Mindful, Thankful

It's Thanksgiving Day 2015. But as I look at the news, I'm not finding much to be thankful for.

And that's the point I want to share this year: looking outside yourself, always seeking elsewhere, for reasons to be thankful is like looking outside yourself for reasons to be happy.

Your thankfulness, like your happiness, is inside you where it belongs.

When you practice mindfulness, you realize that you run into trouble if your happiness is tied to people or things or situations, because you don't control those things. Things and people change. And if they're the containers where you store your happiness, then they take that with them when they leave.

Same thing with thankfulness. If the reasons you are thankful are only outside yourself, then your appreciation is as tenuous as your connection to them.

Maybe I ought to explain: people, blessings, the world around you - these are all reasons to be thankful. They're usually things folks point to when they thing "here's why I'm happy."

Ever hear someone say some variation of "he/she/they/this makes me happy?" We understand what they mean. But what happens if things go south, as life does? Suddenly the person or thing is gone, and "dang it if they didn't take my happiness with them!"

People and things can make you feel happy, just as they can make you feel thankful. But feelings are transitory - they come in and go out like a tide. You know how a person can change and suddenly you aren't feeling happy anymore? Yeah, you know that.

But you can BE happy even when you don't FEEL happy. Yup, a happy heart isn't tied to things that come and go, like a person or a job or chocolate. No, the happy heart is happy at the very level of its existence, even as the eyes fill with tears and your heart feels like it's breaking.

A thankful heart is thankful even when everything sucks. It is thankful even if you don't feel particularly thankful. Thanksgiving Day proves it.

People who pin Thanksgiving Day to things (like family, plentiful food, football, whatever) dread Thanksgiving if they don't have those things in their lives. If it's all about family dinner, and you don't have a family, or dinner, or A HOME, then Thanksgiving Day is a slog.

But a thankful heart is thankful anyway.  I recall a news report about someone who was battling a terminal illness filled with pain. What did the patient feel thankful for? "The pain is almost over."

A thankful heart can't be taken from you, even by the most grim of circumstances.

A bible verse springs to mind: 2 Timothy 3:2. It speaks in disapproving tones of people who are "unthankful." That's totally different from people who ACT unthankful. We've all probably done that at times. But to actually BE an unthankful person is something that just isn't acceptable.

It can be tough to cultivate a Thankful heart, just as it can to cultivate a Happy heart, or a Mindful heart. But as you take steps towards it you will benefit. A thankful heart will serve you well in your endeavours.

Thank you.

Vacation? Yes Please!

I’m going on a vacation!

I haven’t been on a vacation for about 14 years or so, and I’m a little nervous about it.

See, there was a time that things were different. My mom and I used to enjoy vacations. Roaring River State Park and Caplinger Mills in the Ozarks, Mark Twain’s home and Saint Louis, travelling around in Missouri.

I used to have a lot of interest in travelling. My first girlfriend and I went to Houston Texas to see the Johnson Space Center, which was one of my dreams. It was my first vacation by airplane, and it had its own terrors, but it was worth it.

About a decade later, things were all different. Marriage, children, and various other factors had changed my life around as well as my interests and personality. In time, all I wanted was to stay at home, generally in my bedroom. We still travelled some, but in time my wife and kids went on vacation, while I had my vacation at home.

I lost the ability to sleep in hotels, to relax while travelling, and the notion of vacations left a bad taste in my mouth. Going places and seeing the world took a backseat to surviving day after week, month after year.

After 2008 and my divorce, I began trying to simplify my life. Over the years I started rediscovering myself, which included figuring out what I was interested in again. I have trouble sleeping anywhere other than my own bed. I started walking at a park in town which was mostly pleasurable due to being outdoors and around nature.

My young lady in recent years has talked of wanting to really travel. She’s been to Boston, to California, to Florida, but really it’s almost always been for reasons other than simply vacationing. She has been in a holding pattern for years, waiting until the time and finances were right to see the sights beyond a thirty-minute drive from home.

