Fear

Early on, my life was framed in hyper-vigilance and matted with a fat border of fear. The glass covering was so thick you could hardly see the picture underneath. Still, I worried it might shatter if some foreign, unpredictable object or action came in contact at just the wrong/right time, in just the wrong/right way.

I was terrified of doing the "wrong" things, of saying the "wrong" things, and ultimately, being the "wrong" person. The only encouragement I needed was an environment fraught with the unpredictability and criticism hallmark of a family centered around addiction--from there, my biology and temperament were happy to take over.

As I grew, those dreaded wrong/right things happened (sometimes by choice, sometimes by mistake, sometimes by chance). Each time, the glass covering indeed shattered. And each time, I would replace the glass, perhaps with a lighter, less foggy version of its former self. But the fear never went away.

To this day, fear, or some iteration thereof (i.e. anxiety) is my most commonly experienced emotion. I worry about meeting deadlines, about what I said to a stranger in line at the grocery store, about being perceived as incompetent, about whether my dishes are actually getting clean and whether I am working hard enough in my relationships, all within a 5-minute time span of an average day.

Note: It's impressive, really, when you take into account how much mental coordination it requires to keep all of those things at the forefront of your mind for instant recall. I suppose it is also exhausting, but do give me credit where credit is due!

I have done well reducing the influence these "daily" fears have on my life or my actions. I'm now more inclined to let them pass by unengaged like clouds on a windy day rather than fixate on their shapes and try to make meaning out of them. Instead, it's the big things that paralyze me.

Or should I say big thing, singular?

You see there is one thing I am terrified of still.

Joy.

Yes. You heard me right. (And if you are honest with yourself, you may be equally afraid of this powerful emotion too.) As usual, researcher/storyteller Brene Brown put it into words before I could find my own, in a recent interview. As she puts it:

How many of you have ever sat up and thought, ‘Wow, work’s going good, good relationship with my partner, parents seem to be doing okay. Holy crap. Something bad’s going to happen'?...You know what that is? [It’s] when we lose our tolerance for vulnerability. Joy becomes foreboding: 'I’m scared it’s going to be taken away. The other shoe’s going to drop…' What we do in moments of joyfulness is, we try to beat vulnerability to the punch.”

She goes on to say that when joy is in the moment or just around the corner, instead of practicing gratitude and vulnerability, we "dress-rehearse" tragedy. I'm very familiar with tragedy and trauma. Most of us are in some capacity. I know what it is like to hurt more deeply and more fully than I ever imagined humanly possible and wise enough to know the depth of future pain is not bound by the threshold I've previously experienced. I am more comfortable hiding from my vulnerability through known and self-induced fears than sitting with the joy that is inside me knowing that at any time it may end and bring about worse hurt than I've known to date.

Of all the secrets I know about myself, this is one I am most ashamed of. It is the one that keeps me from moving forward from my past, achieving my personal goals, and ultimately relishing the beautiful life I know I already have.

Now, its usefulness is no longer as relevant to my life and it's time to find a way to let it go.

Radical Love

Perhaps I, like the rest of Americans, have been subconsciously influenced by all the candy hearts and chocolate boxes. I try not to be too consumer-focused, but it is true that I've spent the last month contemplating love. And here it is Valentine's Day and I've got a love-filled post ready to go. Coincidence? Perhaps. All I can say is that correlation doesn't indicate causation and you never know the other factors influencing the outcomes. Right?



Zelda reference or otherwise, bringing your heart along for love is the difficult part of the journey.

In any case, I'm beyond expounding the wonders of puppy love and cheap love wrapped in low-quality tissue paper. I'm talking about Radical Love. It's hard to define, but you know it when you see it. And you know, in the funny little way that you feel small yet as expansive as the Earth, when you practice it.

It is the silent chant inside your heart, as you stare at the screen watching a heartbeat and listening inattentively to the doctor speaking her foreign language of abbreviations. "Please don't die, please don't die..." is all you hear inside.

It happens when, after you hear that dreaded diagnosis, the nightmares return, recovery gives way to relapse, or life requires you to move in a direction that you otherwise wouldn't, you step out of the shame and anger, and say, "I can do this. We can do this. We get through things. Remember?"

It courageously surfaces when you decide to take on the great risk of vulnerability for the equally great reward of authenticity. You purchase baby clothes before the doctors are certain the life inside you is "viable" outside your protective womb. You get excited about the great interview and let yourself tell a few friends about its potential. You open your heart to a foster child and come to view that child as your son, before you know if they'll even stay another week. All the while, you remind yourself that allowing yourself to move forward doesn't diminish or increase your sorrow if things don't go as planned.

It is not some "name it, claim it" doctrine that guarantees great outcomes if you ask right or act like they are coming your way. Nor is it willful ignorance of the facts, or a belief that you'll beat the odds this time (because, trust me, I have a tendency to lose even when the odds are in my favor). In fact, it doesn't impact the outcome at all.

Radical love is knowing everything you can know, leaving room for everything you don't know yet and may never learn, and choosing to be vulnerable enough to love wholeheartedly anyhow.

<3 <3 <3 Happy Valentine's Day

Morning Meditation

Sunrise is free.

 

The overly analytical part of me disagrees and insists on refuting my point before I've begun. Everything costs something. Even wonderful, beautiful things come at a price. The payment is often time or money, and at minimum,  the cost of any now foregone opportunities that exist because you chose an alternative.

 

I digress.

 

I mean to say that sunrise requires almost nothing of you. It gives without hardly asking in return.
 

It does not demand of you the herculean task of pulling a giant rope to hoist the sun into the sky like the raising of the grand curtain at the playhouse. It does not leave you  wondering whether the sun will indeed show up for her morning debut or worrying that today the moon will shine brighter than its daytime counterpart. It doesn't matter whether you've cursed its summer heat or resented its lack of warmth and compassion during these dark winter months. It will continue on in the same monotonously beautiful way regardless.

 

You are free to tilt your head toward the Eastern sky, breathe the fresh mountain air deep into your warm lungs and relax as you lean into your insignificance knowing that you played no part in the making of this routine wonder.

 

All you have to do is show up.