Ugh

It's been a while since I turned to my blog as a way to vent. But I'm feeling really frustrated now, and it's first thing Sunday morning, so this is about the only place to go with it at the moment. I have had an often difficult relationship with my mother, and this year we've actually grown closer than before -- a step in the right direction. But the truth remains that out of the list of possible things to talk to her about in this very interesting world, a very small percentage are viable. I'm not going to go into detail here, but yesterday I once again attempted the improbable and tried to bring up something I thought was important out of concern and frustration. The result, as usual, was a reply (not right away, always later, via email, so I get is as soon as I wake up) that was brief but somehow loaded with both denial and accusation. And the crappy part is, I feel like the adult thing to do would be to call and talk about it. But I'm pretty sure I know how that will go already (do I really want another email tomorrow morning?) Ugh.

The Life-ness Monster

Not infrequently, I feel like I'm struggling to keep up with life. It feels hard to find time for work, chores, play, and relationships...and I end up sitting on my couch on a Thursday night, acutely aware of the heaps of mess around my apartment -- dishes, laundry, sweeping, etc. -- that I'm not dealing with. Sometimes it feels like a lot of effort just to keep things going, let alone have time for everything else that I really want to do. But there are also moments when, in the midst of feeling stretched by what it takes to live, I realize that I am, in fact, living. I'm doing what needs to be done, I'm doing what it takes to gain and maintain ongoing happiness. I'm realizing that, for the first time in a long time, and probably more deeply than ever before, I'm actually enjoying the everyday life-ness of life. It's not that I never get bored or discouraged; I have a lot of ups and downs, which are evident in this blog. But in general, and right now, I feel happy with who and where I am and where I'm going.

Living Unimportantly

I've been in the mood to blog lately but haven't felt very articulate or organized. I guess that's becoming a pattern, that I have to write when I'm not at my most clear-headed instead of biding my time, or else I will never get around to it.

One thing that has been on my mind is the way I've been so bad at relationships of all kinds. Maybe I'm being overly critical of myself, but I can definitely see that my pattern of trying to be self sufficient has led me to isolate myself unintentionally. I think I learned this honestly, and there were reasons during my childhood and adolescence that helped push me in that direction. It's a little difficult for me to tease apart introversion and self-directedness from true isolation, but I sense a lack of depth in my relationships at times. I can see a family pattern of isolation, of believing we should all take care of ourselves and not wanting anyone to count on us being there or offering something, for fear that it will take some of our freedom. I think this fear of entanglement and commitment has driven me to be anti-social at times. And it's more clear now, at this point in my life when my connections are at a particularly thin point, that I haven't always nurtured the ties I have with other people the way that I should have. It seems a little late to be realizing this...but I'm glad I am, even if I'm a slow learner at this part of life.

Maybe it sounds like a sad realization, but it's not entirely so. As my brain learns to see things in new ways and my heart is also given more room to do some of the "seeing", there are things I've gained. Like less existential panic...I feel now that even though I have not exactly done or accomplished what I previously thought I could or should, it seems to matter less if I realize that life isn't just some sort of an individualized goal-seeking mission, but also a shared experience. That is, if I am able to build good relationships, that already seems much more fulfilling and meaningful than whatever grand purpose I think I should have. I still don't totally have my head in that mode, it still confuses me a bit that life is really in the living and not the observing and planning and achieving, but it's already given me some relief not to feel so much of the weight of trying to be or do something important. Apropos of this realization, I read this the other day:

"Yours is to live it, not to reveal it."

These words are from a final conversation that poet Mark Nepo had with Helen Luke, his mentor for a couple of years, until she passed away. These were Helen's words of advice for Mark, and here's what he had to say about them:

They have troubled me, for I have spent my life becoming a writer, thinking that my job has been just that -- to reveal what is essential and hidden. In the time since Helen died, I've come to understand her last instruction as an invitation to shed any grand purpose, no matter how devoted we may be to what we are doing. She wasn't telling me to stop writing, but to stop striving to be important. She was inviting me to stop recording the poetry of life and to enter the poetry of life. This lesson applies to us all. If we devote ourselves to the life at hand, the rest will follow. For life, it seems, reveals itself through those willing to live. Anything else, no matter how beautiful, is just advertising.

I'm hoping that in the months and years to come, I can really learn to live this way. I feel sometimes that some distorting lens has been taken away from my eyes...or maybe a new corrective lens has been added. Maybe it's because I just had an eye appointment for the first time in years, but I think my literal farsightedness is a pretty apt metaphor for the way I have so often missed all the great things that are close by and immediate in life.

Worst Case Scenario

I've been trying to face down this tendency I have (and I think it's either genetic or something I've learned from a very young age) to always see the cost or potential for loss in any situation, rather than focusing on the opportunity. Right now, I want to fight it with some inspiration. There's a really nice compilation at http://www.quotegarden.com/risk.html, but I'll pull a few of my favorites at the moment:

To dare is to lose one's footing momentarily. To not dare is to lose oneself. - Soren Kierkegaard

A ship in harbor is safe - but that is not what ships are for. - John A. Shedd, Salt from My Attic

It is only in adventure that some people succeed in knowing themselves - in finding themselves. - Andre Gide

Split

Try as we will, we cannot be both participant and observer at the same time without splitting ourselves.

- Mark Nepo, The Book of Awakening

I just read this quote from today's passage in Nepo's book (which I first encountered during a session with my former therapist in which she had me read an excerpt that reminded her of me). And it rings true, because I spend so much time thinking and analyzing that I can often find myself outside of the action rather than in the moment. I know that's not a totally new idea from me, because it's a theme I've been finding in recent months. But the way Nepo frames it as splitting ourselves, as not being totally invested in what we're doing if we're trying to look at it from the outside, objectively, resonates. Maybe it's that this idea of living in the moment is taking so long to sink in for me, and when I get stuck in my head it does, in fact, feel like I'm not really living.

Another thing that's come to my attention in the last day or so is that I have a hard time maintaining a consistent level of happiness (even when I haven't had a rough year), and the phrase "chronic low-grade depression" has been repeated a couple of times in conversation about this. So I Googled this exact phrase to find out if it is actually a recognized phenomenon and if so, whether I might be experiencing it. It turns out that there is a form of clinical depression called dysthymia, which basically consists of mild symptoms of depression sustained over a long period (http://www.mayoclinic.com/health/dysthymia/DS01111). I don't know if I would actually qualify for a diagnosis, but I can relate to at least some of what is said. One thing that was mentioned in one description I read was that people with this kind of condition often function quite normally most of the time (so it may not be evident that they are depressed because it's quite possible to recall times when they seemed happy). And another thing that stuck out was that people with the condition often respond well to knowing they have an impact and mean something in the lives of the people they know. Both of these apply to me -- more than one person close to me has said, in the face of me expressing a sense of ongoing unhappiness or dissatisfaction, that they can remember me being happy at very specific times. And now, for instance, I am not unhappy. It's just the balance of happy time vs. unhappy time that seems to be off at times, and I often pass happy times with some level of detachment from them rather than really feeling the joy that they bring and experiencing an emotional connection with someone else.

Perhaps more troubling than some of my other recent posts, and with no real conclusion or happy ending, but it's what is on my mind. And I feel good about having some realization of my own problems, because it's only through self awareness that I'm able to improve. I guess that's all for tonight...

(Untitled)

Relationships aren't goals.