Finances were never going to be accommodating, so she decided it was just time to go. She asked me, the now-timid homebody, about going on a real week-long vacation down to the Ozarks.

As scared as I was of leaving the familiar (again, this was a development in my world, not really the actual me), I said yes. I haven’t had a second thought about it.

Now I’m packing for the trip.

I may not sleep much, but I promise I’m going to relax.

There’s another dimension to the matter of going on vacation however. A very Mindful dimension.

It took many years of deterioration to relieve me of my inner interest in things. My inner self went into hiding like an abused puppy.

So now I’m facing those coping mechanisms and all the conditioning that robbed me of myself.

Mindfulness encourages me to allow my true inner self to come out of hiding. I have fears, and that’s okay, I don’t have to feel ashamed of them, or like I have to deny or “fix” them. I am free to feel the fear, but I’m also free to choose what I want to do about it.

My path is now one of healing. So I’m going to go watch fireworks over the Ozark lakes even if it gets loud. I’m going to have a vacation that isn’t planned out completely, something else I developed a problem with over the years.

I can mindfully allow the vacation to unspool however it will without worrying that it isn’t living up to her expectations or mine. I’m free to just live in each moment of the vacation come what may. Every wave on a lake that laps against the shore will be a wave I’ve never seen before and will never see again.

Whatever else we do might not pan out the way we expect it to, or the way we want it to. But I’m going to enjoy them, because I’ll be experiencing the world a moment at a time with the woman I love.

By leaving my expectations at home I’ll be able to leave my worry about everything at home as well.

What? A vacation that involves getting away from the drama and anxieties of recent life? Where I can just go and enjoy whatever happens, not worrying over who I’m with or what might happen?

A vacation I can enjoy again?

Yes please!

A Mindful Writer (Part 3 of 3)

Process, process, process….

In short – I know, bit late – a writer needs to find his or her process and stick with it. Whatever it is that helps the writer produce writing that satisfies them is valid to be be called The Right Way, and the only modifications needed are ones that lead to increased satisfaction.

My process is open and entwined with the jumble called the human world. It is whimsical and I am free to tolerate dry spells as well as monsoons.  It is not tied up with units moved or sales promotions right now, because publishing a book isn’t on my agenda at the moment. When that does become my focus, then I will adjust my process accordingly to achieve my goals to the best of my ability.

What’s the mindful aspect to all this?

Simply put, everyone must walk his or her own path in their own way, because they have to use their own figurative feet to do it.

There will always be people who insist the way I walk isn’t right, because my path doesn’t match theirs. They can’t accept that my path doesn’t move towards the same goals as theirs, so they don’t grasp how I could be so ignorant or wasteful as to pursue my goals through my process.

Acceptance means that I will know my goal and walk my path in the way my heart and intuition dictate. I am free to adjust my process because it will bring me closer to my goals, and I will not be coerced into embracing someone else’s process simply because it works for them or it landed them a billion-dollar advance. I promise that many people will embrace that process for exactly that reason…. and then fail. Why? There may be many explanations, but my best guess is that it’s because they were trying too hard to walk someone else’s path rather than their own.

I also accept writer’s block when it happens, simply because it happens. Getting frustrated over it is natural, and it happens, but by accepting it rather than judging it, I can overcome it by doing or writing something else. It’s like when I’m trying to remember someone’s name and the harder I try the farther away it gets. Fighting it is usually futile, while moving on often frees my mind of the block and the name (or the words) shows up.

I need to be non-judgmental about days of writing. They aren’t necessarily good or bad. They are just days. I often fail at this, of course, but that’s usually because a writing day either exceeded or failed to match my expectations for it. It would be a shame to miss the fact that a wonderful day full of value just passed me, declared to be a rotten day just because I wrote 3000 words that might never see the light of day. Shoot, how many best-selling authors had weeks like that? Bunches.

I gotta have faith (there’s that song again!) that my writing will achieve my goal of touching people. Even without very much feedback or comments on my blog, I am confident that I’m hitting my target more than I’m missing it. Writers and guitarists with certain bands simply adore feedback (well, with some writers it has to be positive to be appreciated. Lol). Yet I have faith in what I’m writing whether I hear a word back or not.

