You Say You Want A Resolution? Breathe, Walk, Listen!

3. Breathe

During a Skype chat with my brother the other day, he asked me if I’d made any New Year’s resolutions. When I told him the five simple words I hope to use as my guiding goals for this year, he said, “I suppose with resolutions like that, you don’t really have to worry about failing.” I mean, breathing as a goal? Really? It’s so simple and obvious and, well, unavoidable. The thing is, though, that sometimes the best solutions to our problems are the most simple and obvious. If I think about the recurring struggles in my life, the obstacles that daily block my path, cause me frustration, tighten that knot in the belly, it is often connected to one thing: anxiety. Worrying, vibrating at an unsustainable mental frequency, rushing- these are all behaviours rooted in anxiety. I know that I can’t think my way through that to overcome it. I have tried, and it just doesn’t work. It doesn’t help to tell myself to stop worrying or to slow down. It doesn’t even help to tell myself that whatever is making me worried or making me feel like I need to rush, I can handle it. The only thing I have found that helps is to focus on the one thing I can truly regulate: my breathing. It starts and ends with the physical- a physical response to a physical sensation. I think I need to rush because I feel the physical sensation of rushing in my body. I think I need to worry because my body tells me that I am worried. So, if I can get out of my head and into my body and just breathe, everything else will eventually sort itself out. The things that are stressing me do not evaporate, but my belief in my ability to deal with those stressors improves. I become calmer, more confident, and eventually more effective.

4. Walk

Nietzsche said, “All truly great thoughts are conceived while walking.” Dude knew what he was talking about! There is something incredibly restful and inspiring about walking with no particular destination in mind, with no time constraints. I haven’t done that in a while. I’d like to do more of that this year- walking and talking with a friend, walking and talking with myself, walking and watching, enjoying, noticing, resting in the rhythmic certainty of just putting one foot in front of the other. It’s good for the soul, good for the body, good for the mind.

5. Listen

I already very much like to listen- to music, to the stories of others, to the birds outside my window in the morning, to the conversations of the kids I teach who don’t know that I can hear them. Often, much of what I hear brings me joy. All these sounds make me feel connected, and remind me that I belong to something bigger than just me. Sounds are what I often miss most about the places I used to call home: the sounds of busses and garbage trucks and dinging bicycle bells, the sounds of rustling palm trees and tropical birds, the sounds of barking dogs and skipping ropes hitting the pavement. Music and memory also remain forever linked. I love how hearing a song can transport me back to another time and place where I can feel him or her beside me once again. Finally, listening to the stories and insights of others heavily shapes my understanding of my world, as it is usually through dialogue with dear friends that unformed yet weighty feelings and thoughts start to gain shape and articulation.

This year, I want to become a better listener. I often hear everything, which is sometimes a bit of a problem, because hearing everything makes it difficult to focus on something. I am perpetually distracted by sound. I am completely useless at my job if I am in one of our shared workrooms without my headphones plugged in.  I rely on music to tune out, to focus, and then later to relax and to stay asleep. I want to learn how to become a better, more refined, and selective listener. I want to learn how to listen more carefully and intentionally. I want to hear past simply the words spoken. I want to be able to focus on particular elements of a song or conversation. I want to learn how to pay closer attention, how to separate the truth from all that distracting noise. And I want to continue improving in my listening to myself, to my gut, to learn how to better differentiate between the skeptical uneasiness brought on by wisdom and the discomfort spurred by a habit of fear. I suppose that this year I want to develop wiser ears- open to all, yet more aware of what truly is worth listening to. 

You Say You Want A Resolution? Write!

So, this year's plan for maintaining sanity, challenging the mind, and nurturing the soul involves the remembering of these five instructions: dance, write, breathe, walk, listen. More about the second....

2. Write

Julia Cameron, the author of The Artist’s Way encourages her readers to commit to writing “Morning Pages.” If you haven’t heard about this before, the idea essentially is that when you wake up in the morning, before you eat, speak, shower, before you start anything, you first write. This writing isn’t for the purpose of capturing artistic genius. Its purpose is to make space. In fact, when a notebook of Morning Pages is full, I chuck it. I don’t even flip through it. It is waste. If we want to get really crass about it, we could compare it to a good morning poop- it’s all about moving the garbage along, emptying it out to make room for the new and the good. Cameron talks about creativity as being more of a receptive process than a productive process. If you want to be creatively “productive,” she argues, you actually have to first make space in your head and your heart so you can receive new sensations, integrate new inspiration, and make sense of what already is. None of that goodness can root itself if your mind is cluttered. And this space-making activity is not only for artists or even just for those who consider themselves to be of the creative persuasion, but for any person whose daily activities require them to think, process, problem-solve, plan- so pretty much anyone really.

