Checking in (Part 2)

 Here's the problem with the checking in exercise: 

I don't even have to do anything about what I learn when I check in. I don't have to change or fix anything. There's a good chance there's not even anything to fix. I can just be feeling what I'm feeling.

I wrote that last week like it's a good thing(?), and today it doesn't feel good at all. Because I woke up, took a couple of deep breaths, and started crying. Today, I'm feeling many of the feelings in a much feel-ier way than is comfortable for me. 

In the famous words of Chris Evans's nephew, "I don't wike it..." [Scroll down for video.]

I learned at a very young age not to let the sun go down on my anger. Moreover, I learned that even feeling angry--or sad, or fearful, or disgusted, or generally bad--wasn't good. Which is really weird because I learned this as part of a Christian tradition, and Jesus himself exhibits all the above-mentioned "negative" emotions in the Gospels. I guess the religion of my childhood took from the sacred texts of Star Wars as much the sacred texts of our faith.

I was also taught that the secret to true J.O.Y. was putting Jesus first, then Others, and then Yourself. Yourself always came last. (Seriously, I made a J.O.Y. wall hanging at camp one summer that stayed on the wall of my room until I graduated high school.) And as a good girl / oldest daughter / evangelical / people-pleaser / Honors student / well-raised Southerner / Enneagram 3, I knew I always had to be joyful--or at least keep up the appearance of being joyful--so that no one could ever accuse me of not putting Jesus first.*

Ummm... Did you know there were
this many feelings? Because I didn't.

This means I allowed myself only two of the seven colors on the feelings wheel--happy (orange) and surprised (green). Actually, it's more like 1 ½ if you don't think you should acknowledge the confused, disillusioned, and dismayed side of green, which I didn't. If anything from the wrong 5 ½ colors started to creep into my mind, heart, or gut, I denied it. Just stuffed those suckers way on down, and instead busied myself with deeds, actions, and achievements that could prove how good I was, how strong, and how on the right side of right. 

I leaned hard on the busy-ness--my crutch to help distract from (at best) and suppress (at worst) the feelings I didn't want because I didn't think I should have them. And that busy-ness, that productivity, eventually came to define me and my sense of worth.

This may have something to do with why I bawled my eyes out watching Inside Out 2. (Five stars highly recommend)

So, yeah, even after a lot of unlearning (and a lot of meditating on what it means to "Be still"), I'm still more comfortable doing rather than feeling. I like keeping my brain occupied with others' voices so that there's less obligation (or even opportunity) to listen to my own. Which is why the checking in exercise is sometimes problematic and always necessary. The urgency of the assignment lies in the fact that, after five decades of this kind of behavior, my crutches just aren't doing it for me anymore. I think I've leaned on them so heavily that they are starting to break.

I will admit to being lucky in that my crutches are socially acceptable and don't get me labeled as having a problem, even though I use them in the same way that any "functioning" addict uses their crutches of choice:

• work
• travel and travel planning**
• my daily regimen of online NYT games (Wordle, Connections, Strands, Spelling Bee, Crossword--in that order every day except for Sundays when I do the Crossword first, on paper, and in ink) 
• audiobooks and podcasts
• self-help books about how to be better at feeling my feelings
• Instagram, including feeds about how to be better at feeling my feelings
• Netflix, Hulu, PrimeVideo, Max, AppleTV+, Disney+, and "Friends" re-runs on Nick@Night

And sometimes, for good measure, 1-2 glasses of wine "to unwind" [nay! to numb!] at the end of the day.

The goal in acknowledging these choices is to move toward [oops! almost wrote "to achieve"!] emotional sobriety--to learn to live with, regulate, and free myself from the least comfy feelings, not just today but over the long haul, without misusing these or more damaging crutches.

So here I am, audiobook paused, checking in instead of scrolling Instagram, still sniffling and super squeamish about how I feel. Per the wheel, I'm a little in the blues, a little in the pinks, a little in the purples, and definitely on the wrong side of the greens. [Cue Kermit.]

I will admit, however, that a couple of other things are happening. First, as I name the feelings, I find a couple of oranges mixed in with the other colors. Alongside my feelings of isolation from living in a city where I don't know a lot of people lives thankfulness and love for the five friends who will shortly be traveling here to spend a weekend with me. Alongside worry about the Thespian finding his way in college lives a sense of awe that he's attending his dream school. 

