End of November Update

It's late in the day, on the last day of November, and I wanted to check back in on my "New"vember Resolutions. I did not write a blog post every day in November like I set out to do--BUT--I did write ten, if you count this one (which we are, because I'm the one who gets to keep the count!) I am not disappointed in myself. In fact, I'm very proud of myself for that accomplishment. There was a time in my life, not so very long ago, when I would only have been able to feel failure and shame and a sense of having let myself and others down in a situation like this. But that isn't where I am any more, thank God. Sure, I only got a third of the way to my goal, but I made progress, and that's really and truly what matters. It doesn't necessarily matter how big our steps are or how many we take; it just matters that we keep putting one foot in front of the other and taking those steps. Also, I wrote about things that were meaningful to me, and I think meaningful to others, based on feedback I have received. That definitely matters! I would rather write ten meaningful posts, than thirty posts that weren't impactful. Thank you for going on this journey with me and for cheering me on. That also matters! I'm really pleased with this place of hope, beauty, and magic I've created and will continue to exercise my writing muscles with the hopes of making it an even more amazing place over time. 

Two Bare Feet in the Water Kind of Brave

 

I know it's kind of weird to start a blog post with a picture of my feet. I personally find almost all feet to be off-putting, so I won't blame you if you cringe at the sight. But this may be the most meaningful picture I've taken in a while, so let me share the story of what these two bare feet in the water represent. 

I almost never have two days off work in a row, but this past Friday and Saturday, I did. When I found out that was going to be the case a couple of weeks ago, I honestly kind of panicked a little because I knew my kids weren't going to be home during that time, and it seemed like an unfathomable vacuum of quiet space to fill. Facing that quiet in a home normally teeming with noise and activity seemed like a burden I was not properly equipped to bear. So, I planned an overnight trip for myself to a rural area, with the hopes of facing the quiet in a place where quiet seemed normal instead of ridiculously out of place. It seemed like a good plan, and it was. But what I didn't think about at the time was that it was going to be the beginning of many uncomfortable, but brave, steps for me.

Let me pause there for just a moment. I have written about bravery before on this blog, and I want to reiterate that acts of bravery are defined by the person engaged in the acts. Your brave may look different than my brave because we are all wired to experience anxiety differently. What may be easy for you may be quite difficult for me and vice versa. Please keep that in mind as you continue to read my story of bravery. Some of you will be tempted to think, "What's so brave about that?!" And some of you will think, "Wow! That IS brave. I could never do that." But this is MY story of bravery, and it's okay if it isn't the same as YOUR story of bravery. 

Ok, so I planned this trip, and as the day approached to leave, I just started feeling anxious and thinking about all the things: staying in a hotel by myself for the the first time ever, hiking alone in an area I'm unfamiliar with, wondering if I would even have cell service, filling the quiet moments AWAY from home, overcoming potential weather challenges, spending money I wasn't sure if it was wise to spend, etc. etc. in a spiral. Anxiety is like that. It can take something that is supposed to be fun, insert all kinds of irrational fears about unknowns, and turn it into something scary. On the morning I was to head out, I found a number of reasons to delay my departure. But I finally took a deep breath, threw my stuff in the car, hit play on my audiobook, and got on the road. It was my first true act of bravery for this trip. But it wouldn't be the last.

The place I planned to hike was absolutely gorgeous, and I was excited to hit the trail by the time I got there. Interestingly, being alone in nature makes me feel less alone than even being with a crowd of people. And I know myself well enough to know this, which was why I planned a hiking adventure in the first place. Nature allows me to really breathe and to connect with myself and with forces that are bigger than me, so I never really experience loneliness when I'm out in it. This particular area was replete with trails, and I had no real plan going into it about which ones I would take or avoid. When I came to the first fork in the path, I chose the one to the left--not from any mystical knowing or intuitive leading--but simply because the family with several small children walking near me chose the path to the right. Not long after making my choice, I was faced with a situation that required me to make another choice, one that would truly test my bravery.

