Pilot Light

You don’t have to be amazing.

A blazing fire of action toward specific purpose.

(And god, I love those people – they shine so bright.)

But it’s not always like that.  And it’s not wrong that it’s not like that.

I have a 50 gallon stainless boiler that is powered with a gas burner.  It started life as a commercial bagel boiler, but through a twist and a turn it ended up as a crab cooker at my fish shop.  It occurred to me recently, that 50 gallons of cold tap water can be heated to steaming, finger-burning hot with nothing more than the pilot light and a little time.

I keep thinking I need to turn the burner on.  Do this thing.  And that’s just not true.

If I needed to ignite the inferno, I would.

If I needed to do it, it would be done.

I just want to need.

And interestingly enough, wanting to need (instead of genuinely needing) is one of the lies that compulsion is based in.

Don’t snuff the pilot in an effort to burn hotter than you want to, or are able to.

A small flame is a heat source.

Enrollment

Sometimes I’m not ready.

Sometimes the teacher shows up with the lesson and it resonates and sounds like truth… and I don’t make changes.

I only sort of want to be free.

I don’t want to do the work of freedom; I want to have done it.

I don’t want to lose weight.  I want to have lost it.

I don’t want to get out of debt.  I want to have gotten out of debt.

Sometimes I’m not ready to hear the lesson.

And it’s okay, in fact, it’s perfect.

I’ll get another chance.  (It’s the way of things…)

The lesson will appear again and again until I’m ready.

Until the only question that remains is – How many times do I want to take this class?

Quality Control

It’s all about me.  Really.

And it’s all about you, too.

We are all selfish; there isn’t another way to be.

Everything – every person and place and event and moment gets filtered through our brains, through our perspective, through our self.  We are designed to be selfish.  It’s inherent.

The trouble comes when we think selfish is a bad thing.  When we think self should come last, after the kids and the job and the spouse and friends and the dog.  What we don’t realize is that self is always there, and not only is it there… but it’s in the wheelhouse calling the shots.  It’s self that is doing the work.  It’s you that does the caring.  And when you run yourself down to the nubs, in the name of ‘not being selfish’, you end up the sort of thrift-store version of you.

Brokenish.

Cheap.

Half-assed.

Be careful, (care FULL), about the quality of You that you put out in the world.  It starts with recognizing that selfish isn’t optional or something to turn on or off.  And if it’s not optional – if it colors every single thing you do – you might as well do it excellently.

Be ruthless about the quality of you.

The Song

I like to be in control, in charge.

I enjoy taking responsibility.  Being in the driver’s seat and telling the truth.  I want to know that if I have a result in my life that I don’t like, it’s because of me – there’s no one else to ‘blame’.  If someone is going to make a mistake, an error, a flub-bub, I’d rather it be me.  And I will hold my head high, call it a learning experience, pay the dues and try again.  I will tap, tap, tap my conductor’s baton on the podium, gather the attention of all the people and events and systems in my life and delicately begin again.  Waggle the fingers of my upturned palm to get a little more of this, slowly pat down to get a little less of that… and the symphony resumes.

Except it doesn’t.

The symphony never stopped.  It waxes and wanes and crescendos and pianissimos all on its own.

What I am starting to learn, is that I’m pretty good at fake conducting.  I’ve sort of perfected the art of watching very, very closely what is going on in my world so I can move the baton to the beat and pretend.  Why?  Because there is a feeling of safety and control in the belief that I’m in charge, running things.  I thought for a while that the fake feeling of safe and secure was the best I could do.  And so I bought my own lie and watched very, very closely, and tried desperately to keep up.

There’s better news than that.

The truth, even when it’s a hard truth, always feels better than pretend.

I’m not the conductor.  I don’t get to decide when it is going to snow 14 inches and when the power is going to go out or stay on.  I don’t hand out disease or car accidents or fairness.  I don’t get to decide if you are happy today or even if you should be happy today.

The truth is that I’m not a conductor.

I’m a song.

The song is where all my power is.

I am only as safe as I think I am.

I’m only as happy as I choose to be.

I am only in control of how my particular melody sounds today, not that it’s playing.

And in that belief, for me, there is freedom.

I am not the conductor.  I am the song.

Hot and Cold

The importance of including some element of play in my daily life has been coming up a lot lately.  Frequently.  I usually try to notice when certain themes, stuff that’s a little out of the ordinary, sort of ‘pop up’ on an oddly regular basis.  I like the whimsical idea that the universe is trying to tell me something.   (Yes, I’m that important.)

