Something

It is so easy to want to retaliate. To reciprocate with like for like. To strike back in order to defend ourselves in the moment. To give tit for tat. It isn’t a good tactic, but it sure feels like one at the time.

This morning over coffee, we had one of those moments. One of us brought something up. The other shared the frustration that “something” surfaced for them. Which then led the first person to bring up a different “something” that had caused them frustration in the past. Most recently the day before, although they hadn’t mentioned it at the time. Which meant that because it wasn’t expressed as a separate “something” then, it became tangled up with the other “something” now. All of a sudden the “somethings” and the frustrations around them were coiled up together, making it more difficult to actually get the to “somethings” that were asking to be addressed.

Thinking back to this morning it occurs to me that like every messy interaction that comes with every close relationship, there is wisdom to be found in the midst of the tangle. For instance, if I feel something, say something. Maybe not right at that moment, as sometimes a deep breath, a walk down the road, or a good night of sleep can clarify, simplify, and soften the message so that it can be expressed with respect and received with grace. It is such good, and yes, hard, practice to "say what isn’t being said”, because that’s usually where the truth hides out.

As the day and our conversation continued, we got back on track to address our respective “somethings”. And that’s nothing if not something to feel good about, especially considering that neither of us got rattled.

Righting A Wrong

What’s wrong is rarely the right question.

It implies that there is something that needs to be fixed, corrected, or cleaned up. Like maybe us.

But real life isn’t tidy. It’s broken, imperfect, and messy, which means that sometimes we are all of those things too.

It takes such courage to show up in the midst of our own emotional messiness. In those moments the right person asking the right questions at the right time can work wonders. The right questions can shine light into our darkness, open doors for conversations waiting to be had, uncover possibilities, kindle hope, and pave the way for next steps.

The right questions start with wanting to know what’s true. Not what’s wrong.

A Lifelong Mentor

What is the emotion you are most familiar with? The one that has been your traveling companion since almost before you can remember. Perhaps the one that you’ve spent your life trying to avoid.

Mine is loneliness. Hands down. No question.

Wikipedia defines it as “an unpleasant emotional response to perceived isolation”. How fun does that sound?

However.

Loneliness has helped me become who I am today. She has served as a wise and kind mentor, helping me learn early on to cultivate a friendship with myself. To feel comfortable in my own company. To this day, time alone is a balm, which means I am never without a friend.

She led me to books from my earliest years, introducing me to the multitude of friends that are found in those pages. My favorite Christmas present was, and is, a new book. Books offer their friendship without hesitation. Pick me up. Read me. I’m always here for you.

My love of reading led me to a love of writing. Words on the page are my way of finding meaning in lived experience. Mine. Yours. Ours. Words on the page connect writer to reader and back again, creating friendships with people we may never meet, but come to know intimately.

Writing led me to speaking. Who knew a shy, introverted, sometimes-lonely girl would love standing on a stage, but she does. Speaking is simply a way to embody the words on the page and bring them to life in the presence of others.

I’ve always been one to forge fewer but deeper friendships. While I still wonder if it might have been better to cultivate more, I wouldn’t trade the depth and connection of those on my friend dance card for one with more names on it.

In conversation with my wise spiritual director, Dane, I was reminded again that the gift of loneliness is intimacy. It invites us to forge deeper connections. With ourselves, others, and the natural world. Often when we’re lonely, we aren’t longing for other people as much as we are for our true self. The one we were created to be, and sometimes leave behind, in an attempt to please others. Loneliness isn’t due to a lack of friends, but a lack of connection to oneself.

Loneliness is an invitation to come back home to myself. And you are always welcome to join me there.

Comings and Goings

Almost before my feet hit the floor I could feel the lump forming in my throat. Standing in the kitchen a few minutes later, the tears started to flow. Sad. Lonely. Discouraged. Those were the companions that greeted me yesterday morning. Feeling the urge to grab ahold of them, I took a slow, deep breath instead. Rather than attach myself to them, I quietly named them out loud. This created a tiny space between me and them. Instead of ramping them up a notch with an old story about what they might have to say about me and my life, I poured a cup of fresh French Press Coffee and took a sip. Tom showed up, poured some coffee, and sat next to me.