Presence? That’s all about being content with being right here, right now. Whatever success I have, whatever status I have as a writer, is where I am. I always have room to improve, and there are always more horizons to aim for. But I should never be dissatisfied with 50 readers because I should have 100; that would rob me of my joy and be a discredit to the 50 readers. I can be present with 50 readers, and at the same time work towards 100. I can let go of yesterday’s day of writing and wait for tomorrow’s; all I have right now is right now.

And right now I’m thankful that the words are flowing. It’s a good writing day!

Oops. Rats!

A Mindful Writer (Part 2 of 3)

Where do I write?

I am not a solitary writer. Sitting on a balcony overlooking the sea ain’t gonna get my fingers moving towards a draft of anything. I’d sit and watch the waves until I dozed off and started work on my 2^nd degree sunburn.

I don’t like writing in my bedroom, my study, my living room, or in secluded places. There are plenty of exceptions, and I’ve written many things in all of those places, but they aren’t my preference.

I am a social writer. I like to write (as I am right now) at a fast food joint where there is a constant swirl of human energy. I enjoy the sounds and sights and pure dynamics of the variety of humanity.

Sometimes that stilts my writing. Some environments are too chaotic and distracting. But the ebb and flow of humanity is by itself a wonderful distraction. They just can’t be people I know, or I’ll stop writing and visit. J

I know some professional writers who basically lock their study door and demand solitude and quiet from the rest of the household. If that’s what they need to do, then by al means I wish them success and productivity. It just isn’t my way.

How do I write?

As I’ve mentioned, I’ll write on just about anything in a pinch. But I’ve somewhat turned away from my love of pen and paper and embraced the flow of my computer. I use my laptop which is connected to a USB keyboard for easier typing.

What happens when the words stop coming?

Hey, it happens sometimes. It can be frustrating as all get out, but I know that the words are just ocean tides. Some of the waves wash up way down there and never really get to me. Sometimes the waves are brief. Sometimes I get a tsunami.

If the tide is high, I write with the waves. If the tide is low, I find something else to do until the tide rolls in again.

Yes, I’ve felt the drive to write when nothing pans out. I have spent hours and written thousands of words, and none of them combine into anything satisfactory. It’s cool; I wanted or needed to write, so I did, whether or not it resulted in anything that could be measured as productive or usable. I save everything anyway, in case the words become useful later down the road.

Sometimes the words I want to write are non-fiction, and the topic just isn’t happening. If I still need to write and I’m getting too frustrated with my current topic, I’ll switch topics. Or maybe I’ll write some verse, or a short story, or some ramble about the fact that nothing I’m writing is working out (yes, I’ve done that; ironically that is often the only thing that actually works out that session).

So, what if too many words come?

That also happens. If I need to sleep or attend to other matters, I will stop writing if possible (and it’s almost always possible). I just make sure that I jot notes at the end of what I’ve written to act as road signs for the next time I sit down to write.

I know that some folks insist on riding that creative wave as long as they can, even into the wee hours. That’s excellent for them, and they need to do that.

For me, I’ve never lost my inertia by setting out pointers for the next day and then getting necessary rest. In fact, as mindful experience attests, without proper rest my mind will start to lose its way. Focus drifts, frustration comes more often, and burnout can become a danger for me.

A Mindful Writer (Part 1 of 3)

I enjoy writing, and at times I feel this driving need to write.

Unfortunately, as I experienced recently, the words don’t want to come. Or the words show up, and they’re the wrong words for what I’m trying to say. It’s not the words’ fault; sometimes I just need to write but what I want to write isn’t working.

I’ve developed a few strategies for handling this, but first: a few thoughts on being a writer from my perspective. (If you are a writer, you might not agree with more than 10% of my opinions here. That’s cool – your mileage may vary.)

Why do I write?

Here’s where I will diverge from most writers: I don’t do it to become a well-known or well-purchased author. Those would be nice, but they aren’t my goal.

