Relative Something

Is it apparent that I don’t write as much about living alone? I am definitely noticing how the situation is feeling less significant for me. Part of me thinks that might not be all good. There have already been moments of frustration when a certain someone returns for a visit and my latest routine suddenly gets disrupted. What if I find that living alone becomes more appealing to me than living with my wife?

It that happened, I think Cyndie would gladly find space for me in the barn.

I don’t remember if I mentioned that Cyndie is coming home today for the weekend. It is supposed to be our final push to prepare our home for showing. I hope that goal is accomplished. However, I am detecting moments of feelings of insecurity as we get closer and closer to the reality of having our home of 25+ years sold.

Part of that is a result of not yet having actually seen any properties that inspire me as being potentials to meet the vision of our dream. If we don’t find a suitable place, after we sell this house, the teasing I have done about becoming homeless would turn into reality. My stoic front projects a readiness to deal with the inconveniences, but the little boy inside me feels more apprehension about the realities and the potential for extended duration.

They are just feelings. Feelings can be ameliorated.

I have less success managing my unconscious behaviors. I think I am clenching my jaw more lately. In the past, I have experienced bruising of my teeth from the pressure I exert. It can feel just like a cavity or other tooth problem. The tooth even becomes sensitive to hot and cold. When I am doing that, I’m obviously not relaxed.

I might be taking a calm walk on a beautiful morning, stopping to capture images that strike me, and at the same time, I am firmly clamping my jaw, without knowing it.

The day-job is in the midst of an extended period of amped-up stress, my chores at home exceed the capacity of my time and energy, and life as I have known it for a long time, is slowly being pulled out from under me, a little at a time. I clench my jaw.

I am also cognizant of the loss of my thrice daily endorphin fix from exercising, in the form of play amongst good friends that make me laugh. I am in need of some serious cycling time, both for the exercise and for the conditioning to prepare me for the annual week-long trip in June. The heavy load of the day-job responsibilities and the house renovations are conspiring to preclude access to pedal time.

One solution there, is to get organized enough to bike to work. Maximizes efficiency by providing exercise while getting me to the day-job. I just need to be sure I don’t need vehicular transportation during the day. Currently, that’s not something I am able to be sure about.

One simple solution: Live in the moment. This moment, right now. It’s all good. I smile, jaw relaxed.

Nothing is ever really as hard as we make it out to be. It is remarkable, the mental power we have to influence how realities play out. If I think that some task is difficult, and I keep repeating that message to myself, it seems only logical that the perception I develop is bound to make the task more onerous than it would otherwise be. Especially as compared the choosing to entirely refrain from telling myself anything negative, and forging ahead without hesitation to tend to the task at hand, regardless the challenge it presents.

I spent the majority of my life under the duress of a negative perspective. It is a complex collaboration of insecurity and dysfunctional thinking that conjures up a belief that this is a sound and logical manner of reasoning. Yet it is the kind of thing that one defends with stubborn resolve. It is such a misguided effort.

Nothing is as bad as it seems. The pains we cling to, the wrongs that we have experienced, are ours to release at any time. It is absolutely possible to give them up in an instant. Both Cyndie and I have learned to do this. In time, it is possible to become aware enough to avoid even taking on certain mental burdens in the first place. It is something that I wish I had learned to do much earlier in my life.

It was never as hard as I perceived it to be.

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Life, so they say, is but a game and they let it slip away. (lyrics by James Seals)

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Are we letting February slip away? It’s not like we can stop it. In two days, it will be March. The game of life is marching on whether we think it is us who are doing the playing, or are the ones being played. If you don’t feel you have the ability to make choices about your own life, you just may feel you are being played.

We always have the option of choosing to alter our thinking. Regardless how sure we are about our take on the world, there remains mystery and complexity that deserves acknowledgment. Imagine if technology were able to produce a mirror that would reveal our suppressed anger and sorrow in its reflection. It could be particularly valuable to those who proclaim themselves as having nothing to gain from professional therapy.

Could we make healthier decisions if we became better aware of underlying issues that frame our perspective? Maybe.

I am inclined to believe that our mental health is not well served by our failure to recognize what it is that has hurt or angered us. It would be a shame to let life slip away without taking a chance of bettering our health by simply altering our thinking.