Climbing into the red pickup a few minutes later, we headed out to meet a friend at the bottom of the logging road we hike a couple of times each week. I invited my feelings to come along if they wanted, which apparently they did. Twenty minutes later we all headed up the 1.7 mile stretch of hallowed ground found on that ordinary dirt logging road. Three humans and two dogs, my emotions bringing up the rear.

Somewhere along the way my emotional companions must have taken another trail, because when we climbed back into the truck an hour later, they were nowhere to be found.

There was nothing to fix or mend or do with those feelings. They weren’t there to derail my day unless I let them. They simply needed to keep me company for a spell. The tears helped. The deep breaths helped. Naming them helped. Tom simply being there helped. A hike with a friend helped. And coffee helped (duh).

By inviting them along, they were free to take their leave.

Changing Lanes

It might be an overstatement to say that feelings drive my car, but not much of one.

If life were a three lane highway, it is safe to say that I live most of mine in the feeling lane. Yes, I can switch lanes and drive in the thinking or doing lanes, but my default is always feelings first, everything else later. This can make for a tumultuous ride, and at no time has this been more evident than this turbulent year.

When my emotions are of what are typically considered the positive ones, my energy is good. I’m motivated to get things done, can find causes for hope even when things look bleak, and am pretty damn good company to those around me. When overtaken by the darker ones, not so much.

There are three lanes for a reason, and I need to make use of all of them. To lean into thinking and step into doing.

We all have our preferred lane, and can easily fall into our typical patterns of thinking, feeling, or doing. When we find ourselves on auto-pilot, maybe it’s time to change lanes.

Old Friends, Part 2

Two days ago I posted a piece here called Old Friends, about emotions that we’ve known for so long that they have become, well, like old friends. We know them, are comfortable with them, and at times, we need to spend time with them. However, because we are so familiar with them, it is easy to allow them unfettered access to our inner living rooms, and they overstay their welcome.

I have more than one old friend when it comes to emotions, but the one I chose to write about was Melancholy because she has been with me for as long as I can remember. As I was writing about her the other day I decided to call her Mel. It was as if that had been her name all along, I just never thought to call her that before.

As it turns out, giving this emotion a name gives me a new handle on what to do when she shows up. I can greet her by name, as in, Well, hello there Mel. I wasn’t expecting you today, but now that you’re here, what am I going to do with you?

Somehow treating her as an actual visitor gives me some agency over how I will deal with her. Do I invite her in for a good visit? After all, she may have important things to share about what is going on for me at the time. On the other hand, if she simply wants to drop in to rehash the past, again, maybe better to send her on her way.

We had family staying with us the day that blog posted, and after reading it together it started a conversation that is still going on and is expanding to more friends and family. We are having fun (mostly) helping each other figure out exactly who these old friends are, what to name them, why they have been with us for so long, and what to do with them when they show up.

Somehow giving them a name is helping us to learn that just because they are old friends doesn’t mean they get to move in.

Photo by Miriam Espacio from Pexels

Fifteen Minutes

“I have fifteen minutes, and I’d love to spend them with you.” The voice on the other end of the phone belonged to a close friend who was in the midst of his own busy day, and yet was able to find a small window of time for us to connect. A small window was all I needed.

What I was searching for in those fifteen precious minutes was a safe space to say exactly what I wanted to say, unfiltered. I was in need of a place to be heard and seen, and to be able to feel exactly what I was feeling with no attempt made to fix, mollify, or find a silver lining. In that moment there was none to find.

For fifteen minutes he listened, and listened, and listened some more. Safely within the emotional equivalent of a soundproof, padded room, I was able to hear myself speak, and express deep emotions that needed to come out. Those fifteen minutes made it possible to handle the next fifteen. And the next and the next and the next.

We are all in need of safe spaces in which we can show up live and uncensored. Places where we can say what is true in that moment even when what is true is messy, ugly, and broken. It is from there that that we can find our way forward to deal with the mess, discover beauty in our ability to handle what we’ve been handed, and catch a glimpse of how we might put our broken selves back together again. Not put back together as before, but in new ways. Better ways. Stronger, more authentic, and courageous ways. Ways that begin with the gift of fifteen minutes with someone who’d love to spend them with us.