It's not that relationships have nothing to do with goals -- we can have goals within our relationships, but relationships at their core are not aimed toward achievement. I think this contributes to the difficulty I have understanding why on earth they happen and how they hold together over time. Even relationships with long term promise and commitment can really only exist in the present, when the people in the relationship are, well, relating. And because I'm so goal oriented and really get a buzz from learning new things, I have a difficult time sustaining attention and engagement with now. I don't notice the joy in the increasingly familiar, the deeper view of an enduring and repeating pattern, because I am anticipating the broadening of my experience.

I'd like to appreciate the unspectacular more that I do now, partly because I want to be in a relationship that lasts through the unspectacular moments (which, to me, are often worse than conflict), partly because I think there's wisdom in improving our eyes to better see things in our immediate vicinity and experience each moment with awareness. I want contentment without settling, and I think the path toward that isn't so much onward and upward as it is inward.

Holding on

I'm in a state of mind that I wish I could hold onto -- calm, unworried, optimistic, happy. The kind of mood that comes after a great conversation over dinner and a nice walk home in the unseasonably warm weather on shiny wet sidewalks that are reflecting lights from stores, houses, and streetlights.

But I know that trying to hold onto this mood is futile. This moment is now, and this is when I get to enjoy it. It's when we stop to think, "I just want to find a way to keep this, to hold onto it", that it vanishes. We can't hoard life. Very frustrating for those of us who want some control and assurance.

This line of thought made me think of the verse (and it turns out that it's actually many verses, repeated throughout the gospels), "Whoever tries to keep their life will lose it, and whoever loses their life will preserve it" (Luke 17:33). This is said with reference to the story of Lot's wife, who looked back on the life she was leaving behind and as a result was doomed. Perhaps a bit of a creepy story, but the idea that it's wrong for us to live looking back as what we've had up to now makes for an important lesson. I spend so much time planning and analyzing that I forget to enjoy the moment.

So tonight, I'm going to enjoy this, knowing that the moment won't last long but it's all I have right now, and that's a lot to be grateful for.

Hard to Relate

I've been trying to gather into coherent thoughts some of the truths I've been experiencing and trying to learn lately. All the connections between ideas and thoughts are so weblike that I have difficulty getting started on a blog, because there is not really a starting point or a finishing point. Nonetheless, here goes...

Lately I can feel a difference in the way I think about and interact with people and the world around me, and I think it's a sort of maturing process. I found this nice quote that pretty nicely fits how I think it's been going for me:

The day the child realizes that all adults are imperfect, he becomes an adolescent; the day he forgives them, he becomes an adult; the day he forgives himself, he becomes wise.

- Alden Nowlan

At least for me, perfectionism and the accompanying attempts to feel in control of circumstances have been a hindrance to being a fully functional adult. It's been very difficult for me to start letting go of the parameters I'd set for myself and the world. It's extraordinarily hard for me to acknowledge that life is a process, and we can't attain our goals without some new goal or need popping up to replace them. It's a struggle for me to enjoy a journey to God-knows-where. Because I'm a bit of a control freak, and I am just starting to forgive myself for my imperfection and my imperfectibility. A few days ago, when I was having an especially hard time with this, a former teacher of mine posted this really helpful quote as his facebook status:

A good traveler has no fixed plans, and is not intent on arriving.

- Lao Tzu

Another helpful thing that I discovered recently (but admittedly haven't explored much yet) is the Japanese worldview and aesthetic of wabi-sabi. According to Wikipedia, "[Wabi Sabi] is sometimes described as one of beauty that is 'imperfect, impermanent and incomplete.'" This really stuck with me:

[Wabi-sabi] nurtures all that is authentic by acknowledging three simple realities: nothing lasts, nothing is finished, nothing is perfect.

- Richard R. Powell

I really love the idea of beauty in the imperfect, but it's hard for me to get my brain into that track. At this point, there seem to be a couple of options to approach life. In the face of inevitable imperfections, we can learn to accept them and settle for what we can actually attain (and maybe even appreciate them a la wabi-sabi); or we can fight them and work toward change and progress. I think a balance of both is necessary. To live right now and be happy, we need to be at peace with the world and with who we are and enjoy with gratitude all the great experiences and things that we are able to. But to sort through it all and come out with some sense of meaningful narrative, we have to be mindful of what we can do to impact reality and take action to change things that we want to change, keeping in mind that it's a lifelong process and we're not guaranteed anything -- we're never going to finally sort it all out, at least in this life. I can know in my mind that peace doesn't come so much from circumstances as from outlook, but it's a lot of work to maintain a can-do outlook when I'm feeling such uncertainty. I'm trying to find happiness in the process.

I think relationships are the key to learning happiness in the process. I tend to be goal-oriented rather than people-oriented, which means I seek a lot of my fulfillment through personal achievement rather than interpersonal relationship-building. This is heavily tied to the fact that my sense of self has really rested on what I can do and how competent I am, rather than who I am in relationship to other people. Do I need to mention that this has been a major problem for me? I've set myself up to feel like I'm never quite as good as I'd like to be, and I end up being critical of myself and others rather than seeking mutual support and understanding. It's very self-isolating. And it's sort of a hard thing for me to grasp, but this seems to capture the truth of the matter well:

We come to love not by finding a perfect person, but by learning to see an imperfect person perfectly.

- Sam Keen

I think the most appealing religions and philosophies acknowledge imperfection, and however they explain its source, they tend to offer solutions that connect us to community. Healthy functioning churches are more about sharing experiences and support than about bringing people in line with a rigidly delineated path of righteousness. Even very individualized practices like yoga and meditation seek to help us realize our true selves and put us back in connection with a shared reality. We really can't go it alone (if we try, we're deceiving ourselves), and since independence is my natural tendency, I know that I have a lot of learning ahead of me when it comes to community and relationships.

Desperately Wanting

"We're flawed because we want so much more. We're ruined because we get these things and wish for what we had." - Don Draper, Mad Men

Desire and its link to happiness have been on my mind a lot lately. Everywhere I look, including in the mirror, there are people who want more, who aren't where they'd prefer to be in life. None of us have everything we want, and we make tough trade offs between career, money, time, relationships, and other priorities.

The lesson I'm learning lately is that there is no "happily ever after", at least not one that's predicated on "she got everything she ever desired" or "she finally found the one piece that was missing". Perhaps by human nature, maybe partly on account of cultural forces, we all want more than we have now. And if we get what we want now, then we'll want more than that, too. To some degree, it's how we progress -- discomfort and discontent are motivators to change -- but it's also easy to lose sight of what we do have right now in our itch for more.

To some degree, seeing all of the wanting in myself and others is really frustrating because we can't seem to break the pattern. It could be that it's especially American to have a sense of entitlement, wherein if we want something and it brings us even momentary happiness, then we feel it's our right to pursue it. At its worst it becomes an endless materialistic pursuit, which is both selfish and ultimately unfulfilling -- a real waste of resources. To be fair, having our basic needs (physical and emotional) met is important, and I think that includes indulging at times (but still within reason, not so much that we self destruct). I spent a lot of time and energy for several years ignoring my emotional needs while I tried to be a good person and to require little. So now I find myself trying to find this happy balance somewhere between constant consumption and asceticism.

Most major organized worldviews (and in particular I'm thinking of Christianity, Buddhism, and the teachings of the yoga center I attend) instruct us that happiness is in the present, that the present is all that we have, is all that is real. Our minds naturally wander to things that have already happened or things that we anticipate in the future, but what is real is actually now:

"Life can be found only in the present moment. The past is gone, the future is not yet here, and if we do not go back to ourselves in the present moment, we cannot be in touch with life." - Thich Nhat Hanh (TNH)

I believe that there is a balance we need in life, between contentment on one hand and pursuit of something better on the other. Where we can go wrong is if we are misguided in what we pursue, if it's not really going to make things any better or bring us or others any benefit. I read somewhere recently about a research project that found that in the scheme of things, people get more happiness from things they have when they've been considering them for a while, when it's something that they anticipated rather than something they got on an impulse. This may seem to contradict the idea of living in the present, but I think it's actually in keeping with it. If we live too much by impulse or are overly driven by impatience, we can lose track of our real, lasting interests, the things that come to the surface when we are truly aware of ourselves in the present moment.

