The letting go inspiration box

If only I may grow: firmer, simpler, quieter, warmer.

                                                ~ Dag Hammarkjold

 

 

 

 

 

Do you speak to strangers?

Yes. I talk to strangers. As a child, the only thing my mother worried about me was that I was perfectly capable of striking up a conversation with strangers and happily taking off with them. Quite a scary thought I agree. And so she warned me well, and she warned me often.

I suppose it worked and there is an absolutely awful story (that I have heard more often than I cared to – which is why I’m posting it here (!!) oh well…). One of my mom’s college students, who lived in the neighborhood, saw me running home, all of four or five years old, with a bloody nose. I used to get terrible nose bleeds and had blood all over my clothes. It looked a lot worse than it actually was. He probably panicked and offered to take me home. I refused. He really wanted to help and went ahead and picked me up to carry me home. I panicked, remembered my mom’s advice (I suppose) and actually bit the poor fellow so he would let go of me!!! I know I know… I’ll never have any friends again.

So yes, I try not to talk to strangers, but sometimes I forget. And sometimes I really want to talk to strangers, but I hesitate. As I did this morning.

I was in an infusion center for an iron infusion. I was almost done when a young lad, probably in his early twenties, walked in. He seemed proud and confident, but had recently had a really rough time, with ER visits, constant nausea, a recent flight possible only with pain meds. Yes yes, not only do I talk to strangers, but I also eavesdrop. Sigh…I suppose I’ll never have any friends again.

In my defense, the infusion room was small and there was no way I could escape the conversation between him and the nurses. My heart went out to the guy. I knew his story. I knew his pain. I wanted to say something to him. But no, I did not talk to this stranger.

Yet, I remembered him after I got home and felt awful for not reaching out to him (and so, sat down to write this instead). But do tell me…

Would a quick, “hang in there buddy”, have been so terrible?

Would a quick, “I know what you’re going through and how rough it is”, have made a chink in his armor and weakened him? He was after all, protecting himself with a shield that I knew and understood well. And he looked perfectly well from outside.

Would a quick, “I’ve been there – it can only get better from here”, have offered him false (?) hope.

Would a quick, “you’re so strong – to go through everything you’re going through. Just keep going”, have been absolutely crazy coming from some crazy woman?

I don’t know. I don’t know if it would have helped or hurt. I don’t know if I’m glad or not that I remained quiet and non-interfering. I do know however that reaching out to him was a spontaneous reaction that I somewhat subdued and withheld – to conform to a certain societal norm (?) to not invade his privacy (?) to not alarm or weaken him (?).

I thought I would have an answer or at least an idea by the time I finished writing this. I don’t. I still don’t know if such behavior makes us less humane or more respectful of the other person’s privacy. Do tell me if you know…

The wishing tree

Yes. We now have one of those. Right in front of our house. And you can stop by and put your wish on this wishing tree. No guarantees that they will come true. But how lovely to just put our wishes out there – leave them to bask in the summer sun, to flutter in the warm breeze. The wishes look so happy – they really seem like they will come true!

Yes. Summer’s here! The rain’s gone (we think – it is the Northwest after all). And we decided it would be the perfect time for a silly project!

My daughter returned from a summer camp with wishes written in Japanese calligraphy on strips of paper. “I need to hang them on Bamboo plants,” she announced. “We don’t have bamboo, but we could tie them to the tree outside,” I suggested. As we tied the wishes (I bet one of them said something about a dog, sigh…), I thought of a wishing tree. 

This idea is not original. Wish I could remember where I saw it to give proper credit, but I’ve been rather fuzzy-brained (for the past year or so now). Oh well… but the idea did stick with me.

The idea is simple. As we grow older, we stop dreaming. We sweep those dreams away - under the rug, into some dark crevices of memory, they die slowly – after living an unsung, unknown life. Okay, okay, tad dramatic I agree. But slowly we teach our kids to do that too, or perhaps they learn from us, from life’s experience.

So what better time than summer to do the opposite of that. So here’s our silly little scheme. We have paper with pieces of yarn attached and pencils – on a tree in front of our house. And you can stop by and put your wish out there.

And we are the lucky ones who get to peek outside and watch kids (and adults) daring to dream and putting their wishes out there – boldly, bravely, for the world to see, for the Universe to take in.