Second, I am giving myself tacit permission to have these feelings, which is the key to taking from them what I need and letting the rest go. [Cue Elsa.]

Maybe Yoda was right all along, as long as we read him through more of a Buddhist and less of a Southern Baptist lens. It's not the having but the holding onto that puts us on the path to the dark side. We cannot banish emotions without first being conscious of them, and that requires a calm mind.

To that I'll add my own: Being busy will only block things out for so long. And sometimes there has to be crying in baseball.***

“Remember, Sadness, wherever I go, you go too.” -Joy

*At this point, I would like to apologize to everyone in my world to whom I proselytized positivity. You never asked for Pollyanna as a friend or family member, and I'm sorry I showed up as her. If you want to give me a chance to show up better and are going through something hard, I promise to shut up and sit with you in it while you share. No matter what you are feeling.

**Note that when travel includes visits to or time with friends--especially the truth-telling types of friends mentioned in Checking in (Part 1)--then there may be a chance of some de-stuffing of the feelings. For example, last year I spent a weekend in the mountains of Colorado with Margaret (she of the "sweet pea" in my previous post) and Heather. It was two weeks before my birthday, and they surprised me by baking cupcakes. When they pulled them out of the oven and started to sing, I promptly burst into unstoppable tears. Not because I was sad about the birthday but because I was overwhelmed with gratitude for these women who have supported me along the roughest parts of my road. Apparently that kind of crying is a good thing(?). Yet another reason why I love my realest friends.

***If you don't know this about me yet, I love movie references and have no qualms about mixing and matching them.

Christmas 2014: An Inventory

Five things I have not done / not done well this Christmas season:

1) I thought I would get ahead by ordering my Christmas cards at the end of October. (For those who received one, that is why the reference to autumn is in the present tense.) Because I was so proud of myself when clicking "Confirm," I didn't double-check my account information. The cards shipped to my old address, which is 1,600 miles away from my new address. Luckily, the very kind family who now lives there accepted the box, took it back to the UPS Store, and shipped it to me ℅ the house where I actually live. The box arrived November 3, which was two days before I received an "early bird" 30% off coupon in the mail from Tinyprints.com.  I put the coupon on my desk and thought about calling to see if customer service would retroactively apply the discount. I am still thinking about it.  The cards sat in their unopened box on my office floor until December 14.

2) I never put a single treat in the Advent Calendar. The Equestrian is OK with that. "I think we can live," she says. (She's twelve.) The Thespian, on the other hand, claims I now owe him 21 pieces of candy… with interest.

That's enough, right?

3) I haven't decorated the Christmas tree. We hosted an office Christmas party at our house on December 6 (when your husband works for a Catholic hospital system, you're actually supposed to call it a Christmas party rather than a Holiday party), and Nick came up with the brilliant idea to save a few hours of prep time by just putting lights and a star on the tree that we bought at 9:00 p.m. on December 5. Did I mention that he is brilliant? The drawback, however, is that the tree remains lit and starred but not ornamented… with the exception of four handmade ornaments the Thespian received from a fourth grade Secret Santa. I am now wondering if anyone will notice. What if I just add more presents under the tree to draw the eye down?

4) I volunteered to be in charge of the school holiday decorations. OK, technically, this is something that I did not think through well last spring when I was cornered by two Parents' Association VPs who already do far more than I do for the school and also happen to be really nice people. (Funny how all December projects seem doable from eight months away.) In the end, it was actually really fun to spend a day decking the halls with a great group of parent volunteers who gave of their time and energy to make our kids' school festive for the season. But I think I may have gotten all the decorating out of my system a little too early. (See #3.)

5) I have not yet shipped gifts to my family. It is December 21. In my defense, my daughter hasn't finished her Christmas crafting / shopping, so the box is not yet complete. Yes, I could have shipped it incomplete last week and then brought the last few items with us in a suitcase. Could've, would've, should've. Now I may no longer be able to afford to ship the darn box. Has anyone already done the math on the price of buying and checking another suitcase dedicated to gift transport vs. the price of the surgery required to remove my left arm and leg, which is what UPS may now be charging to get a package across two time zones by the 26th? If so, you can email me via the links below.

