When my co-worker died unexpectedly about two months ago, it rocked me. It shook my sense of stability and security, and I’ve been working hard to get back to feeling safe and secure ever since. Unfortunately, all of my usual methods haven’t worked. I still feel insecure and life still doesn’t feel stable.
I spoke with a friend about this and she reminded me life isn’t certain. We pretend it is, but it’s not. We think we know what will happen next, but we don’t. Usually that notion fills me with anxiety because when the outcome is uncertain, I err on the side of negativity. I know, that’s funny considering this blog is called “Another World is Probable” and I spend so much time talking about a bright future, but it’s true. For myself, I assume the worst – rejection, scarcity, death. On a visceral level, gazing into my future I foresee death, destruction, and despair. It makes sense then why I want to keep uncertainty at bay. The way I’ve done so is to plan. I plan for joy, for connection, for the future. That way I know I’ll engage in something pleasant. Or at least, that’s what I told myself. And it mostly worked, except also not really because I’m sure you’ve heard that saying, “When we make plans, God laughs.” Most often my plans went awry, but I made them anyway and I quelled my anxiety for the most part. I could be certain of most things and that was fine by me.
We’re on the biggest thrill ride of them all. Photo by Park Troopers on Unsplash.
When my co-worker died, my notion of certainty shattered. I couldn’t keep pretending life could be certain, no matter how much I planned. His death was not something I anticipated. Nobody gave me advanced warning. He was here one day and gone the next, and that hurts.
In this moment I’m grieving him, and I’m grieving the loss of certainty. What my friend reminded me though is that doesn’t have to be a bad thing. Good things are uncertain too. A new relationship, a new job, a new life are also things we cannot predict. We pretend we can by applying for new jobs, scouring dating websites, and having unprotected sex, but we don’t control what the company is, who we’ll fall in love with, or when we’ll get pregnant. We make an effort, we do the footwork, but when any of those things manifest is ultimately a surprise.
In December, friend and Soul Couch Jayantii Lawless told me she wished I felt thrilled. Not about anything in particular, not like she wished I felt thrilled about dinner that night, rather that I had the experience of “thrill” in general. I laughed and said, “Yeah, me too.” I envisioned “thrill” in the form of falling in love, but instead, the universe is illustrating life itself is thrilling. We are on a roller coaster replete with peaks and valleys. The roller coaster will go up and it will come down. The future is just as likely to be awesome as it is awful. It’s important for me to remember that because anticipating the future will be terrible isn’t working for me. I’d rather anticipate the future will be terrific because that’s just as likely.
I dream of a world where we recognize uncertainty can be exciting. A world where we remember it’s just as likely pleasant things will happen to us as unpleasant ones. A world where we realize life is the biggest thrill ride of them all.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
Historically, one of the ways I’ve dealt with uncertainty and ambiguity is to become controlling. If I didn’t know what was going on, I’d make a plan or force a decision so that I did, because then at least I’d know, and knowing was more comfortable than not knowing.
It should come as no surprise I was a stage manager in high school, and for a couple of years in college. For those unaware, the stage manager is the person behind the scenes of a show who is calling all the lighting and sound cues, the person who makes sure the sets are moving when they should, the person who determines when the show starts, even. This is not done without input or help, but the ultimate responsibility is the stage manager’s. I loved stage managing. At last my character traits of controlling and perfectionism were put to good use. Instead of being disparaged for them, I was lauded.
Will this person hitch a ride or not?
Unfortunately, while all the world’s a stage, I’m not the stage manager. Nor did I get the script in advance. For someone prone to anxiety, and who likes to know what’s happening beforehand, this is not a good combination. To manage this, I could have become the type of person who does the same thing every day, who sticks to a schedule rigidly, who never tries anything new, who lives in a safe container of the known and the familiar, but I get bored and restless. Well shucks. What’s a gal to do then?
Lately, instead of defaulting to controlling, I’m allowing all of my feelings. I’m letting it be OK that I’m scared. I’m letting it be OK that I think things should be this way or that. I’m also letting it be OK that there’s a part of me itching to decide one way or another. These days I’m letting all my parts co-exist and that means accepting uncertainty. The truth is, for all my planning, nothing ever happened the way I thought it would anyway. That doesn’t mean I’ll stop planning altogether – I will never be a person who’s comfortable flying into a foreign city without knowing where she’s sleeping that night – but it also means I’m allowing for flexibility.
According to my spiritual teacher, and many teachers, adjustment and flexibility are essentials for human progress. My teacher says, “Intelligent people will not cling to old, outdated ideas. Rather they will wholeheartedly embrace that theory which adjusts with time, space, and person, and will continue to exist forever.”
He’s speaking about societal theories here, but I think the same principle applies on an individual level. I must discard old and outdated ways of being in the world. Handling uncertainty by clinging to a fixed plan no longer serves me. Dealing with ambiguity by forcing a decision before the answer is clear no longer works for me. The only person I have any agency over is me, and treating myself with gentleness, humor, love, and respect sounds like the best plan to deal with uncertainty that I could ever concoct.
