I don’t know who originated this meme so I can’t give credit. I wish I did know so I could thank them for the many times it has helped me tap into the spirit of childlike wonder and exuberance.
I got really sick this past weekend–as in, couldn’t-get-two-steps-away-from the bathroom sick. When I wasn’t shuffling to the porcelain throne, I was flat on my back in bed. In the realm of Getting Things Done, I was an utterly useless life form.
But that’s not why I’m mad at me.
In the spirit of misery loves company, I broke my own rule about limiting exposure to the combination circus/madhouse that passes for news these days, including the comment sections (which are the online equivalent of slogging through a septic tank barefoot). Using only my trusty Kindle and a stylus, I was able to work myself up into a froth of frustration, fear and rage in a surprisingly short period of time.
But that’s not why I’m mad, either. (Well, okay, maybe a little bit. It’s not like I don’t know better by now.)
Being out of commission gave my mind all kinds of time to come out and play. A few of its favorite games:
- Compile impossible To Do lists to be accomplished when I felt better.
- Take me on a trip down Memory Lane, featuring stops at every bad/painful/embarrassing thing I’d experienced since kindergarten.
- Conjure up doomsday scenarios of a remote future that somehow managed to bleed into the present.
But that’s not why I’m mad at me, either. My mind is an unruly beast under the best of circumstances, of which being sick isn’t one.
Being sidelined brought everything–work, job, chores, all the “gotta do” yadda-yadda–to a screeching halt. At first I was too busy being miserably sick to realize it. (Intestinal bugs are demanding little critters.) When the worst was over, I had ample time to look–really look–at my life.
And it wasn’t pretty.
I discovered I’d been so busy scrambling to meet expectations (both my own, which are insanely high, and external ones, some of which verge on the impossible) that I had left no room in my life for……
That is why I’m mad.
How could I let this happen again? How did I manage to fall back into the trap of
- comparing my insides to other peoples’ outsides?
- thinking that I, and I alone, am responsible for anything and everything that crosses my orbit?
- people-pleasing? (Dammit, I thought I was past that crap!)
- allowing myself to be overloaded or spread so thin the holes are showing?
- not making time (with a machete, if necessary) for the things I really love?
Infinitely more important, how do I fix this mess?
One thing’s for sure–if I keep giving myself–my real self–the silent treatment, I’m never going to find out.
When I finally made it to the mountaintop,
I had to sit for awhile to catch my breath.
I’ve always been afraid of heights, but I didn’t let that stop me.
On the way up I found myself hurting in places
I didn’t even know I had places,
But I kept on climbing.
Did I ever get discouraged? Oh, hell yes!
But the only options I had
Were free-falling to a certain death,
Or crawling back down to where I’d started.
One seemed just as bad as the other,
So it was onward and upward.
The breeze tells me it’s time.
A surge of energy brings me to my feet.
I extend my arms as far as I can and open my hands,
Releasing all my emotional pain to the breeze.
It scatters in multi-color sparks, twinkles for an instant
Before going nova.
I scatter more things to the breeze–
Feelings of being trapped, overwhelmed and helpless
Form a temporary blazing circle, then dissolve into nothing.
Self-doubt and fear of change shine like a marquee
Before the breeze pulls the plug.
“You’ll never survive without me!” howls my Inner Censor
As I send it spiraling after the rest of my jettisoned cargo,
But I know better.
I tossed lots of other things.
So many that I expected to feel empty.
But I didn’t.
The only thing I felt was…….free.
Some people are incredibly gifted.
Artists who can touch a brush to a piece of canvas and embody a dream. Writers who create whole worlds with people so real you can almost see them. Athletes. Musicians.
Me? I have an absolute gift for making myself miserable.
With the flick of a brain cell I can turn a molehill into Mt. Everest or a pothole-sized problem into the depths of perdition. Physically, I can be in the midst of a group of people, maybe even conversing with them, while mentally I’m in the Obsessional, pacing holes in its dreary gray carpet.
It’s not fun, that’s for sure. It solves no problems, lightens no loads. So why do I insist on making myself miserable? I’ve asked myself that question a thousand times and never found a good answer.
Until tonight, when I realized I’ve been going about this all wrong.
It was one of those flashing marquee moments that highlight the belatedly obvious, usually followed by a resounding slap to the forehead.
What if, instead of mulling over my absolute gift for making myself miserable, I concentrated on making myself happy?
Duh! I can choose to be happy!
Can it really be that simple? Why not? After all, it only takes one person pulling one lever to stop a merry-go-round, right?
I’ll let you know how it goes.
I love yoga.