I am not out to become a professional writer to make a living. I have a day job to pay the bills and buy Writer’s Digest books. So I’m not struggling with many of the concerns professional full-time writers deal with because it isn’t my goal to be in that occupation.

My goal is to write what I want to write. Sure I’ll work on trying to edit it, polish it up, and shape it for public consumption. But in the end, it’s for me because I want and need to.

I then post or publish my writing to various outlets so that they might touch someone. It doesn’t matter if it’s not 20,000 people; if one person benefits from something I’ve written, then I’m a successful writer. Of course I’ll never have 50,000 copies of my book sold with that attitude. See above.

What do I write?

My writing is primarily non-fiction. I love reading fiction, but I’m not really moved to write it.

Of course, when the muse slaps me upside the head and points at some fiction idea that refuses to leave my brain, I’ll probably go ahead and write it. It’s just that it may never meet another eye than mine.

I’m working on my blog about Mindfulness. This blog is essentially my Journey Journal as I take control of my life thanks to Mindfulness therapy. I’ve expanded a bit since its start to chronicle how mindful attitudes and behaviors continue to affect and benefit my life in various ways.

I have a separate blog for miscellaneous writings such as poetry, short stories, and so on. I write occasional articles for Yahoo Contributor Network, and submit the occasional item to magazines (such as a recent submission to Weird Tales Magazine).

I’m also working on my second draft of my book examining the accounts of Lot in Sodom and the Levite priest in Gibeah based on the foundational Hebrew and Greek texts rather than English translations. It’s truly a labor of love, and one which refused to let me abandon it after the first draft was completed (granted it was completed in 2004, so I was able to put it away for awhile, but not forever).

When do I write?

Oh, here we go.

I write when I can, which often means jotting notes on napkins or typing out texts to myself on my phone for later development. I have notebooks galore full of bits.

But seriously? I write when I want or need to. If I don’t want to, or don’t feel the drive, then I don’t worry about it.

(Sound of me being pelted with rotten tomatoes by traditional and professional writers)

I know I’m supposed to write x number of words or pages every day according to standard writing advice. But if I don’t feel like doing that, then I don’t. I’m not going to sell 50,000 copies of my book with that attitude, but…. Well, you know the rest.

A Mindful Guy Mourns

November 18, 1937 – my mom was born. Today she would have turned 76.

I miss her, more than simply because she was my mom. She helped shape my mind, my core values, my work ethic, my sense of self. When I see myself, I see a lot of her.

She was always proud of me, even when I did things she didn’t approve of. Not during my childhood; I had a pretty down-to-earth childhood. I didn’t get into much trouble, I got good grades, and I wasn’t out partying or hanging with a rough crowd.

No, I mean later in life. She didn’t approve of some of my childish choices, mostly because if a guy made a childish choice it only reminded her of my dad. And when I became one of Jehovah’s Witnesses, she had a real struggle with that. But in time, she saw that I hadn’t really changed a lot. I was still her son.

It’s quite coincidental that the year which marked my last talk with my mom was also the year marking the last time I stepped into a Kingdom Hall. She had watched me grow as a public speaker, and was so proud of me. She got all the attention after any talk she came to hear; people from across the congregation just gushed over her.

Don’t tell anyone: she really got a kick out of that.

You may not see the most amazing aspect of this, but it stands out to me very strongly: she came to a Kingdom Hall to watch me give some of my talks. It was quite against her non-denominational church views to go there, and she would hear things which didn’t ring true to her believing ears, but she went anyway. Just to see and hear her son do something he was good at and enjoyed doing. To see her son, and be proud.

When 2008 was progressing, she had a tough time health-wise. She always had her oxygen tank in tow, she couldn’t sleep much with all the prednisone she had to be on, and her hospital stays were becoming more frequent. She had significant arterial blockage, and even with it cleared out her body was not really recovering. She struggled to spend time with her grandsons whom she adored beyond words, simply because their energy and enthusiasm to see grandma was exhausting. Yet it never stopped her, because she was able to see them, and be proud.

