Surrender in layers

      The only thing I really celebrate this time of year is the Winter Solstice. The shortest day gives way to longest night that opens into the slow return of light. This week I’ve been reflecting on my year in preparation for celebrating the Winter Solstice on Sunday night.

   This year has been and still is a full tilt roller coaster of challenges, opportunities, good adventures and ginormous gifts. When I looked at where I’ve been this year, two things kept jumping out at me – surrender and freedom.

    Surrender gets a bad name in Western culture. It’s often associated with waving a white flag, giving up and relinquishing your power to some external thing. Before I got into recovery surrender was something forced upon me by various external authorities that wanted me to do something I didn’t want to do. My introduction to surrender as spiritual principle came when I got clean in the mid-eighties.  The idea that the only way I was going to learn to live clean was through surrendering to something greater than me was hard to swallow. I didn’t like the idea but it made sense. My addiction had kicked my butt. I needed to do things differently. I had no idea to do that. Surrender was the only practical option.

    That surrender, born mostly of desperation, was my introduction to the idea of letting go. Even in my first few attempts at that level of surrender brought an immediate sense of relief. Surrendering let me off the hook for trying to do the Universe’s job.

     From there my definition of surrender expanded to include not messing with the things I can’t change. There was a sense of both relief and freedom in looking at something I was scrambling to “fix” and realizing I couldn’t change it.  However both the relief and the sense of freedom were pretty limited.

     Although I was learning not to take action on things I couldn’t change, I didn’t know how to stop spinning around in my fuzzy little brain about them. Learning how to redirect my mind when I found myself endlessly analyzing a situation and running scenarios about how it might come out took years. I’m still a work in progress on that one.

     My path this year has brought me a new understanding of surrender. Surrender is the art of getting out my own way. Each time I surrender I cross the threshold of freedom and make more room in my life for magic.

     I also have a new clarity about what I let go of when I surrender. Surrendering to an external authority is surface level sort of surrender. I invite in something much deeper when I surrender to the unknown.

      This year has brought me face to face with big piles of unknown. I experienced many moments of yikes and wanting to fight with what was happening. Fear blocks surrender. Once I got past the fear and my ego’s desire to control, I found myself in a very different place. Although my head still wanted to run scenario’s and analyze the situation, it didn’t hook me for very long. I couldn’t talk myself into believing what my monkey mind was spitting out.

     Surrender is more than letting go of control. It’s letting of my illusion of control, any beliefs I’m holding that this “shouldn’t” be happening or that I “should” be in control. Control is an attachment to outcome. Yes, in most situations I do have a preference for how things come out. But when I keep feeding that preference with my attention until it becomes an attachment, I box myself in.

     That feeling of being cornered or boxed in triggers my fight instinct the same way it did when I was kid and an authority figure wanted me to do something I didn’t want to do. The difference now is my awareness that what I’m really being cornered by is not an external authority or situation. It’s me; my need to control. I can’t blame that on someone or something else.

     Being faced with an ongoing heap of unknown, I knew I had two choices. Surrender and go along for the ride or refuse to surrender and keep pushing the river. Again, surrender was the only practical option. Because I had more clarity about what I really letting go of, I was able to see surrender as choice and not something that was being forced on me.

     To my surprise, surrender without resignation brought a more enduring sense of freedom. Much of that freedom came from some trial by fire learning about staying in the now. With so much unknown, redirecting myself over and over again to the present moment seemed the only way to move with what is without making myself crazy.

     In that I discovered another lovely little paradox. Although I often chose surrender from feeling powerless, surrender is one of the most powerful choices I can make. All the power I have lies in the present moment. When I surrender, I give myself the power to be fully present and work with what’s happening.

     Another aspect of this new freedom has come from inviting the Universe, my soul and the unknown to be my partners in the life I’m creating for myself. My life works much better when I don’t limit myself to living in the confines of what my little self (personality, ego, etc.) can grasp.

      As Albert Einstein said, “There are two ways to live: you can live as if nothing is a miracle; you can live as if everything is a miracle.” Surrender paves the way for everything being a miracle. When I’m able to stay in surrender and equal partnership with the unknown, my soul and the Universe, I let of my need to know where anything is going to come from. In that place everything that arrives becomes a gift.

   

Not Caring What Others Think...Huh?

    

 I’ve lost count over the past few weeks of how many posts I’ve seen on Facebook about not caring what other people think. I shared one on my Facebook page last week.

“When you truly don’t care what anyone thinks of you . You have gotten dangerously close to something called freedom.” Faulty grammar aside, later that day I found myself thinking about what I’d shared. While it was a powerful aphorism, it was also a bit misleading.

