It did not take long for life to unbalance itself, as it is wont to do, and I found myself again in a position where circumstances that were outside of my control asked for a response. It is almost amusing, the emotional gut punch we can get from situations that, in hindsight, feel fairly innocuous.
For example, an early morning under-caffeinated unkind exchange with a friend that left me in a snotty mess in the staff bathroom at school. Followed by the thoughts that extend and build a new kind of endurance pain grown from the stories I told myself about my initial event. Why did she respond to me that way? I was just trying to do the right thing and she was so mad at me. I always do that, I'm too brusque with people but I just wanted to get back upstairs. Gah, she's always so kind and I pissed her off. It must have been really bad if she was mad at me. But she shouldn't have responded that way. It wasn't really a big deal and she actually escalated it. She won't even look at me. What if our friendship never recovers? We're doomed. And on, and on, arguing back and forth in my head, first defending, then chastising myself ad nauseam until my throat completely clenched, my eyes brimmed over, and I had to run to the bathroom at 8:15 in the morning so my students didn't see me bawling. Like a middle school girl. Except I'm supposed to be an adult.
But what I have loved about having a practice, what I have been so fascinated by, is that I have begun to watch the whole play unfold, without squinting or turning away. I have let myself feel the initial punch land, really hold that pain, and watch myself construct a story around that moment. I can more clearly see that I tell and retell the same story that builds the emotion, which sometimes takes the reigns and pulls me into a whiny impossible to escape dervish. And then... I watch myself escape.
My friend and I made up, because unlike middle school girls, we have the skills to come back to one another and admit wrong, to be at once apologetic and forgiving.
And just this afternoon, I found myself again in that sweet spot- feet up on the railing after a run, drinking down a cool glass of water, the temperatures extra sweet after finally climbing out the arctic mess we were frozen in for far too long. And I really noticed that sweetness.
I am no Mindfulness Ninja. I say things I regret and get upset about them and blame others. I forget to notice the beauty we are surrounded by. But at least now, every now and then, I'm noticing. And maybe on that hundred and first time I watch myself make the same mistake, I'll be able to pause and choose the response that is most Ninja-like.
For example, an early morning under-caffeinated unkind exchange with a friend that left me in a snotty mess in the staff bathroom at school. Followed by the thoughts that extend and build a new kind of endurance pain grown from the stories I told myself about my initial event. Why did she respond to me that way? I was just trying to do the right thing and she was so mad at me. I always do that, I'm too brusque with people but I just wanted to get back upstairs. Gah, she's always so kind and I pissed her off. It must have been really bad if she was mad at me. But she shouldn't have responded that way. It wasn't really a big deal and she actually escalated it. She won't even look at me. What if our friendship never recovers? We're doomed. And on, and on, arguing back and forth in my head, first defending, then chastising myself ad nauseam until my throat completely clenched, my eyes brimmed over, and I had to run to the bathroom at 8:15 in the morning so my students didn't see me bawling. Like a middle school girl. Except I'm supposed to be an adult.
But what I have loved about having a practice, what I have been so fascinated by, is that I have begun to watch the whole play unfold, without squinting or turning away. I have let myself feel the initial punch land, really hold that pain, and watch myself construct a story around that moment. I can more clearly see that I tell and retell the same story that builds the emotion, which sometimes takes the reigns and pulls me into a whiny impossible to escape dervish. And then... I watch myself escape.
My friend and I made up, because unlike middle school girls, we have the skills to come back to one another and admit wrong, to be at once apologetic and forgiving.
And just this afternoon, I found myself again in that sweet spot- feet up on the railing after a run, drinking down a cool glass of water, the temperatures extra sweet after finally climbing out the arctic mess we were frozen in for far too long. And I really noticed that sweetness.
I am no Mindfulness Ninja. I say things I regret and get upset about them and blame others. I forget to notice the beauty we are surrounded by. But at least now, every now and then, I'm noticing. And maybe on that hundred and first time I watch myself make the same mistake, I'll be able to pause and choose the response that is most Ninja-like.
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