Identity Pie

The last time I met with Carl he invited me to consider what creates my psychological identity. He suggested I consider it in terms of percentages or a pie chart and ask myself, “What percentage of my identity comes from relationships? From career?”

I was intending this post to be an active exploration of that, but as I come closer to actually doing so I’m encountering some resistence. Suddenly I am more aware of a slight headache, of my waning interest in blogging in general, of the books tempting me from my nighstand . . . Could it be that I am experiencing avoidance?

Ok, ok, I’m pushing through it. Identity, identity. . . where do I derive my psychological identity . . . ?

The first thing that comes to mind is, “From being nice.”

Now, that’s a little ironic because, honestly, I’m not all that nice all that much of the time. But I know how to be when I want to be and I actually am fairly often, so we’ll go with that. I’m nice.

I’m going to put “nice” in the Relationship and Image wedges of my pie, overlapping. Relationship, because being nice usually involves another person; and Image because . . . well, I suppose I like to be perceived as nice (I am getting entirely sick of this word). Kind of scary, huh? I’m letting it out that my niceness may not always be 100% selfless, which I find frankly frightening to consider and scare. Moving on to the next identity statement to surface:

I am a Naropa graduate.

This goes under Achievements and . . . what, Status? I’m aware that I egoically believe that by attending and graduating from Naropa I moved into a different bracket than someone who didn’t necessarily choose a contemplative education.

Maybe I’m exposing a little more than necessary to the world here (watch, I’m about to do a great job of changing the subject and avoiding further identity exploration).

It’s the holiday season and people keep telling me I’m easy to buy presents for. I think that’s “nice” and all, but I’m also beginning to wonder about my transparency and how I feel about it.

I think in the past I’ve prided myself on being completely open and available for all to see and share in. But it appears that may be changing, which excites me–and has made blogging more difficult. How can I write about personal observation, growth and insight without giving away the whole cow (horse? Gold? What the frig is that you give away . . . ? The show! No . . .)?

I’ll keep mulling that over and in the meantime, we’ll have to be satisfied with an identity pie consisting of two pieces, Nice and Naropa, Relationships and Achievements. May I truly get to the rest of it another day.

Tense and Release

Today is my dad’s birthday. Some years it falls on Thanksgiving, others not; every one we’re thankful for him anyway.

Mom and I took Dad out to dinner at a local sushi restaurant called Vivify. It’s a sweet little establishment with tasteful decor, creative entrees, beautiful dishes and a contientious business model. If not for the unfortunate online R&B radio station that always seems to be playing in the background, it would be near perfect.

Despite it all–the good restaurant, the good company, the good cheer–I still had trouble staying present tonight. My mind was all over the yesterdays and tomorrows. One minute I was thinking about how the last time I was at Vivify was with David; the next, I was ten years in the future with an income to support fine dining on a regular basis. I had to keep bringing myself back to the sweetness directly at hand, which, I suppose, is meditation in action. The mind wanders and we come back to the breath. The mind wanders and we come back to life. . .

An idea for relaxing the mind came to me while settling into savasana (“corpse pose”) during yoga this morning. Often, during this phase of the class, the instructor will talk students through a tense and release process which typically begins with the feet and legs. “Inhale and tense up your toes, calves, thigh muscles; squeeze! Now, lift your legs slightly off the floor, tight, tight, and . . . release.” Moving up the body, this is repeated until all of the major muscle groups have been tightened then relaxed.

While this is an effective way to help the body deeply relax more quickly, I find that my mind still runs amock in such a way that “final” relaxation is actually quite difficult to achieve. (I’m not alone in this. As simple as it appears, savasana is recognized as perhaps the single most difficult pose in yoga to actualize, precisely because of the fickle nature of mind). So today, as I lay still with a quiet body and a chattering mind, I thought to myself, “What if I tensed and released my mind as well?”

I reasoned that if tensing a bicep means using every portion of the muscle and all available energy there at once, then tensing the mind would logically be covering every topic my mind mulls over these days in a few brief seconds. And then, release!

If I recall correctly, today’s attempt went something like this:

What will I eat for breakfast? I have to get to work by 11. Should I replace my lost cellphone? Nathan is out of town so we’ll have to meet next week. When will Joe let me know about dancing this weekend? I wonder if Isaac’s party will be fun. What will I wear to the party? It’s almost time for another haircut. It’s dad’s birthday! I’ll take him out to dinner. I need to balance my budget! How much can I afford to pay Grael for Priestess school? And . . . Release!

I don’t know whether the technique actually worked or not. I’ve sort of forgotten what happened after that–which could seem like a good sign, hm? If I remembered all of those bothersome thoughts and then nothing afterword, that must mean something.

As for “Priestess school?!” Just another one of those secrets I’m not quite ready to let slip, an enigma of a topic I will likely choose to elaborate on . . . eventually. . .

Deer Caught Between Headlights

I broke down in the middle of the freeway this morning.

No, not my car, me; I broke down.