This is maybe a bit of a disconnected post, but I'm sort of mid-thought process, and I'm starting to be okay with that as a perpetual state of being. So I'll end with one final quote:

"Life is short. Time is fleeting. Realize the Self. Purity of the heart is the gateway to God. Aspire. Renounce. Meditate. Be good; do good. Be kind; be compassionate. Inquire, know Thyself." - Swami Sivananda

Moving target

I have such a hard time remembering some things -- scratch "things", actually it's "feelings". I've had a sense for a while now that I don't have a great emotional memory, which may be part of why I don't have a strong attachment to the past. Is this a problem? I'm not sure. And I'm not sure whether this is really a unique problem, or if all humans characteristically have feelings that are fleeting and not easily recollected.

I can be less abstract here -- I don't remember what it felt like when I was happy in my marriage. And now that it's over, I can think back over the past several years and recall the fact that there were happy times and even remember the events in some amount of detail...but what it was like to be there and feel that way is gone.

I've not really journaled much throughout my life, but earlier this year when things were actively unraveling, I wrote about how I felt a few times, and I've been journaling a little bit lately as well. When I go back and read about my feelings, I can recall them better, which is encouraging to me -- it means I can still relate to myself from several months ago. And it makes me feel less callous, makes me realize that behind my analytical exterior and tendency to look forward and not back, I am also feeling my way through life as it's happening right now. But that also unsettles me a bit, realizing how feelings can be there in one moment and change in the next. It can make me feel unreliable in my judgments, even though I think I have fairly good judgment.

I guess what it comes down to is that it's just so hard to know something with certainty, because what we know is so tied to what we feel and experience and live. Committing to one version of reality, to one life path, to one person, without the option to change and adapt based on new information, is something I don't understand. How do people stay married for decades, truly til death parts them? And not just how, but why? What compels them aside from obligation? How do we keep growing together with another person in a way that is mutually enriching? Somehow I think it's both simpler and more difficult than it seems. Simpler, in that there are probably some basic principles to follow that help; and more difficult, because learning and applying basic principles is not as basic as the principles themselves, and applying them consistently enough to sustain a relationship over time is a tall order.

The funny thing about life, though, is that it's a learn-as-you-go venture. So while I'm thinking through these questions, I know that ultimately the answers are in living them out. This is not a style I'm naturally at ease with -- I like to look before I leap -- but I'm trying to learn to relax and have some appreciation for this sort of free fall.

Presence

It's hard to have perspective on my own life when I'm in the middle of it. Like everyone, I'm a complex creature with a lot of emotions and tendencies that pull on me and interact with each other. And it's a real challenge to try to get to the eye of that storm, to the calm center where all of those forces are peripheral and there is a sense of the true direction in which I'm headed. I have friends who, like me, are going through particular challenges in their lives now, and it's often easier for me to give them calm and reasonable advice than it is for me to take the same advice to heart myself. This works the other way around, too. I have a friend who has listened to some of my recent frustrations and anxieties and responded that I should take time to remember what I've accomplished up to now, all that I've been doing that I'm not giving myself credit for. And that I should also bear in mind that things won't be this way forever, that it's a trying time right now but I'm continually moving in the right direction -- it just takes time to realize all of the changes. But this same friend who gave me such encouragement about my situation and decisions is having a hard time seeing past the immediate troubles in their life as well and seeing that there are brighter times ahead, in spite of the fact that this is what they have told me. Sometimes what lies between us and the payoff seems so daunting, and it's difficult to have the determination to persevere with a hopeful and optimistic spirit intact. But I think that's what we have each other for, to remind each other of the good in our lives and of the truth that the good is ultimately what will prevail.

On a related note, I read something encouraging yesterday, written by Thich Nhat Hanh in his book, The Energy of Prayer. In the third chapter, he discusses each line of the Lord's Prayer, and I particularly loved this section on being happy in the present, in spite of anxieties, from his comments on the line, "Give us today our daily bread":

In our daily life we have many anxieties. We have our cravings and we tend to want to store things up. We do not know that the present moment is important. Life can only be there in the present moment. If our only concern is to invest in tomorrow, then it would be easy to completely forget about he wonders of life in the present moment. We have to return to the present moment, to live it deeply and properly. We have to live in such a way that the kingdom of God is present here and now. This is a prayer that needs to be practiced twenty-four hours every day, because we want to live the present moment deeply in every second. The words of the prayer are not only to be read before we go to sleep; they have to be recited all day long.

We already have sufficient conditions to be happy today. We have to pray in such a way that we can be in touch with the conditions of happiness that are in us and around us. They're all there, available. We shouldn't be greedy. We shouldn't demand that life go on for hundreds and hundreds of years. How can life continue for hundreds of years if right in this present moment we are not able to be alive?

Looking Up

It's pretty incredible what a positive outlook can do. That sounds very sappy and self-helpy, but it's another one of the often-repeated bits of wisdom that has taken a long time to really start taking root in my brain, probably in large part because I tend to be dismissive of things that come across as overly sugar-coated. I'm a natural skeptic, and I gravitate toward the flaw in the logic that will dispel any illusions that things are picture perfect. I crave the realistic, the practical, and the honest -- if it's gritty or unpleasant, that's fine, so long as it's true.

But what I'm seeing now is that I can influence what is real and true through choosing my attitude. If I look for the flaw, I am going to find it. I almost can't help but notice the problems with just about everything at this point, because I am almost pathologically (and truth be told, also professionally) analytical, but I've started giving less weight to the part of everything that sucks. I've adjusted my expectations to account for suckage, and now it doesn't bother me as much when there's some drawback; I'm better at putting it into perspective, and I'm a lot happier for it.

Seeing

For the past few weeks I've been adjusting back to life in Chicago after seeing so many new places in the world, and it's been more challenging and less of a relief than I expected. I've found that it's difficult for me to be back among my fellow Americans because they haven't been removed from this place and haven't spent time looking at the world through so many different lenses, so I'm overwhelmed by all of the Americanness and the attitudes and behaviors that come with our nationality. I know that may sound snobby, but that's not my intention. This is not me trying to be high-minded and cosmopolitan; this is me feeling strangely because I don't feel totally at home now that I'm home again.

The reason for this feeling, I think, is that my way of thinking and seeing things has changed, thanks to all of the wonderful places I've visited and people I've met. And it's lonely not to have other people around who know what this is like. I can recount how much I loved Istanbul or Bali and people will listen interestedly, but it's still not real to them, they're just abstract, far-off places that sound exotic. I realized my loneliness existed when I was telling a colleague and her husband that I'm planning a trip back to India in January for a wedding. They visited India a few months back, also for a wedding, and then stayed for a while to visit various places around the country. So we were able to share some of our impressions during our respective time there, and I was so happy to talk with them about it and know they understand at least in part the experiences I've had.

I keep worrying that I'm going to sound uppity when I talk about how important traveling is to me and how much it has transformed me. But it's true, and it's actually been a really humbling experience to have the structures of my thinking challenged. I'm noticing things that would be difficult or impossible to pick up on without being immersed in environments where they are absent.

