How do we get past… the past?

Life happens. Things happen. Sh** happens. It happens to everyone. It happens to varying degrees. Difficult childhoods, broken dreams, lack of freedom, illness, tragedy, loss, frustrations, regrets… we’ve all travelled to those dark corners some time or other. To some extent or other. And even if it were only to the smallest extent, these dark areas lurk in our life and settle down in our being – stealthily, silently.  

For most part, they exist quietly, unruffled beneath the smooth surface. And whether or not they create a big stir in our life, they continue to exist. And whether or not they create a big stir in our lives, they ripple out every now and then. A quick reaction, a sharp tone or word, hurried rising of defenses, anxious stutters, nervous chatters, a blank stare, a pounding heart, a sinking feeling, lack of confidence…

I’m sure psychologists would offer a catalog of theories ranging from ‘fight or flight’ to what have you… All I’m trying to figure out is if we have some sort of learned responses to these dark spaces created by our past. And if they sneak up on us, no matter how quietly they exist, no matter how unsuspecting we may be of them and make us less grounded in a swift, fleeting moment.

How then do we break free of them? How do we leave the past behind and move into the future – free of all the dark shadows and the reactions they elicit?

Advice abounds about leaving the past in the past and living in the moment and moving forward. All good solid advice, I’m sure.

But how do you do that? Is it just me and my inner-cynic, or do other people wonder about that too? Is it possible to just leave the past in the past like that? To pretend that it never happened? To brush it off? To sweep it under the rug?

I wish it were that simple. I wish it were possible even. But unfortunately, something tells me, that we have to carry the weight with us. The weight of our past. The weight of our experiences. The dampness of our tears.

I know there seems to be no silver lining in this piece. I must have hit upon an especially dark corner today and am taking you straight to yours. Just great, right? Sigh…

But if must carry the weight, do we just make peace with the fact? If we must carry the weight, can we carry it with grace and dignity? With courage and a bigger perspective. A perspective that encompasses the good things in our life? 

Perhaps, if we can exist in some kind of harmony with these dark spaces, they won’t sneak up on us as much. And perhaps, acknowledging them and their space in our life (no matter how dark), will prevent them from bursting out like an angry child in the most unsuspecting of times. And perhaps, giving these spaces a place of dignity will allow us to carry them with dignity…

The letting go inspiration box

...these few moments are what justify my existence, because they give me the strength to keep going and bring joy to my days -- no matter how much I tried to bring them sorrow.

                                                                          ~ Paulo Coelho


                                                        



 

How close are our dreams to reality?

Once upon a time, in a land, far far away…in a time long long ago, seated on the steps of our journalism department, a friend and I would talk about becoming travel writers and journalists (quite like Antony Bourdain – although we didn’t quite know him then). He (my friend, not Antony Bourdain) now writes computer code (or something like that – but also uncovers amazing travel locations, posts fantastic pictures and refuses to divulge the location on social media.. hrrmph). As for me, I do… whatever it is that I do…

And although it seemed like a pipe dream. I have often reflected on how easily it could have actually happened. I was the Arts and Culture coordinator for a newspaper, and had contacts with folks at Discovery Channel in New Delhi, which was opening shop and just getting started in post-globalization India. And each time we laugh it off, I can’t help but say, “hey, that could have easily happened, you know”.  

Not that I have any regrets about the matter, or wistfulness or melancholia. What I have is more a sense of wonder and even a hint of disbelief at the ease with which it could all have happened. And that the pipe-dream was more tangible than I ever imagined.

What I have, I suppose, is a sense of wonder about how clueless some of us are about our dreams being closer than we think. About how clueless we are of our capabilities, supporting circumstances, and the lack of belief in ourselves and our abilities to make it all happen.  

Why then do we dismiss it off? Does the distance between the dream and reality seem greater than it actually is? Do our situation and our limitations seem more restricting than they actually are? Is it all our warped perception or are we worried about being disappointed?