I came to a small stream with a series of medium and large stones scattered across it, which appeared to be the path itself. However, I quickly realized that halfway across the stream, the stones were being swallowed by ankle deep water. Leaves crowded the steep, muddy bank on the other side, making it difficult to see whether the stones ran out or if something might be hiding by the edge of the water. What I could see was that climbing up the bank on the other side would take some maneuvering and would likely be a little messy. I also knew the temperature outside the water was hovering around 60 degrees, and I assumed the water would feel much colder than that. I knew if I crossed with my shoes on, my shoes and socks would end up wet and cold, and sloshing through the rest of my hiking trip would not be much fun. I knew if I crossed without my shoes, I would have step into the cold water with my bare feet. Neither of those seemed like particularly amazing options. I also knew there was a third option: turning back and avoiding the choice, but that was not one I was especially excited about.

I'll pause again here for some important background information. I do not go around barefoot ever--not in my own home, and certainly not outdoors. I put shoes on when I get out of the shower in the morning and I keep them on until I slide into my bed at night. Laugh if you will, but being shoed (or at least socked) is just a part of being Mandi. Also, I really, really, really hate being cold. Under normal conditions, my temperature runs on the cool side, and I am essentially always chilled, so I intentionally avoid putting myself in situations I know are going to make me colder. Finally, while I could sit beside a body of water looking and listening all day long, I do not enjoy having my body or parts of my body submerged in water (with the exception of a really hot shower or a really nice hot tub). And I am especially uninterested in cold water and water I can't see through. 

So, there I was on the edge of a stream needing to make a decision. A knot twisted in my gut, and I sat down on a large stone to assess the situation. I took a long, slow breath, and then I said out loud to the empty forest and myself, "You've got to move forward. It's time to be brave." This was about crossing the stream, yes, but it also held a larger life meaning for me. I started unlacing my shoes and bracing myself for an onslaught of uncomfortable. And it was uncomfortable. The stones on my side of the stream were large and flat, but as the stones started disappearing under the water mid-stream, they became smaller and more wobbly and a little sharper. And the water was downright frigid. And when I reached the other side, leaves completely blocked the step just before the bank. Was there going to be another stone there or a deep drop-off? Would there be a creature hiding underneath? And then there was the matter of the ascent up the steep, muddy bank. There were no great handholds and the unforgiving bank was riddled with roots and twigs and other objects not friendly to bare feet. 

But once I had announced it was time to be brave and had put two feet in the water, I was committed. I ended up with some cold, wet, dirty feet that carried a couple of small cuts and scrapes. But I did it! And then, I did it again, when I realized the trail I had chosen was an out and back with no other routes to the main hiking area. And I'll be honest, I had to work myself up with a deep breath the second time as well. But I was so proud of myself for being brave, for stepping out of my comfort zone (or, more accurately, all my comfort zones), for doing the thing I wasn't sure I could do, and for following a path that lead me to a new and beautiful place. 

My nature is not one of bravery. I have struggled most of my life with anxiety, and I have spent more time than I'm proud to admit seeking out easy, comfortable, and safe paths or allowing those who are braver than I am to lead the way while I step only where they step and follow only the path they lay out. But life has a way of creating opportunities for each of us to choose to be brave. And sometimes we just have to say to ourselves, "You've got to move forward. It's time to be brave." Let me be clear: I don't always want to be brave. I sometimes even resent having to make the choice to be brave. And there are times when I definitely don't choose bravery...and I don't always feel bad about that. But that doesn't change the fact that there are always opportunities to choose bravery.

My hiking story doesn't end with me saying, "And that turned out to be the most beautiful path in the whole park, and I would have missed it if I hadn't taken the risk and been brave!" There were many paths that were more lovely and that were much easier to traverse. But that path was probably the most important for me, because it gave me the opportunity to be brave. And bravery was what I needed to level up in my personal growth at that moment. Engaging in acts of bravery helps us trust ourselves. And trusting ourselves is everything. And, from now on, every time I see this picture of my two bare feet in the water, I will remember a time I chose to be brave and I will trust myself just a little bit more.