One of the things I've noticed is the way that so many Americans don't have, and in some cases also don't see a need to have, any real sense of the way life is elsewhere. We have a large country, and we have a lot of resources, and it seems that we feel entitled to the conveniences we're afforded. There also seems to be a sense that people from other countries are distant and different, which maybe comes partly from our geography (being separated from most other continents by huge expanses of ocean). I've been uncomfortable with the contrasts of extreme wealth and poverty in our world for a while, but now I really struggle when I hear conversations about the relative cleanliness of Chicago train lines (my beloved red line is consistently criticized, but it's the busiest line in the city and runs through neighborhoods with a wide range of income levels), the bother of being talked to by a homeless person, and where the best and safest places are to buy a condo in the city.

I guess it's that even these trivial examples give me a sense that what a lot of Americans really want is a metaphorical white picket fence with an enclosed place of safety where the dangers to our physical safety and to our dearly held world views are kept at a distance. And I see evidence of this in the news lately. For instance, some people are freaking out because a Muslim group wants to put a community center near the World Trade Center site in New York. There is a false equation of Islam with terrorism, and people are fearful of inviting terrorism back to that site. But what I see is that fear is being exploited for political gain at the expense of true understanding and peace. It's frustrating to me, because I just want everyone to get to know a few Muslim Americans and realize that different doesn't mean dangerous, and moreover, that they're not that different to begin with.

In any form of fundamentalism, whether religious or political, there are strict boundaries laid around the world that are based on limited information. I don't really fault people for missing information; we all do because it's impossible to know everything. But I am frustrated by willful ignorance that refuses to acknowledge truth if it is too challenging or inconvenient. I wish we could all have the humility to let our own assumptions be broken, but I know that's a difficult thing to do. I keep thinking of the Bible verse (which I had to look up, as I have to admit I'm no great memorizer of scriptures), "For God has not given us a spirit of fear and timidity, but of power, love, and self-discipline." When we act in fear, we go into defensive mode against things that we feel threaten our accepted truths. Violence, oppression, and suppression result from this kind of defensiveness, which does nothing to promote the truth in love. If we really do experience the truth of God's love, I think it makes us realize that there's nothing we need to defend ourselves against, because we have faith that love is ultimately what wins out.

I've been going on about politics and religion and fear pretty abstractly, but in the end what I'm struggling to articulate is the way our perspectives change the more we allow ourselves to experience and see new things. And I think this applies both at a personal level, when people on the other side of the world become acquaintances and dear friends instead of distant strangers, and at a societal level, when we stop thinking of our own system of living as correct and see ourselves as citizens of a shared world.

Big Should-er

A wonderful thing about weekends is that I get to gorge myself on all of the deliciously open time that I have for a couple of days. I spend a lot of time alone, and I spend a decent proportion of my alone time walking -- to the coffee shop, to the grocery store, to the train, or just around the neighborhood, to nowhere in particular. And I find that the solitary walking time is some of my favorite time because I love being out in this great part of the city and the activity and life around me make my mind active and invigorated as well. I'm a natural introvert, so I find that if I've been spending most of my time working or socializing with other people, my nerves start to get frayed, resulting in stress and crankiness. When I get a chance to go for a morning walk after a really socially demanding few days or weeks, my brain just starts to chug through all of the stored-up experiences and thoughts that haven't had a chance to be explored or digested. It's easy for me to lose sight of the broader picture of my life and my emotional path when I'm trying to stay "on" continuously, and it's being alone that so often gives me the ability to piece together the context and themes of my experience.

One of the major themes I've been noticing lately is the dominance of the word "should" in my psyche. I've spent a lot of hours, days, and years agonizing over what I should do with my life. What's the right path so that I make a difference in the world? How can I live morally and do the least harm possible? What more could I be giving to help other people? These are good questions to ask myself, but the extent to which I've made them the central questions to guide my existence and the way in which I've responded to them have constituted a sort of fundamentalism. In some ways I traded one system of "should" -- a conservative religious upbringing in a tiny, traditional Midwestern town -- for another -- a progressive social consciousness in a diverse city. Whatever the ideological system I'm currently espousing, that's what I have let rule me, and I have strived to suppress my own desires in the interest of these beliefs. The thinking has been, what makes me feel entitled to indulge in any way if it is not right and good? And again, it's a good question in some sense -- it's good to be mindful of the impact of my actions. But there's a part that I have always left out of my consideration -- that what makes me happy matters, too. I want other people to be happy and have a strong sense that everyone is entitled to pursue what fulfills them, but somehow in my mind "everyone" has never included me. It was not until my therapist asked me (and this in my first session with her), "Why do you feel guilty for wanting to be happy?" that it occurred to me that in fact, I do feel guilty for wanting anything for myself. Mind you, this guilt hasn't led to me carrying out a flawless and morally pure existence -- it's just made me feel like a bad person for merely being human and having perfectly normal human failings.

In addition to my pervasive sense of guilt, or maybe as a result of it, I also find myself compelled to express myself as directly and honestly as possible and appreciative of people who are forthright. This may not seem like a direct cause-and-effect, but I think these two characteristics are related. A lot of my craving for honesty and directness is derived from a strong desire for outside information as validation of my thoughts and feelings. I am naturally oriented to be a sort of "info sponge", partly because of my love of learning (a positive motive) and partly because of my insecurity (not such a great motive). I don't want to do anything wrong, so I pay attention to people's thoughts and behaviors and use them to gauge what I should do. It seems odd for someone as defiant of norms as I often am to be so concerned with what others think. But I know I don't have all the answers to living figured out (which for some reason I keep mistaking for a personal flaw rather than part of the human condition), so I try to fill in the gaps of my knowledge by having conversations with other people. This is an effective way to learn, to listen to the wisdom (or folly) of others, but I also need to start listening more to myself. Listening inward is a lot more difficult for me than listening outward, but a few months of therapy got me started trying to pick up my own frequency. And I'm learning now that there are a lot more words than "should" in the language of life. Some of my favorites so far are "enjoy", "patience", and "love".

Inner Self Defense

I'm experiencing a moment of truly happy inner peace. I'm currently rereading the book Eat, Pray, Love, in eager anticipation of the release of the movie version of this fantastic memoir. I first read the book two and a half years ago. I loved the book the first time through, and now I am relishing it even more because of the upcoming movie and also because it resonates with me during this season of my life. The author, Liz, made the difficult decision to divorce her husband when she was around 30 and realized that the life she had been helping to build with him was not what she wanted and was making her miserable. After the divorce was final, she decided to spend a year traveling, first in Italy, then in India, then in Indonesia (Bali), and the book is a recounting of her personal journey (physical, emotional, and spiritual) through those places.

The thing that has struck me as I've read tonight (and I've read almost the entire India section), is the way that she struggled to be patient with herself. I relate a lot to her feelings of inadequacy and failure, as well as to her fear that she will never overcome some of her problems, that her knowledge will always be too limited and her will too difficult to tame. And what's been going through my head is something that she realized along the way that I've also come to realize recently -- that we have to love ourselves enough to be patient with our own learning and growing process. At times, we may have to defend ourselves fiercely against our own discouragement and self-criticism in order to give ourselves the space and the grace we need to seek some inner peace and happiness. We need encouragement and guidance from others, but we also need to be able to listen to ourselves and have some trust and respect for the wise inner voice that can emerge. Reading about another person's journey to heal and to get closer to God and herself is really affirming, and it makes me feel a sort of unity and contentment with everything around me. I can't help feeling like everything (in the world, in my life) is working out for the best, even in spite of the trials we each face and our own imperfections.