We had some very in-depth talks as 2008 progressed. Somehow all the joking and light-hearted nature of our previous chats about mortality changed. We were serious about the matter. We said all the things we wanted to say, the things we needed to say. When my mom passed away, there was never a moment where I thought, “I wish I had taken the chance to tell her….” We both had the chance, and we both took it.

So I wonder, here on her birthday in 2013, why I feel that I should have done more to mourn the passing of my mother.

I think it may be cultural, as I discussed with a friend of mine recently. It’s like I should have done more. I should have lost control and crumpled in a heap and wailed non-stop for days. Sat in shadows dressed in sackcloth and rubbed ashes on my forehead. Society expects huge displays of grief, and although I cried and struggled, I did not fall apart except in my dreams. (To this day, if my mom appears in my dream, we invariably sit and talk until I crumble into inconsolable wailing and I wake up due to the intensity of it all.)

I cried loudly over my dad’s passing in 2011, falling in a gradual slide over the edge of grief. I had little relationship with my dad except at a distance, simply because his own guilt in life was enveloping and I would soon be overwhelmed by his desire for forgiveness, all from a son who never held his sins against him.

Yet I grieved far less publicly over my mom. Indeed, I mourned far less intensely for her than the man I had little to do with.

Folks will have their theories, and I know the next time I see my therapist I’ll mention all this, but I have a personal realization:

What if I have grieved exactly the right amount for my mom, and I merely think I should have done more? Could I be beating myself up because I didn’t do as much as I thought I was supposed to do?

I think so. I’m often angry for not meeting my own self-held expectations.

My mother did not leave according to my schedule, nor according to hers. But we both saw the departure at hand. We both gained the closure so many never achieve. She certainly wouldn’t want me to be unable to let go. She wouldn’t want the son she loved and was so proud of suffer so.

I believe I have mourned the correct amount, neither too much or too little. Even as I try to finish writing this while crying loudly, I realize it’s time to forgive myself and admit that I have done what I needed to.

I miss you, mom, but I think I’m going to be okay.

And, in a closing that only you and I would get: I hope the Perry Como album sounds good on the bus trip to who-knows-where.

A Mindful Fed (Part 4)

Keep a life!

One of the most amazing things to me is how entwined our jobs are with our lives. It seems that things went sideways almost the moment our routine was disrupted.

I remember my mom thinking that retirement would be so awesome. No more deadlines, no more daily grind, no more fussing with a boss and demands of the job. But it soon became obvious that without a daily routine, a focus for one’s energy, and a direction to travel from day to day, life became a great desert with her wandering for the proverbial 40 years. That’s a shame too. She worked hard and deserved to enjoy that time. Don’t misunderstand, she did enjoy parts of it and was grateful to be away from that particular grind. But with no direction to move in, she found at times she was just spinning in circles.

The best way to face the lack of job-based direction seems to be to maintain some other semblance of direction. Without having a job to go to, we often need to replace it with activities and people so that we don’t feel we are lost, at sea all alone and without any sight of shore.

I try to spend time most every day around people, writing. It gives me a sense of accomplishment, joy, and much-needed practice. I have the ability to get my thoughts out, hopefully make some dent in peoples’ lives, and maybe even help someone along the way.

The love of my life is working on her future as an entrepreneur. A good friend is increasing his future in the music biz. Friends are spending time with loved ones, focusing on rallies or other means of calling attention to the crisis we share, and sadly a few may be drawing inward and experiencing a different kind of shut down. We are all dealing with this in the best ways we know how.

So for everyone reading this, I encourage you to reach out and make a difference in the life of a Federal employee. Not some politician, but a member of your family, your friend, your neighbor. Offer a little help if you can.

That doesn’t have to be money, or food, or a place to stay. It could be as simple as empathy, support, a hug, a text urging the person to keep going despite these hard times. Let them know they are appreciated, that they have value and dignity and above all hope despite circumstances. Shine a little light into their life to help lift a shadow or two.

In all, we are all as a nation suffering in some way with this. How will we make it through?

United. Determined. Focused on good, with love and peace.

Huh. I suddenly feel like listening to the Beatles.