Five things I have done / done well this Christmas season:

1) Every day I take a moment to sit down, open Christmas cards from friends and family, and appreciate all the love and laughter and memories the senders add to our lives. For those who may wonder whether it is worth it to keep sending, my vote is a definitive yes. We love you all.

Christmas magic

2) I made cookies with the Thespian. For the first time ever. I don't come from a Christmas-cookie-baking family. It just wasn't one of our traditions, and, as an uptight perfectionist (WHAT?!?), I am a very nervous baker. Please know that I am in awe of everyone who Facebooks and Pinterests multiple wire racks of cooling confections. I have one wire rack and usually cannot find it. However, I was again invited to a cookie swap and decided to be brave and attend with a tin (see what I did there? I may not bake, but I can create linguistic humor) rather than chickening out like I did last year. After all, these cookie swappers are people with whom I want to hang. And since the Thespian is always very excited to use the whisk Santa once gave him, I invited him to jump in and help. We totally botched the first batch, and it didn't even matter. He thought all the ugly ones were delicious. I have come to the conclusion that deliciousness is inevitable when you use two sticks of butter per batch.

3) And speaking of butter, I have exercised three days in a row. On the first three days of my kids' winter break. I don't think that is technically enough repetition to claim I've formed a habit, but it sure is a better start than I've made since… ever. Plus, it is one hour a day of focused, healthy, sweat-out-the-guilt-about-all-the-things-I-haven't-done-or-done-well time. Win, win, win.

4) I let my twelve-year-old miss four days of school mid-December to travel through the midwest with her horseback riding instructor to look at horses for sale. I realize that this one isn't very self-evident in terms of "things I did well." On the surface, it seems much more like a "things I let happen because I overindulge my children." But the trip was an amazing experience for the Equestrian--imagine a combination educational adventure, road trip with your favorite aunt, and opportunity to see some of the best competitors in the sport about which you are most passionate. She came back more grown-up, more appreciative, and feeling completely satisfied that she had already had her Christmas. She didn't come back with a horse, which is not to say there isn't a new four-legged friend somewhere in the near future, but for now we're all content--the tweener included--to be patient and wait. That's about the best lesson she could have learned by driving across Kansas.

5) I had one of those parenting moments that reminded me I sometimes get it right. On the last Monday before Christmas break, when it was getting REALLY hard to get the kids out the door on time, I was hollering "Let's go!" as my ten-year-old stepped over the dog gate from the kitchen to the back hall. He was holding a raspberry-blueberry(-and kale--SHHHHHH!!!) breakfast smoothie in one hand and a school snack and water bottle in the other hand. His foot caught on the top of the barrier, and he fell chest-first to the floor, knocking the wind right out of his little body. He lay there, gasping for air, wide-eyed and on the verge of panic, in a puddle of purple slush. 

*Big confession moment* I had the briefest flicker of a thought about grabbing a few paper towels on my way to comfort him. Kind of like Elaine from Seinfeld grabbed a box of Jujyfruits before leaving the movies when she found out her date had landed in the hospital.  

*Big parenting moment* But I didn't. 

I suppressed my inner Elaine, ignored the clock, and went to give my baby exactly what he needed -- a mom who didn't care about whether we were late to school or how much smoothie was on the floor (or the ceiling… no, seriously, on the ceiling). A mom who, for a few moments at least, cared only about helping him feel better. I rubbed my little one's chest; in quiet tones I promised him that it would be OK and he would catch his breath again soon. I was 100% focused on how much I loved him and how thankful I was that his loss of breath was only temporary. It may have been the calmest and most present moment I've had since Thanksgiving.

Oh, there is one more thing I haven't done this Christmas season: Clean all the smoothie off the ceiling. I find the purple splatter a good reminder that it's not about my to-do list. Or even me. It's about the child. And the Child.

Thumbnail from http://www.worshiphousemedia.com

Time to think

If anyone was paying attention, which was doubtful at that stage of the game (OK, Mom, I know you were paying attention -- I was really referring to my other two readers), the number of posts on this then-three-post blog decreased by 33% shortly after I started. Why? Because I was multitasking.