I suppose each dream or desire comes with a degree of possibility or likelihood. Degree of possibility and likelihood, based on circumstances and limitations. And also, our own perceived degree of possibility and likelihood. We must in our heart believe that it can actually happen and then allow it to happen.

There are those who are strong and forge ahead and chase their dreams. But then there are those (present company included) that hum and haw, are unaware of their own capabilities, and are generally unable to understand how tangible or intangible the dream may be.  

In the end, we may be the only ones to know which ones resonate the loudest within; which one is the likeliest. I suppose there are always those that may be well within our reach, but in our mind, we’ve decided it is a dream. And a dream, as we all know, with its inherent nature of wispiness, is intangible. How then do we know what to believe in? What to chase?

True. We don’t know that it will come true. But do we owe it to ourselves to try? And although my friend and I may smile at the idea of us travelling and writing (and actually getting paid to do that – just that! – my friend’s words), it is worth reminding ourselves that despite all limitations, there are dreams (at least some) that are within our scope.

How then do we keep our eyes open to that knowledge, our heart strong enough to believe it, and our confidence alive enough to live it?

I know you love me…

I know you love me…

That is exactly what a young man told me the other day, in the library. Yes. You heard right. And yes, did I mention how young this young man was? Umm… 3 or 4 years old, would be about right.

I was browsing through the shelves, waiting for my daughter, when I made eye contact with this little fellow. With eager eyes, he showed me the book in his hand and I did exactly what anyone else would have done. Smiled at the little cutie and admired the book. I moved to the next aisle, bent down to look at a book, when I noticed someone standing right next to me. I turned around and saw my little friend. I grinned at him, and without a blink, he confidently proclaimed, “I know you love me”.  Quite taken aback, I stared at him, laughed, and replied, “Sure. Why not?”

I then turned around for I thought I was going to burst out laughing. He was of Indian descent and I figured that there must be some resemblance between me and his mother or another relative.

I repeated the story to my daughter. “That’s just weird,” she announced. I repeated the story to my husband. “What a player” he joked and said the kid had a bright future.  But surely, the little kid’s future seems bright with his confidence and self assuredness.

Even now, the thought of the little kid announcing my love for him, cracks me up. But in my heart, I really admire the kid and hope that he never lose his self-assuredness and belief that people around him adore him. Ahem… although I trust that in a decade’s time, it may be prudent for him to not walk about confessing and announcing other people’s love for him.

What a strength it must be to have such a perception or belief. To simply imagine that people around love (or at least like) us for exactly who we are and what we are. To never have to guage where we stand, based on other people’s reactions or emotions. To never have to feel good or bad about ourselves because it seems so in someone else’s eyes. To have the faith and confidence in ourselves and our lovability (that’s actually a word – I thought I was making it up).

We spend a chunk of our time and interaction with others gauging if other people (mere acquaintance to those close to us) like us, approve of us, of what we’re doing, of what we’re saying…and evaluate or reevaluate ourselves based on our perceptions of their perceptions of us. If the tongue twister weren’t crazy enough, the fact that at least some of us do this, is.

How liberating a thought to imagine that people around us simply love us… Can only a child think that way?  Are they intuitive, wishful, optimistic enough to do so? Does adulthood, rationality, past experience, make us jaded and incapable of believing so?

Why does the thought seem so incredulous? Is it most adults or is it only me? How much letting go will have to happen to merely start moving in the direction of that child’s thought…

And yes, my little friend was spot on. I do love him…

A birthday…

So I had another birthday. A birthday is always fun - given all the love and attention you get. But for most part, it simply comes and goes as it does every year…

But for the past couple of years, it has made me tad reflective. Sigh… I must be getting old after all.

And by now, you know what I often to do when I get reflective – write it down – publicly or privately. Yes, I get it out of my system (hmm...not sure if that is a good thing), and then get up and get on with my life…

Last birthday was particularly interesting. I thought I was having a great big existential crisis! I had just returned from the hospital after surgery and my body was weak and tired, but my mind continued to whirr…

38 years!! What had I done with my life so far? I was supposed to save the world and make a difference (yeah yeah… we’ll blame it on the drugs…). Just what did I have to show for those 38 years? What had I done with my time on this planet?