     That can happen with aphorisms. We forget the short saying embodies a larger truth and take it as the entire truth. I care what other people think. You care what other people think. Not caring what other people think period is the territory of sociopaths and other personality disorders.

     I care because I'm able to empathize. Empathy is one of beautiful things that make us human. Empathy facilitates compassion, caring and kindness. Considering others and being mindful of both our influence on others and their influence on us are all aspects of emotional intelligence.What kind of person would I be if I didn't care?

    The same faculty that allows me to care what others think also lets me care about what’s happening in Ferguson and on our planet. It lets me empathize with friends who are struggling and clients. If I disconnect from caring what others think, I cut myself off from my ability to empathize in general. That’s not something I want to get rid of.

      The not caring what others think thing speaks to the importance of being who you are and using how you feel in your own skin as a guide for that, rather than allowing others wounding, fears and opinions to dictate what mask you wear. That’s a vital part of how authentic we each are.

     But being who you are isn’t about not caring what others think. It’s about being mindful of how you care and doing it differently. That involves both discernment and acceptance.

    When I get feedback from someone I try to consider the source first. Who is this person? What kind of relationship do we have? Do they know me well enough to understand where I am and where I’m coming from? Have I done or said something that triggered them?

     People frequently respond from fear and wounding around things they don’t understand. Ditto for the way people often react when they’re triggered. When someone gives me feedback a portion of it is about me and what I’m doing. A part of their feedback is also a statement of where they are and not directly about me.

    When I get feedback from someone l’m close to, even if some of it seems off, I don’t dismiss it immediately. How much I care about what the other person thinks varies for me relationship to relationship. Sometimes I need a little time to get clear about what their feedback brought up for me. Yes, every time someone voices a not so supportive opinion of what I’m doing it brings up a little internal twitch because some part of me wants to be accepted by that person.

    The desire for acceptance goes hand in hand with that need to belong. That’s just part of being human. If the feedback I get mirrors the discomfort I feel around what I’m doing or resonates with some part of me that’s not okay with what I’m doing my internal reaction is more than a little twitch. It can range from the desire to reframe what I’m doing so they understand to second guessing myself or scrambling around in my head searching for some way to get this person back in my corner.

     Doing something new is uncomfortable. So if my discomfort is just about doing something new, I can acknowledge the feeling and go on. If I find some part of me that’s not okay with what I’m doing, that bears a deeper look. Even if I sit with my own discomfort the source may not become clear. There are times when I just need to do something regardless of my own discomfort.

     When I’ve pushed myself into a place where so much is new that everything feels a bit uncomfortable, all I can do is go with my gut. Yes, I’ve been nudged to do things that could be seen as “mistakes”. Often a few years later I can see how much I needed to “fail” or make big mess because in the process of working my way back out of the mess I got some amazing gifts.

    This brings up another aspect of acceptance. If everyone likes, supports and approves of me and what I’m doing, something is very wrong. That’s an indication of being such a chameleon that I am what everyone else wants me to be. Not everyone is going to like me, support me or understand what I’m doing. That’s just how it is.

     Accepting that opens me to let others be where they are without trying to make myself into what they want or trying to change how they feel. When I’m able to let others be where they are I’m practicing both acceptance and generosity. Practicing that with others allows me to be just as kind to myself.

   I do use other peoples experience as an example when they’ve been through something I’m in midst of for the first time. However I do my best to stay mindful of not allowing that to become me judging myself based on someone else’s standards.

    The bigger question is whether I want to live from the outside in or the inside out. Living from the inside out means letting how I feel in my skin be what guides my choices…even in the face of confusion or disapproval from others. Bottom line - I’m the one who has to look myself in the eye in the mirror when I brush my teeth.

Practicing Radical Detachment

     

      I had a wonderful, soul feeding conversation with my friend Lise last week. We hadn’t talked in a while. When I shared with her where I’ve been this year she responded with “radical detachment.” Oooh, yes! Thank you Lise Goet for giving me words to describe an aspect of where I am.

       The concept of detachment is a central tenant of Buddhism and of twelve step programs, specifically Alanon. Buddhism also emphasizes compassion. While compassion and detachment may seem like mutually exclusive concepts, they aren’t.

       Buddhist detachment is related to renunciation. Many Westerners associate “renunciation” with having to give up something. In Buddhism the word that’s often translated as “detachment” or “renunciation” actually means “the determination to be free.”

