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Observations on Human Connection & Contribution

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Archives for March 2021

#14: The sparks of change

My experience of being me is notably different than what it was just a few years ago. Anyone looking from the outside may observe that I have switched homes, suffered intense loss, or moved on from my job.

What they may not see is how I now care for my intellect and spirit without apology: That I don’t think it’s frivolous to spend time pursuing my interests. That I allow my mind to float along to music or books as I weave dreams in ways I never allowed myself before. That when faced with injury or pain, I’m tender yet strong for myself rather than impatient and accusatory.

They may also not see that I better understand and trust my process of creation: That I allow myself to play with and rejig ideas in my mind, often creating a physical and organizational mess in the process, knowing that these loose streams will coagulate soon. That I need to dive deep into the mind’s dense and active ocean floor before I can come up with that pearl of crisp insight. That I have to allow neurons to fire a certain way while building new ideas. That I can march to the drumbeat of productivity but the sparks buried inside my mind, heart and gut get charged by this process of madly-expansive discovery that eventually allows clarity and precision to emerge.

These are the things that give me goose bumps when I immerse myself in a life and way of being that’s uniquely mine. They have completely altered the experience of being me inside my body. And I see parts of this evolving me spilling into my physical spaces through tell-tale signs and objects.

No, these things remained hidden from outside view. By the time anyone could see the change on the outside, the inside had been evolving for a long time. When we allow ourselves to change in ways our sparks invite, the work is initially for us but the ripples eventually touch every entity we encounter.

“There is in you something that waits and listens for the sound of the genuine in yourself.

You are the only you that has ever lived; your idiom is the only idiom of its kind in all the existences…

…So as I live my life then, this is what I am trying to fulfill. It doesn’t matter whether I become a doctor, lawyer, housewife, that I’m secure because I hear the sound of the genuine in myself, and having learned to listen to that, I can become quiet enough, still enough to hear the sound of the genuine in you.” ― Rev. Dr. Howard Thurman

#13: Dance like no one is watching

Easier said than done. When you are alone, you know no one is watching and no one will ever critique your funky dance  moves. No matter how free a dancer you are, a part of you gets tuned into the performance the minute you are surrounded by onlookers.

I’m noticing that before I started posting anything publicly, insights would gush out of me and I couldn’t download them fast enough. It didn’t matter what flavor these downloads were; I would tune in and put my intimate thoughts on paper without regard to outcome. There was no editing whatsoever as the words exploded onto the screen. A lot of this writing felt new, and at times unexpected, to me too. I didn’t know that I had those word combinations inside the crevices of my mind and it sometimes felt as if I was reading the material for the first time. This isn’t ancient history. This happened until a couple of weeks ago so I know nothing major has changed, except now a few dear family and friends know about the existence of this blog. I’m noticing that now the editing starts happening the minute I begin documenting an idea, even before I’ve allowed the complete download to happen. Because I know my words are now also consumed by others, there’s a part of me that feels the need to “create value”. Some common thought patterns I’m noticing – will this be useful in their context; am I coming out too strong, too preachy, or too political; is this writing too long or too short; am I wasting people’s time and…blah, blah, blah.

The need to be liked and loved is deep-seated in our human animal, and it shows up repeatedly in our everyday. Our more developed brain knows that no one is kicking us out of the tribe for a little dance move or a blog post but the reptilian brain keeps shooting flares. I can see this impact today in a very tangible way – I’m losing my purity of thought as the reptilian brain jumps in to edit my words before I’m ready. I know my reptile will shadow me till I live so here’s my solve: I refuse to stop the gushing stream of ideas at the source. I will edit more consciously later in the process to ensure others, that don’t live inside my head, understand my intended meaning.

Yes, I’ll make sure that the message makes sense to the audience, the product satisfies the customers, the strategy makes sense to the team, and the venture gets funded. But before I do any of that, I need to keep nurturing that pure flame of insight and not let my reptilian fear snuff it out.

We start editing too early in the process.

