Tag Archives: acting out

Self-Compassion, Lessons Learned

water droplets on a branch

April was a survey course in the pleasure and difficulty of being.

My first week of practice felt incredible, it was much easier than I imagined. I felt rested and energized. I laughed more, joked more with the kids, had loads more patience. My metta sits were restorative and full of a pleasant, peaceful presence. I felt my subtle heartbeat and a warm, tingling energy instead of the tight ache in my chest that I have become so used to. It was the best I have felt in as long as I can remember. It seemed miraculous that such simple adjustments could make such a big difference.

In truth, I have been deliberately working on self-care in one form or another for over a year now. It’s not fair to ascribe the benefits one week’s practice just to April’s activities, but they certainly changed how think about the basics of good health. Making decisions takes energy. Meeting conflict with creativity and kindness takes energy. What I had failed to realize is that this is equally true of my internal experience as well as what I experience in the world. Being self-centered, which seems to me to mostly be our default state, makes it hard to have perspective on how our behavior affects others, but it also makes it hard to see how our behavior affects ourselves. When we are both the actor and receiver of our actions, it is doubly hard to see either the behavior or consequences from a different perspective. I am constantly making decisions and resolving internal conflicts all day long, even before I interact with anyone else, which is also pretty much happening all the time. If this month’s practice is any indication, I have grossly underestimated the amount of energy – the kind that comes directly from food, sleep and exercise – required to do this well.

But things were going great, and I was enjoying my walk in the wonderland of self-love so much, I wandered right off the path. I had friends visit, and stayed up late. Then, I randomly decided to apply for a TED Fellowship, with two days remaining before the deadline. I watched this force of ego energy latch onto this idea and insist on making it happen, and I started using all my quiet time, and staying up late, to get it done on time. Then I hosted Easter. And packing all of that into nine days came at the expense of my practice, which I had categorically stated I was willing to prioritize over other activities. My capacity of discrete commitment to myself appears to be about a week long. I find this amazing. If you asked me what was more important than my health and well-being, for myself, and also to be of service to others, I would say nothing is. But I don’t act as though this is true, and seeing the gap between what I claim as my truth and what I live as my truth, is critical to being free from the dissatisfaction that springs from the rift between the two. I realized how special it is, how unusual it is, to be a person that commits to something over and over for months, or years, or a lifetime. And I do not mean the commitment of conditioning, of unconscious habit, which is common, but the commitment to counter-conditioning, which is exceedingly rare and difficult.

Breaking out of our conventions requires this unusual style of spacious resistance – a style of resistance that is permeable, and by being so can not be moved. I find this very difficult; I barely understand it. More and more I see the world, and my experiences here as parts of relationships – nothing I do is actually isolated or independent. As I began to focus on self-compassion, so too grew my compassion for others, which was central to the pleasure of my experience in my first week of practice. I expected this, and then I watched myself get distracted. I watched myself deliberately break the tension that allows me to live inside of relationship, and spill over to become a dimension of it.

There is so much pleasure in getting lost inside something else, of losing my permeability and getting snapped into the flow. And the second I go, I lose my commitment to willingness. There is so much pleasure in the collusion of one more late night drink with a beloved friend. There is so, so much pleasure in ego energy. It has an electrifying, euphoric, driven, quality that is, frankly, just fucking awesome, not to mention how useful it is for getting something done. But this style of surrender comes at a price – I spent the last week of April sick, and exhausted. And despite this, what I discovered, is that I’m not willing to give these up yet. I’m not sure if I ever will be.

I’m frightened of the consequences of single-minded pursuit, despite the fact that the ravages of flaccid attention and effort are clear to me already. Living inside a relationship of continuous allegiance requires the exclusion of so much. This is why simple things, like sitting still, or committing to a value, are difficult – it requires the sacrifice of the myriad, ready pleasures that tug and tap and rub and whisper a thousand times a day. It requires saying no thank you, over, and over, and over, not just to the small things but the big things too, to people we love, and causes we believe in. It requires confronting, then releasing, the sadness of loss again and again, while maintaining faith in the value of our pursuit, because what we focus on dictates what we miss. How well we focus, determines how much we miss. It is a tremendous responsibility to live one’s life with the severity of deep commitment, and perhaps that is why so few of us are truly able to do it. We are too clumsy to undertake it with the exquisiteness required, and attempting to do so unskillfully, only spills the blood of our sacrifice with out generating any sustenance from our offering. We are not, as we are so often told, limited by our imaginations; we are limited by our willingness. It is a great gift, to know my capacity, and to choose again with more clarity.

I discovered something else beautiful this month, seemingly opposite of willingness, which was the effortless and spontaneous pleasure of offering something I value to another. When I host company, I like my home to be (mostly) be clean and orderly. I like to make beautiful, delicious food to eat together. Even though I like to entertain, preparing for company is typically an anxiety-ridden activity for me. I get concerned about everything looking nice enough, tasting good enough, and being right. It tends to be stressful. But this time was different.