So, obviously, it’s game time.

Hot and cold.

In areas of my life where I’m not precisely sure where I’m headed, in areas that seem a bit foggy or grey, I’m going to try playing.  I’m going to let go of the idea of making a serious decision, let go of the thought that I should be doing something mature about this… and just play.

Does taking a particular action feel like I’m getting warmer or colder?  Does choosing Door #1 feel hot, hot, hot!?!  Or does Option B feel freezing cold?

Let’s not be serious.  Let’s not try to make adult decisions.  Let’s just experiment with play.  And see if by playing our way through a few sticky situations we can’t create a little more happy in our lives.  (Which is The Point, right?)

Tag, you’re it!

Space

I’m in a cabin in the woods at the base of a mountain with my husband and my daughter and a pack of UNO cards doing something I’ve never done before.  I’ve spent quite a bit of time in the past year specifically choosing better feeling thoughts to think, but for the next few days I’ve got a new plan – I’m deliberately (and doggedly) working on not thinking at all.

Honestly, it’s a lot harder than I thought it would be… which is making it kind of fun.

I want to think about business.

I really want to think about business.

I want to think about problems.

I want to trouble shoot.

I want to plan.

I want to schedule.

I want to create and entertain.

I have the suspicion though, that my mind is sort of like a parking lot at a 24/7 party bar that’s full all the time.  Like – really, really busy.  And that it’s entirely possible that there are amazing thoughts and outstanding ideas that can’t ever find a space to pull in.

So I’m working on closing down my mental shop.

I’m trying to send everyone home – empty the parking lot.

I’m not sure what this space will bring me, what will be allowed to grow once I give it a nice sunny spot in my garden, but it feels right and it’s getting easier as the hours meld into days.  If you have the time, if you decide to make the time – try it.  Empty your mind of all your big thoughts for as long as you can, do some hard core purposeful mental resting, and then sit back and see if something new and fun comes along to fill the space.

The Noticing Award

I was sitting in traffic today at 12:03, running precisely three minutes late.  My wise and beautiful daughter heaved an epic sigh from the passenger seat and said “Mom, I just hate it when you get like this.”

Ouch.

My white knuckles on the steering wheel instantly relaxed and I told her the truth – I hate it when I get like this too.  And then we talked for a moment about being ‘late’.  I told her I could be three minutes late and be frazzled and frantic, or I could be three minutes late and be at peace.   It’s my choice.  And the time is going to be the time regardless of what I choose.

So yes, I’ll take Peace please, Alex… for $1000.

The question is: What do you have to think to feel peaceful?

My answer: No freakin’ clue.  Today, running three four minutes late, the peace inspiring thought eludes me.  My old standby thoughts aren’t working.  Even my emergency last ditch “I was always meant to be late right now” lasts for precisely 10 seconds and then the city bus in front of me stops for a fucking passenger (outrageous!) and I’ve missed the light.  Again, I have to intentionally relax my body, take a deep breath and reach into my head for peace.

Nope.  Nuthin.

The light turns green and we slowly roll forward toward our destination and I make a decision.  I’m going to let peace be elusive and just give myself a win.  I’m going to give myself The Noticing Award.  I notice that I’m struggling; I notice that I don’t feel good when I stress out; I notice that my mind is futilely fighting for peace, and I let it go at that.  I drop the battle and congratulate myself.  I noticed.  I am an amazing noticer.  For now, I’m not going to fix my painful thinking.  I’m just observing it.

And what I discovered at 12:08 today (still a mile and four traffic lights from my destination) is that the space of observation is where the peace was all along.

Christmas Card

My beloved Grandmother, who lived a long and happy life, passed away about 5 years ago.  The first Christmas after she was gone, my Dad, (who was the executor of her estate), handed me a $5000 check.  It was the first of several.  It was my ‘inheritance’.  The first check was shockingly unexpected and, for someone who believed that money equaled happiness, it was like someone threw me a life line.  Five thousand dollars was, (and is), a huge sum of money for me.  I held on to the check for a few days and whenever I remembered that it was sitting in my purse it was like a wave of happiness washed over me.  I had a secret.  I was going to be okay.  I can’t tell you too much about what I spent it on, other than an exercise treadmill that was about a thousand dollars.  My grandparents were always critical of my weight, so I felt like I should spend at least part of it on something they’d approve of.  At some point, the money was gone and I’d go back to not being okay.  Money stress.  Anxiety.  Scraping by.  But every once in a while I’d get another check and be instantly transformed.