No life without death

Imagine:

The wind blows--maybe gently or maybe violently--enough to shake a seed free from it's parent plant, which may be a small, insignificant weed or a majestic, towering tree. Depending on the weight of that seed, it either sails along on the breeze until the wind loses its breath and sets it down in some far-flung location, or it plummets swiftly to the hard earth with a thud. It may sit on the ground neglected for years. Or it may be snapped up by the sharp, unforgiving beak of a passing bird and deposited far away and left bruised. Eventually, though, it sinks into the dirt, moving further and further into the darkness. It is isolated and apparently cut off completely from the world it once knew. It settles into the isolation and seems to disappear completely. But above the surface of that never ending night, the sun keeps coming up every day. Water from unknown sources finds its way to the seed and offers whatever nourishment it can give. And after the appropriate amount of time, something strange begins to happen inside the seed. Something from within reaches for the light that isn't even visible. Some instinct demands that it take in the water as it flows all around. The seed does not remain the same. In fact, it is ultimately destroyed. Its shell is shattered, and it can no longer even be called a seed. But in its place a new, beautiful, life-giving entity emerges. And when it has left the darkness behind for good, it continues to move toward the light, becoming a more beautiful, more perfect version of what it was all along. 

It's interesting that the process of growth and life can feel so much like death and destruction. It's fascinating that something so beautiful can come from such difficult circumstances. Truly, it is the only way. The seed was always meant to become something amazing. But it never could have done so without the process that seemed like death. 

As it is with plants, so it is with people. Let us not resist the process that makes us who we are meant to be, even if it feels like death at times. And when we find ourselves buried in the darkness, let us not be overwhelmed by fear. Rather, let us keep reaching for those things and people who nourish us. Parts of us will surely be destroyed in the process, but that is okay. That's how growth works. The beautiful, life-giving parts of us will remain, and that is our gift to the world. 

Be the friend who brings the light

I had a really rough day yesterday. I was down and feeling lonely, and I could feel myself starting to spiral into the depths of depression and anxiety. I do try pretty hard to combat these types of feelings, but I'm human, and the feelings were definitely winning the battle yesterday. Just as I was about ready to crawl into bed and possibly never come out, I got a notification on my phone. It was a text from a friend who said she just wanted to see how I was doing. It truly felt like a ray of sunshine on a dark day. A little later, my phone dinged again. It was another friend (not a mutual friend with the first) texting to say she had been thinking about me and just wanted to check on me. Another ray of sunshine. 

For a person in a dark place, any ray of sunshine matters because even the smallest light dispels the darkness. I have also been the sender of such texts and have been told by the friends who received them that they came at just the right time and that they made a difference. I often have the experience of having a person--whether a close friend or random acquaintance--pop into my head for seemingly no particular reason. I may not know why, but I try to heed the voice when I recognize it. It literally just takes a few seconds to send them a text or a DM and let them know they are on my mind, that they are seen and cared for. And I know from experience that those few seconds can make a big impact on the other end. It's easy to let the moment pass. It's easy to be much too busy or distracted to take the time. But people are interconnected, and if someone is on your mind, I believe it can be incredibly meaningful to them to let them know. You may not even know they need the light you have to offer (they may not even know they need it themselves until they receive it), but offer it anyway. Your light will make a difference. I promise. 

I like you just the way you are

A friend of mine posted this picture on Facebook this morning, and I have not been able to stop thinking about it. First of all, I just love Mr. Rogers! I think he has a lot to teach us about kindness and inclusivity and really seeing and loving people. The first time my youngest son ever saw an episode of Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood, he sat there mesmerized and then said, "It's like he can see you through the TV!" I think we can all relate to wanting to be seen.

I love the quote in the above picture because I think what we all want more than anything is for at least one person to like us just the way we are--no strings, conditions, judgements, qualifiers, or need to prove our worth. This isn't the same as liking/loving someone "no matter what," because that statement implies a judgement and a disappointment. It implies that the receiver of the message messed up somehow but the giver is choosing to like them anyway, which is a form of forgiving love we all definitely need in our lives sometimes. More often than not, the receiver didn't actually mess up; they just didn't meet the giver's expectations. Love is frequently conditional on the extent to which we perceive other people meet our expectations. But what we so often lack across all of our relationships, regardless of how intimate they are, is someone who will like/love us just as we are, without trying to change us or wishing we were different in some way. There are implied judgements in almost every interaction. They usually happen automatically, without us ever thinking about them. Sometimes love is lacking completely in these situations, and sometimes the subsequent "no matter what" love follows. But I have interacted with enough people and have known myself long enough now to know for sure that what most of us would give anything for is at least one person in our lives that likes us just as we are. 

