Attitude

Posted on by stilllearning2b

I’m often complemented on my positive attitude about everything that happened to me.

It hasn’t always been that way.

I was angry. Furious that the person I trusted most in this world betrayed me in the most horrific ways, causing me to lose everything I held sacred. I cursed him. I dreamed violent dreams. I wanted to cause him pain. I lived in a perpetual state of fury with all flames directed at him.

I was bitter. Resentful that I made choices about my schooling and career based on him and then he abandoned me. I focused on the unfairness of the sacrifices I had made for the marriage and for him that he spit upon with his actions.

I was jealous. Envious of others whose spouses stayed faithful or at least stayed around long enough to talk. I compared my situation to others’ and bemoaned my particular tale.

I was ashamed. Embarrassed that his deceptions went on for years and I did not see them.  I questioned myself endlessly and doubted myself constantly.

I was victimized. I saw myself as hapless prey caught in his crosshairs. I focused on what was done to me, keeping myself at the center of his choices.

My attitude couldn’t do anything to change the past. Being angry wouldn’t make him apologize. Being bitter wouldn’t open up new careers. Being jealous wouldn’t make my ex suddenly faithful and honest. Being ashamed wouldn’t make me pick up on the lies any earlier. And being a victim wouldn’t help me learn how to thrive.

I had no control over the past. No way to change what happened. But I could change how I responded to it.

So, slowly, ever so slowly, I did.

I let go of the negativity that was still holding me hostage. It was not an easy road. It took hundreds of miles running on the trails and hundreds of hours on the yoga mat. It took writing a book and writing a blog. It took therapy and friends. It took a new dog and a new love. And, most importantly, it took time.

The truth is that I still feel those negative emotions towards him and what happened. Some days more than others. The difference is that now I don’t allow them to move in. They visit and go on, leaving room for laughter again.

Look at all that teenage attitude!
Look at all that teenage attitude!

It never ceases to amaze me how much of a difference attitude can make. I recently found myself complaining about my Sunday chore of cooking for the week. I was feeling bogged down and tired of the weekly planning, shopping and cooking that takes up a sizable portion of my weekend. I realized that I was viewing this as part of my work week; I was allowing it to steal several hours of my weekend. Then, I decided that was not okay.

I can’t change my need to cook. It is a necessity for my health, my job schedule and my budget.

So I changed my attitude. For the last few weeks, I have approached my weekly cooking task as though I was making preparations for a dinner party. It makes menu planning more interesting and keeps me in a good place while shopping. As for the cooking? Well, that’s now the best part. I first take some time to prepare some veggies, cracker and hummus and arrange them on a plate where I can nibble while I work. Then, I crank up the tunes – they vary according to the mood of the day and can run from bagpipes to death metal. Finally, I pour a glass of Cabernet to sip on while I chop up the endless pile of veggies.

Sunday cooking has gone from a chore to something I actually look forward to.

And all because I changed my attitude.

Taming the Monkey Mind: My Monkey’s Alive

Posted on by stilllearning2b

Monkey channel surfing

Do you ever have one of those days where you just feel a little more alive than usual? Everything just seems a little bit clearer. The breath a little lighter? The focus just a little clearer?

I’ve had one of those days today. It’s just a normal Saturday for me – writing, laundry, meditation, gym and a run, and the weekly trip to the grocery store. Usually, I pass through these activities with barely a thought. I get each one done to move on to the next. By the way, that mentality is the absolute anthesis of meditation. There’s a reason I call myself stilllearning2b:)

Today has been just a little bit different. Perhaps it’s related to the clear, sunny skies after being blanketed by rain for the past week. Maybe I’m feeling the freedom of a Monday off work. Or, possibly my mood was lifted by finally replacing my old, partially working headphones with a new, working pair. It turns out that music sounds much better when you can hear it in both ears. The difference between the old headphones, which haven’t worked right for over a year, and the new was so strong that I actually startled when I pushed “play.” I had grown so accustomed to the static and one-sided sound that the clarity coming through felt bigger than life.

