High Water

It's stormy outside in Houston today. I was trying to get from a hair appointment to a frozen yogurt shop when I encountered a stretch of deep water.  I drive a tiny hatchback, and after seeing a Jeep and a Chevy Blazer struggle through the water, I knew I couldn't make it.  I stopped, threw on my reverse lights, and the person behind me backed up so that I could escape.  Immediately after that, I saw two or three cars just as small as mine try to make it through the water.  All three bailed out halfway through.  It was a near-disastrous mess.

As I watched a Nissan Versa chugging through water almost higher than its tires, I couldn't help but sympathize. Much of the time, I feel like a tiny car surrounded by water. I'm rolling farther and farther into the rising current, not knowing how deep it might get. Still, I roll forward, water splashing. The water is so impermanent but somehow also so powerful. Puddles that start small grow more quickly than I expect.

That's what my to-do list feels like sometimes. Maybe that's what my life feels like sometimes.  There's so much I want to do — an endless list of tasks that slowly rises up around me, sloshing up on my windows, slowing down my eager wheels.  I'm going through a music business coaching program right now, and ideas for what I need to do to grow my business and my brand are flowing. But my energy level doesn't flow at quite the same rate…

I don't have the energy to implement all these ideas.  It's not that I simply won't get to all of it now.  It's that I probably will never get to some of it.

That's where prioritization comes in.  Only prioritization can save me from the rising water.

I got quiet with myself today and decided on two things I could do this weekend. I can write this blog, and I can work on the paperwork to register my new songs with ASCAP. Two things.

This seemed brilliant.  But then I promptly sat down at the computer and chose to update the auto-responses to my contact forms and mailing list sign-ups instead. Sure, I accomplished something, but not what I set out to do.

I've decided that this is okay, and it simply means that I need to investigate what keeps me from doing the other two things on my list.

After some examination, the difference is in the perceived complexity of the tasks. Updating auto-responses involves more editing than writing (less pressure), and the dozen different auto-responses I need to edit are all short and fairly simple to update. The task as a whole is easily broken down into its component parts.

In contrast, I had done no work to break down the steps required to do my two higher-priority tasks. I knew I had to do a little more pre-work before I could tackle them.   

In reality, writing a blog entry is no big deal. I know how that goes:  I write it, leave it for a while, come back and edit it, post it, and then send out an email notice.  Pretty basic. I'm doing it now.  I'm clearly accomplishing at least the biggest part of that task: the writing.

The ASCAP publishing task, however, was more mysterious because it involved some research and many as yet undefined tasks.  I wasn't sure how long it would take me, so of course, I was avoiding it. I'm less familiar with publishing.  As a solution, I decided that I would work on it for a maximum of one hour.  I could set a timer.  One hour. 

With unclear tasks that I can't seem to start, this is a great strategy.  It's not that I have to finish the task.  I just need to work on it for a short while.

I believe in SARK's concept of the "micro movement."  Sometimes, full steps are too big.  We need to break them down to the micro-level.  I can get on the ASCAP website.  I can look at the tools.  I can fill out something, ANYTHING.  But I don't have to do it for more than an hour.  I can even limit my time to 20 minutes if I need to.  It's all about inventing ways to allow myself to start a task.  I clear the way instead of forcing myself to do it.

Now that I've given some actual thought to what I have to do instead of just writing line items on a to-do list without further thought, I feel like I can get these two tasks done.  I don't feel like a tiny car trying to muddle through high water anymore. I have choices.

Maybe some people learned these skills early in life.  Somehow, I missed them.  I have the "I must get everything done and get it done NOW" gene.  Part of recovery — and life — is about finding balance within that tendency.

If I ever feel this way again (which I can guarantee I will), I can do exactly what I did today: back up and go down a different street, a street with only an inch or two of water rather than a few feet. I back up, look at the tasks I have to do, and then I break it down into the smaller steps that can get me where I want to go.

Success! And no flooded engine.

~

Update: Between the time I wrote the first draft of this blog and when I published it, I completed my publishing tasks.  I'm totally done — for now.  There are a few more things I need to do to get set up, but this was a major step. It was so easy once I started getting into it.  I'm going to use the back-up and detour technique the next time I get stuck on a task I don't want to do.

The Softer Side

I've been listening to meditation CDs again… Therefore, my mind is full of compelling—and sometimes questionable—statements. For instance: "Soften all the places that are rigid within you."