I feel like the American culture is very divisive and quick to look for things that we don't like about other people--their politics, their skin color, their sexual orientation, their religious beliefs (or lack thereof), their approach to parenting, their clothing, their ideas about how to best protect themselves during a never-before-seen global pandemic, their natural levels of anxiety (or confidence), their material wealth. The list goes on and on. In our families, we are quick to tie our affection to how people perform (or don't perform). For example, we make it clear through our body language, if not through our spoken words, that the love we have for our kids is connected with how well they perform academically, if they win at sports, whether they keep their rooms clean or help out with chores, or whether they date the people we deem appropriate. When kids don't meet parental expectations in those areas (and many others), most parents feel frustrated but offer the "no matter what" love, which, while well-intended, still often feels to our kids like judgement rather than love and leaves them feeling as if they are not good enough or that they don't measure up. Even in our own minds, we struggle to say, "I like you just the way you are." 

I believe the way we show up in the world, in our homes, and in our own minds matters. I believe the words we use are powerful. I can't control how other people show up in the world, but I can control how I do. And I want to be the kind of person who shows up and says, "I like you just the way you are." This is not something I have perfected, by any means, but it is something I'm striving for and working on every day. I would also like to challenge you to drop your expectations and be open to saying to and showing others that you like them just the way they are. See the good and be the good.

It isn't love; it isn't hate; it's just indifference

I am a very emotional being. I have big feelings on both the positive and negative sides of the spectrum. I have a tendency to "feel" things that aren't even really feelings. And, as a bonus, I'm an empath, so I also feel the feelings of everyone else as well. For much of my life, I didn't even attempt to control my feelings (or emotional outbursts in certain private situations) because I thought that was just how I was meant to show up in the world--moved, for better or worse, by everything that happened. But in the last couple of years, I have made a practice of studying Stoic philosophy, and have been learning that it is often preferable--possibly even magical--to take a position of indifference. 

One of my favorite Stoic philosophers, Marcus Aurelius, had a lot to say about cultivating an attitude of indifference. Interestingly, most of the things he had to say about it were written in his private journal, which later became a book called Meditations. They were admonitions and reminders to himself about how he wanted to show up in the world, regardless of what his nature might be, which I suspect, based on his writings, might have had a similar emotional bent to mine. His goal was to improve himself as a person, to fight with every breath to combat the baser parts of his innate tendencies, and to become master of his emotions. A quote of his that has been meaningful and empowering to me is this: "You always own the option of having no opinion. There is never any need to get worked up or to trouble your soul about things you can't control. These things are not asking to be judged by you. Leave them alone." In other words: "You have a choice. You don't have to be moved by everything that happens. You have permission to be indifferent." 

Have you ever been betrayed or hurt by someone you cared about deeply? If so, you understand that deep feelings don't just change overnight or because you will them to or even because another person hurts you. So what do you do with all those emotions? Where do they go? Very often, feelings of love or affection quickly turn to hate because loving a person who hurt you feels like it it no longer acceptable. I heard somewhere that the opposite of love is not hate but indifference and that you know you are healing when you start to feel indifference instead of hatred. Love and hate are actually just two ends of the same big emotion, but the opposite of either of them is indifference. This is a somewhat easy concept to understand academically, but for people who feel all the things, it's hard not to get worked up and let hate fester when love doesn't feel like an option. But hate is a heavy burden to carry. And my continued study of Stoic philosophy keeps reminding me that indifference is always an option, and usually a better one. You don't have to love the person who hurt you. But neither do you need to hate them. You own the option of having no opinion, which is where your power lies.

I have similar goals for my emotional life that I imagine Marcus Aurelius had. I want to grow as a person, and I want to combat my baser tendencies. I want to control my emotions and not let them control me. It is very hard work, but good and necessary. I have to consciously capture my thoughts and ask, "Do I need to have an opinion about this? Will it change anything, other than my peace of mind, if I get worked up over it?" I have to constantly remind myself that indifference is a valid option. It doesn't mean that I don't care at all. It means I choose the things to care about, and that I can even care about them deeply. I just don't have to get worked up over things I have no control over. And in that, there is peace and there is power.