That’s kind of how my whole day has felt. I feel like I’ve fully experienced each action today, from the run along the river to selecting apples at the store. I haven’t felt pressure to get it done or to rush on to the next thing. I haven’t grumbled about having to do chores or run errands.

When I started my meditation challenge, I looked at meditation as a separate part of my day. A time set aside to be mindful. I would get it done and then move on to the next item on the list. I’m finally starting to incorporate mindfulness in each moment, which of course is the ultimate goal.

I need to remember this feeling. I need to remember that monkey mind is alive, not just in those moments when I turn inward and focus on the breath, but all of the time. I need to remember that when I am fully present in each moment, I can find joy even in the mundane. I need to remember that I choose to feel rushed and that I can also choose to feel at peace. I also need to remember not to wait so long to replace my broken headphones next time!

Other adventures of my monkey mind:

Taking the Monkey to the Gym

Shaving the Monkey

My Monkey’s Flinging Poo

Experimenting on the Monkey

Embracing the Monkey

More, Please

Posted on by stilllearning2b

photo-182

My cat has developed a poor habit of late. She herds us towards her dishes and yowls incessantly, asking for more even though her bowls contain adequate amounts of food and water. It’s like she looks at them but doesn’t believe them. She can only be silenced by the sound of the food in the container where we store it. A simple mock pour will placate her for a time until she yet again demands more of what she already has.

It’s an exasperating habit, especially since she seems to be most likely to share her anguish between the hours of two and four. In the morning.

I don’t know what drives her need: fear? confusion? greed? dominance? Or maybe she just finds humor in making her humans dance.

The act, regardless of its motivations, drives me crazy. But I can relate.

There are times in my life when I exclaim that I do not have enough instead of seeing what I actually have.

“I don’t have enough time.”

Yes I do. But this sentence shifts the responsibility off of me and onto the rapidity of the earth’s rotations. Clever, huh? What I really mean when I use this phrase is that the purposed actions are not important enough for me to make time. Time is there. It’s up to me how I allocate it. It’s also up to me to learn to take responsibility for that.

“I don’t have enough money.”

This one is fear talking. I have enough money to live, to pay my bills and have some fun. What I don’t have is enough money to sooth my anxiety, a fallback fund large enough to quell fears about the future. I’m (slowly) working to build that fund, but in the meantime, I can work on the fears, many of which are rooted in unreality.

“I don’t have enough stuff.”

Yup, confusion talking here. It’s all too easy to get caught up in the idea that happiness can be bought. I find myself flipping through catalogues or fighting the urge to hit the stores when I am unsettled in some way. Material goods will only distract for a short time. Happiness can only be found within. And, the reality? I have the stuff I need.

“I don’t have enough followers/likes/comments/book sales.”

Let’s be honest. It’s nice to have people want to hear what you have to say. It’s nice to be appreciated. respected. It’s nice, but it’s also a slippery slope. It’s easy to get carried away with the numbers game, only feeling validated when they reach some ever-increasing quantity. The problem then is that you never feel satisfied with what you have.  I’m working on bringing my yogic mind to blogging and accepting what is rather than wasting energy wishing for more.

How often do we fail to see what we really have? How often do we wish for more than we need? Look at what you have before bemoaning what you want.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go. My cat is yowling for more food.

 

 

Learning to Breathe

Posted on by stilllearning2b

I’ve never been very good at breathing. 

My childhood was spent with perpetual croup, the seal-barking cough echoing through the house at all hours.  Eventually, I was diagnosed with asthma, my lungs plied with drugs that were supposed to encourage them to relax.  Regardless of the dosages and names of the medications, I always failed my lung function tests at the allergists.  I wasn’t used to failing tests, but I didn’t know how to study for that one.

I adapted to my lungs.  I knew when an attack was about to have me helpless in its clutches, I knew when pneumonia was setting in.  I let my lungs call the shots and we had an agreement that I would work within their constraints.

