you don't always appreciate in the moment. How to Resistively Leave Expat Life With Your Sanity (Somewhat) Intact. How to Lose a Parent As an Adult When You Still Feel Like a Child. How to Fail Miserably at Segmenting Your Grief and Anger into Appropriate Time and Place. How to Believe in the Law of Attraction and Still Manage to Attract Crap.
Don't get me wrong. Those are all excellent titles for my forthcoming book. Seriously.
What this post is really about, however, is both the act of letting go and the pause of standing still. Resistance is an easy stance. Protective and dangerous all at the same time, but comforting and reasonable, too. My heart has been bruised and desperately wishing for and remembering the shape of my former life felt like balm to that ache. Conversely, plotting the future, feels like control. Except it isn't.
Last month was the one-year anniversary of my Dad's death and it sucked far more than I imagined it might. I planned to feel sadness. I didn't plan to feel like I'd been flattened...all my bravado, plans, ideas for grief ripped right out of me. I was shocked to find myself both physically ill and filled with anxiety, anger and fear. My body felt foreign. My brain would not shut off. And my grief gave me a smack-down. Who was I, to think I could fit it all into a few special, private, alone in the desert moments? Who was I, to imagine grief as a process with so little place in life?
So...the past month has been one big Time Out. I had to tune in and could not circumvent the path I'm on for one second longer. Sleepless nights, panic attacks, crying jags, explaining my pain to my sweetheart of a husband and children who, yes, live with me and are used to always capable Mom. I'm doing alot of things toward regaining balance and equanimity...focusing on excellent nutrition (no caffeine, limited sugar (no refined foods) and alcohol, targeted supplements, yoga, acupuncture, SLEEP & rest. I began journaling again (a long instilled habit that I gave up during some other difficult times in my life...which made as much sense as walking naked in an ice storm.) I'll probably see a therapist (in fairness to my children and husband, who, as loving and understanding as they are, do not desire careers in psychotherapy.) Most importantly, I'm allowing myself to feel things as they come. To let them wash through me. To breathe in and be still.
And it's working. For this place I'm in RIGHT NOW. For this life I'm living in *this* moment. A life that is full of love as much as it also has pain. A life I am lucky to have even when it appears to be stalled in an awkward, uncomfortable place I'd rather avoid. I've remembered that those places are growing places. Emerging places. Pain and fear like a cocoon I forgot I'd had a loving hand in weaving.
While I have decisions to make and dreams to dream and places I'd like to go, I've decided to not be attached so much to the outcome. Instead, to be Open. To let in Grace. To acknowledge and release.
In this way I get to lovingly say goodbye to my Dad and all the things I wish he wouldn't miss. In this way, I get to hold on to the love and forgive the rest. In this way, I get to sweetly remember our life in India without living in and clinging to a past which served us so well but cannot possibly serve us now. In this way, I get to stake a new claim in my self and life here. I don't mean that all of this is a done deal (and here can mean anywhere). No. Consider me a work in progress. Grief in Life. Often with a ton less grace than I aspire to.
As it turns out, this is my inaugaral post on the new blog. I've been sitting on it for months. Unable to continue posting on the old blog (http://www.wherearethefischers.blogspot.com/ )but unsure of my direction. I'd planned a simple introduction, an explanation of who we are and what "The Conscious Wander" means to me. In a way, this post says it exactly. Except of course, I'd meant to be funnier ;-)
Life has a funny way of teaching you lessons you don't always appreciate in the moment. How to Resistively Leave Expat Life With Your Sanity (Somewhat) Intact. How to Lose a Parent As an Adult When You Still Feel Like a Child. How to Fail Miserably at Segmenting Your Grief and Anger into Appropriate Time and Place. How to Believe in the Law of Attraction and Still Manage to Attract Crap.
Don't get me wrong. Those are all excellent titles for my forthcoming book. Seriously.
What this post is really about, however, is both the act of letting go and the pause of standing still. Resistance is an easy stance. Protective and dangerous all at the same time, but comforting and reasonable, too. My heart has been bruised and desperately wishing for and remembering the shape of my former life felt like balm to that ache. Conversely, plotting the future, feels like control. Except it isn't.
Last month was the one-year anniversary of my Dad's death and it sucked far more than I imagined it might. I planned to feel sadness. I didn't plan to feel like I'd been flattened...all my bravado, plans, ideas for grief ripped right out of me. I was shocked to find myself both physically ill and filled with anxiety, anger and fear. My body felt foreign. My brain would not shut off. And my grief gave me a smack-down. Who was I, to think I could fit it all into a few special, private, alone in the desert moments? Who was I, to imagine grief as a process with so little place in life?
So...the past month has been one big Time Out. I had to tune in and could not circumvent the path I'm on for one second longer. Sleepless nights, panic attacks, crying jags, explaining my pain to my sweetheart of a husband and children who, yes, live with me and are used to always capable Mom. I'm doing alot of things toward regaining balance and equanimity...focusing on excellent nutrition (no caffeine, limited sugar (no refined foods) and alcohol, targeted supplements, yoga, acupuncture, SLEEP & rest. I began journaling again (a long instilled habit that I gave up during some other difficult times in my life...which made as much sense as walking naked in an ice storm.) I'll probably see a therapist (in fairness to my children and husband, who, as loving and understanding as they are, do not desire careers in psychotherapy.) Most importantly, I'm allowing myself to feel things as they come. To let them wash through me. To breathe in and be still.
And it's working. For this place I'm in RIGHT NOW. For this life I'm living in *this* moment. A life that is full of love as much as it also has pain. A life I am lucky to have even when it appears to be stalled in an awkward, uncomfortable place I'd rather avoid. I've remembered that those places are growing places. Emerging places. Pain and fear like a cocoon I forgot I'd had a loving hand in weaving.
While I have decisions to make and dreams to dream and places I'd like to go, I've decided to not be attached so much to the outcome. Instead, to be Open. To let in Grace. To acknowledge and release.
In this way I get to lovingly say goodbye to my Dad and all the things I wish he wouldn't miss. In this way, I get to hold on to the love and forgive the rest. In this way, I get to sweetly remember our life in India without living in and clinging to a past which served us so well but cannot possibly serve us now. In this way, I get to stake a new claim in my self and life here. I don't mean that all of this is a done deal (and here can mean anywhere). No. Consider me a work in progress. Grief in Life. Often with a ton less grace than I aspire to.
As it turns out, this is my inaugaral post on the new blog. I've been sitting on it for months. Unable to continue posting on the old blog (http://www.wherearethefischers.blogspot.com/ )but unsure of my direction. I'd planned a simple introduction, an explanation of who we are and what "The Conscious Wander" means to me. In a way, this post says it exactly. Except of course, I'd meant to be funnier ;-)
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