Why does it take effort to see the positive in our world while the negative shows up uninvited? Maybe if I practiced being still and in the moment long enough to see, I would discover that there is no imbalance of negative over positive. In my experience of navigating the world without practicing such meditation, the majority of information that paints my backdrop is less than happy. It takes conscious mental exercise to re-focus the landscape around me to reflect all the positive that is ever-present, regardless appearances otherwise.

I’m afraid there is a significant amount of learned behavior that is responsible for my tendency to find optimism an effort to accomplish. I have many years of practicing fatalistic pessimism to overcome.

But hope springs eternal! Local football teams have signed new coaches. The days are getting longer. The dates for my annual June bicycle trip have been announced. We still have our house. There is food on our shelves. Gas in the car. Heat in our home. Clothes on my back. Family is healthy and free of strife. Love is abundant. We know peace that passes understanding.

Yet it is still an exercise to choose to know all that, over the dismay which presents itself without effort. I bask in the grace that allows me the luxury of doing so. I choose to focus on the unending love that inspires the good we enjoy throughout the entire world. It is always well within our grasp.

We are empowered with the ability to make that conscious choice.

I woke up a couple of days ago and something seemed out of sorts. You know that sense you have before actually getting sick? There is nothing specific to point to that feels wrong yet, but you can still tell. “I’m getting sick.”

At that point, I imagine that if I had a microscopic view of myself, I would be able to see why I feel the sensation of getting sick. Before we even break out with that sore throat, or cough, or fever, there are things going on at the cellular level that we can detect, even though we can’t specifically identify.

On Sunday I became so tired in the afternoon, I fell into a totally involuntary nap, sleeping even though I had no intention to do so. My appetite has not been there at meal time, yet showed up with a vengeance at odd hours. However, Monday morning, I had no reason not to go to work. Since it was Monday, and I was going to work, I packed for the usual morning soccer games. Soccer felt like I’d aged a decade since the last time I played. Again, there was nothing specific to point to, but I felt slow, extremely tired, and enjoyed little success.

This is the time when I feel our self-talk can have greater impact. If I were to keep telling myself that I was getting sick, my body would easily oblige me. Conversely, I choose to focus my attention on the fact that days are passing and no specific symptoms of illness are materializing. Microscopically, my cells are doing what cells do to fight off any tiny invaders and everything is performing the way it is supposed to.

I believe there is a very fine line between getting sick and staying healthy when it comes to the regular onslaught of minor viral infections that we face on any given day.

For not feeling quite my normal peak healthy self lately, I must admit, I still feel pretty good. Nana nana nanna na.

There is a simple phrase that is on my mind today… “If you don’t have anything good to say, don’t say anything at all.” Think a moment, about the power of negative feedback. It is by no means limited to our words.

It really struck home for me the other day during my morning soccer. I play in a group that includes a variety of ages and abilities, gathering three times a week for recreational pick-up games. We accomplish a wide range of successes and failures in our attempts to enact the artistry of the sport. Nobody that I know intentionally fails. But failure happens, and it’s tough enough for individuals to accept it about themselves –people usually judges themselves much more harshly than they ever would others. There is no constructive benefit from expressing consternation and distress over another player’s mistakes.

Yes, it’s personal experience speaking here. I will admit to being oversensitive, but regardless, yesterday I gained new insight about the power that such a negative gesture holds. For reasons that defy sensible logic, I felt an immense surge of inadequacy when, after my errant kick sailed uselessly out of play, my teammate dropped his shoulders, brought his chin to his chest, and rocked his head side to side in a gesture of the verbal, “no.” My reaction was visceral, immediate, and I’m sure appeared entirely out of proportion in relation to his involuntary behavior that my blunder had triggered. I apologized to him, loudly and directly (twice) as play continued without me. Then I asked for a sub and walked off the floor.

There is a side lesson that deserves to be recognized in explanation for what appears to be an inordinate level of upset over such a simple and obvious reaction from a teammate. It involves taking into account the time-weighted average dose of similar demonstrations of dissatisfaction that I have been experiencing from this same individual. The first time it happens, it is no big deal. A teammate becoming frustration is a pretty natural reaction. This same teammate is wonderfully vocal during play, directing and offering advice for our activity. I’m pretty sure his being vocal contributes to my feeling bad when I am unable to live up to the direction, but again, that isn’t anything out of the ordinary. But over and over, as my ability to fail continues to accompany my successes, his visible frustrations tend to accumulate in my head. It breaks my heart to let him down, it truly does. By yesterday’s session, I guess I reached a breaking point.