I found no answers and my breath was getting shorter. So I decided to let go… I laughed and thought, “heck, I must be felling better, if I have the strength to ask myself such questions”. So I gave my little or great big existentialist crisis a positive spin, and began to breathe normally again.

I had no existential crisis this year. Sigh… I must be more tired than I seem. I just took a nap in the morning – a birthday nap, mind you (I must be getting really really old – my idea of celebration has changed considerably!). But reflect, I did. On time passing and things ending…

Add to the overall sentiment, my birthday is in September. And as beautiful as September is in the Pacific Northwest, it does confirm the passing of summer and sunshine and fun and energy…

It made me want to break out into haikus on the passing of time and season, and good times and change… Yes, I can almost read them, although I haven’t written a word; I can almost hear them, although I haven’t uttered a single sound…

But you know them too… Of youth and unfinished dreams swept away by the river of time and the tide of situations… Okay, so I can be tad dramatic. And no matter how tempting the haikus seem, I’ll stop right here. To spare us from bad poetry and melancholia in general.  

Yes, time will pass. We will gray. Interestingly enough, I have no problems with the passing of the “appearance” of youth. Although, I will confess to wondering if it was now time to start wearing more make-up. Oh, put those botox needles away, already. I simply stopped examining my face in the mirror and all concerns quickly disappeared.

Maybe as we get middle aged, we simply value our time on the planet more and want to make each day count. Oh come on, there’s got to be some advantages to being middle-aged.

I do believe there are.

For although the beauty and energy of youth diminishes, I feel more free – to be who I want to be. Other people’s judgment doesn’t affect the middle aged as much (or so I hope). I can dress, behave as I want to, do what I want to, say what I want to - without drawing much attention. For middle-aged people draw little attention and that is just fine by me.  

For by now, most of us have at least started figuring out what really matters. And although we miss the headless energy and mad mirth of youth, this too is a good place to be, and a promising start of things to come…

 

Inspiration…

A few folks have mentioned how this blog has been inspiring. How it has inspired them to start writing, blogging, pursuing something they had shelved, thinking differently about certain things... Each time, I have been awkward, not known what to say, been touched by their sharing, although unable to receive the inherent compliment gracefully (despite appreciating it) – yes awkward people – we’re more numerous than we think.

Admission of awkwardness aside, I have also squinted my eyes in disbelief and skepticism. Simply reading it seems to help some, why then, doesn’t writing it (yes, stringing the words, wrangling with the thought) seem to have done as much for me? Sure, the half hour or so I spend writing, seems enjoyable and the stream of words sometimes give me a sense of direction and at times, seems to lift the fog.

But I don’t know that I’m particularly inspired by my own words (sigh… at least for too long – for I forget what I write – very quickly. Move over, Dory…sigh…) and I’ve even wondered how “successful” the whole letting go experiment has been. More sighs…

But I’ll stop rambling and get back to what I meant to write. About inspiration. I admire those who have told me that the blog has been inspiring. For they understand what is inspiring to them. And that to me is an awakened spirit. I suspect we are inspired by different things at different times and to different extents – some we may notice, while some go by completely unnoticed. 

But whether or not we notice it, my hunch is that somewhere inside, we respond to inspiration. And that is a beautiful thing. Now I’m all about inspiration. I love being inspired. I may even be the foolish type who goes looking for it. But I think inspiration may often exist on some sort of a curved graph (maybe bell curve-like).

For sometimes, inspiration may be accompanied by some of its uglier cousins - jealousy, self-evaluation/ criticism, wanting to do more… I am not a particularly jealous person, so I won’t go further into that.  

