Letting go… of not completing the thought

Have you ever been in a conversation – right in the middle of saying something important, something that mattered, with words and thoughts pouring out from deep within - and you were interrupted? That thought no longer has room in the ensuing conversation and it simply dies unheard. It leaves you with an uneasy feeling – of something that remained to be said; a thought that needs to be completed. 

Well I have hundreds of unfinished written pieces – on the computer and in numerous diaries scattered around the house. Some thoughts just got started and were met with an unfortunate early demise; others wait patiently to be completed.

A thought springs in the mind with a life of its own. It has its own energy; it takes its own course. It wants to stay; it wants to say. It needs me to sustain it; it needs me to complete it.

So why do I let it fade away? If a thought matters enough that I sit down and put it down on paper. Why don’t I complete it?

It’s funny how we pay little attention to things that matter to us. There are a hundred things in the course of the day that I will diligently try to “complete”. Why then do I find it hard to stay put and complete that thought? Was it too fleeting? Was it too hard to face? Was it making me uncomfortable? Did the doorbell ring? Or was I just plain tired?

This is an attempt to honor the thought that had the courage to spring. I will try to find words to give it the life it needs to breathe, to survive and to sustain. This week shall be an assay at completing some incomplete essays.

Letting go… of not expressing

My writing sometimes feels like stray wisps of thoughts flying in the wind. I am able to catch some, while others are lost forever. At any given time, a good many of them hurtle around in my head.
When my thoughts do touch paper, it often feels as if the whirlwind in my head has calmed down. And it feels quiet – even if it is only for a brief moment till the whirring starts again.

The need to express is in many of us. I hear that the “creative types” feel the need more than others. And there is, of course, the obvious therapeutic effect.

I am reminded of this story from my college days. The street near our journalism department was lined with Banyan trees that were hundreds of years old. Huge beautiful Banyan trees that stood proud; with sweeping roots that dangled dramatically in the skies. Unfortunately, the city decided to cut them for road-widening and it was tragic to see them go. The street looked bald, weary and unhappy. And we felt just as unhappy and bewildered walking down that street.

We were sad and grumbled unhappily. But one of my friends decided to give his pain an artistic manifestation. He stomped home angrily, brought out his paints and painted images of the trees. He wrote some verses, journaled away furiously and artistically emptied out all painful emotion. His art and his expression helped him make peace with the matter.

When I learnt of it, I was impressed at how proactive he had been. The fact that I am still thinking and writing about it is evidence enough. While the rest of us wallowed in the unease, he had expressed, dealt with it and moved on whilst creating art.

Not many of us can paint or spout poetry in a bid to express. But we can find our own medium. Why then do we hold ourselves back and balk at expressing?

Writing is my expression and despite having known that for a long time, I feel as if I have not honored it. Much of my writing lies unfinished and forgotten. I needed to have a public blog that forces me to complete my thoughts and essays – for I cannot post unfinished ones.  Where friends message me saying, “Why have you stopped writing?” or “When will you write the next blog?” That forces me to find my way back.

If this is my expression, why do I balk so? Why do I need the push? Why do I hesitate or put it off? Why is it always the last priority?

No matter if it is a public forum or a quiet note in a private journal - why do we hesitate to express?

Letting go…of the expectation of being nice

A good chunk of my life has been spent in being “nice” to people around me. Unfortunately (or fortunately) it is now mostly a thing of the past. For my current “nice-value” is rather dubious.

As a child and young adult, I made an attempt to be pleasant to people around me. Somewhat bright eyed and bushy tailed, it was important for me to be liked by people around me. I was probably myself around kids my age. But I was always polite, pleasant and helpful around adults. Hearing praises was not uncommon. I would often watch my mother’s face beam when she heard praises about me. Now if that is the reason I was nice may be a topic for the therapist’s office, but that was what I grew up with and that was the expectation I set for myself.

So to my surprise, my eight-year old daughter seems to be diametrically opposite. She is not quick to smile at you simply to be pleasant. When asked “how are you?” she will most likely mutter a barely intelligible “good” ending the conversation right there with never a thought of asking the other person how they might be.

She will talk to you – nineteen to a dozen, but only when she feels like it. When she thinks she has something to say. You will never find her engaged in a conversation that may seem insipid to her. This behavior seems baffling and even rude to someone like me accustomed to being pleasant to people.

I look at all the “polite” children around me and wonder what I’m doing wrong. I wonder too how despite being a chip of the same block; we could be so different.  