“FROM pent-up aching rivers,
From that of myself, without which I were nothing,
From what I am determin’d to make illustrious, even if I stand
sole among men…” ― Walt Whitman

#12: Jumping from teacher to teacher, yet never practicing the teachings

There’s a certain FOMO-driven hyperactivity that permeates all culture, not just social media. Any generative activity we’d like to engage in—exercise, mindfulness, creativity, reading, cooking—comes with several worthy alternatives. So that when you want to go deep in a specific practice, you are tugged at by well-meaning ideas, people and society that nudge you to try that over this. And full disclaimer: I have been that person tugging at loved ones to try something without first gaining a better view of their lives. The irony is that we don’t regenerate ourselves through hyperactivity, by constantly jumping from one practice to the next, one teacher to the next, one task to the next. Progress requires picking up a practice we’re genuinely drawn to and sticking with it regardless of the Gollum-like whispers of our resistance that urge us to drop this and seek the next because “that’s where the nectar is”.

When I started working on this blog, my Gollum kept telling me that I was wasting time doing something that wasn’t my main vocation. Every time I faced turbulence, it told me that this work was optional and that I should pause and switch gears to the work that could pay for a roof over my head. Mindfulness practices helped me see these thoughts for the topsoil they were and told me to keep digging, to get to the immensely gratifying substratum. I ran into many challenges—how do I even begin to share my improbable journey in the about-section, how do I fix the wonky header image or the broken fonts. I sought just enough information to blow past the rocky bits, resisting the urge to try and become “an expert” before I published anything. If I kept flitting from one task to another, exiting what was in front of me for the pursuit of seeming productivity, you wouldn’t be reading this.

There is far too much to experience and do in the world in our short lifetimes. Rather than chasing an ever-growing list, it’s more satisfying to show up for the things our deep heart asks us to commit to. It’s also a good idea to become familiar with our personal fear-Gollum, because when he inevitably shows up with his manic whispers on our uncharted path, we have to neutralize him by giving his frail body a tender hug and then lift it aside so we can walk past him to pursue the things that regenerate us.

“Do I prefer to grow up and relate to life directly, or do I choose to live and die in fear?” ― Pema Chodron

#11: Spring cleaning, except weekly

Ever find that what started as one web browser tab is now 19 tabs over 4 different windows? I have a system; all similar topics stay in one window. For example, one window for writing-related stuff, one for business, another for yoga training, and yet another for any personal administrative items. I don’t close these tabs when I get buried under work, thinking I may need that specific gem of internet wisdom handy. The faster I want to work, the greater the open tab count so I can quickly toggle between tasks. Soon that system itself overwhelms because it’s hard to do all four tasks well in one day.

In tandem, the “very smart phone” is spinning its own web of notifications. What starts off as no notifications on the phone becomes “only these two useful apps”, which is now more like five. The much needed physical therapy app, the chat app to keep me connected with loved ones from afar, the smart doorbell to ensure safety in turbulent times and so on….each of them useful and with their own customizable notification set. 

On days when I have an audacious agenda though—especially when I’m already low on sleep, nutrition and movement—these open tabs and pinging notifications seem to shoot arrows my way to break attention. On such days, I close it all. Shut it down. All of it. And instantly feels like a load got lifted. Ah!

It doesn’t matter if something is left unread and unattended. If it is important, it will resurface. Something in me wants a fresh start for the day and week, even if that happens to be on a Thursday.

“What is freedom? It is the moment-by-moment experience of not being run by one’s own reactive mechanisms.” — Ken McLeod

#10: Stable and unstable ground

It often feels like I am standing on unstable ground while others are mostly on stable ground.

Physically too! I live in an century-old home that slopes a bit to one side. I love it for its quirks, nooks and textures. I love it for the contributions of many people that have lived here before me, it gives me a sense of community and connectedness. I didn’t want to live in a cookie cutter home. But every time it creaks, I worry. I hear creaks when I’m working, walking and especially exercising. I worry that I might damage it. I then look at the modern structures around me and think, perhaps the people that live there feel more grounded and stable in their unsloped, non-sliding home. Thankfully, my husband is more adept at construction related ideas and helpfully points out that the wood we stand on is old and solid; likely stronger than the new stuff. This gives me a sense of comfort, until the next creak, leak or mouse attack in the attic. “Too many points of vulnerability” I think.

Isn’t this applicable to our emotional world as well? In worrisome moments we think we are injured and need repairing while other times—when the light and love from other humans hits just right—we love ourselves for our quirks, textures, and resilience. I never aspired to a cookie cutter life. Internal creaks and slopes be damned.

“All varied colors of the light
Within its beauteous arch unite”
— Effie Waller Smith