The wonderful side effect of these Morning Pages is that if there are things weighing on your mind and filling up your head space and using up your time and energy with their distracting omnipresence, through the process of writing about it, many of these issues sort themselves out, or at least reveal themselves in such a way that you can identify them and articulate them, in order that you are better able to actually address them. The act of writing for the sake of writing also validates the importance of process over product, something I have long struggled with. By simply giving myself permission to write crap, rather than to write something good or meaningful or useful, ideas are stirred up and moved along. This writing practice unsticks thought patterns, both building momentum and bringing a kind of peace. It is motivational and meditative, grounding and revelatory. And, of course, it invites me to start my day with intention, to begin with slowness rather than immediately jumping into the hustle and bustle.

Now, I- surprise, surprise- am not very good at going about this Morning Pages business on a consistent daily basis. Like most things in my life, I have these spurts of discipline and commitment, and then I get tired or overwhelmed and feel like I simply don’t have time to waste on some sillynilly, non-productive, unnecessary writing. This practice gets lost when I start choosing the urgent over the important. I anticipate that this will likely happen again and again and again, or that I will choose the kind of writing I am doing here and now (though I often quickly forget the value of this as well) over the writing of Morning Pages, focusing on potential product, or at least something closer to a legitimate “product,” and forgetting the connection between the two. Ideally, I’d like to make room in my life for both, but for now, I’ll just say, without rules or restrictions, that this year I would just like to write more, whatever kind of writing that may be.

Writing is good for me. I like what happens when I think through my pen. I like the feeling of moving things out of my head and onto the page, how the permanence on the paper brings a lightness to my bustling mind and antsy spirit. I like seeing how ideas shift and grow and move around, how thoughts that were jumbled and shapeless in my head suddenly become more solid and clear when written out. I like treating words like ingredients in a recipe, and noticing how playing with language helps me get to know words in the same way that I know the spices in my kitchen cupboard- continual practice teaches me which words can go together and flavour thoughts in new but effective ways. I love the sensation of witnessing a beautiful sentence show up on the page in front of me, like it kind of just chose to be there. I like that writing moves me away from denial and pretense towards a greater level of truth and authenticity. I like the empathic connection invited by the act of storytelling, whether that story is told through a letter, a blog post like this, a facebook status update, or a poem or short story. I’d like to believe that somehow my willingness to try and be as honest as I know how to be, even if not always as articulately or wisely as I’d like, might hopefully give others permission to try the same. Writing facilitates the building of community, the connecting of like minds, the understanding and appreciation of difference. And if, in the end, all this writing ends up being just for me, then that also is totally okay, because writing and posting all this makes me feel just a little bit braver. It requires me to open myself up to the opinions of others, to risk criticism, and, most importantly, to get over myself. There’s always this little voice telling me that bothering with this writing in a public forum where others can actually see makes me a bit of a narcissistic, self-indulgent try-hard, because it assumes that others actually have an interest in hearing what I have to say, but then I tell that little voice to shut up and I do it anyhow, and that is a soul-growing act in and of itself.

I want to write more snail mail too- postcards and tiny notes that tell the people I love that I am thinking of them. Too often, I intend to send my love through the post but then put it off because I want the words to be perfect and I want to take the time to tell them everything, and since there is never enough time to tell them everything, I often end up sending nothing. This year, I want to remember that writing something, anything, is always better than writing nothing. I want my writing to become both thoughtful and automatic, where I can grow in this craft in such a way that I finally learn that not all important messages need to be told with many words. I want to learn how to feel less tired by the daunting task of making sense of big ideas, that it’s okay to sometimes leave things unfinished and imperfect, to put pen to page without a clear vision of what the ending might be. I want to learn how to react quickly enough to capture the flashes of beauty and brilliance that sometimes appear in my head when I am biking to work or half-asleep. I want to learn how to create a moment of stillness long enough to hear what’s hidden behind all the blaring noise.

The key now is to remember this, because every time I forget, it takes a while to get comfortable again with sitting still, with reaching in and pulling out, with opening up and waiting for the words to spill and flow. Like exercise and eating right and praying and all those other things that are good for me, the starting up again is always a little uncomfortable.

Let’s hope I don’t soon forget. 

You Say You Want A Resolution? Dance!