Yes. The idea is simple. And this is what I posted on our wishing tree.

 

 

This is a wishing tree

It may or may not make your dreams come true

But its branches will strongly hold all your wishes

And allow them to bask in the summer sun and flutter in the breeze

As we grow older, we forget our dreams or sweep our wishes under the rug

We don’t believe they will come true and stop wishing even

And that is a sad fact

This tree is the opposite of that

So go ahead and write your wish and tie it to the branches

And watch your wish become part of the Universe

 

p.s. My daughter didn't like the first draft and said the language was too "grown up" with bits about daring to dream and putting it out there - so here is the new kid-friendly version :)

 

Live every day like it is your last… Good advice or mad advice?

You’ve heard this before. You may have thought it to be a wonderful thing. You may have thought it to be the most unrealistic thing. You may have thought only those given a few months to live could ever be brave enough to live so.

I have thought so too. And yet when I look at the picture below, I wonder if some mad recklessness is trying to take over. And no, I’m not bungee jumping – I’m no adrenaline junkie and I am not particularly adventure-seeking even. (Fact apart, that odd adventures sometimes come and seek me.) And even if the picture may scream otherwise, I’m a bit of a scaredy-cat even.

But I love travel, nature and new experiences and ziplining in the beautiful temperate rainforest in Whistler, BC sounded so fabulous.

I normally don’t post personal pictures – but if this isn’t the ‘letting go’ picture… what is? 

But should I tell you that a week before I tried turning upside down on the zipline like my husband and daughter, I wasn’t even sure if I would be able to travel? That I felt so sick and tired, I only wanted to curl up in bed with a book? So what changed? I saw my doctor, and a new antibiotic regimen later, I suddenly felt much better. And that I suppose is where the recklessness comes in. I have turned into that proverbial camel who when given an inch will take a yard. The foolish romantic who has barely learnt to walk but only wants to run.  I understand I could slip back where I was a few weeks ago, but before I do so; I seem to want to do the things I want to do.

That is why I think of the quote above and wonder if I may be attempting a somewhat cautious version of it. And I wonder if it is good advice or mad. I realize that there is no follow-up quote that tells you what to do when you’ve lived today like it was your last, but wake up tomorrow to realize (thankfully) that it was not your last; but are left sore and tired and unable to live again like it is your last... hmm… I may at least have a bright future in tongue twisters, I suppose.

Sure you can try and not waste your time and energy in things that amount to nothing. Sure you can occupy your day with stuff that is meaningful or fun. Sure you can spend your days with only those that you want to be with. But in the end, it is all only to a certain extent.

Real life, reality, mundane chores, boring tasks, sticky situations, lack of energy, aches and pains will catch up with you. But again, they were all going to catch up with you anyways. So why not live it your way before they do?

What lets you come unstuck?

So I didn’t write for a couple of weeks. Considering that this blog will soon end. (It was supposed to be a year-long experiment after all), I thought I would get a feel of what it would be like to not blog anymore. Ok…total bullsh**. I simply found a small excuse and ran with it.

I suppose there are times in our life, when we are more prone to closing up, withdrawing, stalling, of not letting go…

Writing (for me), requires me to open up, to face reality, to come unstuck… I write to vent, I write to question, I write what pokes at my insides… And whether or not I post all what I write, it allows me to come unstuck for I say what I want, how I want, with truth, without frills (and perhaps without any particular eloquence or grammar).

As with most things, when we need to do them the most, we do them the least. Diet, exercise…you know the drill. You’ve been there too. It is interesting how we are more able to stay on track, do all the right things when we are on the upswing, when we’re feeling good.

When I stop writing, I notice it is rather hard to get going again. I wonder why. Am I unsure of how much stuckness there may be? (whether or not it is apparent from the outside) Am I apprehensive of all what will gush out? For all that is stalled inside us, must eventually move.  

I bring up writing only because I was thinking of this blog. I am sure there are a bunch of things that allow us to remain open, to remain awake, to be present, to come unstuck. A friend recently commented how playing soccer was so freeing for her. It was her ‘letting go’. Have to admit, those were not her exact words, but that was how I understood her words. 

Do we then need to figure out what can set us free? And then allow it to happen? To let it simply flow out? I imagine, a lot of good lies stuck inside - creativity, feelings, ingenuity, joy, things we never knew about ourselves…

For when we close up, I suppose it is for a reason. But no matter how good that reason, so much good gets closed up too…

One jar of pain...paper or plastic?