The planning, and bustle, and work of cooking took on a quality of gratitude for the chance to express my love that way, and excitement about sharing the meal together. Being aware of how good healthy, regular eating was helping me feel, significantly intensified the pleasure of making food for others. As I cleaned, scrubbing and wiping the places that usually go neglected for months, I did it with a totally different intention than I had before. I did it as an offering of love, instead of as evidence of my worth. I realized that I had come to recognize and accept how much I value space and order, and why. For me these qualities, represent safety, clarity, and love. They represent a space of peace and openness in which distractions and discomforts are minimized so that one’s energy can be placed on being present, rather than grappling with the environment. Creating a space like this in my home is a sign of respect and love for the people I welcome. What a pleasure it was to witness the transformation that occurred in my intention from one of compliance and approval-seeking to one of devotional offering. This is the humble and profound power of discovering and living my values, rather than simply enacting a set of rules – feeling joyful for the chance to wipe the shit off the rim of the toilet. The power of love never ceases to surprise me.

Spoon Fed

Spoon of baby food being cooked with a lighter.
Hey Baybeee. Heeeeeyyy. Do you want some? Do you want to try it? Mmmmmmm. It’s good. You’ll like it. Just a little bit? Yeahhhh. Just a little bit. Open uuup. Opeennn uuuuup. Mmmmmm. Good boy. That’s a good boy. Do you want a little more? Good baby.

I am cooing and coaxing my infant to eat. I am watching his every gesture and adjusting my serenade as we go, in the mother’s chant that runs low to high and back again, the velveteen stream that jackets each word as it tumbles out. My heart is full of love and I am smiling into the song when it strikes me: I sound exactly like a drug dealer. Or, I sound exactly like the Hollywood version of what I imagine a dealer to be. My addictions are all in the sanctioned spaces of consumption, achievement and relationships; it’s harder to suss them out from the tinkle and jangle of the every day.

Are our patterns just unskillful reenactments of this scene? Are the bad habits we step into again and again, the childish groping at the most immediate and imaginable version of fulfillment? How do we start out so beautiful and end up so fucking crazy? Are we committing no offence greater than seeking again, the innocent moments when every sense was sated? When food was placed in our mouths, when our ears hummed with the sliding vibration from our mother’s throat, when all we saw were big eyes reflecting back our own love and wonder? Perhaps our lives are just a messy, gross motor gesture to go back to the source, to hold for ourselves the spoon that feeds us.

Getting Lost

sign-fail
I travel with out a GPS now, being sans phone. I get lost a lot more than I used to. This is particularly nerve wracking when I’m somewhere I really don’t know at all, like Boulder, CO, where I went in August for the Buddhist Geeks conference (which was awesome).

I spent some time getting lost (or more accurately, disoriented and walking the wrong direction) including late at night when I was tired, and wanting to be in bed, instead of walking around in the dark. I also did some driving, and wasted a lot of energy nervously trying to figure out if I was lost yet, about to get lost, or actually doing fine.

Sometimes I am so clever I outsmart myself, and this a great relief. It occurred to me that I have been acting out a metaphor for my own spiritual path and personal development. Behavior is one of our most direct (if not obvious) forms of communication.

When I travel without a GPS, here are some of the things that happen.

  • Having some guidance, like directions and a map, is helpful. I really don’t know much, and my awareness of how little I know is amplified without a phone to instantly broker information for me.
  • I have to pay more attention to where I am, and where I want to go next. I have to have some active agency in the process, rather than simply executing a set of instructions delivered at just the right moment.
  • When I walk by myself in an unfamiliar environment, I become much more sensitized to who is around me and what that feels like – especially in the dark.
  • When I get lost, I ask someone for help. I connect with another person when I otherwise wouldn’t. People, by and large, are always willing to help me. I make eye contact with them. I smile at them. I thank them.
  • I get a lot more anxious, and make a lot more mistakes. I go the wrong way, and have to turn back. I consult the map and try again, sometimes I still get lost, and I get frustrated. When I finally get on track, and my feet hurt, or I’m late, and I’m grouchy, I accept the reality that I just have to keep going until I get there. I just have to do the work, one step at a time, and I can be foul about it, or not.
  • I have to contend with detours, missing signs, and inaccurate directions. My anticipated reality and my actual reality don’t always match at the choice points.
  • Attentional laxity has very noticeable repercussions.
  • I always make it back to a safe place. Despite all the anxiety and frustration, nothing irrecoverable, or even that bad, has ever actually happened.

This is a good lesson. This is helpful to remember, when I am in the middle of a self-absorbed, hand-wringing, mind-wringing, heart-wringing, exercise about my choices, path and progress, which is an embarrassing amount of the time. Pay attention. Do the work. People will help you. Say thank you.