I don’t know about you, but I generally find the act of making New Year’s resolutions an invitation for frustration and disappointment as, usually, maybe two or three weeks in, I realize that I have- sigh- failed once again. I mean, who needs that kind of pressure?! I am hoping that this year, after living thirty-something years on this planet, I finally have a better sense of what is reasonable and realistic to ask of myself.  So this year I am trying something new. This year, I want to keep things nice and simple, and am opting for itsy bitsy one-word reminders of the doable daily acts that I absolutely 100% know nurture my soul and help me stay happy and healthy. I am going to write them down on a scrap of paper, decorate it with polka dots and happy faces, and post it up on the inside of my front door so everyday as I rush off to work, I will see them and say, “Oh yeah. Good idea!”

So this is them- my five super simple words to remember:

Dance

Write

Breathe

Walk

Listen

Um, yeah, maybe let me explain….

1. Dance.

When I say “dance,” I don’t mean clubbing it up, grinding, twerking, all sexy-like, into the wee hours of the morning. I mean jump up and down, spin, stomp, and sweat. We’re talking my “King Louie,” as it has been dubbed by a dear friend- arms and legs flailing and swaying like the Jungle Book’s king of the apes. Dancing- like, really really dancing, not for the purpose of trying to seduce or impress or show off or blend in, but dancing like you are in your own personal disco with nobody watching- is the gateway to freedom. I’m telling you. It is restorative. It brings release. It gets the heart pumping. It puts a smile on your face. I mean, are you having a hard time getting the day going? Dance. Have you had a long day and your nerves are frazzled with pent-up frustration? Dance. Are you sad? Dance. Are you mad? Dance. Do you have something to celebrate? Dance.

A few years ago, I attended this yoga retreat that was all about overcoming fear, and at one point, they put blindfolds on all of us and turned up the music and told us to dance. It was freaking weird, man. It’s interesting how, even with a blindfold on, with nobody paying any attention to me at all, I still felt so embarrassed and reluctant to let loose. It took me a surprisingly long time to get out of my head and overcome my inhibitions, the bizarre concern about looking like an idiot or, God forbid, not doing the intended exercise “right”. At first, I could only sway and bop a little, and then, once I got out of my head and into my body, my bones and muscles loosened up. It was awesome.

Then this past summer, when I was in Costa Rica deep in the jungle, I met this wonderful woman full of life and wisdom and boldness, and we went to the beach one day and she danced- full on, full body, full force dance. There were people around and she just did not give a shit. She put her ipod on and wandered off to her own personal dance party. Bikini-clad, she stomped around in the sand and scooped up the air and swayed in the sun and used all that space. It was such a beautiful thing to see. So, while I was there in Costa Rica, I followed her lead and danced everyday. I woke up each morning, jumped out of bed, put on my headphones, and danced like a lunatic around the room. And on brave mornings, especially when it was raining that warm, strong tropical rain, I stepped outside and danced in the rain. Cliché? Maybe, but oh what a rush!

Now, I don’t know if you have seen this video: http://youtu.be/HSy7h3TPB-M. I do not yet have the guts to do this for real, but in mind, I am already dancewalking all the time. : )

So, my plan this year is to take any opportunity I get to tap my toes and shake my hips. Whether I am toweling myself off after a shower, whisking up some pancake batter, blowdrying my hair, or paying bills, I am going to dance dance dance.

More later. 

This Much I Know Is True: The Final Instalment

7. You shouldn’t have to convince people that you are worth spending time with.

I have a long and persistent habit of collecting complicated people in my life. I seem to be attracted to the challenge of befriending the crotchety and the difficult, I get great satisfaction out of trying to crack the code of mixed messages sent by distant, enigmatic, wounded souls, and my ego gets off on making it into the inner circle of those who generally don’t let people in. The problem with complicated people, however, is that they sometimes make me feel like I have to work really really hard to maintain my status as posse member, and that admittedly kinda sucks. Though sometimes exhilarating and often interesting, it’s also exhausting to constantly wonder if I am still witty enough, intriguing enough, attentive enough to keep my spot in the coveted inner sanctum of their social sphere.

(I should probably clarify that by "complicated", I don't really mean complex, multi-layered, or even possessing the baggage that comes with  a difficult past. I'm more talking about those who create a lot of rules and regulations for the people in their lives, those who are incredibly quick to pass judgment. I will admit, as well, that sometimes, not giving up on someone, and continuing to patiently wait until they've softened and are ready to let me in, can result in a rewarding friendship. The "work", then, is often only initially. In these cases, often once you're in, you're in for good. Still, I wonder if, in spite of some of these relationships being rewarding, they're actually ever fair or equal. Maybe that doesn't really even matter. I suppose, it's more the tendencies towards continual judgment and evaluation of others, and the constant act of letting in but then pulling back that I am talking about, then, in terms of what qualifies someone as "complicated".)

Anyways...