While addressing and stamping Christmas cards on top of the desk, and soothing my crazy, beside-herself-with-pent-up-energy-13-days-after-surgery-but-still-not-cleared-to-run-off-leash puppy under the desk, I decided it would also be a good time to go back and add an illustration to my post on procrastination and creative endeavors. After all, we are a visual people, are we not, fellow-Pinterest-junkies?  Somehow, in doing all of the above, I pasted an in-the-works post over the previously published post and hit save, thereby undoing countless hours worth of work and erasing it forever. (And no, I didn't have a back up copy. #rookiemistake)

For what it's worth, here is the offending illustration:

Via @Quotes4Writers

Not that anyone now remembers my Gen. McClellan anecdote, but if you did, I'm sure you would agree that this would have been the perfect visual accompaniment to the now-banished-to-cyber-oblivion post.

But I couldn't help but think about this little snafu while I was sitting at Costco waiting to speak with the pharmacy technician about my father-in-law's prescriptions. (He has nine that he takes daily and no prescription drug coverage. The saints who work at the Costco pharmacy are constantly trying to help me find ways to make it less expensive.) I had left my phone in the car, and since I didn't have the energy to navigate the land of wholesale milk and honey, nor did I want to admit that I couldn't go fifteen minutes without my phone, I was left on a bench with nothing but my thoughts.

My thumbs began to twitch.

I spent the first three minutes working on a grocery list for the smaller-portions store I hoped to hit next. Literally on the back of an envelope. Then, I spent a moment pondering whether I should actually purchase the three-pack of giant Band-Aid boxes staring at me from across the aisle. (You can never have too many Band-Aids, especially when your children have inherited your klutziness. Three trips to the ER for stitches before age seven for my daughter, but that's another story.) And then, perhaps because I'm currently taking an online writing class and words are on my mind, my thoughts turned to this blog, the post that once was, and what I had lost forever.

Nothing like a little quiet time to dwell on six-month-old regrets that don't really matter anymore.

At first I was just annoyed with myself that in multitasking, I had lost something I enjoyed writing and spent time editing, not to mention a few pithy turns of phrase. And then I thought about the fact that I was just kidding myself by using the term "multitasking." Research shows there is no such thing. Just a quick sequence of starts-and-stops of multiple tasks that divide one's attention and diminish one's returns. And one's number of blog posts.

Sitting there on the metal bench, I didn't have the option of multitasking. This didn't stop my mind from jumping from one topic to the next, trying to keep from losing track of any of the myriad things I feel I need to remember on a minute-by-minute basis, but at least I was cycling through all these topics using only one source of information -- my own brain. Not the Siri-powered brain that lives in my pocket. Just my God-given brain… That used to be enough.

Yes, this is the second time I've used this same meme.

I'm out of practice on how to quiet that brain down. It didn't come with a "Sleep" option on the menu bar.

Gene, who cuts my hair, is an ordained Episcopal priest, a second degree reiki student, and a small business owner with an MSW, two rescue dogs, a two-acre garden, and a wicked sense of humor. Last week (yes, I made time for a haircut -- thank you for your applause), while I was stuck in a chair holding perfectly still with my hands literally tucked under my legs and a nylon cape velcroed around my neck, he said something to me that rang a little more true than I would have liked.  He was quoting his reiki master but, in typical Gene fashion, added that "anyone who has really read Matthew 5-6 should know the same thing." He said, "There is no moment but the present one."

Needless to say, his salon is a cell-phone-free zone.

No moment like the present isn't enough. We're working toward no moment other than the present.  If that's true, then I can let go of my six-month-old regrets and tomorrow's shopping list. (That doesn't seem possible, but like I said, I'm out of practice.) I can sit on that bench and ponder my father-in-law's prescriptions, his well-being, and our relationship without worrying about what I haven't done or have yet to do. Maybe then I'd be a little less likely to be annoyed at what I've lost along the way or what the current moment is keeping me from doing next. After all, aren't the times when my patience wears the thinnest those times when I wish I were somewhere else, with someone else, or doing something else?  I'm thinking about that in this present moment.

My kids are currently at sleep-away camp in a "no electronics" environment. When we went to visit my middle schooler after her first two weeks, she asked me, "Did you bring my phone?" Bracing myself for some serious whining, I managed a hesitant but firm "No," to which she responded, "Thank goodness." What?!? I managed not to say aloud. Who are you and what have you done with my daughter who texts as if her life depends on it?  Don't you love how just when you think you have them figured out, kids manage to surprise you?

The fact of the matter is that she was -- as usual -- one step ahead of me.  She was content with the present moment, where she was, and whom she was with. The school year FOMO (fear of missing out) had disippated.