      Detachment is not disconnection or disassociation. Detachment is not about shutting down, being cold or having no emotions. Detachment speaks to recognizing the constantly changing nature of our emotions. No matter what I’m feeling in this moment, it will change. That’s the nature of feelings. My emotions will shift regardless of whether or not I react to them, act on them or feed them. There is enormous freedom in that awareness. It allows me to feel whatever I’m feeling and not be bound to acting from those emotions. For me, with a Pieces moon, that’s big chunk of freedom.

     Compassion, in the purest sense, is unconditional. I have to let go of my attachment to outcome, what things look like or how someone reacts. Far from being opposites, compassion and detachment are interdependent.

     In Alanon and other twelve step programs detachment is associated with acceptance. Acceptance relates to our relationship with the things we can’t change. Acceptance is not agreement or liking something. It’s simply acknowledging both what is and my powerlessness to change it. That awareness gives me the opportunity to respond from a conscious choice rather than reacting. It allows me recognize and resonate with where someone is without succumbing to my own need to fix, change or alter. Ultimately this is a shift from being responsible for into being responsible to.

    Like so many other things in my life, I didn’t wake up one morning deciding to practice radial detachment. This year I’ve been presented with numerous opportunities to panic, worry and spin around in my own head or deepen my trust in the Universe…or at least act as if I trusted the Universe.

    Often I chose both trust and flailing. I worried. I expended a lot of energy trying to figure out how I could make things work out. That one kinda cracks me up. No matter how many times I hit the realization that trying to figure it out doesn’t work, I keep going back there. I’m much better at catching myself when I do than I used to be. This year I caught myself going there more times than I can count. I caught myself, redirected my attention, dealt with my monkey mind and reminded myself repeatedly that I am not in charge of squat. Stay in the moment. Do what’s in front of me. Move on.

    Somewhere in the dance I was doing things got different. I noticed under the storm of emotions inside me was something deeper; an unchanging sense of things being okay no matter what. That okay isn’t about me getting what I want or even liking the way things come out. It’s a larger knowing that regardless of what happens there is a bigger picture at work and I will be given what I need.

     I first recognized the new sense of okay back in February. It surprised me. I didn’t know if it was a moment of grace, a fluke or the seed of something bigger. At that point I was only a few weeks into living as a vagabond. The gypsy thing was drastically different from the way I’d be living for years. My ego via my inner critic had endless things to say about my lack of security, what the hell was I doing, how was I going to survive, how was I going to fix this, etc., etc.

      I didn’t go with the fragile new sense of okay because I trusted it. At that time it was simply a better alternative than giving all my attention to the critic. So I chose to feed my sense of okay by redirecting my focus to it. What I chose to feed grows…and it did.

      I began to notice other changes. Little things that normally bother me didn’t. When things did bother me, the frustration didn’t grip me the same way. It seemed to move through me rather than taking up residence.

      Even in tough situations where I couldn’t get past what I wanted to happen, once I stepped out of the situation the emotions and thought loops stuck around for hours or days rather than weeks. Several times the emotional tornado passed so quickly I questioned whether it was really gone or was I stuffing feelings.

      At first when intense emotions came up, I’d lose track of that quiet sense of okay. When the emotions abated I could find it again.  I decide to add spending a little time with that sense of okay to my daily practices. Give it my time and attention first thing in the morning and see what happens.

     The change wasn’t drastic, but over a period of months more shifted inside me. By early October I realized that sense of okay stayed with me even in the midst of intense emotions. That experience is still new and bit strange. Often, even when I’m immersed in a storm of feeling part of me remains with the okay, observing what I’m feeling rather than being taken over by it.

     It didn’t hit me till a few weeks ago that this is detachment. I’ve had fleeting glimpses of this over the years. Having detachment as choice I can make in the moment is not something I expected to have as an option. I first learned about detachment in my twenties when I read Zen Mind, Beginner’s Mind by T.D. Suzuki. Detachment seemed like an ideal; the rarified spiritual ground of lama’s and people like Mother Teresa or Gandhi…but it’s not. Humans like you and I can get there too. What an incredible gift.

    The radical part comes in my awareness that while this has allowed me to be different in the world, it started in me. It really began with shifting my relationship to my own emotions, wants and the stories my brain/ego tells me. When I am able to detach from those internal bits practicing the same detachment from the external just happens. Right now I’m excited about where I’ll be in another few months of continuing this practice.

Repainting the Holiday Blues

      

      So here we are again….the holidays. The shopping push has already begun. We haven’t even celebrated Gratitude Day yet and there’s Christmas music in the grocery store. With that comes the pressure to throw all our energy behind this being the most wonderful time of the year. For many people this time of year is marked by mixed emotions. We struggle not to judge our feelings because they don’t match the external expectation to be merry.