I have a sort if silly example of embracing indifference. It was when my oldest son, a natural born debater, hit the logic stage of development--a stage that insists on questioning authority and arguing about anything and everything. At some point, I grew weary of the constant battles and debates over literally everything, and I decided that I simply wouldn't express an opinion and I wouldn't engage. Instead, I would only answer with, "Ok, cool, " neither agreeing nor disagreeing. It drove my son crazy because what he really wanted was to get a rise out of me or best me with his stellar arguments. And when he didn't, the "game" was no longer fun. I chose to have no opinion and to not get worked up about any of it, which created a bit more peace in our household. Being indifferent to all of the little debates did not make me indifferent to my son. I still loved him deeply, but I owned the option of having no opinion in certain situations.

So many situations are not asking to be judged by me, and I can simply leave them alone. I think our culture promotes attitudes of outrage, and people seem to be ready to get worked up over even the smallest things, especially on social media outlets where they feel they have a bit anonymity. But all this getting worked up isn't necessary, and it isn't healthy. Most things are not asking to be judged by us and we can simply leave them alone. This doesn't mean we become heartless, which is sometimes what people think Stoic philosophy is about. I can still shed a few tears with the woman in the drive-thru who just came from a doctor's appointment where she received a diagnosis of cancer. I can still hold my sobbing child who doesn't even know why he's sobbing. I can check in with a friend who is having a rough time and offer listening ears to anyone who needs them. I can care deeply. But I also own the option of having no opinion, of being indifferent. And I can tell you from personal experience, there is something magical about indifference, especially if you are a very feely person. It takes training, and it's not easy, but if you can get to that point, it is very freeing.

Happiest Person You Know

Recently, my middle son came home from school and told me he had been given an attendance quiz in one of his classes that asked, "Who is the happiest person you know?" He told me a little shyly that he had answered that I was that person. I was flattered, of course, but also somewhat surprised. I do try to be positive most of the time, but, I'll be honest, I have cried more tears in the last two years than I have cried in the whole rest of my life combined. And just a few days earlier, he and I had had a disagreement that did not evoke happy feelings from either of us. But somehow, despite all that, he is still able to see me as the happiest person he knows. To me, it was a realization that the effort I put into personal growth every day is paying off. I am definitely not happy all the time. I lose my temper. I get depressed. I have anxious thoughts. But I try really hard to shut down negative thought patterns when I notice them. And I work diligently and consciously at replacing negative thoughts with positive ones. This work creates pockets of peace in a naturally anxious mind, and in those pockets, happiness starts to grow. I felt inspired by my son's answer to the quiz question to try to continue to be that person for him and for the other people I interact with and especially for myself. As I mentioned in yesterday's post, I can't stand fake, so I'm definitely not attempting to gain the appearance of happy for the sake of some social media post. I genuinely want to keep growing into and becoming, not only the happiest person my son knows, but one of the happiest people everyone knows. My outward life is a reflection of my inner peace. And the more I cultivate peace in my mind, the happier I become. 

I'm curious: Who is the happiest person you know, and why?

Pretend You're Good At It

We've all heard the saying, "Fake it 'til you make it." It sounds catchy, but it actually sucks as a life philosophy. Ask me how I know. I know because I have tried many times throughout my life to make it my life philosophy, and have always been disappointed by it. First of all, it starts with a word that immediately gets my hackles up. I can't stand fake. I yearn for real and authentic, and fake things and people just leave me feeling distrustful and annoyed. But my other problem with this way of living is the "make it" part. How do you know when you've "made it?" And what is "it" anyway? It feels like a pretty hollow end goal. In my experience, there are many times when you actually just keep faking it indefinitely because there's really no stopping point once you start faking life. Or you give up trying to "make it" because you grow weary of the faking it.

A friend of mine recently posted on Facebook an alternative life philosophy: "Face it 'til you make it." To me, this is better because instead of faking feelings you don't feel, you can face the ones you do feel and become master of them. 

But the philosophy I'm enjoying even more right now is "Pretend you're good at it," which was a piece of advice given to journalist and author Jenny Lawson after she published her first book and literally ran sick with anxiety from the studio while recording the audio version. She said she felt there was no way she could do this thing that was in front of her and she felt paralyzed with fear and anxiety. She texted a friend from the bathroom and conveyed her panic, and "Pretend you're good at it" was the reply. This piece of advice gave her the strength to go back in the studio and finish the recording with confidence. She says she still often writes that message on her arm when she has to do a task she doesn't like or isn't excited about or one that gives her anxiety. She shared this story in her second book, Furiously Happy, which I recently listened to and highly recommend if you want to laugh out loud--sometimes at wildly inappropriate things--while gaining a greater understanding of and appreciation for depression and anxiety.