All of them? I want to go all soft? Really? I don't know. Does that sound like balance?

That's a question for me to answer personally, over time. Honestly, I wouldn't mind being completely gentle and quiet with myself for a while. I'm tired, my colon is still sensitive from an infection six weeks ago, my ear is only now healing from its own infection (thank you swimming pool!), I decided to take up strength training again (ouchy for the muscles), and I'm going through major work/life changes. The list could go on.

I want to put myself to bed, pat my forehead, and leave my body suspended beyond space and time. When I was really sick, I started setting boundaries to accomplish just this. I set an earlier time to get ready for bed. I removed some old commitments and tasks from my plate. It seemed that illness had wrested me from the hard-driving mentality I have historically operated under.

Lately, however, I find myself veering back into old patterns, and it affects how I deal with food. When I'm tired, I want to eat more. I don't always do it, but I often find myself eating more than I sense that my body needs. If I lack comfort in any area of life, I tend to try to get it through food. And I want this pattern to stop.

Food is my simple comfort, but I know other, simple ways to comfort myself. Zoning out isn't completely negative. I can play mindless games of solitaire, read a novel, listen to a radio program. I can even meditate, call someone, take a walk, or do some chores.

However, notice one thing: I only now arrive at sleep. Sleep. Why don't I go to sleep? Why do I insist on staying up and journaling so that I can figure out why I feel so out of sorts? I already know why I feel out of sorts. I'm tired. And sleep is the only cure, yet I keep pushing it away.  At night, I fear grieving the day.  I fear leaving it and all the possibilities it contained (and that I did not attain) behind.

Sleep is gentle.

But I'm a go-getter. I'm driven. I can accomplish more than the average human. I can push myself to the limit and bounce back. I can make it. I am called to achieve greatness.

Those are lies (or at the very least, untruths) I tell myself. What good is greatness if I'm too tired to enjoy it? 

I know countless individuals who struggle with sleep, who struggle with being gentle with themselves. When it gets late, instead of simply going to bed, I spend time mentally kicking myself for not going to bed sooner. When I do that, I'm wasting time. I already know the appropriate course of action, and I can choose to replay old tapes or to act on my own wisdom.

It's time to recognize that getting enough sleep, resting, pampering myself, and allowing myself to be a less-than-productive human being is necessary. I may rail against the idea of softening all the rigid places within me, but when I do, my colon feels better, I fall to sleep easily, I feel in step with others and calm as I go through my day. When I'm gentler with myself, I'm gentler with others.

I'm still mulling over the idea of completely letting go of rigidity. A little part of me insists that there are times in life when I need to push. Sometimes, it's necessary to go beyond my feelings and intellect, or to briefly don a hard shield of protection. That's what the little voice is saying. But does that voice know the truth? Have I ever really let go of all rigidity? If I never have, how can I say that it won't work?

In any case, for me, now is all about balance. I am living in the moment and trying to incorporate a practice of gentleness in my thoughts and actions—toward myself and others. Perhaps the more softness I acquire, the more I will realize how defeating rigidity really is. 

I'm sure I'll have more insightful answers once I've gotten a solid eight hours of sleep.

Peace in Chaos

Chaos. Christmas = chaos. But for the moment, the chaos is outside of me and does not invade my personal space of peace. Last night, however, I felt chaotic inside.

I’ve been thinking quite a bit lately about chaos. Daily, I’m assaulted by thoughts – tons, sometimes repetitive. Many would suggest that this condition could be remedied with medication. In fact, I am finally to the point where I am considering it. I have done so much self-exploration and practice many techniques, but the sheet number and repetitive/distracting nature of the thoughts is bothersome beyond compare.

Christmas festivities in my family typically usher in a reign of chaos. One of my primary objectives during the holidays is to maintain a state of peace within, even though I am usually surrounded by a flurry of activity and distraction. This year, the holidays truly reflect what I have been feeling inside.

I'm longing for a place to relax and settle, to give my full attention to the things I’m interested in. I have so many thoughts, so many creative ideas, but I seem to lack the ability to focus enough to turn those thoughts into anything fruitful. This is the current challenge.

I want to live in the moment, but it’s tiring to be dragged from one thought to the next. I want to grip one idea long enough to follow it through.

