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Feeling: Observations related to feelings

#53: Getting stuck and unstuck

August 20, 2021

Humans tend to live out a cyclical pattern of getting stuck and unstuck; certainly over the years, months and weeks but sometimes over shorter windows of days and even hours. Our approach to getting unstuck makes a material difference in who we become. Getting stuck and unstuck might look different for each of us from the outside but what is likely similar is the internal environment. 

For me, “stuck” has felt first like a mental followed by an emotional valley, moments where everything seems just a bit harder and solutions don’t come easy but the questions keep surfacing. Where the mental chasm between life’s demands and what I feel prepared to handle might increase a bit. When all of a sudden, in the mornings, the bed feels more magnetic and just a bit safer. Where the recurring internal optimism is met by a faint but definite voice of a cynic that sows seeds of self-doubt, calling that optimist a fool. Where the wiser me doesn’t jump in to troubleshoot because it hasn’t been fed the nourishment of solitude, reflection and self-care. When I find myself in such a space, I often realize that it had been on slow boil and I failed to see the signs and “weed the mental garden” in time, only to now find the mind overrun with aggressive vines. It’s often such a subtle shift at first when the thoughts start marching on a downward trajectory. I have also noticed that this always happens when the connection to self is lost and my actions lose the benefit of oversight from my steady, wise and compassionate internal observer.

Getting stuck for me is an entirely mental thing.

The unstuck similarly doesn’t arrive with a big bang. It often begins with the simple yet hard-to-do act of listening to my body. Historically, it’s has been a challenge for me to pause and tune into the embedded wisdom in the body when the mind is running in loops. My particular internal programming would rather I do all the work first and then anything else. When the stress knots arrive, my tendency is to push harder on the gas pedal as if I could outrun and outwork the knot to make it dissolve. It never does. What does happen is that the tasks become Sisyphean―laborious and ineffective. When the mind is overrun with action, the last thing I want to do is take an active pause; by which I mean a pause to understand the fear that underlies all that action and stress (yes, it’s always fear of some sort). That knot in the belly, the labored breathing, the sleeplessness, the tight jaw are often the physical manifestation of a deeper undercurrent, and it’s hard to wade through the pulsating fear when we’re already overwhelmed. This is where things like journaling, breath work, yoga, and other rhythmic movement practices like hiking, walking, and dance come in. They create a safe silence that allows the spidery fears to start crawling out from the nooks so we can see them for what they are.

All fear―fear of failure, fear of not amounting to anything, fear of not being understood, fear of losing trust and respect, fear of losing physical or mental faculties over time…you name it―is ultimately the fear of being othered, of being cast out of the tribe, of not being loved for exactly who we are. Imperfect, afraid and yet deeply desirous of love and belonging. And these fears don’t just create emotional pain, they turn into physical aches and pains. 

Getting unstuck typically requires some physical shift followed by a connection to trusted others. And the thing that felt so big starts to dissolve and lose its hold.

Our fundamental human need to belong and be loved is often at the root of getting stuck, and that unconditional belonging and love from ourselves and others is often what gets us unstuck to propel us forward. The hardest thing of all is to show to someone that we are afraid and need them. The mental and physical shifts are certainly important but they are a precursor to then asking our trusted humans for support and care.

We can stop the work at the mental and physical shifts and get back to productivity or we can add that extra splash of human care and make the journey both fruitful and worthwhile.

(I am deeply and lovingly grateful to my humans who got me unstuck last week!)

“A life truly lived constantly burns away veils of illusion, burns away what is no longer relevant, gradually reveals our essence, until, at last, we are strong enough to stand in our naked truth.”— Marion Woodman

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#49: Hidden talismans

July 26, 2021

Our places and spaces are often sprinkled with personally meaningful symbols and artifacts that are usually invisible to others. These are small everyday reminders of what we value and how we aspire to live. They travel alongside the humdrum of our days and fade into the background such that we mostly forget they are there, until we need them.

Two examples from my spaces—I have a small tattoo on my wrist that reads “Momento Mori”; it is my foremost note-to-self in life that reminds me of the inevitability of death. Reflecting on this reminder helps me dissolve doubt and fear. Mostly though, when I randomly glance at it during the normal course of my days, I surf the surface of the text without actually absorbing this message. In these moments, my wise tattoo is simply a collection of letters that are permanently etched on my body. The meaning steps forth in intentional moments when need mixes with solitude. The second example: WordPress asks me to select a specific time to publish my blog posts. I wanted to pick an early morning time that was reflective of my US Pacific Coast residence and rather than selecting 6:00am, as was my initial thought, I picked 5:55am PST.  5.55am is the time of my birth. Since every time I write it feels like I’m accessing an un-birthed part of myself, I felt this slight time adjustment was symbolically appropriate. This was also my way of honoring my parents, who nourished me with life, love and dreams.