How is it that when I’m having a bad day, my daughter always seems to be in a mood? Something is always wrong. Something always hurts. Someone in school has always been mean. The sulks skulk, the scowls surface, the grumbles growl. But enough with the alliteration. Does this happen to you as well? And how does it always happen when the day has been particularly rough and when we’re holding on to the last shreds of patience and energy? Why does it seem like we have to comfort or cheer another when we ourselves need comforting or cheering up?

Hate to admit this, but on days that have been particularly bad for me, I have sometimes felt a dread of apprehension while picking up my child, almost knowing in advance that she is going to be sulky and that there will be tussles in our evening ahead. And there probably were.

But now I am beginning to understand that I am the one probably responsible for her moodiness. That it is a result of her feeding into my energy. A result of her noticing that Mom doesn’t feel great and as a result, she doesn’t either.

I suspect she may have been tuned in to me, my sense of well-being and the lack thereof for a long time. What a horrible horrible thought. As a mother, I wish I could take a cloth and wipe off the pain that was never hers in the first place, the burden she may have carried that was never hers to carry.

To make matters worse, when we don’t feel good, we don’t necessarily take it slow. No, not some of us. We will plod through activities with a zeal we really don’t have. And the struggle with which we do tasks, may be enough to make a child, spouse or others around us plenty grumpy.

Once as I pulled the car out of the garage in reverse, my daughter complained, “I really don’t want to go to whatever activity it was today”. I braked and said, “I really don’t want to take you to whatever activity it was today”. I changed gear and drove straight back into the garage. We went inside and spent the rest of the evening on the sofa, cuddled in our blanket, each reading our own book. It sounds so peaceful now. But it was probably the only time I followed my gut wisely enough to do so. The rest of the times, I probably scuttled myself and her around.

Agreed, we often go through our day, and activities based on a certain perception of what our day ought to look like. Whether or not we have the strength for it; whether or not it makes us joyous or grumpy. Agreed, we lead connected lives and we feed into each other’s joy and in turn grumpiness.

These day, I try (not always successfully) to just take a break and lay down on the sofa and tell my girl that I just need a 10 min break, rather than scuttle about, be grumpy and make her grumpy.

These days, I try (not always successfully) to explain to my girl that my pain is only my pain, and that she does not have to share any of the fatigue, or ennui. That even if I feel ‘blah’, she does not have to feel so. She mostly looks at me with the somewhat familiar, “my mom is weird; my mom says weird things; what the heck is she talking about”. Sigh… I somewhat agree with her even.
But I do believe we need to figure out how to not borrow each other’s pain. How to empathize without sucking it into ourselves, without getting sucked up by it. Ekharte Tolle refers to it as “pain body”. Some people have more of this pain body than others (circumstances, childhood, past, etc). And we sense each other’s pain bodies. He talks about acknowledging it but not getting swept away by its drama (if I remember right, of course).

I also remember reading a similar bit of advice by Sri Sri Ravishankar, “to join in with other people’s celebrations and to keep away from their sorrows” (paraphrased). At first, it sounded somewhat selfish, and even confused me, but now I see the wisdom in it. I suppose it is possible to support others in their time of sorrow, without getting sucked into it.

And perhaps I am twisting the meaning from their wise words to apply it to my life. To apply it to my little eight-year-old’s life, who may or may not understand what I’m trying to tell her. But someday, I hope she will understand. And someday, I hope she will be able to practice it. Whether or not her mother has ever learnt to do so in her lifetime.

I can’t believe I ate the whole thing

Admit it. You’ve probably said this at some point or other (unless of course, you are extremely self disciplined). But tell me, did you say it with some amount of pleasure (a little laugh perhaps) or just plain discomfort? Or maybe a little of both - as is often the case with me. 

In my case, however, the sentiment goes with things other than food. Yes, I often bite off more than I can chew. Or I forget how much chewing is involved. Yes. I often sign up for more than I can handle, more than my body can handle. I often don’t realize how much it is going to hurt the next day, or week. And just because I can do it today – I often will without a care about tomorrow. (okay okay, the care may still be there – but I will still go ahead and do it – just because I can - today).