What goes up

It's funny how sometimes our experiences can parallel each other's in unexpected ways. For example, recently I've been having a hard time accepting how okay I am given all the major change in my life in the past few months. I find myself thinking, "Am I really fine? Or am I suppressing something that I'm not aware of and it's just going to come crashing down on me at some point?" My good friend Erin has reassured me that it's entirely possible that I am just fine and that things could just be working out as I hope. It's difficult not to be skeptical and just to enjoy this time of growth and happiness, but I think she's right - why not be optimistic?

Meanwhile, Erin has also made a big life change, moving from Chicago to Phoenix and adapting to a new job and social scene. And so far things are going so well that she's now also wondering if she's really going to get off so easily. And so I thought I should remind her of her own wise words, which basically boil down to a nice mantra: "Why not?" Why can't something just go well?

I wish it were easy to live with that sort of optimism. Nobody likes catastrophic surprises, so we try to anticipate and brace ourselves for them, but in doing so at times we hinder our ability to enjoy the good in life right now. It's certain that life still has more bad news and challenges in store for us all, but it also has a lot of joy and blessings to give us, and that's reason to be thankful and have hope.

Life Now

The past year or so of my life, and especially the most recent several months, have been a season of major change for me. It's been an uncertain time that's in turns terrifying and exhilarating, sober and celebratory, confusing and revelatory, sad and joyful. I think this blog has captured mainly my calmer and more reflective moments during this tumultuous time, because when I'm freaking out or feeling giddy, I most often direct the energy outward and not inward.

Today is no different, I suppose, but as I was starting to write this time it occurred to me that I may come across as always pondering, but that's less and less the case for me. And ironically, that's what's on my mind at the moment -- I'm thinking about how I haven't been thinking so obsessively lately. One of my goals for myself has become to live more in the present moment, to appreciate the place and situation and people where I am now. For too long, really for all of my few adult years so far, I've agonized over what I should be doing for the sake of accomplishing things for myself and for the world around me. But the hypothetical accomplishment was always in the future. I do quite well not dwelling on the past (a characteristic that lends itself to both benefits and limitations), but I have overemphasized the future and have been in a perpetual hurry to get there, wherever "there" is. I've tried to settle things too quickly and map things out too far in advance. This has led to a lot of boredom and dissatisfaction when things don't happen quickly enough for me and also a good deal of anxiety that nothing seems to be happening, making life seem pointless.

Thanks to the huge amount of change in my life and newly introduced uncertainty about what comes next, I've been learning the truth in the advice that all we really have is the present, so we have to live now. In an amazing way, I think it makes the future much more promising, because I'm realizing I don't have to ascertain what's to come and work to set it all up now. It's freeing, and it's exciting to see how things flow and come into place. I worry a little about becoming too easygoing and not getting around to setting and working toward goals since I'm not very concerned with them right now, but I think that what I'm working toward is a balance of personal ambition and appreciation for all that the world makes happen without my intervention.

All in all, life is good. Actually, it's quite wonderful.

Return of the Mac

After spending much of the summer traveling, I am home. A few days before I returned, I felt ready to be back and achy for the familiarity of Chicago and the US. But rather than immediate relief and rest, I've been feeling disorientation and a bit of loneliness. Being home is bittersweet. I love being in my neighborhood and seeing familiar faces, and I'm happy that I'll see my friends and family soon, but I feel like I came back with not quite all of myself. The cliche goes that home is where the heart is, and if it's true, then that helps explain why I feel not quite all here. I think we all lose part of ourselves when we love, and that includes loving not only people but also places. At the same time that I feel such swelling gratitude for all that I have in my life, I also feel some sorrow as wonderful experiences are relegated to fond memories and photos. One of my aims lately has been to live more consciously in the present moment, though, so I'm trying to remind myself to take the opportunity during this relative uneventfulness to enjoy some solitude, allow myself some rest, and perhaps start on some new goals for fitness and creativity.

Traveler

Yesterday I returned from 3 weeks spent abroad, and I've been trying to alternate between getting some much-needed rest and taking care of some of the tasks at hand before my next departure in a week. Traveling for so long and to a variety of different places is something I'm immeasurably grateful for; the amount of learning is just incredible, and I get a real high from taking in new things and altering my way of thinking. Some reflections...

On home:

I've been restless for a long time, wanting to get away from home and also to move homes constantly. I love going from place to place, but as I have I am learning the value of having a place (and people) to call home, a space that I influence, that fits me and that I fit in. Constantly moving around makes me feel more at ease with the idea of having something settled and more permanent, where previously those two words, "settled" and "permanent", were unthinkably scary ideas. Now they're at least conceivable, even if I'm still not very enthusiastic about them.

On being American:

I think there is a way of thinking by some Americans who like to think of ourselves as broad-minded and understanding of other cultures. When in the US, this makes us do things like use politically correct language and go to different cultural events and try a variety of cuisines. When we travel, we like to keep a low profile and try to blend in when we're in a new environment, so we absorb as much information as possible both before we travel and as soon as we arrive. And while I think it's good for people to try not to be ignorant of other people's lifestyles and points of view, I have also come to the realization that no matter how open I am and how hard I try, I am so utterly American, and really, there's nothing wrong with that. India has been a particularly good place for highlighting to me all of my culturally idiosyncratic assumptions and behaviors, and I love the way it messes with me. It challenges me and also makes me love my country more than before. I feel unexpectedly patriotic, not in a "we're the best in the world" kind of way, but in an "America created me, America is in my blood" way. It's been a valuable lesson for me, and I don't think there's any proxy for being in a totally different context through travel, through existing for a while in a different place.

On flexibility and control:

When traveling, there's no way to plan it all out. You can have flights and hotels arranged, but there are going to be mishaps along the way and things about the place you're going or what you're experiencing that you can't read about ahead of time (and if you could you'd not understand til you were there experiencing it anyway). I have always been pretty controlling, afraid to look silly or incompetent and so avoiding situations that introduce the possibility. But traveling has taught me to be flexible, not to take myself so seriously, to ask questions when I need to, to accept when things don't go smoothly, not to think too far ahead, to acknowledge that I'm not doing all (or even most) of the steering. I'm along for the ride, and I'm getting better at it. I'm less fearful than I've ever been.

On effort and fatigue:

Traveling is hard work. But that makes it a really nice metaphor for life, I think. Anything worth doing seems to require some real effort and cost. For me, it's tough to fly because of my debilitating fear of heights, and I've been jet lagged pretty consistently for a few weeks now, and I'm sick of packing and unpacking and keeping track of documents and dragging around a couple of suitcases. In short, I'm really tired. But I'd also not trade the opportunity I've had to travel for anything. This life of mine right now is just amazing.

On flying business class:

This one is far less philosophical. Flying business class is incredible. Short lines or no lines at the airport, champagne before takeoff, and seats that recline fully to become beds. Genius. I'm ruined forever for coach.

Making peace

I've been feeling more relaxed lately, happy, even. Why is this so perplexing to me?

Maybe it's because at the same time that I am feeling happy, there's a lot happening in and around me that is stressful, worrying, uncertain, unfair. A couple of thoughts for tonight...

I've been realizing the extent to which so many women, myself included, go out of our ways to accommodate the people around us. Otherwise strong, independent, and fantastically capable women can have this surprising tendency to put up with a large amount and broad variety of nonsense, particularly from men. For me, it's part of my desire to be self sufficient -- don't ask for anything, try not to need or want or expect anything. And somehow I manage to feel guilty and intrusive and even unreasonable if I do need or want or expect something from someone else. I want to give without taking. But alas, this is not healthy or sustainable. I'm learning to be attentive to myself and to speak up for myself, but it's really hard.