I also have a long-standing habit of turning to Jane Austen in my times of need and desperation. If I am having a day when I feel uninspired, when my faith in the possibility of true love is hanging by a thin little thread, I know I can count on Ms. Austen to make things right. As this is quite a regular practice, I am always on the look-out for new interpretations of her beloved stories. (My favourite Austen interpretation, just in case you were wondering, is the 2009 BBC version of Emma. It is simply fantastic.) Well, a few months back, while searching Youtube for some new Austen goodness, I stumbled upon this fairly recently released British series about a modern girl in London who finds herself transported back to the setting of Austen’s Pride and Prejudice and becomes all twisted up with the characters and the plot. It was truly horrible and I couldn’t finish it. Not only was the premise ridiculous (the bathroom of the protagonist’s tiny Hammersmith apartment served as the portal to the Bennett’s home), but the acting was just plain bad, and the girl’s obsession with the classically complicated Mr. Darcy irritated me. It was beyond pathetic.

And then, I found myself all of a sudden struck by an odd but surprisingly important realization. I knew that given my attraction to complicated people, if- by some crazy twist of fact and fiction and a glitch in the time-space continuum- I actually had the opportunity to pursue one of Austen’s men, rather than choose the good and kind Edmund Bertram, or the honorable Colonel Brandon, or even the good-natured Mr. Bingley, I would quite likely, almost predictably, go after the aloof and antisocial Mr. Darcy. I would want to figure him out, get in there and understand why he felt he couldn’t trust people, why he was so reluctant to let loose and join in a little lighthearted community ball banter. I would probably do some good research and ask around to get his full backstory. I’d find out what he was interested in and try then to achieve that elusive balance between intriguing him with my surprising knowledge of duck hunting and art collecting, attracting him with my unique combination of feisty independence and tender heart, and finally encouraging him to untuck his shirt a little and shimmy it up on the dance floor. Seriously? Pathetic.

And then me and the Darcy on the screen had ourselves a little moment. My eyes got big and I screamed at the stupid movie I insisted on watching. “Darcy,” I shouted, “you obnoxious, arrogant asshole! You and your ‘opinion once lost’ can go f*ck yourself.” And then I turned to Elizabeth Bennett and I told her, “Lizzie, you deserve better. You should not have to work this hard and wait this long for him to realize you are the gem of Hertfordshire. You deserve better.”

And that settled that. I had this monumental epiphany that I shouldn’t have to convince somebody that I am worth hanging out with. I shouldn’t have to prove to someone that I am good enough for them to make room for me in their lives, and I shouldn’t ever have to feel like I am continually being evaluated and critiqued to determine if I am deserving of my friend/lover/girlfriend status. There are enough people in my life who think I am awesome, even in those moments when I am all gnarly and tired and cranky and indecisive, and if I already have such wonderful people in my life who love me “as is,” no matter what, then why on earth would I bother with the ones who need convincing? Seriously!

8. If you’re surrounded by awesome people, you are quite likely pretty awesome yourself.

What’s that saying about being able to judge a man’s character by the company he keeps? Like attracts like. Look around you, at your dearest, truest friends. Are they good people who you admire and respect? They’re friends with you for a reason, you know. If you think they’re fantastic, they probably think you’re fantastic too. And sometimes, that’s kind of cool to remember. (insert smiley face here)

-----------------------------

I could go on and on and on some more about the lessons learned from 2013, or at least conform to the customary top ten list format- stopping at #8, after all, feels a bit unfinished- but it’s January 2^nd over here and time to move on to contemplating all the exciting possibility of the year ahead. I am looking forward to the lessons I will certainly learn from the challenges, relationships, adventures and opportunities of this next spin around the sun.

This Much I Know is True: Part IV

Lesson # 6: Let people live in your heart.

I have long been fascinated by the relationship between love and fear. Love drives fear away. It makes us feel safe and brave enough to take risks. Fear, however, so often keeps us from letting people in and opening ourselves up to love. Somehow, the stinging memories of betrayal, rejection, and heartache blaze on in our psyche longer than the remembered delight of feeling free to be yourself, the butterflies of anticipation, the comfort of closeness; and those stinging memories so often elicit the fear that keeps love away.

There’s this beautiful documentary I watched this past year called Children Full of Life: http://youtu.be/1tLB1lU-H0M. If you haven’t watched it yet, I encourage you to check it out. It tells the story of Mr. Kanamori, an older Japanese teacher who mentors a group of 4^th graders to become empathetic, honest, happy children. At one point in the movie, when Mr. Kanamori is explaining the value of these “notebook letters” he asks his students to write everyday, he says something so wise and wonderful. He says, “Let people live in your heart. There is no limit on numbers.” I feel like this truth is something many of us need to hear- repeatedly. I know that I certainly need to be regularly reminded.