The real lesson for me however, involves how a negative response impacts everyone else around. Quite simply, the important fact that it does have impact and there is nothing positive about it. Here’s another way to look at it: consider what making that response positive would be like. What if my failure was met by a smile of recognition, noting that we all miss-hit the ball at times? What if I heard calls of assurance indicating that I’d get it right next time? What if he said, “Don’t let it get you down, John. Keep at it!”? Seriously. He doesn’t even need to mean what he says. It would make a world of difference in my disposition.

As it was, I composed myself on the side for a few minutes and then returned to the game with my attitude reset. In the ensuing play I was treated to a bit of karmic justice, as my friend finished the morning with several of his own failures, one after another. I didn’t exactly shower him with supportive chatter, but it wasn’t hard at all to not hang my head in disgust each time, either. It was simple. I know what kind of negative message that gesture sends.

I sure enjoy poking fun at things. Maybe sometimes at the expense of appropriateness. For example, I have recently noticed the development of a pattern of forgetfulness that has led me to blurt out a series of comments about alzheimer’s that were meant to be humorous. What if it actually were a memory disease causing my problem? What if someone I was with at the time, had a family member so afflicted? Doesn’t seem like something to joke about.

One of the things that I have trouble keeping track of is, which topics I’ve written about and posted here in Relative Something. Have you ever noticed that you can pretty quickly recognize when you have read something before? Unfortunately, I can’t remember which of my stories I’ve already told here. Of course, the longer I do this blog thing, the higher the odds there will eventually be repetition.

I have lost enough things lately, uncharacteristically of me, that it appears to be a pattern. So what’s the natural reaction? I start unconsciously living up to my fears and losing track of more things. Each new item or issue quickly adds evidence to my expectation and soon I’m convinced it’s getting worse. It must be a disease, no?

Mention to someone that you find yourself losing things and they will immediately be able to share a similar number of ways they are experiencing the same thing. It’s not uncommon. Becoming fixated on it is a classic case of how we create the very situations we expect to see. We all probably lose track of things at a similar rate over time, yet if we put our focus on it, the rate can appear to be excessive.

So, I will dismiss any such pattern, until a time when it truly exceeds typical human foibles. How do I know when that is? Oh, never mind.

Actually, it should be easy to dismiss the pattern, because I will probably just forget that I was keeping track of how often I am losing things. Get it?

Like I said, it’s not that funny.

Have you ever tried to actually figure out what is true? Truth is not quite as cut and dried as it is made out to be. I feel differently about a lie. Lies aren’t likely to occur without intent, and as a result are much easier to define. Truth just happens. Truth just is. Ah, but truth is more often referenced against falsity. Falsehood can probably be argued just as much truthfulness. When a person is intending to cover up something, the action is rarely referred to as creating falsity and much more likely to be identified as an act of lying.

Which situation gives rise to the greater fear: telling the truth, or telling a lie? Why do either one produce fear? Look at some of the things we are afraid of… appearing uninformed, drawing undesired attention to ourselves, revealing a deficiency of character, being hypocritical. Lies might be employed in avoidance of  such fears, but isn’t it possible that summoning truth could serve one equally well here?

I’d be lying if I said I knew.

I keep coming across another snippet from Gary Zukav’s meditations from Seat of the Soul (because the little flip book in the bathroom doesn’t get flipped very often) that refers to fear in a way that resonates with me…

From page 70:

All souls are tempted, but an individual with limitation of consciousness will find it more attractive to walk into the magnetic field of fear because it would not recognize fear for what it is. It would accept it as something else, as something that is normal to Life.

I often hear people discuss things that to my ears appear related to their fears, but their conversation isn’t framed with any recognition of it being a fear. It comes across as more of a frustration, or anger, or even indignation over details of a given subject (often fueled by news reports which so deftly propagate and then harvest the attention). They don’t even realize where it is they are dwelling, within their field of fear. It is, indeed, accepted as normal to life. It is a drama to which they are attracted. It becomes an addiction of sorts.

Turn off the news. Practice recognizing where it is that you allow your thoughts to dwell. Whether or not it ends up being a place of utter truth, it can certainly be a place other than one of fear.