I've also been thinking tonight about the idea of peace. I've heard that peace isn't the absence of conflict but the presence of something better -- perhaps love, patience, intent in practice. And that's really ringing true right now. Accommodating other people endlessly and avoiding conflict actually decreases peace. I think that in my marriage, there was little conflict at all, but at least part of it was avoidance of conflict rather than true harmony. That's damaging stuff, a destroyer of inner peace and ultimately also interpersonal peace. So I've been trying to be more honest even where it's difficult, and what I'm finding is that it's creating peace, which, incredibly, makes space for happiness. Lovely.

The Plan

In short: there isn't one.

Or at least that's my take on things at the moment. It seems that so much time is spent trying to determine what should be, what is meant to be, the one and only one right way. But I don't think there's just one, I don't think life is a previously charted trail that we follow with our maps and GPS. I think we are made for adaptation.

So many of my friends and acquaintances have been going through, "This is not how I thought it would be", lately. Maybe it's a particularly American malady, but we all seem to have had some expectations of what life would hold for us, and we're finding ourselves surprised that it's not at all what we had in mind. But how could we possibly have anticipated it? In wonderful and devastating ways, life doesn't match our expectations. And I think that's because there's too much moving and variable, and we can't possibly account for it all -- even in a society as efficient and measured and predictable as the US.

I'm thinking of how this interacts with the idea that God has a plan for each of us. I think a lot of people want to think that means there's a certainty, a pre-ordained purpose to every minute happening in their lives. But it seems that even as we adapt to changing situations, the plan God has adapts to us. That doesn't make us purposeless or take away the meaning in the everyday, I think it just makes us flexible and hopefully responsive to the real, in-motion world we inhabit.

On the whole, I am grateful for this arrangement. My life is not at all what I expected, and certainly not what I would have planned. But I love it.

Water

I took an extra-long morning walk today because it's just too beautiful for words outside. I did my normal route down Clark Street in Andersonville with a stop for a coffee on the way, then felt this irresistible urge to see the lake, so I walked down to Foster Beach. The lake was stunning today, bright blue and constantly throwing small, choppy white waves toward the sand.

And it made me think, it's amazing how magnetic water is for all of us living beings. We depend on it, we are made of it. It has such raw power, so much teeming energy. It comforts and nurtures, disrupts and breaks. It's no wonder that the way we as humans understand the world has water in such a central role, as such a broadly applied metaphor. In Christianity, we have baptism. And perhaps more useful than thinking of it as a cleansing is thinking of it as an invitation of the fluid, rhythmic, transformative power of water into our lives. The recognition of life as dynamic, not static. Of the need to be responsive to the undulations of something bigger that we're part of, rather than trying to harness for our own purposes something that's not within our own power. I stood and looked out across the lake, at the waves breaking near my feet, and was overwhelmed by gratitude for the water and for the joy of living in a world with such beauty and potential. It's better than any world I could dream up and control myself, and what a gift it is to be part of it.

What it takes

Lately, somewhat surprisingly, I have been finding more of the joy in life. And I'm finding that there are a lot of paradoxical forces at play, so it's hard to pull principles or nuggets of wisdom from what's happening around and inside me. But I do feel that I'm growing, and I'm becoming happier and fuller, even as I try both to grasp what's happening and not to grasp to quickly or tightly at anything during such a time of change.

The decision to strike out on my own is one that I know will be one of the biggest and most influential of my life. And people's reactions to it, both the reactions I know and the ones I imagine, as well as my own reactions, are mixed. There's sentiment that I'm selfish, cruel, immoral, a quitter, out of touch with reality. And there's sentiment that I'm strong, brave, self aware, caring. There are feelings both that I've done wrong and that I've been wronged. And I'm realizing that it's not all one way or the other. I think there's probably some truth to all of these characterizations. Which means there's plenty of reason to be humble and also plenty of reason to believe that I'm no better or worse than anyone else.

When it comes down to it, I believe I've made the right decision. I think in some ways, I have only very recently discovered some parts of myself, or at least allowed myself to acknowledge them. And right now, where I am is where I believe I'm supposed to be. Not where I ever expected to be, but I have this sense that it will be better than I imagined.

It's funny how even those of us who are known for self-sufficiency, confidence, and ability can still crave the approval and affirmation of other people. In an odd way, even though I'm generally not concerned with conforming, I still want people to like me. And so making a decision that both made my need for other people evident and put me in a less approved-of status was hard. Although it is a decision that I made for myself for the sake of my own happiness, that it has required such humility and sacrifice of me makes it extra hard to peg it as a wholly selfish act. Is it selfish to want to be happy? Is it selfish to decide that being happy requires more than a minor adjustment to my life? Is it selfish to decide that what is best for me is something that hurts someone else? Is it selfish to decide these things after giving my word that I would never make such an adjustment or hurt that other person this way? Maybe. But maybe there's some distinction to be made between selfishness and self interest.

In a strange way, I think I've come across as pushy, willful, and stubborn, while at the same time I've somehow failed to get what I want or need. And maybe there's some logic to that -- when I'm truly happy, there is not a lot I feel the need to demand, and I'm more circumspect. But when I'm seriously unhappy, I want more, and I am more apt to be less reasonable about less important things, which can come across as really selfish. But true, healthy self interest, what I've been trying to learn recently, makes decisions with emotional awareness. Emotional awareness is perhaps the thing I've been most lacking up to now: awareness of my needs and desires and their legitimacy, as well as those of other people. Wholeness as a person requires understanding and acceptance of who each of us truly is, not who we think we should be according to our ideals.

I think there's so much to learn, and so much I'm learning already, and it's humbling to realize how much I've missed. There are other people whom I admire greatly who seem to know some of these things so much better than I do. It makes me feel stunted, but also energized at the realization that there's so much more opportunity to grow. I feel tired sometimes when I think about how much work life is, how much it requires of each of us if we want to be truly fulfilled and purposeful. There's really no coasting toward contentment, it's something we make room for and help create.

Protagonist

This morning I began with a nice walk in my neighborhood and breakfast at the coffee shop nearby, then came back home to get to work on the to-do list I didn't get very much crossed off of yesterday. There's something about morning solitude that gives me such energy, and today it was extra invigorating to breathe the cool, rain-soaked air after the overnight storms.

And as it has been doing so much recently, the solo walk got my thought process up and running and helped bring some emotions up to the surface. While I was doing dishes, I was having one of my recurring lines of thought about the way that I can't control other people's responses to me, their version of my story or of the role I've played in their story. And it bothers me that I may be remembered as a negative player in others' stories, and I'm afraid I'll be seen at best as a psychologically flawed character and at worst as an unqualified villain. Some sort of unsympathetic caricature. As much as I know that I have to do what is best for me right now, it's difficult to cope with people I've known and cared about for so long suddenly cut off and possibly viewing me this way. It's difficult not to have editorial control over my image or the ability to speak for myself. I know I have to let this go, to accept that what's really important is the narrative that I still have the leading role in -- my own life -- but it's going to take time to figure out how to live that way.

Self Love

I've begun a new routine of going for early morning walks on days when I work from home. It gets me out into the world and gets my mind and body up and functioning. It helps me to be more conscious of my emotional state and get perspective on what's going on in my life. And somehow being out and moving enables me to look at things more positively -- maybe the physical act of walking becomes symbolic of an internal progression: I'm moving, I'm going somewhere.

During my walk this morning, I thought about self love and how difficult it really is. I'm living alone for the first time in my life and facing a truth that I've known but hadn't dealt with before -- that I'm afraid of being alone, and I don't know what to do with myself because I want someone around to keep me company and to validate me. I have a tendency to scan the world around me for information and to assimilate it, which I think is a valuable skill to have. But I think that in addition to my love of learning that drives me to do this, there's also this other motive of wanting some outside confirmation that who I am and what I'm doing is good. I want a stamp of approval, a pat on the back. Now there's nobody here to give me that, and I'm forced to find something more stable within me for balance.