It’s funny how quickly we move into the mode of self-protection when our heart has been bruised and battered by misuse or neglect or disappointment. We create these long lists of rules for letting people in and even longer lists of reasons to keep people out, and if we do finally oh so tentatively grant entrance, we often offer only a halfway pass. And we do this not only with lovers and potential partners, but also sometimes with our friends and family. The vulnerability required by the act of letting someone into your heart is so effing scary, but I learned this year- and now believe it fully, from the very core of my being to the tips of my fingers and toes- that it is so worth it. Pretty much always. And I write it here so I won’t soon forget.

At the beginning part of this past year, there was a period where I spent quite a bit of time with someone, and it was good- easy, uncomplicated, good. But eventually it ended, as these things so often do. The interesting thing about this particular situation, though, is that while I was initially overwhelmed by the exhausting weight of disappointment, rejection, projected loneliness, and that feeling of loss that were all pressing down on my heart (and my ego), I very soon realized that it was totally worth it. His companionship, however short-lived, was worth it. The lessons I’d learned, the fun I’d had, the peace I’d gained, the confidence I’d grown, the steps I’d taken in trusting, letting go, letting in- all of it outweighed the heartache. I knew too that there would likely be many more moments of sadness to come. I knew that later I would probably look back and miss him and get this horrible sinking feeling of loneliness and longing deep down in my gut. I knew that probably sooner rather than later he would be enjoying the company of someone else and I would very likely feel the acute sting of jealousy and rejection. But even knowing all that was to come, I could still say with great conviction that it was okay. I was willing to sit through whatever sad spells might come my way because it was worth it.

Let me tell you what I know. I know that few things last forever. I know that 98% or 76% or 53% or some other significant percentage of relationships, whatever kind they may be, will end. I know that you will get hurt. That is an undeniable truth. You will possibly be betrayed or rejected or abandoned or replaced. You will probably at some point be misunderstood or criticized or get your feelings hurt. But I also know that from each person you let live in your heart- even if they are not your forever person or a long-term partner, even if they turn out in the end to be a cheating, lazy douchebag bastard- you will gain memories that weave new colours and plot twists into the story of you. You will learn important life lessons about yourself and the world around you, about communication, boundaries and intimacy (even if the lesson is simply how to more quickly spot a cheating, lazy douchebag bastard). You will try new food and listen to new music and make new friends and head out on exciting new adventures you’d otherwise never get to experience. And you will grow. You will grow in wisdom and empathy and confidence and in your capacity to love. You will become a better you. As far as I can tell, all that heartache, rejection, jealousy, and loneliness that we’re so afraid of are just collateral damage, temporary yet inevitable side-effects of the beautiful and important act of becoming vulnerable, letting someone in and opening yourself up to the exciting possibility of love.

This Much I Know Is True: Part III

And now, ladies and gentlemen, the first of the oh so important lessons learned about love and relationships.

5. Singleness is not a problem in need of a solution.

Life is good. I am generally quite happy with where things are at. I have a rewarding job with likeable colleagues, a beautiful home in a beautiful city, a reasonably functional and loving family, awesome friends, a fantastically decorated bicycle, and more scarves and shoes than I could ever wish for. Still, sometimes when I share my contentment with life at present, there are those who say, “Now we just have to find you a good man.” They mean well; I know. They love me and believe I deserve someone to share my life with. As one of my dear friends said, “I just want a good guy to come along and think you’re as awesome as we all think you are.” So I appreciate the sentiment, but their well-intended wishes imply that my life will never be fully complete until I am once again partnered up. A “good man,” they suggest, is the missing piece to my puzzle (that sounded kind of dirty even though I didn’t really mean it to).

But who can blame them? The message is everywhere. Few girls dream of growing up to become satisfyingly single. We plan our weddings long before we have even met our grooms. We talk about the future with the accepted assumption that someday- after our days of wild, reckless and restless youth, once we’ve explored and experimented and found ourselves, when we’re ready, when the time is right- we’ll partner up and settle down. We believe it for even the most hardcore partyers and the most dedicated bachelors. In fact, we wait and watch with great anticipation for the girl who will finally get him to say good-bye to his womanizing ways, or the guy that will truly whisk her off her feet forever and always.