I can’t think. My head hurts. It seems I have developed a cold. Where does thinking go when it disappears?

I find it particularly annoying to be sick with a cold during the spring or summer. It just doesn’t seem logical and it doesn’t feel fair. Is that one of the reasons our parents teach us that life isn’t fair?

Last night it struck me that something I have been trying to develop in myself related to my desire to strive for optimal health, is something that I didn’t have the benefit of witnessing within my family growing up. I want to send positive messages in my home with my words. There was a fair amount of sarcasm in my family that became a pattern I developed and executed all too well. Speaking positive messages did not come naturaly for me. It takes a fair amount of practice and a concerted dedication to enact changes in patterns that have been developed over the most impressionable years of a life.

I don’t recall ever specifically feeling any doubt that my family loved and supported me. That familial love was present in a way that I intuitively sensed and the nonverbal message of it provided plenty of comfort. But the verbal messages were coded. It was rarely as simple and clear as, “I love you” or “You are the best!”

Verbalizing positive messages to those with whom you live and work just may be the most dramatic positive influence you can create for the least amount of energy. Even when you are miserable and totally drained from having a cold, you can speak of love and appreciation. And the reward is doubled, because both the person speaking and the person hearing such a message are rewarded with positive, healthy energy.

I invite you to make an effort to listen to the words you speak and the messages you are sending to those closest to you this week. See if you become inspired to develop a more conscious pattern of verbalizing positive messages that will seed better feelings for both yourself and the people around you.

How many roles do we juggle in living our days? I have been grumbling a lot lately that rehabilitating a hamstring muscle injury could easily be a full time job. What I wish I had available to help me return to previous levels of athletic activity is entire days to stretch, exercise, stretch, strengthen, stretch, receive therapeutic sports massage and also appropriately rest; not only for my ailing leg, but the healthy one, too, ultimately hoping to recover with some semblance of balance. It ain’t gonna happen.

The other morning, while I was too-hurriedly trying to inhale my breakfast while standing, in order to make up for time spent sleeping-in a little bit to give my liver every possible chance to accomplish its overnight recovery (since I got to bed late after working long hours on overhauling my bicycle the day before) I gazed out at the landscape around our house. Just last week, everything was finally released from the grip of the long winter’s snow, and I was struck by the amount of attention it all now deserved. For the most part, our landscape gets left to fend for itself until one sunny weekend day when Cyndie and I will labor intensively to do what we can to influence some control toward appearances of order and intent. I mourn the fact that what we are able to accomplish is limited by having arrived at the tasks later than each chore deserved. Much of what we deal with could be refined by timely pruning or culling in advance, which would allow us to focus more on helping support the things we actually want growing and less on fighting back undesirables. It ain’t gonna happen.

The list of other areas of interest and/or responsibility that suffer similar limitations is long. The majority of them would be much better served given full-time attention.

As I was lingering (longer than the task realistically deserved) with cleaning the greasy sludge that persisted in sticking to my bicycle chain the other day, it occurred to me how this very situation reflects a common quandary I find myself facing. I have started in on the cleaning, and then believe it worthy to complete the task to the extreme, yet have not really prepared in advance to be as effective as my noble intentions now expect. I end up spending a lot of time toiling with improvised methods. The thing is, I enjoy that level of tedium. It becomes somewhat meditative. It has a component that I liken to my pleasure for assembling a jigsaw puzzle.

Unfortunately, one big problem with operating this way is that it runs right in the face of my inability to commit full-time to my projects. A lot more things linger unfinished than ever get entirely accomplished in my world.

There’s a thread in all that which is integrated with the depression I have experienced. My decisions and choices set up the situations and in that way I contribute to being my own worst enemy. My mental exercises to alter the dysfunctional process have revealed the power to change things for the better. But when I grow weary, and when I lose one of my supporting activities, it is surprising how quick I can revert to the sickly comfortable patterns of depressive feelings, behaviors, and when it really gets away from me, depressive thinking patterns.

Yesterday morning I heard the familiar lyrics of a song that John Prine wrote and Bonnie Raitt recorded for a hit, “Angel from Montgomery”

How the hell can a person
go to work in the morning
and come home in the evening
and have nothing to say

Unfortunately, I know all too well how.