Living With It

There are parts of myself that I wish I could resolve, put to rest, or leave behind. One of those is the feeling of anger that flashes, usually inwardly, but occasionally outwardly. It’s been with me for as long as I can remember, and yet I would love to think that I could unravel this thread that runs through my life, and leave it behind me for good and all. But the more likely truth is that I can’t, and I won’t, so rather than angst about it, I am learning to accept that it, like all the other parts of me, are probably going to stick around until I leave the planet.

It is an important emotion, and I probably couldn’t survive without it. Anger lets me know when something is out of whack, out of balance, or out of order, and conveys that there is something I need to say, do, or consider. However, sometimes it’s just a flash that gets triggered without a call to some sort of action on my part other than to sit with it until it dissipates. I’ve had therapy about it, processed it, prayed, written and talked about it, figured out where it comes from, who it comes from, and yet for better or for worse, it seems to be here to stay, and will be until I die.

I’ve decided that I can live with that.

This Not That

Some mornings we start our days with steel cut oats topped with fruit, almond milk, some nuts, and a little butter and brown sugar for good measure. Each ingredient adds to the whole, but can stand alone on its own. Even the butter. It’s delicious and we both love it. Tom however, chooses to ruin his by stirring it all up together into something I call “glop”. I love oatmeal. I hate glop. It is hard to distinguish one flavor from the other, and it’s not much to look at either.

Stick with me here, but a bowl of glop is a lot like how we can handle interpersonal challenges, especially in our long term relationships. We stir everything up together until it is almost impossible to tell one situation or issue from other ones.

Stirring everything together sounds something like this: You always… You never… This is just like when you… All the ingredients of the current issue get glopped together with a bunch of other ones, until every bite tastes the same, and it is nearly impossible to tell this from that.

Not stirring everything together sounds like this:This morning when you___ I felt… When you didn’t follow through on your commitment, this is how it impacted me. I want to talk to you about something that happened recently. Each issue or situation stands on its own.

Learning to take our issues one at a time and separate one from the other is one of the ways we grow up into the people we are meant to be (a lifelong process). It’s hard work. It means we have to take things as they come, deal with them as they come, and stay in the conversation about them. Some conversations are a one-and-done deal. Others come around again, and again, and again, each time an opportunity to show up more fully and with more personal accountability and ownership for our part of the bargain. And there is always a part of the bargain that is ours.

In my unhealthier moments, I can take a current issue, conflict, or challenging situation, and stir it up with a whole bunch of other ones from the past. Or take one thing and make it about everything. But as I choose to stop, sift through the emotions and particulars of the situation, I am learning to separate this from that, and bring this to the conversation, and leave that out.

Take it from me. It tastes really good.

Photo by Daria Shevtsova from Pexels

Fire Safety

There is a simple fire safety technique called Stop, Drop, and Roll, that is meant to prevent further injury if our clothing ever catches fire. This technique is meant to extinguish the fire by depriving it of the oxygen which fuels it. Most of us probably remember practicing this when we were little kids, and while we hopefully haven’t had to actually put it to use, if we ever did, or do, we will know how to protect ourselves..

Emotions can be a lot like fire. A sudden small spark, if given enough air, can burst into flame and engulf us before we know it. Different emotions enflame different people. One of mine is a sudden inner rage, and while yours might be something different, what they have in common is the need for something to keep them going. We stoke our fire with the stories we tell ourselves in its presence, and without a technique to extinguish it, we continue to fan the flame into a roaring fire that will not only burn us, but can endanger those around us as well.

When it comes to our fiery emotions, maybe we can take a lesson from those three steps we learned in school The next time we feel that first spark of anger, fear, shame, resentment, guilt, anxiety, hatred, or fill-in-your-own-blank, let’s Stop, Sit, and Notice. Literally.

Stop whatever we are doing. The simple act of stopping will slow the fire down.

Sit down on the ground, a chair, our bed, the kitchen counter, or on the floor of our own mind. The simple act of sitting will give us a new vantage point from which to see.

Notice what we notice. The simple act of noticing will give us a chance to name what we see.

With practice, we can learn to catch ourselves sooner.

With practice we can learn what fuels the fire that threatens injury to us, those we love, and the world around us.

With practice we can learn instead to tend the fire that fuels us, our work, and the world within reach of its warmth.

Stop.

Sit.

Notice.

Pexels.com: morin moradi

With gratitude for the wisdom of my sister Margie, and my spiritual director, Dane Anthony.