Coupledom is what we are taught to strive for. Miserable coupledom is often regarded more highly than happy singleness. In fact, singleness, to some, indicates selfishness, stubbornness, or unsuitability. The belief is often that if someone is single for a prolonged period of time, there must be something wrong. You hear it all the time: “What?! You?? Single? How is that even possible? A smart, pretty girl like you?” The insinuation is that if I am reasonably attractive enough, there must, then, be some other reason for why I am still on my own. That’s when the speculating begins: “Maybe she’s just not ready.” “Maybe she’s got too much baggage.” “Maybe she doesn’t know how to trust men anymore.” “Maybe she comes off too independent.” “Maybe she snores too loudly.” “Maybe she has webbed feet.” And the funny thing is that if I were to say that actually, I’m totally okay with being on my own, or that I am truly enjoying this newfound space, there is often this little knowing smirk, the There, there, honey. You just keep telling yourself that look, as if it weren’t possible to be both single and happy.

For the first little while after I became single and happy, I was not too concerned with finding myself a ”real” boyfriend (and I specify single and happy quite intentionally here, because in the pre-happy phase of my singleness, when I was barely keeping my shit together, I was so fragile and broken that I practically hissed at anything with a penis that dared to even look in my direction, which means the idea of actually letting someone close enough to make me consider being unsingle did not even enter my mind). And I think, at that moment, most would agree, I was off the hook- for the time being- from the societal expectation of finding someone. I was new to the game and enjoying my freedom and doing what I have come to affectionately call “practicing,” a term which in and of itself suggests that I too believed that, eventually, when I had gotten my jitters out and built up my confidence and figured out what I wanted, I would ready myself and begin the quest for the real deal, the new Mister Right who could remake an honest woman out of me.

Then I got bored with the practicing, quite honestly, because it’s kinda fun but also a whole lot of bullshit. And then, once I felt like I was actually ready to maybepossiblylegitimately entertain this whole boyfriend idea, there wasn’t really a readily available Mister Right, or even a Mister Almost Right. I was “ready” but single, which usually felt (and feels) totally okay, except that there is still this looming, unspoken expectation and assumption that I will of course someday become unsingle. And that’s when I started to have these twinges of insecurity and confusion, because, on the one hand, I am happy- legitimately so, sans partner, and I truly enjoy all the little delights and perks of single living, but then the skype calls and emails always ask about the men. Have you met someone? Have you met someone? Have you met someone? (Again, I don’t blame them, as the stories of meeting/starting/trying/dumping/humping are usually quite fantastic.) But sometimes, those questions, combined with watching recently uncoupled friends recouple so quickly, and seeing all sorts of facebook pictures of engagements and honeymoons and romantic getaways, and witnessing the 73 likes of someone’s change of status to “in a relationship”, start to make me wonder if maybe there is something wrong with singleness after all. Should I be out there more? Should I be trying harder? Am I running out of time? Does that even matter? Is it okay to be okay with being on my own or am I just lying to myself so I don’t feel like a rejected, unwanted loser? Is it acceptable to build my life around the me here now, and just be satisfied with simply being lil ole single me? Am I as valued as a single woman/friend/citizen as I would be partnered up? And that’s when I read this article: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/magazine-20219349, and as I read it, I found myself saying, “Yes, yes, yes” because this guy articulated so clearly what I had been feeling, and I felt like finally I had permission to just be single- not shamefully single, not single and looking, not single for now, just single- one adjective in a whole long list of adjectives that describe me.

So, my point is this: I am single and happy. The “and” doesn’t mean the two words are causally connected. I am not happy because I am single nor am I happy in spite of being single. I just want to be happy, and as far as I can tell, happiness has to do with being content with current circumstances while being open to the possibility of the future. I don’t want to adopt a narrow view of what my life should or could look like. I don’t want to become a jaded, cold-hearted bitch who has decided if she is single now, she will be single always, leaving no room to let someone new in, nor do I want to succumb to the pressures of attaining coupledom by settling for a Mister Good Enough simply because I can’t handle the questions, the speculations, or the lonely moments, because- believe me- there certainly are lonely moments. They arrive at Christmas and New Year’s and on my birthday, those occasions when I can’t help but remember and compare and be reminded of all the togetherness that highlights my on-my-ownness. And there are, of course, those few days each month when my babybox hormones work their PMS self-pity magic and whisper hateful prophecies of my future life as a crazy cat lady. And there are also those moments when I get a little, how you say, “twirly”- you know- hungry for a good make-out session on the couch or for a strong man arm wrapped around me in bed. And every so often, I miss some of the tender side-effects of togetherness- the kisses on the forehead, and how arms and legs that know each other well fit so nicely together; but then I remember all the other stuff, and I know that while I certainly want to keep my heart and mind open to the possibility of some gentleman’s awesomeness complementing mine, I am not willing to sacrifice the great of my current singleness for just a so-so togetherness.

I guess what I’m saying is that I don’t want to live my life in the sphere of not yet and someday, believing that until a “good guy” knocks on my door, my life will never be as full and rich and complete as it could be. I want to continue building a beautiful life now with single me at the centre.