Summer is a good time to see what happens when we revert to our God-given brains. So I've decided to follow her lead. When trying to figure out how to get somewhere, I think about it first before automatically plugging it into my car's navigation system. When trying to remember a fact I once read, I try to figure out the article title and/or publication before just plugging what I can remember into Google. When waking up, I try not to check email before I brush my teeth. Maybe I'll even learn my daughter's mobile phone number by heart before she gets home.

Nah.

The real test, of course, will be when summer comes to a close and we are suddenly back in the routine.  When my God-given brain is over-committed and under-slept. How many moments will I consider to be real then? Will I remain a lily of the field or will I revert to being a Siri-fueled laborer and spinner yet again? Wish me luck. However, I'm not going to think about that right now. It doesn't matter in this present moment.

The campfire site at Camp Crestridge for Girls

Beginning again

1/1/2014 began with dog $#!%.

Stay with me on this. Over vacation, Nick and I have been taking turns getting up with the dog, Luna, since she is the only one in our family not taking full advantage of the lack of 1) alarm clocks and 2) obligations of work and school. Today was my day.

So I plodded down to the kitchen in my slipper socks (you may have noticed that wearing warm, fuzzy socks has now been mentioned twice in this blog -- Dumbledore and I have a lot in common in that regard), released the hound, and went about giving her breakfast. After that I pulled on a jacket, grabbed a couple of bags, and went outside to pick up poop. I've found it's much easier to collect when frozen (you're welcome), so first thing in the morning is a good time to clean the yard. Plus, B. is having friends over this afternoon, and the last thing I need is an 11-year-old stepping in (by then thawed) dog poop, not noticing, and tracking it through the house.

Yep, those were my first thoughts of the new year.  Nice, huh?

Somehow, I doubt I'm alone in this. Like waking up when you turn sixteen or twenty-one (or forty), when you know everything is supposed to be different but don't really feel much changed from the day before, waking up on New Year's Day can be a little anticlimactic. Especially at forty. Oh, have I mentioned that I recently turned forty? You begin the routine again. Another day, another few piles of poop to be picked up. The only real excitement is knowing that at some point you will write 2013 on a check and have a good laugh.

But then something happened. It began to snow. I swear to you, I had just put the bag-o'-crap in the dumpster and closed the back gate behind me when perfect little light and fluffy dots began floating down from a gray sky.

Selfie with snow and dog bowl

"Well, that's something new," I thought.

And it was. The fact is that there is something new every day, but sometimes I am so bogged down in the ordinary that I don't take any notice of the extraordinary. When I got back inside, this idea found reinforcement in the daily verse I receive via email. Paul reminds us that it isn't turning sixteen or twenty-one (or forty -- did I mention that I recently turned forty?) that guarantees a brand-new day. It is putting aside a worldly point of view (being over cluttered with the mundane) and living in Jesus's example of gratitude and grace (everything is refreshed). It is loving God and loving others, especially those who are unloveable, and remembering that the Golden Rule is the umbrella for all other rules.

Just then, Nick came downstairs. Neither of us had had our coffee yet, so the first thing he muttered was, "Is that your dog barking outside?"* 

Seriously?!  I thought. That's your lede on January 1? 

Um... I mean the 2013 me would have thought something like that. But since today is the opportunity to try something new, I summoned up all the pre-coffee love I could find and replied, "Happy New Year." We both smiled.  Wow, I guess a gentle answer turns away not only the wrath of others but also the inner wrath of a wife who resents that she had to get up first on a cold winter morning to scoop poop.

Last night at dinner I told my kids that my new year's resolution was to stop interrupting people. I've realized lately that what I used to think was a friendly gesture to help others find the right words when they are struggling to finish a sentence is really more indicative of my own impatience. And rude. And something I don't like when it's done to me. So I'm not going to do it anymore. But maybe that resolution can be a part of a greater mandate for 2014 -- to watch, listen, and recognize what's new (and quite possibly surprising) in daily life, in others, and through grace. Happy New Year.

*It was my (our) dog barking. She plays tetherball with herself and loves it so much that she makes noises like she's being beaten to death. There's no way the person whose turn it is to stay in bed could possibly sleep in through the ruckus. But it's adorable, as you can see here. #obnoxiouspuppymom