When storms roll in…

To improve the golden moment of opportunity and catch the good that is within our reach is the great art of life.

~ Samuel Johnson ~

I wrote, not so long ago, about lighthouses and the way we are each responsible for our very own light and for keeping our windows clear so that we can shine that good, that light out into the world. What I didn’t address then was what happens when a big old storm moves through and covers those shiny windows in thick salt spray and debris. I’m going to go out on a limb and write about that today, I think. Here goes…

I went to the new Woody Allen movie with my family yesterday – it’s quite good, and the footage of Paris is fantastic, but before that film began, we had to sit through the usual banal pre-show. Not inspiring in any way, so as the previews began to roll, I wasn’t paying much attention. There were the usual short pieces – including that one where the baby cries, which still gets me every time. Then the trailer was one for a movie that will be released soon, I guess, about a guy who becomes a body double for the crazed son of a Middle Eastern dictator – one you would recognize instantly. This doesn’t have to do with that movie so much as the fact that the MPAA seems not to care about showing incredibly graphic trailers before PG-13 movies. I don’t know – maybe they don’t control that, but I wish someone did. Generally, this kind of incongruent showing of previews bothers me more for the sake of the kids in the audience but this time, my concern has more to do with me and any other trauma sensitive folks in the crowd. I don’t want to perpetuate that here, but trust me – there was plenty shown that really didn’t need to be. Triggers going off, left and right, for what seemed like a lot longer than a few minutes.

Then the feature came on, and I relaxed into the quirky mind of Mr. Allen and happily meandered through 1920’s Paris, meeting many of the artists and writers I have long admired. And I thought that I was fine. Didn’t give it much thought, really, until I woke up in a cold sweat in the wee hours of the morning, terrified. The storm had swept in and raged in my subconscious mind – before I knew what was happening, I found myself in total darkness, barely able to breathe, muscles tensed, in full on fight or flight mode. Not sure whether to flee or stay and do battle. Given my history, I no longer add self hatred to this mix – a gift, believe me – but it’s hard to fall back into this pattern. It is so not where I want to live. And I had worked so very hard to keep my windows clear, to let light both in and out. It’s exhausting to even think of doing the work – again, again, again? – to get myself out of the aftermath of yet another storm.

I forced myself to get up, to let the dog out – he never gets up in the night, but seemed to know that I needed a reason to rise at 2:30, to breath deeply. I read some favorite words, breathed some more, stretched my body out and grounded myself a little. I did my metta practice for myself, for those like me, for those portrayed in the movie and those who thought it wise to put it on film, for all of us. And gradually, things began to clear just a little. I slept for a couple hours and woke up realizing that what truly bothered me what not the all too realistic depiction of mania and torture, but the fact that this fellow – a guy I knew nothing about – had no choice but to become someone he is not. Or it sure seemed that way to me.

Given that I spent most of my life convinced that I needed to be anyone but who I actually am, I find that scenario terrifying. I know the damage it can do on so many levels. Physical illness has been the most obvious for me and many others, but it seems that mental illness, anger, depression and all sorts of common ills can stem from the strong drive many of us feel to fulfill the needs of others before ourselves. To be clear, I don’t mean that helping others is a bad thing. I am talking about what that trailer showed so clearly in just a few minutes. When we spend our days trying to act, speak, think and even alter our physical appearance to be someone we are not, nothing good happens. Nothing. And maybe that’s what the film makers were trying to get at. I hope so – and I hope that viewers take that, and only that, with them when they leave the theatre.

As for me, well… I am trying to be kind to myself today, to remember that being highly sensitive is not necessarily a character flaw, that being vulnerable can actually be an act of courage. My thinking lately is that I don’t need to psychoanalyze myself every time this sort of thing happens. I know my own wiring and that there are plenty of reasons I react strongly to seeing anyone – even a fictional character – tormented in any way. It seems that the work, these days, is to accept that part of myself, to take care to recognize what is happening and neither brush it aside or let it take over, to figure out what I can learn from what scares me. I need to love myself enough to look at the fear calmly and clearly.

And then? It’s back to tending my own light so that it burns steadily and keeping the windows clear, so that the light can travel easily in both directions. It’s about doing my part to continue to catch the good, even on days like these.

I just took a break from writing – I often come back to this and review it before posting – and checked my email. A favorite stalling technique. Anyway, for some reason, one from my friend, Corinne, just popped up, even though it is from last Friday. Interesting, the timing. It is all about light and dark and days like these. The ones we all have. In it, she reminded me of a favorite quote that we must have both read in The Gifts of Imperfection. Just the thing to end this post with, thanks very much.

People are like stained-glass windows. They sparkle and shine when the sun is out, but when the darkness sets in, their beauty is revealed only if there is a light from within. ~

~ Elisabeth Kubler-Ross ~

failing and flailing…

To be wrong is nothing unless you continue to remember it.

Today has been one of those days when it feels like I am wandering around
dark skies pretty aimlessly. I am still a little (maybe more than a little) jetlagged,
I guess. Or maybe that’s just the story I am using.

I am just trying to remember that no matter how spectacularly I fail, or how wrong
I have been, or what I may or may not have screwed up, it doesn’t really matter.
What matters is that I showed up, that I cared, that I tried.

And I will try again tomorrow. I will.

As summer comes…

All things change, nothing is extinguished. There is nothing in the whole world which is permanent. Everything flows onward; all things are brought into being with a changing nature; the ages themselves glide by in constant movement.

The seasons are changing again. Summer is very much in the air here and will be coming soon to you, too, I am certain. And the sultry weather makes me think about change in general. I wonder if a lot my own suffering, over the years, has had to do with the tendency I had to resist transitions, new things, any variation in my life. I wanted serenity so much that I clung to old patterns long after they had stopped being positive ones. And I see this behavior in so many of us – it seems to be one of the most difficult ones to alter in any way.

Here is what I have learned: change is good. Big, small – it doesn’t matter. We grow only through letting go, through shifting, through opening up to possibilities beyond our wildest imagination. Beyond what we already know.

Clearly, I am not the first to figure this out. And I hope I am not the last.

The universe is change; our life is what our thoughts make it.