I want to make decisions about my future confidently as a strong, big-hearted, single woman who has a hopeful and flexible vision of what’s to come. I want to be totally and completely okay with being on my own today and tomorrow and maybe even for always, but I also want to be open to letting someone else come in and share all of this with me. And I suppose, I just want to encourage others around me to see singleness the same way, to recognize that being single is totally okay. Totally. Those of us who are unattached don’t need to be pitied or prayed for or matched up or consoled. There is nothing to fix here, nothing to cure, nothing to solve.

Let me leave you with this little bit I read the other day- another article that had me nodding my head in agreement: http://www.xojane.com/sex/stuff-not-to-say-to-your-single-30-something-friend

Now, I have more to say about all this love and relationship business. My next two lessons learned were biggies, namely, that love (or something like it) is pretty much always worth it, and also that you shouldn’t have to convince people to spend time with you, but I got a bit carried away with this one, so the rest will have to wait until tomorrow.

This Much I Know Is True: Part II

Here is yet another idea to add to my list of lessons learned during this last spin around the sun- something else I absolutely positively know to be true….

4. Balance is overrated.

For years, I have beaten myself up for not ever being able to achieve that elusive balance between work and play, between self and others, between spending and saving, between routine and spontaneity. I always seem to be bouncing somewhere away from the mid-line. Don’t you worry- I am not a completely insane roller coaster of outrageous and dangerous mood swings (At least I don’t think so! Though please tell me if you think otherwise- just maybe make sure I am not holding a knife at the time), but I do have a tendency towards “all or nothing” and towards big emotions. I get full-on giggly about a beautiful sunset, I would be tempted to instagram my joyous discovery of the inside of a perfectly ripe avocado, and a busted stapler could quite possibly throw me into a brief yet curse-laden rage. I also often work too much, sometimes drink too much (though always unintentionally and with great surprise at the end result), I pile too much onto my plate (both literally and figuratively), I sleep too little, exercise too little, and I am just very rarely right on the middle line with anything. I mean, look at the freaking adjectives I use. There’s just no such thing as meh or fine or good in my vocabulary; adore or despise, amazing or horrible- it’s almost always extreme and either/or, never in the middle. For a while, I tossed around this idea that imbalance is actually what brings about change and acts as a driving force in life; so my “bounciness”, so to speak, is actually a step towards making positive change in my life and in this great big world around me, an idea I sometimes kinda sorta believe, but the problem is that it still focuses on this idea of there being some kind of centre- either the before one or the after one- that I need to continually strive towards. I should probably also say before I dive into this great big contemplation on the value of becoming a more “balanced” me, that there is also the alternative of just not thinking about all this stuff and just being, but I think for folk like me- all big and bouncy and sensitive- we can’t help but get a bit reflective about all this stuff, if only to make sure we are not completely insane and are still safe within the “normal” zone.

Something struck me recently while teaching a class about systems theory. I was explaining to students that we often talk about these two different kinds of equilibrium. The first is static equilibrium, which is like a pile of books that remain in the same state until, let’s say, some gust of wind topples them over, and then you have to stack them all up again and create a new equilibrium, which will also pretty much remain unchanged unless acted on again by an outside force. I think for a long time, this was my idea of what balance meant, which I realize is inaccurate. I didn’t recognize the dynamic nature of maintaining equilibrium, perhaps because I didn’t feel like I knew what equilibrium or balance actually felt like.

Then there’s steady-state equilibrium, this idea that, within a system, there can be all sorts of fluctuations in response to the world around it, and these are reactions to varying levels of input or disturbances outside, and each reaction depends on the sensitivity of the system itself, but in spite of all these fluctuations, the system will always return to a functional equilibrium. Body temperature is an example of this. We don’t freak out if we measure our temperature and it is not exactly 37 degrees. We understand that there is a whole range of “normal” and that our body is such a beautifully evolved system that it generally, in most cases, sorts itself out. We shiver if we’re too cold to warm ourselves up; we sweat to cool ourselves down. There might even be long-term changes in a system that could alter the equilibrium completely yet still respect the integrity of the system. A forest growing back after a fire is a great example of this. It’s still the same forest, in spite of a massive disturbance, and even though what grows there, and how it grows, might shift, the forest will still be the same forest.