I need to learn to love myself, and so do most people I know. I'm still very early in a process that will probably never fully end, but here are some of the things I think will be a big part of it...

• Forgiveness. My acceptance of myself has been way too dependent on worthiness, living up to some standard of goodness. But I've failed, and I'm going to keep failing no matter how hard I try. I'm going to fail myself and other people, and I'm going to make decisions that don't turn out well, and I have to forgive myself of that.
• Being conscious of the present. I'm so goal focused, always looking for the purpose of everything I do, always plotting how to get closer to the that "real meaning", that I miss out on what's going on right here, now. And so much of the real meaning is here and now, in the process. When I forget that, I forget to tend to my own needs.
• Having fun. Related to the last point, I've never thought that it was worthwhile to do things just for the sake of doing them. I've wanted some compelling reason, some higher purpose. I've downplayed and even disdained emotions that don't lead to something productive. But we all need to have a good time, to experience some joy, and to realize that we deserve it.
• Believing that I deserve to be happy. I didn't even realize this was a problem until I was talking with my therapist and she asked me why I don't think I deserve to be happy. And I realized that I have had this assumption all along that I don't deserve anything. It goes something like, why should I feel entitled to anything? All I see are my responsibilities and how well I live up to them -- that is, I see what flows outward from me, but not not what could flow back into me. We all need things flowing back into us, we all need to give as well as receive. Without allowing some inflow, the outflow dwindles. I want to contribute to others' joy, but I can only do that if I am happy myself -- and I need to make sure my happiness is being fed.
• Balance. Taking care of myself is a product of my love for myself. And to take care of myself, I need both alone time and a social life, quiet time and noise. I need physical, intellectual, mental, and spiritual health. I need to indulge and possess self control, to be emotional and rational, to rest and to exert myself, to take responsibility and to be free of my worries. I can't ignore a vital part of myself in favor of another part that's easier for me to deal with. Balance is hard, and it's a dynamic and ongoing process that involves a lot of self awareness and emotional maturity. I'll be working on this one for a long time to come.

The god of beginnings

A couple of years ago, when I first visited Mumbai and was preparing to leave and come home, I was given a gift by the group I'd been there to spend time with and train. It was a metal wall hanging of the Hindu god Ganesh, who is the god of beginnings, among other things. Wherever I've lived since (and incredibly, I'm on apartment #3 since then), I've kept Ganesh near my front door to welcome everyone who comes to visit and to greet me when I return home after being away. Seeing him makes me think of the graciousness of everyone I met in Mumbai, the lasting impact that going there has had on my thinking, and just the idea of new beginnings large and small. I love the idea of a god of beginnings -- in Christianity, God is all-encompassing, so it's rare that we characterize God in really specific ways, such as creating new beginnings. But I think that's one of the most real and satisfying ways I've found to think of God -- it rings true. It seems that so many people I know, including myself, are beginning new chapters in their lives right now. And it's a wonderful thing, even as the changes feel somewhat overwhelming at times. But it feels like strands in a larger fabric, and I guess having Ganesh around reminds me of all that there is to look forward to.

Last night

I'm feeling really sad tonight. I was trying to think about how to begin this post, and that simple statement pretty well covers it.

Tomorrow I move out, and in the hassle and rush of packing I've been coming across things from the past, mostly small things, that are mementos of a relationship that's ending. And even though I'm the one ending it, even though I decided to do this, it's really sad. And it's not something I'm doing without any doubt. I think a decision of this magnitude is something that few people, if any, could make with total certitude. But I've made it in moments of clarity, as far away as they may seem now, and now I'm trying to get through this part where I follow through and put the choice into action.

Oddly, the hardest part of today has been just sitting on the couch and watching TV tonight -- with Mark. There have been a few times when we've looked at each other, and the sadness is overwhelming. I know we're both sort of amazed that this is really happening.

In all of this, in the midst of the doubt and fear, I'm trying to remember the hope that I have for the future. It's hard to keep in sight just now, but I do believe that both of us are going to get through this and have happy lives.

Giraffe

I'm realizing more and more lately that the point of it all -- that is, of life -- is joy. And I'm notoriously bad at enjoying things, so I've been missing the point. Big time.

I feel like I've been this sort of head-in-the clouds creature, like an extra-tall giraffe who only sees what's big or high up or far away, but never what's on the ground here next to me. But someone's tipped me over now, I've come crashing down painfully, and now I'm sort of lying here on the ground, sprawled out and confused by the sudden change in perspective. And you know what's amazing? It's beautiful down here. I'm injured and aching, but the ground is green and lively and full of lovely people whom I didn't look at closely enough before. I just want to keep lying here and rest for a while. And when I do get up, I want to start holding my head closer to the ground.

Owning it

This morning was one of the not-so-great ones that I've come to know will be but somehow still never quite expect. If I didn't have such wonderful people in my life, people who teach me the meaning of grace, that most undeserved sort of love and acceptance...well, I think I might not make it through such mornings. I have been feeling the weight of myself, of my decisions and their impacts on people I care about. Not for the first time, certainly, it's not like I'm just now realizing the impacts...I carry these things with me all the time. I own them. And I am learning what it means to own them, to be the person making the decisions and really bear the weight of the decisions -- it affects me physically, emotionally, and spiritually.

I think for too long I've sort of acted as a bystander to my own will and emotions, without really owning the situation I'm in and my role in creating and sustaining it. I'm trying to change, and it's haaaaard. But what can I do but keep trying?

Lessons

I am blogging from work. I have so much to do, and maybe it's unprofessional, but I really had to bang this one out because there's been a lot on my mind this morning.

I've been learning an overwhelming number of lessons lately. I feel like I'm being stretched to the breaking point, pressed down under the weight of the reality of my life. And it's a reality I am choosing in spite of its difficulty, although I have plenty of moments of doubt and anxiety. Some of what I'm learning...

1. I've always believed that relationships are what make this life so rich and worthwhile and that they're also what put us most at risk. They bring out the best and worst of experiences, the best and worst in ourselves. We have in us the power to build and create and also to hurt and destroy. I'm understanding this more and more every day -- it's one of the things that I have always known was true, but now I'm experiencing it more profoundly.

2. When making big decisions, it's easy to agonize. I tend to over-think things, to worry endlessly about the consequences of a decision before making it. I've had a lot of up and down days lately, and it's hard to keep track or predict where I'll be emotionally from one day to the next. So I've tried to be mindful on days when I'm feeling particularly emotional or anxious: those days are not decision-making days. So I try to save it for the days when I am calm and can consider things with clarity. The other days I focus on survival by whatever means possible.

3. Other people's desires and perceptions are terrible guides for personal decisions. This isn't to say being considerate is a bad thing -- but we have to live by our own consciences. I've spent a lot of time worrying about what people will think of me, how I live and the decisions I make and the truth of my failings. But the truth is, my story is mine, even if nobody understands it or if others reject it. I have become my own champion in some respect, as I've had to stand alone by my choices.

4. I'm learning that good and bad aren't as clear as I thought before, that they can get tangled up together in confusing ways. I guess this is why we're told, "Judge not lest ye be judged."

5. I've always had a strong fear of failure, and I've done a lot to avoid situations where I could fail. Right now I'm facing a massive fail, and I'm learning what it is to accept that failure. And a lot of that is learning what it means to fail and to continue loving and respecting myself. It's an uphill battle.

