Imperfection (Yes!)

Sometimes I get lost in the story that I can "wrap up life." For example, I daydream about ALL my yard and house projects being done or about going to a meditation-yoga-Ayurveda-cleanse retreat for weeks, where I achieve enlightenment (and the angels sing!). When I recognize the daydream, I quickly realize these "wrap up" events won't make me happy and the daydream itself causes me much suffering. And then I chuckle. Because it's so easy to get hooked by the and-then-everything-will-be-okay thinking.

From a very early age I tried to be "perfect" (I purposefully use quotation marks, because I think perfection is impossible--unless, perhaps, I think of it as perfectly imperfect). This coping mechanism brought me much achievement and success (and also caused me suffering). Occasionally I sense that people (e.g., students) might actually think I am perfect--that everything is bliss in my life. Yet it's important for us all to know that no one is perfect; everyone struggles; everyone makes mistakes. And that's okay!

In fact, I'll use myself as an example, and talk about some ways I am not perfect:

• I sometimes yell at the computer (in fact, I just did this morning).
• Every so often I check if a large bag of M&Ms and Internet retail therapy can bring me true happiness. [Note: It doesn't, but I keep checking.]
• Sometimes I look in the mirror and am horrified by what I see.
• I can be cranky (really, truly--ask Mark).
• I am a vegetarian who still uses leather (one example of the contradictions in some of my beliefs).
• I sometimes use unkind speech (this is especially true with myself--my inner voice can be self-critical and hateful).
• My yard is filled with weeds.
• I don't keep up with outside house projects (e.g., dealing with peeling paint on windows).

• I feel shame.
• I'm often filled with doubt and second-guessing when at the grocery store.
• Sometimes I talk too much and don't mindfully listen.
• I can be judgmental.
• I often try to control things over which I actually have no control.
• I use the machines at the YMCA for more than 30 minutes, even though it's clearly posted that 30 minutes is the limit.
• Occasionally I overeat and drink too much wine.
• Vanity sometimes stops me from wearing a bike helmet (e.g., if my hair is wet, and I don't want helmet-hair).
• I want everyone to like me (and occasionally lose my authenticity because of this completely-out-of-my-control goal).

The good news: given all these (and more) imperfections, I love myself more each day and recognize more quickly when I'm hooked by unhealthy thinking and doing. I'm imperfect, and that's okay. In fact, we're all imperfect, and that's okay. From wise meditation teacher, Pema Chodron: "Awakeness is found in our pleasure and our pain, our confusion and our wisdom, available in each moment of our weird, unfathomable, ordinary everyday lives." Here's to thoroughly enjoying our lives, whatever the day brings.

Inner Strength

Yesterday I spotted this lovely weed in a shady spot between my house and a bench. I admire its fortitude--making its way in a tight spot with no sun, yet growing and flowering all the same. Sometimes I'm in a dark, tight spot, yet I don't feel like growing; instead I hide, from myself and others. But more often when I'm in that same dark space, I do allow myself to feel, grow, speak, share, and eventually flower. That comes from a place of inner strength--a belief in my authentic nature (in me, just as I am). It's interesting how quickly ego slips into those dark spaces and whispers nasty things in my ear. The inner strength comes from listening to my true self (oh, and ego is so wily that sometimes it creatively disguises itself as my true self). This is a lifelong journey. And there are plenty of bumps along the way. But then I see an isolated, yet beautiful flowering weed, or I see a wildflower (below) that finds its way amongst a big group of seeds and plants, and I'm inspired. I smile to myself and think, "yes, dear, you too are lovable just as you are."

Blossoming

"And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom." What a beautiful and powerful statement from Anais Nin.

Life is often paradoxical. Experientially, I know I'm more content, authentic, and happy if I routinely allow for and explore the full range of emotions (including sadness, shame, hurt, and fear). Yet my well-grained habit is to push away these difficult emotions--to "remain tight in a bud" rather than blossom. And this tightness creates such suffering in my life--much more suffering than the risk of letting go into my authentic self.

So I gently remind myself of this every day. And each day a let go a little more.

Dandelions (Part 2)

Two weeks ago, I wrote about my pretty yellow dandelions. This morning at breakfast, while Mark and I ate blueberry pancakes on the back porch, we talked about our aversion to dandelions once they leave the yellow stage. So typical of human nature--it's hard to see the beauty in something all the time, at all stages of growth. This afternoon, I went in search of that beauty. And, yes indeed, it's there. It always is.

Perspective

At a recent meditation retreat, my teacher talked about the "stories" in our lives. For example, there is an event, which is followed by a perception. But between the actual event and the perception, there is often (always?) a story. The flavor of the story depends on the individual. Suppose I see a friend across the street and wave, yet the friend doesn't wave back. Do I assume the friend didn't see me? Do I immediately think I've done something to make my friend mad? Do I think my friend is rude? Sometimes our stories change; sometimes they stay exactly the same (and replay over and over). But the helpful thing to recognize is they are stories. They do not define us. In my experience, the more tightly I cling to these stories, the more I suffer.

Yesterday, I experienced multiple stories while reading my teaching evaluations (for a course in which I tried something new). I realize I cling tightly to (at least) two identities: dedicated/thoughtful teacher and compassionate person. If these identities are threatened or misunderstood, then I feel fear, anxiety, hurt, and shame.

My meditation teacher suggests a question to ask frequently: Am I sure? Am I completely sure I'm a thoughtful teacher? Is there no room for anything else? Might I be something else, too (through my own "story" or through the "story" of a student)? Certainly, my intention is to be a thoughtful teacher and a compassionate person, but these are not solid identities. Life is more fluid than that.

Karen Maezen Miller writes, "When we don't know, we don't judge" [italics are mine]. That is, solid "knowing" often causes suffering. For example, if I "know" I'm right in my beliefs, this leaves no space for me to genuinely listen to other views (or to see the potential pain in others). On the other hand, if I don't think my view is the Truth, then I can open my heart and mind to others (and to myself). I can be vulnerable, which means my heart can break open with sadness/hurt/pain, but additionally means my heart can break open with happiness/joy/contentment.

I'm currently quite curious about the way I cling to identities, stories, perceptions, achievements, externals. (This is juicy material!) Interestingly, the judgment in Miller's quote applies to not only others, but to me (that is, the way I sometimes ruthlessly judge myself). It's often a matter of perspective.

I just read an interesting blog post from a palliative-care nurse: Regrets of the Dying. I think it's a perspective-giving article.