Pretending and faking aren't really all that different in practice, I guess, but the connotations are vastly different in my opinion. Whereas faking feels charged with negative energy from the outset, pretending feels fun and whimsical, like something you did as a child--not to be devious but just because your mind was open to a wider variety of possibilities. Also, the end seems more defined, so it doesn't demand you accomplish some nebulous goal. And the time frame seems limited to the present instead of stretching out into the abyss of forever. This philosophy asks you to pretend just for this moment that you are good at just this one thing in front of you that you are struggling with by asking some relatively simple questions. How would a person who is good at this approach it? What would a person who was good at this say or do or think or feel? To me, it seems to take a lot of pressure off and makes facing the challenges of life seem more approachable. 

I spend a significant amount of time at work training new baristas. And though many people don't realize it, it is a pretty demanding job that requires a variety of physical and mental skills in order to be done successfully. All new baristas feel overwhelmed at first and usually struggle with some aspects of the many roles. A girl I recently trained was struggling on our drive-thru training day to make small talk with customers at the drive-thru window. She admitted to me that she is a little shy and doesn't feel comfortable talking to strangers. With Ms. Lawson's book top of mind, I assured her she didn't have to be good at it, but I wondered if she could just pretend she was good at it for a bit while we completed our training. I could see in her perfectionist eyes that she was relieved to not have to be good at it and that pretending she was might not be so bad. She said she would give it a try, and then she stepped up to the window and began chatting with the customer about the weather or some other innocuous topic. A day or two later, I heard from the store manager that she had worked at the window on a subsequent shift and had done a wonderful job connecting with customers. I'm sure she didn't suddenly find an interest in small talk. But I think she must have been able to find a way to pretend she was good at it.

We all struggle with different things from time to time. And it's absolutely okay to struggle. We don't have to be good at everything we try. But maybe we could pretend it be good at those things just long enough to help us get through them. 

Breathe in Happy

Yesterday I wrote about finding quiet places, and I briefly mentioned something that has helped me quiet my mind is meditation. I wanted to expound on my meditation practice a little and share a bit about how it started and how it's going. 

First of all, when I initially envisioned meditation, I pictured silent, robed monks with shaved heads wandering around in beautiful, but ridiculously remote, mountains, who spent the better part of the day engaged in this mysterious practice. Aside from hanging out in beautiful mountains, I could not see myself having this experience. It honestly seemed torturous rather than peaceful and not like something I would be interested in. 

When I got in to yoga several years ago, meditation was sort of part of the package. I didn't have to put on a robe or shave my head and was encouraged instead to simply focus on my breath. I loved the idea of that, but my mind was the furthest thing from quiet you can imagine, and I really couldn't even spend a few minutes focusing just on my breath. My mind kept darting all over the place, which then created anxiety that I was "doing it wrong," which made my mind bounce even more. As with all things, I got better at it the more I did it, but I still felt like I needed something to ground my mind and something that felt a bit more solid than my breath. 

A couple of years ago I went through the most difficult experience of my life to date, and my mind needed grounding more than ever. That was when I created a two-minute meditation routine for myself (because two minutes seemed like a time commitment I could realistically commit to). Since I wanted to focus on my breath, I decided to tie specific thoughts to my in-breaths and my out-breaths. Further, I decided to make those thoughts opposite pairs, taking in the attributes I wanted to see in myself and releasing those that felt like a burden. I would choose five to ten characteristics, always beginning with the same two: Breathe in happy; breathe out sad. I put an alert on my phone to pop up three times a day entitled "Breathe." When I would see the alert, I would give myself permission to stop what I was doing for just two minutes to breathe in the positive and breathe out the negative. I truly think this practice saved me in the early weeks and months of my personal tragedy. (In truth, it may be saving me still.) And eventually, I didn't need to say the words in my head because my body and mind just knew what each breath meant, and my mind was quiet enough to finally just focus on the breathing. And I didn't need the phone reminders anymore because I could engage in the practice any time I needed or wanted to. (However, I still have the alerts in place to this day because they kind of feel like good friends now, and because some days are busier and more distracted than others and it doesn't hurt to be reminded.) My mind is still not as quiet as I would like for it to be, but I don't feel like it's an exaggeration to say the two-minute meditation has been a life-changing practice for me. 