6. Related to my aversion to fail is my aversion to take any risk at all, but I've found myself in a situation where all I can choose is risk. I'm at a point in my life where any course I take could possibly lead to a lot of pain, so there is no "easy way out" option. So I'm learning what it is to make a decision and live it, come what may.

7. I've always been very goal-oriented -- everything I do, I want to be toward some greater purpose, some sort of clear meaning. I am learning to be present, in the current day and moment, and it's maybe the hardest thing to learn of all. I don't know what's next, I don't know if there's a "next", what I have is now, and so I have to be in it. My 17-month-old niece helps me with this a lot -- she knows nothing but the moment she's in, and she draws me into it with her. I'm trying to stop over-thinking and start living more.

8. I have to be more independent, confident, and assertive than I've ever been before. I have to take care of myself. This is an especially odd lesson because I thought I already had these things covered, but there's so much more to learn.

This feels rather brief relative to the amount of internal processing that's been happening in me, but I guess it's still pretty long. That's all for now...I'll probably be back with more soon

Optimistic Exhaustion

I am having a hard time putting together a really coherent thought right now. But lately I've been struggling to cope with the sheer volume of thoughts and emotions I've been experiencing, and putting any kind of structure around them is a challenge. A big theme is the way I set hopes and expectations for my life. I feel a lot of dissatisfaction, a longing for more, and the prevailing message I keep seeing people playing back in the world around me is, "At some point, you just have to settle and accept the way things are. Calm down, appreciate what you have, don't ask for more." The thing that makes it hard is that I do feel like I have a lot to be grateful for, but I am still unhappy in some big ways. And I think ultimately I'm an optimist, because I do believe that things can be better than they are, that there's a purpose in reaching for more. And I know I'm not the only one who feels this way. But there's something unsettling in optimism, too, because often people have to let go of "good" before they can achieve "great" -- the true test of optimism I guess. And if there's anything I'm learning, it's that life isn't tidy and there aren't guarantees, but that anything really worthwhile requires some risk and investment of oneself. This realization makes me feel perpetually exhausted lately, but I'm hopeful that it will eventually lead somewhere lovely and fulfilling. I think this is something like what President Obama has referred to as "the audacity of hope".

On a somewhat tangential but I think still related note, the Rushdie book I'm reading now, Fury, has a lot for me to think about and a lot that I relate to. There are a lot of quotable excerpts, but here's just one reflection on America (published in 2001) that I keep rereading. It's long, but this kind of reflection on the state of human affairs is why I'm in love with Rushdie:

In spite of all the chatter, all the diagnosis, all the new consciousness, the most powerful communications made by this new, much-articulated national self were inarticulate. For the real problem was damage not to the machine but to the desirous heart, and the language of the heart was being lost. An excess of this heart damage was the issue, not muscle tone, not food, neither feng shui nor karma, neither godlessness nor God. This was the Jitter Bug that made people mad: excess not of commodities but of their dashed and thwarted hopes. Here in Boom America, the real-life manifestation of Keats' fabulous realms of gold, here in the doubloon-heavy pot at the rainbow's end, human expectations were at the highest levels in human history, and so, therefore, were human disappointments. When arsonists lit fires that burned the West, when a man picked up a gun and started killing strangers, when a child picked up a gun and started killing friends, when lumps of concrete smashed the skulls of rich young women, this disappointment for which the word "disappointment" was too weak was the engine driving the killers' tongue-tied expressiveness. This was the only subject: the crushing of dreams in a land where the right to dream was the national ideological cornerstone, the pulverizing cancellation of personal possibility at a time when the future was opening up to reveal vistas of unimaginable, glittering treasures such as no man or woman had ever dreamed of before. In the tormented flames and anguished bullets Malik Solanka heard a crucial, ignored, unanswered, perhaps unanswerable question -- the same question, loud and life-shattering as a Munch scream, that he had just asked himself: is this all there is? What, this is it? This is it?

Emotions

I've always been pretty extraordinarily terrible at processing how I feel, or really even allowing myself to feel the way that I do. As a matter of pride and as a matter of personality, I tend to keep a rational exterior, even when there's a storm brewing underneath. When I am upset, it often comes out as an angry outburst or tirade that is easy to brush off later.

So I've been trying to be more aware of my emotional experience of life lately. I'm trying to accept my emotions as a legitimate way to experience the world. I still try to stuff them through the rational lens a lot of the time, but I'm at least not allowing my rational side to decide I'm ridiculous for feeling the way that I do. So often I have felt something deep and real and then decided I was overreacting and ignored it. Or I have failed to recognize a nagging ache until it becomes a major crisis. But if I stop and listen to myself, the emotional me is actually really smart, quite often smarter than the rational me. I need to take time to be silent and rest, and it's amazing what truth can surface when I do that.

Sacred Space

What's on my mind now is something I rarely talk about anymore, because it's so complicated for me: faith. Faith is something I really struggle with, because I am a consummate skeptic. I'm also generally very empirical, a self-described "information sponge" who is always scanning the world around me for truth. But I also believe that there is as much a source of truth within us as there is in the world around us, perhaps even more if you think of the created environment that humans have made largely as an expression of the various inner worlds of people. I think that for the past few years I've been gradually suppressing and neglecting the inner sense of truth that I used to experience so deeply and vividly. And at the same time, I've gotten farther and farther from an "organized" religious practice. I'm uncomfortable with prescriptions of the right way to be and feel and act, because I have seen so many lovely ways of being and feeling and acting that seem to have never been accounted for properly in any institution or system of organized thought.

That's all rather abstract, I know. But it's on my mind because it's Lent, and at the same time it's a tough and uncertain time in my life in pretty much every arena (work, relationships, inner life). I decided yesterday that I need to spend part of each day quiet, to calm the constant info processing that I tend to do. In the course of trying to find something to feed my meditative time, I rediscovered Sacred Space, a contemplative prayer and study guide that a Jesuit group in Ireland publishes (http://sacredspace.ie/). It reminds me of how much I love these Irish Jesuits -- for the contemplative approach that guides a person to be receptive and open, to ask for meaning rather than prescribing meaning, and to allow an honest emotional response to God and scripture. This is the only approach to faith that has ever rung true to me, and it's funny because it's so hard for me to practice: "shut up, relax, listen".

Passion

It's a bit difficult to get started on a new blog entry when it's been so long since my last one and there's been more than ever processing through my mind, so much that I'm grappling with. How to pick something to talk about?

For now, I'm not going to get too detailed, but one of the things I'm learning right now is the importance of passion. I've made almost all of my decisions up to now based on a rational assessment of what I should do -- what's most practical, most reasonable, does the most to help others, does the most to please others. And in the process, I've suppressed the part of me that lights up when I see something that captivates me. I think everyone must have at least one thing that does this to them -- for me, it's books, music, art. Words and patterns. Creative articulation. I don't think I'm ever much happier than when I'm a room with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. I feel calm and centered, but also invigorated.

I think I've underestimated the need for passion to drive me, and I doubt I'm the only person who's done this. It's tempting to keep what I have now, what I'm sure of, rather than to try for something better and more beautiful and risk losing what I have. Especially if all the voices, including the one in my own head, exhort me to exercise caution.

It's also hard to change when you don't like what you have, but you also don't hate it, and there is nothing really forcing you to make a move. Inertia is incredibly powerful. But that means that a first step, an initial push, can also continue to produce motion.

What does it take to be happy? I'm trying to learn more of the answer to this question. I think it starts with self awareness, recognizing what it is I love most and realizing what that means about who I am. It also includes choosing continually to do what makes me happy, both in the current moment I'm living and in whatever situation the future may bring. And I think it is also something that is fed by witnessing the passion and happiness of other people, wherever they might find it.