For now, though, my main objective is to nurture the peace inside myself. Lots of activity, lots of holiday love, but it can leave me lost. I have to take breaks to stand outside, get some quiet, tap into what I want, and assert my wants and needs. I cannot be embarrassed to do what is right for me, even if it is not like what everyone else is doing. If I need alone time, I need to take it. If I need to exercise, I can. If I need to sit still and rest, I can. I can sleep as late as I need, stay home if I need to skip out on a group activity, or work on things that are important to me even if I think people will call me strange. Usually, no one cares, and everyone is following their own yens, too. It’s up to me to keep the peace inside.

Even here, with my family, without a proper bedroom, on a weekend when I might rather be home, I am doing well. I have been listening to the truths I know and allowing my own leanings today. Yesterday was a different story. I felt trapped and unsure. Events triggered memories of holidays past and brought up anger and anxiety that I didn’t even recognize. Instead of listening to myself and seeing what was happening, I ate to get through the evening. I used food as a distraction and a crutch to make my way through Christmas Eve activities.

Today, I got up and made a new choice. I took time to check in with myself last night and woke up this morning more centered and aware of what I want. I can appreciate the love and enjoy myself without automatically linking celebration to getting what I want food-wise. I have to consciously make the effort.

Today, because I’m more aware of what I want and have taken steps to get it, I can embrace the love around me so much more. I am much more present and able to focus in the midst of the craziness that is my family holiday.

I’m enjoying Christmas now, and I’m also practicing the focused attention I’ve been longing for. Despite rapid-fire thoughts and constant activity around me, I am writing this blog. That’s a feat in itself.

And as an apology for not having posted in many weeks, I’m including a recent recording. Chris Longwood and I were in the studio at Sugar Hill last weekend, where I did several piano recordings along with some more on the guitar. I’m continuing to tweak and am glad to finally share my songs with a larger audience. More gigs to come! And more peace…

Here I Am
http://sites.google.com/site/michellecowandownloads/downloadables/04HereIAm.mp3?attredirects=0&d=1

All Work and No Play...

Hooray for Labor Day! If you are working and are not required to by your place of employment, STOP. Enjoy the day. The to-do list will never be completed; the inbox will never empty. Let it go for one day, please.

I’m not even going to work to think of a “deeper” post. All I’m going to say is that I’m very grateful for friends and family, especially for people who take the time to accept and care about others (including me) just as they are. It feels good to be patiently loved. Thank you.

Safe Love

Where does love meet self-preservation? When does a relationship become too much for me? How do I balance my desire to help another with my own needs?

Some call it loving with limits. But for a romantic like me, who prefers a limitless view of love, it’s easier for me to call it loving safely.

Thinking about true love as a safe love helps me to not put up too-thick barriers of self-protection. I don’t have to be in defense mode all the time, on guard against all the people that could potentially hurt me. Relationships are complicated and difficult. I’m going to get hurt occasionally. I don’t want to hang myself up on that reality and block myself off from deep connection in an attempt to ward off pain.

Instead of living a mistrustful life and avoiding any potential complications, I can enter into relationships with open eyes and make decisions based on the safety of everyone involved. If I start realizing that I don’t have the internal or external resources to deal with the issues someone else brings into my life, I need to back off and/or tell the other person that it has become too much for me. I have to be even more in touch with myself than with the other person.

When I think about my relationship choices in terms of safety, backing off, breaking up, or having difficult conversations seem like less hurtful actions. I’m not blaming; I’m not running scared. I’m not being inconsiderate or self centered. I’m doing what’s best for everyone involved. I’m trying to love in the best way I know how, and that could take the form of limiting the amount or nature of contact I have with someone.

A relationship is never worth spiraling myself into peril. Facing fears is different than putting myself in danger, and communication is often the key to deciphering which category a particular situation falls into. I can acknowledge my fears or doubts and even discuss them with the other person most of the time before making any rash decisions. If I think that things we are doing or habits we have with each other are putting one or both of us in potential jeopardy, I can say so. I don’t have to keep my mouth shut to preserve positive feelings.

When I have engaged people I care about in these difficult kinds of conversations, one or both of the following usually occurs: 1) the relationship grows more intimate; or 2) I learn something meaningful about myself and humanity. Number two is a guaranteed result, as long as I’m paying attention. Number one is a bonus. Other relationships have to end or change in significant ways.

For today, I am listening to my friends’ problems, hearing their joys, and staying involved as much as I can. But I am also honoring my need for rest, for introspective time alone, and for safe distance from potentially harmful behavior. My goal is safety, my shield is awareness, and my sword is honesty. May I fight the honorable and loving fight.