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Observations on Human Connection & Contribution

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Zooming In: To get a closer look at life

#121: Internal alchemy

It was my birthday this week, so I had an in-built opportunity to reflect on my life as I start another trip around the sun.

My experience of being me has silently shifted in the last few years. There is a part of me that holds back on doing the things I love because they feel selfish at some level. Engaging with them requires shifting focus away from something that I believe is serving others towards something that only seems to benefit me. This includes physical, creative and intellectual activities like swimming, dancing, traveling to a culture I really want to experience, or immersing myself in a book; instead of working, doing chores, or helping someone.

Until a few years ago I was mostly unaware that this internal dynamic was at play. I simply prioritized things that made life feel more secure in some way for myself or another. There are many psychological layers here and my goal isn’t to dive deep into them. The gist is that this suppression of self was immensely detrimental to my own well-being and my ability to contribute to others. I recall feeling little resonance with the life I was creating and how I was using time in my everyday. I remember thinking that I didn’t feel like myself, dress like myself or look like myself. I felt lonely but wasn’t sure why. I felt like something had gone wrong but I didn’t know what.  

In 2020, I started tapping into the ideas that spoke to me. I then started pursuing the activities and interests that drew me in. My everyday thoughts and actions started mirroring my deepest curiosities, interests and aspirations; creating a uniquely personal constellation within which my days started nesting and sprouting.

Over the last few weeks I’ve realized that doing this has literally produced energy within myself. I’ve noticed an increase in my mental energy for attention, absorption and problem solving; in my emotional energy for joy, resilience, and navigating change; and my physical energy for movement and recovery. And then there is the profound spiritual energy of connection: to self, to others, to all of nature’s cyclical patterns. With all these energies finally at concurrent play within me, I feel more integrated, well-resourced and joyful. My psyche doesn’t feel so fragmented. I don’t feel the need to chase every shiny object or idea. I know what I am made for and what I am not made for. My internal curiosities and nudges have led me to a level of self-knowledge I didn’t have before. This loving connection to self isn’t selfish. It is freeing, stabilizing, nurturing and joyful. It is the definition of thriving.

And I am better able to contribute to others from this place of thriving.

“This is an invitation to join your life.
Without fear or bravado.

No performance or perfection, bring the real you.
Imperfect. Evolving. Fully here.

Like a gangly wildflower, root into who you are.
Then show up for other wildflowers, just as they are.

Each of us different and unique.
Fully growing and glowing.

Just like plants.
We root down to rise up.
Whatever that means uniquely for each of us.

Underneath the surface, we are holding hands.
Reaching out and reaching back.
Feels like another’s hand is on our back.

To create societies that come alive.
Touch this invitation to join your life.

Join. Your one life.”

— Suparna Chhibber
     Written in 2021, as I was starting to tap into myself

Photo credit: Suparna, using DALL.E

#120: Emptying the regret-filled suitcase

It’s almost one month into the new year. Personally, this is right about when I switch from the optimism and promise of planning-mode into the reality of review-mode. I realized last year that I resisted my weekly reviews because that’s when my judgy mind would shoot regret-arrows. Every missed item became a perceived failure.

I had become really good at shoving regrets into my mental suitcase, zipping them up under pressure, and storing them in mind’s attic. To be opened at another time when I felt better resourced. Intellectually I knew that reviews and adjustments are what make plans successful and that planning is iterative, but I still found myself avoiding review time. The regrets I had saved were stealing energy from the future. 

So before doing any planning this year, I opened that regret-filled suitcase and spent time reviewing the regrets themselves.

It sounded scarier to me than it actually was. The fabric of each regret was simply dreams and hopes. Innocent dreams and hopes, might I add. Although I really had to pay attention to parse out the ones that were actually mine. Some were in my suitcase because they seemed to be in everyone else’s. Some were mine to begin with but I had outgrown them and they no longer fit. Some I kept, in case I could fulfill them in the future. No dream was left unseen. I essentially emptied the attic.

Whatever dreams I kept, I hope to hold them very lightly. Because even if I fulfill them, they may happen in a different way altogether than I imagine.

I don’t want to make superficial plans that I hold on to like a control freak. I want to orient around deeper and consistent intentions that transcend annual plans. I want to keep clearing this extra mental weight as it builds up so I can enjoy the process of doing, learning, and reviewing. Of succeeding at some things and inevitably failing at others. When regrets start stealing energy from the future, it’s time to let them go.