I was on my way to an early appointment in Medford to get the timing belt on my VW bug changed, driving and singing along to the Walin’ Jennys again. I was alternately tapping the wheel and my thigh to the beat of the music and scanning both sides of the highway for obstacles, cops and the like. I had already said prayers in passing for two animals choked by their own entrails on the side of the road when I saw a fleeing doe.

On this particular stretch of I-5, the north and southbound lanes are divided by a grassy strip about ten feet wide. It was there on the damp and dewy ground separating asphalt that she ran.

She passed me at a frenzied pace, her feet flying as fast as they would move, her soft brown eyes stretched wide. Her gaze was starkly forward; I felt sure she knew not where she was going nor how to get back from whence she came.

Before the sight had time to translate to thought, a groan rose in my throat and I was crying. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I clutched the steering wheel harder and the image replayed in my mind. Like a lucid dream, I kept part of my focus on the road and let the rest explore the emotion erupting from within me. I gasped and hiccoughed and finally decided to get off at the next exit where I lay my forehead on the steering wheel, wailed and exhaled.

My meditation practice came into practical play as I watched thoughts stream through my mind and felt the rise and fall of emotion. I was aware that my reaction could not only have been about the deer, although I ached for her safety and struggled to imagine her away from the string of streaming headlights.

No, somehow the doe reminded me of my brother, myself, and anyone else who was ever caught in anxiety’s wake, has ever felt like the only option is to run and that there is only one direction to do it in. Far from such feelings as I have been lately, guilt for not having enough compassion for those who are wrapped within them crept up instead. I studied those, too, and said a little thank you for the opportunity to more deeply understand.

Hours later, I am still saddened and sobered by the memory. I wonder at how life can touch us so unexpectedly. As uncomfortable as it can be, I’m usually grateful because it’s at such moments that I feel like I can really touch life back.

Sweet precious doe; sweet precious people. May we all be shown a way off the medians between freeways and onto paths we can trod in natural harmony instead.

Cradling Frustration

Two concepts have been catching my attention lately that I just saw to link this morning: anger and discipline.

I mentioned in the post Emotional Catharsis something about enjoying and indulging in emotions other than anger–and at this point I should probably use the term “hot” anger and take the time to distinguish it from “cold.”

It’s fairly simple, really. Of course, both will feel different to everyone, but essentially hot anger results in yelling, fighting, and aggressiveness. Outrage is an excellent synonym for this kind of anger. Cold anger, on the other hand, usually manifests as glowering or even being expressionless, and ignoring someone out of anger–giving someone the “cold” shoulder.

I was going to say I could accept cold anger more than hot, but I realize now that I was confusing containing or controlling anger with cold anger. In reality, cold anger can be just as cutting as hot.

Anyway, I saw the detrimental effects of hot–and undisciplined–anger this morning walking the two little dogs I am sitting for. One is part Jack Russel terrier and blatantly aggressive towards other dogs. I was warned of this by his owner, obviously, but I was still shaken when, as we were strolling along peacefully in the autumn a.m., he suddenly howled and leapt all over a gate with a dog behind it. First of all, I’m used to taking care of bigger, better behaved kanines– mostly labradors–and secondly, I was raised in a family where mistakes and punishments were nearly always handled with a calm and somber conversation (“Tessa, we need to have a talk. . .”). Needless to say, angry outbursts of any kind (or any species, apparently) are not anything I’m accustomed to.

Lesson #1 learned, I shortened Teddy’s leash considerably and we walked on. I mulled over the experience and held the lesson begrudgingly in my awareness. I didn’t like this having to be on the constant alert to the behavior of this dog. Although not such a terribly big deal, it became a little bigger when we passed the empty lot across the street from my parents’ house. Our yellow lab, Savannah, was doing her morning exploration of the property with her nose to the ground and her whole backend wagging in delight. It was all I could do not to call “Bonsie!” and watch her do her best impression of a gallop across the grass to greet me. But, knowing I had an unfriendly-to-other-dogs dog in tow, I was forced to let the opportunity quietly pass.

My anti-anger button was pushed again moments later. I was looking forward to taking one of my favorite shortcuts in town down a single car country lane lined with autumn hues, old farmhouses and an exceptional view of the mountain. But as we turned left to take the path, I had a sense that we would be unable to. Sure enough, down at the end of the road I could just make out the wiggling body of another little dog. We detoured instead.

Cradling my own frustration so as not to let it grow out of proportion, I recalled the words of Teddy’s owner. “I could probably train him not to act out this way, but I don’t have the . . . it just hasn’t happened.” Rethinking the conversation helped me realize that we all have a choice to literally train ourselves not to act in certain ways. “Training the mind” is a frequently used phrase in regard to meditation. Thus I made the connection between anger and discipline.

I considered that perhaps it isn’t anger, per se, that I have the problem with, but rather undisciplined anger. Undisciplined sadness, too, which when allowed to spiral out of control can lead to people actually taking their own lives.

Of course, discipline is it’s own double edged sword that I’d like to explore in some depth. Another day.