But I realize it is silly of me to try to change her. She has friends and seems to get along with other kids. What then am I trying to achieve by trying to make her “nicer”? She is honest and genuine and doesn’t like frills of any kind. Her straightforwardness and lack of guile prevent her from trying to be superficially pleasant. Why then should I try to make her a people pleaser like I? And that is an alarming thought.

Things have to be meaningful to her and I should be so proud. I can see her as an adult doing something that means something to her. Whether she will save the world, by discovering the wonder drug she talks about to make all illness disappear…well that remains to be seen. But whatever she does, my guess is that it will mean something to her.

And hopefully the next time I get irritated on getting a bored look when I oh-so-cheerfully ask her how her day was, I shall let it slide and remember the words above.

Yikes! Head lice... time to let go of those for sure...

This was on my old blog which is now hard to reach. I forget the url, the password, the blog id...you get the drift. But I seem to need the info every time there is a lice alert in school. So posting it here...

And yes, I sent my child to school today slick and greasy with shiny hair smelling of coconut and neem oil... Still stunned that the poor child didn't complain.

Nit picking...are we?

Written -Summer 2011

About the same time last year, a lice alert appeared in the school newsletter. Children in the affected classrooms would receive an email it said. I checked my email with baited breath and heaved a sigh of relief when I saw no emails from the school. The summer break commenced and with it commenced incessant head scratching in our household. 

Mortified, I watched my child furiously scratching her head like her primate ancestors. I shook my head in disbelief and held hers in a tight grip. Close scrutiny (and vociferous protests from the then four-year old) failed to reveal sign of any mutli-legged life in her locks. There did seem to be some white traces, but due to lack of contact with these tiny organisms for decades, I was not sure.
 

But my hyper-active imagination did not remain quiet. On occasion in India and Central Africa, I have seen “lice-chains” where one woman picks nits from the lady in front of her, while another woman checks her head.  But things like that don’t happen in the developed world, right... right?

Sigh...head lice seem to be oblivious of any snob-stigma. For this same child had attended a school in somewhat ghetto settings in India for a few months -- but no creepy crawlies there.

Images of possible “lice chains” (as I call them) flashed before my eyes. There I stood in my imagination – picking lice from my daughter’s head, while my husband picked mine.  Nausea probably brought my thoughts to a screeching halt! I resolved to find a solution.

Since I had not actually seen living, crawling creatures in her head, I decided to not use any “mild pesticides “.  So I feverishly searched the Internet, spoke to my naturopath and sought wisdom from those older and wiser. And yes, my ever so dramatic story comes with a happy ending!

The happy ending lies in the tiny jar of “neem oil” and other neem tree products. I mixed about 1 tbsp. neem oil with about 3 tbsp. coconut oil. I also added a half tsp of ‘tulsi’ (holy basil) powder to the concoction (it should be fine without it too).

I rubbed this oil all over my unwilling daughter’s scalp (not the greatest smell). But like magic, my restless child calmed down and her hands left her head. This would be a good time to comb the head with a fine tooth comb (I didn’t). I left it on overnight and washed her hair with some Neem shampoo (I got a cake like soap from a health store as well as a bottled shampoo).  We repeated this for the next few days, applying the oil in the morning and washing in the evening, or leaving it on overnight. In fact the whole household followed the same procedure.

Neem oil is probably available in most health food stores (I got mine from New Seasons). Opt for the ones that come in little jars. It is easier to scoop out the oil small jars than struggle to squeeze it out.

Maybe you will never need it and no complaints there. I definitely have my fingers crossed that we won't ever need it again!

 

 

The letting go inspiration box

Courage is the power to let go of the familiar

 

                                     ~ Raymond Lindquist

Letting go…of meditating while cutting vegetable…sigh…

So much for yesterday’s post. Meditation whilst cutting vegetables went kaput! It was a complete bust.

Inspired by the idea of doing mundane chores in a meditative manner, I started to get dinner ready last night. My daughter sat at the counter eating her snack and I brought out the veggies to chop.

I decided to share contents of yesterday’s blog with my eight-year-old. Of course, the goal was lofty. I was going to demonstrate turning the vegetable chopping business into a calming meditative experience.

I told her of the commune story and how folks there were “meditating” through their vegetable-cutting activity. Her eyes squinted, then turned wide and then she burst out laughing (sigh… the wrong gene returns once more). This is even before I told her how my friend and I had laughed till our sides hurt.