Since there seem to be few energy reserves, it would be sensible to not tire myself out. But what would be the fun in that level-headedness, if it keeps me away from new experiences and the things I like to do? Sigh…I don’t know if this is a smart way to live or just plain mad. As I write this achy, tired, sore, completely wiped out – I have to admit, it does seem plain mad.

About three weeks ago, I felt so weak and ill, I thought I was headed for the hospital. Some meds and weeks later, I perked up and what did I do with the new-found energy? But of course, I went dancing with friends. Yes we danced for hours, forgetting how I had languished on the sofa the day before, the general state of my health, the general state I would be the next day.

I was in the moment and the moment was perfect with music and movement. We lost ourselves in the rhythm and the beat – it was the perfect letting go.  My friend who had recently completed a meditation workshop grimaced on having spent so much money on it. “Why, I could have just come here some 40 times instead!!” I laughed, but I knew her comment said it all. We were only in the moment and our silly dancing seemed to be the perfect way to awaken our inner Zen (??? I know I know…) I knew it had been worth it even if it meant being achy and tired the next day.

I was exactly that. But I wasn’t completely destroyed either. So what did I do with the remaining bits of energy? We went stand-up paddleboarding. I know I know… but my daughter had wanted to try it for a while.  

I hummed and hawed on the wisdom of the matter. Stand- up paddleboarding seemed to be an unchartered territory and I was still tired from the dancing just two days ago. And it probably needed much upper body strength – which is a rather doubtful matter in my case. But hey, the kids were going to do it and it seemed like fun, and the weather was perfect, and I wanted us to do it as a family. The little wise voice asking me to consider energy and health concerns was getting smaller.

I am happy to report it turned out to be a lot of fun and way way easier than I thought. I was surprised that I didn’t fall in the water even once. True, I got left behind several times, drifted from the group, had to be rescued (??), bumped into the pier… and finally sat and even laid down on the board with my feet in the water. Sheepishly, I will admit how much my feet still hurt, how sore I still feel.

Yes. I am glad I went out dancing. And I’m glad I went out paddleboarding. And doing it all in the same weekend in a now sufficiently sore body makes me say “I can’t believe I ate the whole thing”. And I say it with sufficient discomfort and yet, a secret smile.

And despite the not-so-secret-anymore smile, I wonder how we know our limits? How we know ahead of time where pleasure will stop and pain will kick in. How we know ahead of time the amount of discomfort involved? Or the tilt of scale between the secret smile and the discomfort.

How much of a good thing is good enough? How much of a good thing do we need to keep our spirit awakened and alive, without depleting us? How often do we say, how often will we say, “I can’t believe I ate the whole thing?”

p.s. when I started writing, I thought it was going to be a humorous piece. Hmm… maybe fatigue slays humor. Worth thinking about huh?

Happiness

Happiness means different things to different people. Exuberance, enthusiasm, light-heartedness, joy, happiness, contentment, peace…may all be the same to one person; completely different experiences to another, and for those like me, they may hang on some sort of a continuum.

All I know is that I want mine to be real. It may be as exuberant as it wants to be or as quiet. Whatever form it may choose to take, I know for sure that I want it to be real. I don’t want to mistake it for a fake smile that covers up boredom or a laugh the covers pain and sadness. When I feel it, I want it to be pure and unadulterated. Even if it only a few times, I would like it to be free from any common ‘markers’ or ‘symbols’ of happiness.

It was hard for me acknowledge that I wanted to commit myself to happiness. All my life I had grown up in the belief that happiness is something that “happens” to me while I’m sitting peacefully or walking down the street. It hits like a beautiful bolt of lightning and spreads a halo of shimmering well being.

And perhaps it did before, even in times that were difficult. Perhaps, fatigue or not feeling well, doesn’t allow for it as easily anymore, and I have to create it more consciously, acknowledge its presence, be willing to receive it, know it is there – right there in front of my eyes.

Yes. I am increasingly beginning to understand that happiness is something we must create for ourselves.  Yes. Not with our two own hands – but with our own mind, perhaps. Staying receptive to it, noticing it, making room for it, allowing it to be a part of your life, believing it is possible for it to be there, that it is its rightful place, allowing it to flourish... Yes. Even a tiny spot of it when the rest looks gloomy can be a wonderful thing. And yes. The best part is that it is probably already there – all we have to do then is to look.