     There are numerous articles filled with tips on dealing with holiday stress. After reading through several of them what struck me was that while the tips were good, they don’t address the underlying cause…the expectations we create for ourselves, the expectations we take on from the external world and the grief that holidays can trigger.

    At this time of year we’re bombarded with idealized images of family. Holiday TV specials are filled with miraculous reconciliations of family conflicts, exiled loved ones returning to a perfect homecoming and wholly functional families. Ads in print and on TV brim with images of the ideal gift and holiday parties where everyone has a wonderful time.

    While these images are no more “real” than geckos selling insurance, they hook us. The images call to our human yearning for connection, family and belonging. We take in the images. We compare our families, our lives and how we feel about the holidays to the images we’re presented with and come up short. That’s inevitable any time we compare our insides to someone or something’s outsides.

    Every media message says we’re “supposed” to be happy at this time of year or at least act like that’s how we feel. That creates cognitive dissonance; the discomfort we feel when our beliefs and emotions don’t match external reality. The holidays come with a truckload of cognitive dissonance. Idealized images of stress free holidays conflict with how pressured we feel about hosting the perfect holiday gathering. Pervasive messages about the joy in finding the right gift conflict with stress exuded by most shoppers in every store we visit.

    So how do we disentangle ourselves? The holidays have a peculiar hook. They call up a yearning that’s been with us since childhood. When a longing is so deep it seems to be imprinted in our cells, it’s hard to acknowledge the feeling and move on rather than react. We leap into the momentum of the longing, allow it to propel us straight through hope and into expectation before we’re even aware of what we’re doing.

    Although I hesitate to use the word “always”, I am hard pressed to find a circumstance where expectation isn’t a set up. Expectation is usually a combination of hope and want. Rather than creating an expectation or taking on the expectation that’s handed to us from the barrage of holiday images, we can chose to be with what is.

   Yes, the longing is real. So is the powerlessness. We can’t create a perfect holiday. We can’t make ourselves feel differently about the holidays. We can accept and allow what is.

   The difference between what we have and what we wish we had will probably bring up some grief. It does for most people. The holiday images we’re presented with are basically special effects. They hit us differently than spectacular Hollywood explosions because they call to a deep human longing. What we’re really reacting to is not the external images but the yearning and emotions we already carry.

   For most people the holidays are bittersweet. That’s real. The pressure to be merry can easily push us to ignore or suppress our feelings of grief. As with other emotions, the energy we put into masking that grief only feeds it. What we resist persists. Our capacity to feel joy is equal to our ability to feel pain. Repressing grief because we “should” feel happy prevents us from feeling happy. Suppressed grief becomes the heaviness we carry through the holidays.

    Along with mixed emotions, the holidays carry a strong thread of memory. Whether we remember the messed up Christmas where someone walked out and/or the best Christmas we ever had, both are in the past. We can neither recreate them nor guarantee that nothing like that will ever occur again. Tradition notwithstanding, the holidays don’t magically give us the ability to control what happens.

    Many holiday traditions are bound up in obligation. The antidote to holiday obligation may be giving ourselves the gift of freedom from tradition. When traditions are held rigidly, they die. When we keep repeating the same things because that’s how it’s always been done, we lose the spark that gives them meaning. In order for traditions to remain vital and alive they have to grow and change. I propose we start a new holiday tradition of authenticity by expressing both the joy and the grief rather than choosing one over the other.

    When the weight of the holiday emotions becomes overwhelming, stepping outside ourselves can help. It doesn’t take away the heaviness, but it can help balance it. No, I’m not going to launch into suggesting volunteering at a homeless shelter, etc. Yes that can help. It can also add additional stress when we think about trying to fit one more time consuming thing into an already packed holiday schedule.

    While many of us donate canned goods or put a dollar in the Salvation Army kettle, how about something a little more personal? What about committing a random act of kindness that involves connection and looking another human being in the eyes? While we’re at it, what about being kind to ourselves?

    There are some great suggestions in Lifehack’s 29 Ways to Carry Out Random Acts of Kindness Every Day. Here are a few more:

1. Compliment a stranger

2. Give money to someone who’s begging

3. Give your place in the check-out line to someone who looks stressed

4. Tip big - order coffee or a meal and tip as much as the bill.

5. Give yourself permission to feel what you feel

6. Give some of the time and energy you feel pressured to give to other people and things to you. Take a bath. Read. Let yourself be quiet and still for a few minutes.

7. Create your own Pledge For Grateful Living and see how it changes your holiday experience.