 “Vegetable meditation”, she guffawed. “Maybe it would go like this:
OM… chop chop chop… OM… chop chop chop,” all in a chanting monotone with eyes closed and hands in a meditative pose. Evidently, it had captured her imagination and her funny bone. Laughing (in snorts by now) and barely able to speak, “Carrots…chop chop, OM…chop chop, OM OM….give me all these things – that I don’t really need… OM (I swear she said that!! I don’t know if it was part of a profound thought or just random speaking – more likely the later…).
By now her eyes were closed and hands and feet in the lotus pose, she continued through her giggles, “Carrot meditate with me…OM…chop chop chop.”
By now I was in splits too. So much for a calming meditative activity – we were both hysterical as she continued to come up with new “meditation techniques” for vegetable chopping.

Finally the laughter stopped. I resignedly put the knife down and gave up any effort of meditating while chopping vegetables.

Complete failure. Complete fun.

Letting go… of the prickliness in everyday tasks

View them as meditations instead

Yeah right. How much more new-agey and woo woo can I possibly sound? It does remind me of a day many years ago when my friend and I took visiting French students to the Osho commune. Some of the commune members were cutting vegetables for their meal. They solemnly explained to us how cutting veggies was their meditation. And that they were converting this simple task into a meditative experience.

My friend and I struggled very very hard to keep a straight face. Most giggly teenagers would do so. The moment we were out of their sight and earshot, we burst out laughing. “Cutting vegetables is meditation!!” more chuckles followed. “The woman was probably going to cut that one cucumber for the whole hour at that meditative speed!” we doubled up with laughter. “That cucumber may have to be appetizer, entrée and dessert” more giggles ensued. Sigh… insensitive teenagers who find everything funny fill our world, don’t they? We certainly gave our bellies a good workout that day with our laughter.

I was reminded of those relentless giggles today as I read a piece by Bari Tessler Linden, a money-therapist and coach. In her Golden Nugget series, she recounts how her husband who hated bookkeeping had converted it into a meditative process. How when he started meditating through bookkeeping, it “shifted his entire experience”. While the giggly teenager from long long ago still wants to burst out laughing, a relatively boring middle-aged-me wonders if that is possible. And if so, how do we make it happen. For it would certainly take the prickliness away from all things mundane that we cringe at having to do.

While I have no techniques or knowledge to offer, I imagine like in meditation, we would try and focus only on the task at hand with equanimity and lack of judgment. As in breath meditations where you are asked to bring your awareness back to your breath, you would do the same with the task. Notice the thoughts and body sensations that fleet by and bring the awareness back to the task.

Hmm…definitely worth a try. For staying in the moment and focusing only on the task at hand can definitely have its benefits. And oh yes, I do have some vegetables to chop and dinner to cook. Let’s see how meditative I can make that! Onion, parsnip, and squash… here I come.

Letting go… by letting it out

“The first step in letting go is letting it out,” wrote a cousin after reading a blog entry I had written. I paused for a moment and reread her message. Maybe that is exactly what I have been trying to do. And this uneasy, uncomfortable clean-up is one heck of a messy process.

My cousin was spot on. To let go of all that is unpleasant, inelegant and unsavory inside, we must first let it out. And to let it out, we need to face it. To look at it, to acknowledge it exists, and to accept it as a part of us. That is no easy task. Nor is it a pleasant one.

To come face to face with things about us that make us squirm, make us uncomfortable, sad or angry and question our self-worth is not easy.

Facing this unsavory takes pluck, courage and steadfastness. To accept that it is a part of us takes more pluck, more courage and more steadfastness.

Sometimes, I picture a lid on the top of my head. Pop! It opens. Whoosh! The gunk inside erupts and leaves my body. Straight out of me, and far far away from me. What a wonderful image. And so much easier than having it sitting around, staring me in the face.

I have no clue what else is out there – or rather in there and wants to come out. And though I’m scared to look, I’m willing to try... And if it does want to be looked at and let out, I am willing to try... And if I need to honor and respect that which lies stuck inside, I’m willing to try...

Letting go… of doling out life lessons

Every now and then, I dole out life lessons to my eight-year-old. Not in a rehearsed planned manner, and only if something pops up. But as you may have correctly guessed, I have been trying to figure out a thing or two myself. The process has not always been an elegant one and it seems to involve some emotional wrangling and wrestling.

Everything I tell my child, I wish I had been told when I was younger. So I consider it my duty to hand these “life lessons” out to her every now and then. And when I explain something, I try to explain it ‘well’.  Sigh… in my opinion at least. The other day, I felt as though my eight-year-old’s eyes were glazing a bit as I spoke. Alright, they were glazing quite a bit as I spoke.  