But on occasion, after inspiration has struck, peaked to its dazzling height of possibility and brilliance, it dips into a dull ditch of reality and limitations – be it time or talent, energy or enthusiasm. What started as so sparkling and so likely to soar high, may take a downward trajectory and end in a little lackluster puddle of unfinished possibilities.

Just peachy, you say? How could a piece on inspiration, bursting with potential for ahem… inspiration, end in a gray puddle? I truly don’t know. I truly wish it hadn’t.

But even if the end was a puddle, the brilliance before was genuine, no matter how it ended. And every now and then, despite many that ended in a puddle, a few got away and kept soaring…

Traditions

A lot of families have a lot of traditions. And they always bring out the “awww” in me. A mom told me of how she makes her kids hold the grade sign on the first day of school at the same spot every year. I said “awww… how sweet”. Another told me of how they click holiday pictures in the same spot every year. I said “awww… that’s really nice”. Friday movie nights, Tuesday board game nights, Wednesday mom-daughter cook-out, Thursday… you get the gist…

And although they bring out the “awww”, I realized we don’t have many such traditions. I wondered why. Darn… yet more evidence of imperfect parenting…sigh… Perhaps, I’m just not disciplined enough. Perhaps it would bring out some form of military exactitude madness in me (yes, and that is now a known phenomenon – and the mom-genre, in my opinion, is particularly susceptible). Perhaps, I’m worried the exactitude would prevent it from being fun anymore. Perhaps, I don’t want to commit to something in a ‘set in stone’ manner for fear of not being able to keep up with it.

That was when I realized, I had never encountered any such traditions growing up either. And then I stopped. What about the festivals? There are a lot of festivals in India. And you don’t have to be particularly religious or traditional to have festival traditions.

My thoughts went back to my small fingers threading golden marigolds to make bright garlands interspersed with green mango leaves. Or to the wonderful wonderful aromas from the kitchen right before Diwali. Or to my mother waking us up every Friday morning during a particular month with lighted oil wicks.  Cozy in our sheets, we would gaze sleepily at the flame from the small silver oil lamps, being moved around us, with the intention of blessing us.

I laughed as I remembered how scared I used to be to go visit a particular cow, not far from our house to celebrate a festival that honored cows. Cows, as you all know, are gentle, docile beings. But not this one. Her flared nostrils indicated her perpetual bad mood and my six-year-old self was convinced that she had something against me. But I didn’t want my grandmom to go there by herself and insisted on tagging along. My intention was mostly to convince my grandmom to place the food for the cow on the ground and not hold it out – so close to her mouth, big teeth and flaring nostrils. I was worried she would chomp on my poor grandmom’s hand. And painful (and now hilarious as it may seem) – it was also a tradition – complete with my anxiety, my grandma’s devotion and the cow’s flaring nostrils.

I began to feel better as I realized that even if I didn’t set it down in stone, there are probably some things my daughter will remember as family traditions when she grows up – whether or not they revolve around festivals. I thought of the past weekend which was Ganesh chaturthi (an Indian festival). And I realized that the two of us make modak (steamed rice flour dumplings with sweet coconut filling) every year. This year, they really didn’t turn out like they should. The rice flour was way too old and not malleable or soft. But it didn’t bother her – it was all the same to her and she ate them with just as much gusto.

A couple of years ago, as she kneaded the dough and made surfboards (ahem…) with the modak dough, she asked me if I would join her and her kids when they made modak. I thought the smile would never leave my face and my heart.

Halloween pumpkins, Diwali sweets, Christmas decorations (yes we celebrate all the Indian festivals and all the American ones… Yes…Fall is quite busy, in our household).

I suppose, in the end, we all do what is most important to us and what is most fun for us. And whether or not we know it or realize it, we are making traditions as we go – whether or not they revolve around festivals. And even if they are not the precise kind, chances are that time and again, there will be a beautiful confluence of emotion, intention and timing, out of which associations and traditions will form…and out of that will form, sweet memories… whether or not you plan them out, or just let them happen...