Even still, while I like this idea of a steady-state equilibrium a teensy weensy bit more than my previous understanding of balance, and I like how easily these ideas can be applied to the system of the human psyche, these words like “steady” and “balance” make me a bit nervous. I’ve become almost allergic to them, partially because I know the typical idea of breath-in, breathe-out, mindful, reflective, come back to centre balance is simply something I don’t feel I can attain, and also because I don’t really know if I want to. I know that if I am to respect the integrity of who I am as a person, I need to be okay with my high highs and my low lows and my swirly, twirly bits in the middle. My excitement about the little things in life that others might overlook, and my sensitive soul that makes me snot and sob all over myself when watching Marley and Me or listening to Hallelujah, these responses to everyday events that might seem irrational or unnecessarily “unbalanced” or over the top, are part of my integrity as a person; and the people around me who know me well know that what might seem to outsiders like unpredictable or inexplicable behaviour actually really fits the system of me.

The truth, though, is that I’ve kind of completely rejected the idea of balance altogether as something to strive for. Maybe I misunderstand this concept. I have this idea that balance has something to do with a sensation of calm, of inner peace; and peace is just not me. In spite of my best efforts, I am restless, hyper-active, busy pretty much all the time, even when I am completely alone and obligation-free in the middle of the jungle, and if I use this idea of balance and peace as my measuring stick of whether or not I’m doing okay, then I will absolutely always fall short. And that, first of all, doesn’t feel too particularly good, and secondly, is just not realistic, because if I look at my life, I am actually doing pretty okay. Life is good, even if, by definition, it sometimes seems a bit “unbalanced”.

If I think back to times when I was a complete mess, when there was definitely something in the system of me that needed to be tweaked in order to bring things back to fully functioning capacity, my barometer isn’t really balance. It’s joy.

Some might say happiness is a superficial concept, and not a sufficient means of measuring if things are as they should be in my life. I think my evangelical upbringing might argue that happiness is kind of selfish, and that righteousness might be a better measuring stick. Perhaps, others might argue that happiness is temporary and relative and unreliable. But here’s my argument: If there is one thing that I think defines me as an individual, it is my capacity for joy, for seeing the light in the darkness, and recognizing the good- this is the core of the integrity of my system, so to speak. So, when I find myself in a space when I feel a sustained unhappiness, when I lose that capacity, when I begin to feel resentful and negative, then I know that it is time for a change. Sometimes, that change might have to do with reflecting on something inside of me, shifting my approach to life, and sometimes that change might mean altering my circumstances. Sometimes- actually, often- it’s simply about self-acceptance and understanding.

A few years back, when I was at my messiest, my sister used this beautiful analogy to describe my situation. She told me that I was a strong flower capable of growing deep roots and reaching high but that I had spent so long in conditions that didn’t allow me to grow. I was in bad soil in a dark room without enough nurturing. She had said, “If we get you out of that bad soil, bring you into the light, and give you a little love, you’ll be just fine.” (I’m probably making her wise analogy a little prettier and more poetic but I just can’t help myself.) So, it seems that only in these last few years, out of the bad soil and into the light, I’ve been able to get a better sense of who I actually am and how I function in good soil. And what I’ve discovered is that, oddly enough, simply understanding when I seem to feel my highest highs and my lowest lows, as well as what triggers the occasional spikes of unsustainable work habits and sleeplessness, and then respecting the role of all these elements in developing my capacity for empathy and creativity and growth, has been very significant. Also, recognizing that there are limits in the process of self-actualization is freaking huge! What’s that they say? A leopard can’t change its spots? I have to accept that I am always going to be a bit bouncy, and that my bounciness is okay, and that understanding it and accepting it and sometimes even anticipating it can keep me in my own self-defined “normal” zone, and can prevent me from wasting so much energy trying to be something I am not or, even worse, wasting energy getting mad at myself for not being able to become something I am not. After all, trying to change your spots into stripes is not only impossible, it also just makes you feel so damn inadequate and miserable, not to mention tired.

So, back to my barometer. Balance has its value; otherwise we wouldn’t talk about it so much. But the idea of balance that I have come to understand simply doesn’t work for me. And I admit that happiness perhaps in and of itself isn’t enough. So here’s what I am striving for: harmony- the beautiful blending of these two concepts. I love the dictionary definitions for harmony: “a pleasing arrangement of parts” and “the state of being in agreement.” Harmony is fluid, flexible, dynamic, and it integrates this idea of the importance of things not only aligning and balancing but doiing so pleasingly. It hints at joy. It’s about shifting the proportions of the different aspects of my life in such a way that they fit and function and please. This means that sometimes there will be bouts of excessive work and not enough exercise, and sometimes there will be too much socializing and not enough meditating, but that if it all fits together reasonably congruously, and the whole system is functioning and maintaining its integrity in spite of continual fluctuations in its complex parts, and the result is a relatively pleasing arrangement, then- it turns out- I am doing ay-okay.