So I finally asked her. “Are these talks useful or are they frightfully boring?” With as much diplomacy as she could muster, she replied, “I like them Mom. But sometimes you go on and on for like half an hour,” she said with a tired sigh and a gleam in her eyes. We laughed it off, but I was a little disappointed.

Later I realized that my attempt to grapple with life was my struggle and my choice. These slivers of clarity I seem to be having were part of my own discovery. They may not resonate with someone else. And they may simply be “too long and boring” for my eight-year-old. 

The other thread running simultaneously here is one of guilt and motherhood, I suspect. I feel guilty for being so caught up in my own illness that I have not been able to be quite the mother I would have liked to be. I feel guilty for not having had enough energy for her. I feel guilty that she has not been able to count on me.

And I imagine this may be my effort to make up for lost time. But I wonder how much good it can do to serve life’s wisdom thus. For this may be something she may need to work out on her own. And if we’re lucky, she’ll ask for help in figuring it out or else she may choose to figure it out on her own. Yes it is going to be hard to watch her struggle. But all we can do is let her know we’re there without telling her exactly how to lead her life.

I doubt I’m ready to desist from flight on this one. Remember, how hard it is for me to let go? But I’ll take the cue when I see an eye roll and hear a “here we go again”, from a certain eight-year-old.

Letting go…of trying to fit it

Stories abound of how tall people often hunch over to “fit in” with the rest. Of how very intelligent people shy away from “showing off” their intelligence. Of how very beautiful people (women in particular) may at times choose frumpy clothing to avoid drawing too much attention.

Unfortunately, I have none of the above “problems”. I am neither too tall, too intelligent nor too beautiful. And despite being ‘oh so ordinary’, I feel at times I try to be a certain way to blend in with the crowd. I may dress a certain way, or speak or (more often in my case) not speak out views and opinions in conversations with certain groups of people.

So do we often not allow ourselves to be ourselves in an attempt to fit in? To avoid the discomfort of standing out. For me it is probably the ensuing attention that would entail which could make me uncomfortable. But I suspect I’m not alone here.

Most women (and perhaps guys) have probably selected or not selected something to wear based on the crowd to attend a certain event, for instance. “Oh it’s always a formal setting there”, “they’re always in casuals – I don’t want to stand out”, are lines I have often uttered. At times, I drag my hapless husband into the dilemma, “Am I overdressed?” “Are these earrings too much?” He normally stares back at me in mild confusion. He once asked me, “What do you want to hear? I can say just that.” (!!!) I glared at him and laughed simultaneously. Followed by a “If I knew what I wanted to hear, I wouldn’t ask you.” (ladies (and most guys), you know the tone of voice that went with that line, right?)

Hearing myself right there, I realized how ambivalent I was. Although the example here is one very trivial, it makes me wonder if it is an attempt to hide myself.  

So how do I learn to feel completely comfortable in my own skin? And what a wonderful thing that would be. How can I learn to be true to myself and choose to do things simply because they seem right to me? Without any worry of how it will be perceived or if I will stand out... And the energy spent it trying to fit in can be used for more worthy causes, I'm sure…

Letting go… of not allowing myself to be supported

I was listening to Janet Gallin’s radio show, Love Letters Live the other day. The interviewee Jane Bragg was talking about a breakthrough she had during an actualization workshop. She spoke beautifully about how cement blocks around her heart came crumbling down and she no longer felt alone. In her words: “for the first time in my life, I felt I was sitting in a chair and it was holding me.”

The comment made its way deep into my heart. I was struck by its beauty and was almost envious of the experience it must have been. Allowing ourselves to be supported is something so basic and simple. And like most things simple, so hard to achieve.

How do we let go of all the walls, shields and barriers we have constructed around ourselves. Do the walls that I have created around myself help me in any way? Or do they simply hinder me from feeling supported by that chair?

Why do some of us want to do everything by ourselves? Why not allow these walls to dissolve and allow ourselves to be supported – by the chair, by our people, by our community, by our world... Can we allow layers of distrust to dissolve, to allow confidence in being supported to emerge, to dare to not feel alone…

I want to walk on the ground and feel completely supported by it. I want to sit in that chair and feel completely supported by it.

And the first step in being supported may be to allow myself to be supported. And that may be the most and again, the only difficult step in the process.

The letting go inspiration box

Some of us think holding on makes us strong; but sometimes it is letting go.

~ Hermann Hesse