Yesterday, I got a card in the mail that reminded me of the way I used to feel when I’d have a five thousand dollar check in my purse.  It was a card from someone who knows me.  She knows me.  Not the pretend me that I sort of morph into different versions of myself based on who I happen to be with, but the authentic me.  Honestly, it’s the “me” that I thought was too damaged – too much, too crazy and definitely too fragile.  I am learning, slowly, to let her out.

Card reads: Everything is going to be amazing.  Oh wait, it already is.

I stood on my porch yesterday morning with a fistful of mail and a smile in my heart over the name on the envelope and read those words and cried.

Everything is going to be amazing.  Everything is amazing.  And the magic in those words is the fact that I believe them.  They’re true.  And you can’t spend them, they’ll never run out, they’ll never get used up and they’re always just a thought away.  It’s a little bit like realizing you have a superpower.  It’s always been in there, you just didn’t know.

Best Christmas gift, ever.

I would like to pass it on.

If you could use a card in the mail with those words please send me your mailing address to clothmopolitan@gmail.com or leave it in the comments and I’ll make sure you get one.  With love.

I Don’t Know

Yes, you do.

Really.

And I do, too.

I know.

In fact, I’m the only one who could possibly know.  There is no one else who is qualified.

Start by just not allowing the words “I don’t know” to cross your lips.  Remove them from your spoken vocabulary.  And when you don’t allow yourself to say it, and the person who is asking the question is waiting for a response from you, you come up with something.  You come up with…. knowing.

The first few moments are extremely uncomfortable.  You have to be willing to sit in ______ .

Blankness.

Your brain fights like a wild creature, wanting desperately to offer up a primal scream.  I. don’t. know. (That’s the emotional child, of course.  She never knows, she doesn’t want to know – she wants someone else to know for her.)  It’s important, in this moment, for the person who’s asking the question and you to just wait.  Wait.  Your wise, adult self is in there.  She knows.  And suddenly you’re blurting something out.  Something surprising.

Wow.

It’s wild, powerful and exhilarating all at the same time.  Try it out.

Survival Mode

Last week I did something that I’ve done every year, at about this time, for as long as I’ve been working in the retail seafood industry.  I went into “survival mode”.  During the holidays we are crazy busy and our community of customers relies on us to offer up our A game.  Our best.  We double time it, triple time it, and then raise the bar some more.  At the same time, I make substantial effort to honor the holiday with my family, and to allow my employees to celebrate with their families as well.  It’s at this point that I’ve always decided there’s just not enough moxie left in the day for all this self-care bullshit.

No time to exercise.

No time to juice or prepare healthy, nourishing food.

No time to sit down and listen in on the thoughts in my head.

No time to walk my dogs or spend a quality moment with my daughter.

No time to clean my house or wash my clothes.

No – I head straight for ‘survival mode’.  I tell myself I’m ‘taking a break’ from all those extra indulgences until the madness is over.

The dust settled yesterday morning.

I woke up, physically and emotionally miserable and finally, finally wondering “why?”

The answer of why I was miserable was obvious – when you treat yourself like a piece of crap you’re going to feel like a piece of crap.  The real question is why did I think that taking a break from self-care would benefit me somehow?

And I think I told myself a lie.

I told myself that taking a break from doing things for me meant that I could somehow take a break from… Me.  That I could put messy, emotional Me on pause and just kick ass.

And the truth, which sort of slapped me upside the head, is that there is no break from myself.  If I don’t care for myself in healthy ways, deliberately, I’ll care for myself in destructive ways, unconsciously.  My wonderful, beautiful brain never stops looking for a way to care.  The car that’s driving down the road of my life can’t just pull over for a few days until my ‘to do’ list is complete.  When I let go of the wheel, there’s a part of me that has to slide over and drive, and it’s sort of painfully obvious now that it’s not the mature intelligent part.  It’s the emotional child who thinks that eating too much and drinking too much and spinning in anxiety and anger is the best way to carve out a slice of happiness, a slice of peace.  She’s doing her best but she’s driving all crazy on the sidewalks and shit.

Oops.

It’s time to gently take back the wheel.

Clean up the mess.

And make a mental note that the next time I get invited to the ‘survival mode’ party I can decline the invitation.