Then, one day soon after my 30th birthday, I grew tired of the bondage.  I turned the tables on my lungs and informed them I wanted to start running.  This was a laughable goal, as I had never even completed the mile running in school.  But I was determined.

I started at a local park with a .75 mile loop.  My first try was a humbling experience.  You see, I was in shape.  I lifted weights and could do cardio.  I just couldn’t run.  Within moments of beginning, my chest heaved, my breathing was rapid and gasping.  I was taking in air as though threatened, as though the next breath would never come.  I made it one full loop that first day, but I still didn’t know how to run.

Over the next few weeks, I kept at it, returning to the park 3-4 times a week.  I starting to trust my body.  Believe in my breath.  I worked to consciously slow my breathing, pulling air deep down into the unused basement of my lungs.  As I learned to breathe, I was able to increase my mileage to the point where I outgrew that park in the next two months.

My breath training extended to yoga.  I had been practicing since I was in high school, but I always focused on the positions and movements, not the airflow.  Running had brought the breath to consciousness; yoga taught me how to use the breath to calm and energize the body.

Then July came.  Disaster struck.  I lost contact with my breath, but I didn’t even realize it.  I just knew my chest felt constricted, wrapped in bindings carried in by the trauma.  I wasn’t able to run or to do yoga, getting even further out of touch with my lungs.  It finally took a third party to make the re-introduction; a therapist at a meditation and yoga retreat that autumn after my breath left me.

I lay on the floor of her office, cradled in a soft, fuzzy blanket.  She kneeled next to me, her voice soothing and calm.  She spoke to my breath, encouraging it to return, assuring it that I was ready to make its acquaintance once again.  She spoke to me, telling me to trust my breath, to allow it deep into my lungs.

My chest began to rise, the bindings loosening.  As the oxygen flowed in, I felt grounded.  Whole.  Reconnected.

My breath and I still have a complicated relationship.  I frequently don’t find it until a couple miles into a run or 10 minutes into a yoga practice.  I still have to encourage it, willing it back into my body, especially when I find myself gripped my stress.  It may at times be a tumultuous relationship, but I have no intention of loosing connection with my breath again.

Everything Has Changed But the Birthdate

Posted on by stilllearning2b
English: Shoes in a shop
English: Shoes in a shop (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I had to buy a new pair of shoes the other day. I visited a store where I have a shopper’s card that gives me coupons for each purchase made. The problem? I have no idea where the card has migrated to. At the checkout, the cashier asked if I was member. I replied, “Yes, but I have no idea where my card is.”

“No problem. We’ll just look you up in the system.”

Well, she didn’t know it yet, but that was certainly a problem. I knew that I had accessed the account and updated some information during the past three years, but I no idea what current combination lived in their system.

“Phone number?”

I gave her my number. No matches.

“Name?”

Again, I replied. Again, no success.

“Email?”

The machine responded, “No matches.”

“Address?”

At this request, My mind blurred. I’ve had five addresses in three years. I gave up.

Then, a flash. I realized that I hadn’t purchased shoes there since I received a new phone and accompanying number. I gave her my old phone number – the one I sought out after my husband left to provide a layer over my old life.

Success. It pulled up my married name, the address of my apartment that I got one year out from sudden singledom, and a temporary email that I used for a brief period.

Everything had changed but the birth date.

She updated the account with my current information. Which, other than the address, should remain fairly constant for the forseeable future.

It was a moment of reflection for me. I no longer identify with the woman that had those other data points. I am no longer the innocently married woman that carried his name. I no longer have that phone number that was sought out in the initial fear and desperation of those early days. I no longer live alone; I have now found a new and happy relationship. The email addresses I have now reflect the success of my new life with the writing and the coaching. And, as for the birth date, I will keep that one happily, for each year has brought more wisdom and gratitude than the one before.

Oh, and the shoes are cute too!