What I can do are simple stretches that loosen up the old bones and alleviate the discomfort-du-jour. I can also sit in a mercifully-modified lotus position, focusing on my old buddy Captain Serenity until my racing thoughts get bored and go off to find better things to do.
My all-time favorite yoga pose has got to be savasana, better known by the deceptively ominous name of corpse pose, where the body and mind relax completely. I find myself feeling peaceful, unhurried, unworried, serene.
Until I’m back in the World Out There.
In less time than it takes to say “namaste”, petty irritants multiply like loaves and fishes. I find myself mentally casting aspersions on the parentage and IQ level of fellow drivers while stressing about what fresh hell awaits me at work and agonizing over the 5,234,678 things I (think I) need to do when I get home. Next thing I know I’m back on that souped-up hamster wheel, wondering what happened to all that wonderful serenity I had just the night before.
News-flash-to-self: I’ve still got it.
It’s just gone into functional mode.
Which is a good thing, because most workplaces take a dim view of unfurled yoga mats during business hours, and closed-eyes meditation is not conducive to safety in heavy traffic.
But Life Out There can be stressful and chaotic, and it’s easy to get swept away.
So how do I tap into this functional serenity?
Take a long, deep breath. Or two, or twelve. When I’m rushing around like a lunatic, I breathe like a lunatic–one step away from hyperventilation. This in turn kicks my body and mind into totally unnecessary “fight or flight” mode, and I’m off to the races. If I stop, breathe, and allow myself to center, I can see things more realistically and am better able to cope.
Step back–or better still, away–from the scene of the crime. It doesn’t have to be for long. A walk down the hall and back. A quick visit to a nearby coworker. Even a trip to the water fountain. Sometimes just a minute or two away from my cluttered desk and ever-blossoming email inbox helps break the spell of Overwhelm.
Say or do something nice for somebody else. This is a biggie, and it has never failed me. Besides generating positive energy for everyone concerned, it reminds me not to let the chaos of daily life overshadow the importance of the human connection. (Hey, we’re all in this together, right?)
Give myself permission to feel good. “I allow myself to feel peaceful and serene through whatever comes my way today.” “I allow myself to detach emotionally from (name that situation).” “I allow myself to feel confident.” Laugh if you must, but I’ve found this to be surprisingly effective. I may have to repeat it more than a few times, but eventually it kicks in.
And last, but definitely not least:
Be grateful. Yeah, you knew that one was coming, didn’t you! 🙂 But it really does work. Tallying up the many good things in my life is a great little equalizer when I’m feeling beleaguered.
…it would be easy for me to
board up my emotional doors and windows;
adopt a siege mentality;
retreat to the Island of Donna, population: one;
barricade myself in the Obsessional, where I ponder the same thoughts/fears/resentments over and over until they wear a groove in my brain and poison my world from the inside out;
feel too overwhelmed and hopeless to do anything;
get so obsessed with protecting myself I forget other people are in the same boat–or worse–and there might be something I can do to help;
forget that there’s powerful magic in caring, sharing, helping, listening, and even the simplest acts of kindness
But just because it’s easy to do, doesn’t mean I have to do it.
Instead of letting times like these make me isolate myself in fear, distrust, and resentment, I can choose to…well, Dave says it better than I can:
When I make a mistake, however, I summon up the Spanish Inquisition, a howling Greek chorus of condemnation, and the ghost of Sister Mary Gwendolyn from fourth grade.
And from what I hear, I’m not the only one.
Why do we do this to ourselves? Darned if I know. All it does is make us feel worse than we already do, and it certainly doesn’t improve the situation. I could analyze the whiz-bang out of the whys and wherefores, but I’d rather look at a few home truths that just might help:
To err is human.
It really, really is. And–guess what? We are all plain old garden-variety humans, and we’re going to screw up. To think otherwise is to foster the unrealistic expectation that we are supposed to be superhuman, above and beyond mere ordinary mortals. (Sounds kinda arrogant when it’s put that way, doesn’t it?)
A mistake is just something that happened.
It’s easy to fall into the trap of thinking that because you make a mistake, you are a mistake. I’ve been known to hop on board that particular mental crazy train, and in no time at all I convinced myself I was a complete, total, hopeless
Listen to Eleanor
It really sucks when you screw up in front of other people. When it happens to me, I’m always morally certain that everybody’s buzzing about it behind my back, texting about it to their friends, and plastering it all over their Facebook pages until I remember one of my favorite quotes from Eleanor Roosevelt:
“You wouldn’t worry so much about what others think of you if you realized how seldom they do.”
It’s definitely humbling, but oh so very comforting.
So anyhow, folks, we are all flawed vessels, doing the best we can with what we’ve got. So take it easy on yourselves, okay?
Your partner in imperfection,