“Nothing in life is to be feared, it is only to be understood. Now is the time to understand more, so that we may fear less.” — Marie Curie, physicist and chemist

Photo credit: Gio/Unsplash

#117: The slack inside our heads

We allow ourselves slack when no one is watching and potentially judging. We may loosen our grip on perfection and ease into life, perhaps leave a few unwashed dishes in the sink, miss a Saturday shower, or spend a day lazily on the couch. There’s freedom, relaxation and even creativity in allowing things to simply be for a bit and emerge. But too much slack over a long period of time creates lethargy and disarray. Rest only feels valuable in relation to work, resources in relation to need. Endlessness of anything creates dis-ease vs. ease.

Same goes for what happens inside our heads. A lot of our life happens alone, even if we’re surrounded by people. That’s because the mind runs on a completely different level of ultrasonic speed that simply cannot be matched by words. We can’t share every emotion, thought or idea with another even if we tried. So most of these internal arisings and impressions stays inside us; wiring and rewiring us repeatedly. We may not get to share these thoughts but the thought patterns we allow inside our heads do show up in the outer world over time through our actions and interactions.

Simply because no one else has access to our endless thoughts is no reason to let them run amok in any one direction. 

“Alertness is the hidden discipline of familiarity.”— David Whyte, Poet

#114: Recalibrating the everyday mundane

I find it easier to notice and make space for the big events in life vs. the everyday mundane. I found it easier to line up my attention with intention, and my actions with hopes when I was planning to relocate to a different country, give a job interview, or build exciting new friendships.

It’s the everyday mundane that trips me up. Where I find it harder to see how my current level of attention and action might support larger intentions and hopes. It’s harder to see how my small silent actions will add up over time. Harder to see how that one missed walk with a friend will turn into weeks, months, then years of not seeing her. How long work hours and missed workouts will turn into muscle tightness and loss of flexibility. That a weekly yoga practice will create unexpected strength for heavy gardening. That the sweetest friendship will turn into a life-nurturing marriage. That a few gangly flowers will fill the yard with blazing color all summer.

Culturally too, it feels easier to acknowledge our big visible moments of joy, loss and growth compared to the everyday delight, grief or momentum we silently gather in our pockets. We tend to acknowledge the small moments as children, and for children, but it peters out as we grow. First externally and then even internally. Yet, our experience of life—which is very subjective—is shaped by the ever-flowing quieter experiences.

A moment of misdirected volcanic-anger at a loved one followed by a vulnerable and healing conversation can be as much of a life-changer as seeing someone we love after years. Friendships lost to distance and repeated moves can be as hard on us as breakups. The slow buildup of a beloved new skill as an adult can be as delightful as painting our first full watercolor image as a child. But we’ve internalized the message that experiences capturable by cameras are the ones we should seek.

When driving, we’re only able to notice the big trees and not the small wildflowers. Speed and distance make it hard. That’s modern life in a nutshell. It feels as if we’re being forced to drive through life faster and faster. For this experience to be checked-off so we can jump into the next. It takes some practice, but we can step out of this car and walk amidst the fragrance and thorns. Into the messy field where our joy, creativity and wisdom live.

“Instructions for living a life. Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it.”— Mary Oliver, Poet

#112: What do you see?

I was speaking with my mom on video a few days ago, and she kept looking away from me. We live on different continents and sometimes our calls conflict with a TV show she likes to watch. She looks forward to it and I like that this show brings her joy. I also like that she feels comfortable expressing her eagerness to watch this show. It signals to me that my mom is secure in our relationship and, while she misses me, she feels connected enough that she can hang up and go about her day with ease.

So knowing this, I see my mom looking away repeatedly during a particularly connective conversation. I felt our loving bond and I wanted her eyes to return my gaze…but she kept looking away. We’ve done our almost-daily calls for years and this time it was my turn to comfortably express my need, so I asked her.

Me: “Ma, where are you looking?”

Mom: “Oh, there is something on the iPad screen. I’m trying to clean it…so I can see clearly.”

How many times do we think that someone we want to connect with is, metaphorically speaking, “watching TV” while all they are actually doing is “cleaning their screen”? We may perceive disconnection and get stuck in hurt but we rarely know what’s happening on the other side. If something is bothering us so much, could we just reach out and express our need instead? With sincerity, curiosity and without accusation.

Trying to see what they are seeing might just open the door to moments of real connection we seek.

“Words are the most powerful thing in the universe… Words are containers. They contain faith, or fear, and they produce after their kind.”— Charles Capps, American preacher

P.S. I hope my writing pauses aren’t coming across as a loss of zest. I participated in this mind-opening incubator over the last two months (link to our cohort page). My writing will be a life-long pursuit and a loving search for truth, and sometimes I’ll need to pause for sustainability. This was just one of those moments.