If you're looking for a place to start with meditation, here is a sample of how I got started. It can be done anywhere because it's literally just breathing, and you can adjust your paired thoughts according to your own needs and the amount of time you have available. You can say the same words every time, or change them up to match up with what you are dealing with at any given time. I also incorporate them into my bedtime yoga routine, adding particular stretches to the breaths. Say the words in your mind as you take deep breaths in to a count of four and as you slowly release them:

Breathe in happy;

Breathe out sad.

Breathe in calm;

Breathe out chaos.

Breathe in forgiveness;

Breathe out bitterness.

Breathe in love;

Breathe out hate.

Breathe in confidence;

Breathe out fear.

Breathe in peace;

Breathe out anxiety.

Breathe in kindness;

Breathe out rudeness.

Breathe in patience;

Breathe out impatience.

Breathe in wholeness;

Breathe out brokenness.

Breathe in hope;

Breathe out despair.

"New"vember Resolutions

Today marks a new day, a new week, and a new month. It is also the day I have arbitrarily assigned to myself as a new year of sorts--a time to make a more concentrated effort to take on new habits to improve my life and ditch habits that are not serving me well. 

Interestingly, it's also the beginning of National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo), which is something I have considered participating in many times throughout the years but have never actually done for one reason or another. It is especially top of mind this year because my 8th grader's English class has been assigned the student version of it as class project and will write 25,000 words of a novel by the end of the month. I genuinely wanted to participate alongside my son as a show of solidarity, and I truly thought I would do that. But, as I started to mentally prepare myself, I realized that the honest truth is I just don't seem to have a story in me right now. My mind feels very loud, and I can't hear characters and stories speaking to me at the moment. I believe they will one day because, when I was a child, writing stories was what I did for fun. It was effortless, and the stories almost wrote themselves. I believe that our child selves--in a time before things had to be done for money or approval but were only done for the sheer pleasure of doing them--are often our truest selves, so I think that story writer spirit still lives in me but has become lost in the noise of adulthood.

The world is so very loud with many voices speaking at once, and sometimes that cacophony leaves little room for true creativity. That's why one of the habits I want to cultivate in myself in this "new year" is the ability to find the silent places and sit in them so I can better hear and know the voice within me. Somehow, the noise of the physical and virtual worlds have become a comfort and an excuse, and sitting in silence now feels hard. 

If you know me in real life, you know sitting is not something I do well (though I have definitely gotten better at it in the last few years as I have become more intentional in my thoughts and actions and more focused on yoga and meditation.) I like to be busy, to be moving, to fill up all the down time with activities or chores or music or really anything as long I don't have to be still in body or mind. When I do sit, I tend to fill up what could be quiet spaces with the loudness of social media, sometimes scrolling for an hour or more, not even engaging in the content but just letting that "noise" wash over me. It's no wonder the voice of creativity can't be heard clearly, and it's not terribly surprising that the storytelling that came so easily in bored, quiet, technology-free moments during childhood is difficult to channel. The need to sit in the silence, in the alone, in the boredom, is very real and is why I am trying, in my spirit of resolution, to take a step back from social media and other similar distractions this month. I don't plan to quit my online "social" life entirely, but I want to stop using it as a crutch, as a time filler, as a means of validation, as a noise to drown out my uncomfortable thoughts. 

Even though I don't feel as if I have a novel in me right now, I do feel the tug to write and to find MY voice in the din. To that end, I am challenging myself to write a blog post a day for the whole month of November. I'm not aiming for 25,000 words (or the loftier 50,000 ascribed to adult participants in NaNoWriMo). I'm just trying to push myself a little and allow myself the space to be still and find my voice and to practice the act of writing so I'll be ready in case the chatter of characters and stories finds its way to the surface of my mind.

I only ever write for myself, and I'm not looking for external approval or validation in this blog space. But if you want to follow along and help keep me accountable to the goals I've set for myself, or if you think there might be a chance my words may strike a cord with you that challenges you or encourages you, I would love to have you join me on this journey.