These and the many other talismans of my life stay mostly hidden, even from me, until I need them.

It may seem silly to share our personal talismans broadly because, by definition, they lack emotional resonance for others. Nevertheless I share mine because in reflecting back I see that they have been valuable guardrails that helped me stay the course during difficult solitary moments of slog. It can be hard to devote waking hours to life if it feels bereft of meaning, especially when we are walking on a slow and painful path. In those moments, personal talismans can feel like micro reminders or…prayers, as if the soul is bowing its head in respect.

“If you want to identify me, ask me not where I live, or what I like to eat, or how I comb my hair, but ask me what I am living for, in detail, ask me what I think is keeping me from living fully for the thing I want to live for.”― Thomas Merton

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#47: Marking Time

July 19, 2021

I have an orchid that blooms diligently year after year; it was a house warming gift from a friend. The first year it bloomed from scratch in my new house, I shared its beauty with my family over video calls and messages. I had planted several interesting indoor plants in this new home so the orchid was one of many but what differentiated it was that, unlike others, it flowered. Then later that year my brother, who was a part of this message thread, passed away unexpectedly.

Since then every time this orchid blooms, I think of him with an achy heart. Not because he had any attachment to orchids but because the first time it flowered in my new home, we shared the joy. There is also a sweetness to this experience since the flowers appear only once a year over the summer. The unique shape of the flower along with annual blossoms may make you think that it’s a fickle plant but that’s not the case. It’s my easiest to care for plant with a flowering cycle that I can count on. And so I await this orchid’s flowers with a bittersweet feeling. Sweetness that my wait gets showered with the gift of a flower and the bitterness of marking time’s travel from my moment of loss.

This year, just as three buds started to appear, I adopted a cat named Fern. In her inquisitiveness, Fern sniffed and bit off one bud and the other two got dislodged while moving the orchid to a less accessible spot. In one fell swoop, I lost one of my key markers on this very private journey of loss. Before this episode I hadn’t acknowledged the role this flower was serving for me and now that I’ve lost it, I have been thinking about how its annual rhythm helped me navigate personal time and loss. The orchid didn’t create or remove the sadness of loss. It was more like an etch-a-sketch clock, self-created and impermanent. If it wasn’t an orchid, I would have likely anointed something else with this meaning. It seems to me that these personal markers infuse private meaning to time. While our focus is on time and not the markers themselves, if we didn’t have the markers…would we understand time’s passage the same way? If we didn’t have a sense for what a minute, hour, or year means in very personal terms, would we be able to infuse our compressed lives with so much joy and meaning? These markers give our aches, joys, and loves a time-bound container. They are like a metronome, keeping the beat of our lives, reminding us to live in alignment with our innermost nudges.

Even though my orchid’s fate next year lies in Fern’s self-control abilities, I think for now it will continue to serve as my private marker of love and loss.

“We live in secret cities
And we travel unmapped roads…


You and I, we are the secret citizens of the city
Inside us, and inside us


There go all the cars we have driven
And seen, there are all the people


We know and have known, there
Are all the places that are


But which used to be as well. This is where
They went. They did not disappear.”― Alberto Ríos

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#10: Stable and unstable ground

March 22, 2021

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

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#5: The Dennis Rodman within

March 10, 2021

I watched The Last Dance, the Michael Jordan and Chicago Bulls documentary, on Netflix. One of the things that struck me was Dennis Rodman’s psychological makeup and his contrast to Jordan. Knowing Rodman’s history now, I can see the through line and understand what created the powerful need in him to escape into the wild and release pressure periodically. If it happened to be in ways that were optically unfavorable to him, he didn’t care. He needed to shut out the demands to perform so he could recapture a part of him.

Lately I’ve been noticing the Jordan and Rodman inside me. The striver, methodical planner, relentless doer, unquenchable attainer. The one who creates structure and pushes me to keep going. Then there is the independent and stubborn – almost Husky dog like creature – that feels claustrophobic after too many days of heavy structure. It wants to play without agenda. The type of play that doesn’t have a secret goal of coaxing out productivity. It doesn’t want endless sleep or Netflix, it craves exploration; random travel, conversations, art, play, laughter. When it doesn’t get what it needs, it becomes lackluster, glassy eyed, lethargic, and less of who it naturally is. I never let my Rodman-Husky play because the striving Jordan needed to build stability and it feared that the wild and independent one might venture too far from home and never come back to do the work. Probably for the first time in my life, I’m giving the Husky a chance and it’s sniffing the trails to uncover long buried gems. My life feels richer for it.

“Then you will see gardens with secluded rose bowers, and they will all be inside you.” – Rumi

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