I dream of a world where we accept uncertainty. A world where we realize nothing will ever go exactly the way we planned. A world where we embrace flexibility and adjustment while we move ahead on the path of our lives. A world where we allow all parts of ourselves to exist in peaceful harmony.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
Lately I find myself wading deeper and deeper into the realm of emotion. That may sound funny because people often describe me as “emotional,” but what I mean is instead of flirting with an emotion, I’m embracing it. The despair, the anger, the disappointment. All of it. Not only am I embracing my feelings, I’m also no longer trying to fix them.
For me, whenever I felt really down, or lonely, for instance, I turned to something to make myself feel better: I called a friend, turned on the TV, picked up a book. I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with those activities, but they became compulsions, ways for me to avoid diving deep. To avoid the emotional pain of fully embodying my emotions. These days I’m learning to sit with my feelings, no matter what they are.
These days I’m embracing everything, even the prickly bits.
Matt Licata, a psychotherapist, has a blog I read every couple of weeks. In one blogpost he wrote:
[T]he question during these times is: Are you going to use these reorganizing and shattering experiences as vehicles though which to befriend yourself, to attune to the unprecedented flow of feeling with you, and to weave a sanctuary for the wisdom-pieces of the broken world to be held and illuminated? Or, will you fall back into your habitual, conditioned history, attack yourself, your tenderness, and your sacred vulnerability, spinning into the habitual fight-flight urgency of shame, blame, resentment, and self-aggression?
In another he wrote:
The invitation is into intimate communion: to move closer, and even closer still, into the feelings, the emotions, and the sensations as they surge. To surround the surging material with curiosity, warmth, and most importantly with kindness, as an inner explorer of the galaxy of your own body, of which there is no temple more sacred.
Communion. Yes, that’s what I long for. And communion means befriending my pain, befriending my sorrow, befriending my disappointment. Every cell of my being longs for love, and that means the pain, the sorrow, and the disappointment too. In my journey toward wholeness, toward the divine, I must embrace everything within me.
In my spiritual practices, we view everything as an expression of an infinite loving consciousness, and that means me too. Not only the me in this physical form, but the internal me as well. The one that feels pain, the one that feels lonely, the one that feels disappointment.
These days I’m practicing loving those parts too and I have that wish for others as well.
I dream of a world where we embrace all parts of ourselves. A world where we feel every emotion as it arises. A world where we sit with our pain because we recognize it, too, is divine.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
I notice there’s a tendency in me and in society to avoid the deep and dark places. We are uncomfortable with displays of depression and despair.
The other day, a friend posted on facebook that she felt depressed and the majority of her friends said, “Are you getting help? Are you taking medication?” I’m not saying people shouldn’t take meds and shouldn’t seek help, but it’s interesting to notice their reactions. How quickly people turned to solutions instead of saying, “I hear you,” or “Me too.”
I understand the rush toward solutions. I know in myself, the minute I feel depressed or hopeless, I want to leave those states as quickly as possible. I don’t want to sit with the feelings, I don’t want to acknowledge them, I don’t want to give them air time. If I could bypass all the uncomfortable feelings, that would be great, thanks.
Even small acts of love can have great effects.
As my therapist reminds me, it doesn’t work that way. I can’t pretend certain feelings don’t exist just because I’d rather they didn’t. The only way to move through the feelings is to first have awareness of them, and second to feel them. In thinking of my spiritual practices, I’d like to add a third step.
I am reminded of the work crafted by a monk I knew. He used to say every cell of our body is longing for liberation, is longing for oneness with something greater than ourselves. Not only the parts we acknowledge, but the parts we push away as well. He went to graduate school for psychology and developed a mantra therapy technique combining what he learned there with the principles of our yoga and meditation group. In these heart circles, as he called them, people would sit in a circle. One person would sit in the center of the circle and think about an emotion or belief they wanted release from. Then everyone on the perimeter sang to the person in the center. They verbally bathed the person with a Sanskrit mantra, sending them love. They imagined love coming through them and directed it to the person in the center of the circle.
I’ve been in many a circle, and people often weep or their expression softens or they start beaming. Something happens. Something happens because all parts of us want love. All parts want acknowledgment. All parts want us to say, “I see you, I hear you, and I love you.”
This week as I’ve sat with my own hard feelings, I’ve directed love their way. Not to drown them out, but in an act of tenderness and care. As Doreen Virtue says, “Love is the miracle that heals all things,” and that includes me. Instead of hating certain emotions, instead of pushing them away, instead of pretending they don’t exist, instead of skipping over them, I’m sending them love. I’m going to the deepest, darkest places within me and saying, “I’m here and I love you,” because that’s ultimately what I want. And what we all want.
I dream of a world where we give all parts of ourselves air time. A world where we embrace all parts of ourselves and say, “I’m here and I love you.” A world where we recognize love is the miracle that heals all things and it’s a miracle we can give to ourselves.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
I’ve come to believe that to be alive means to experience trauma; and I don’t mean things like war, or car accidents (although those things too) — I mean things like death, divorce, and anything else that shakes us up and makes us feel unsafe physically or emotionally. Trauma can also be secondary, by the way. It can be hearing or seeing someone else’s traumatic experiences. When you take into account the majority of news stories, I’m pretty sure we’re all walking around a little traumatized.
We all deal with trauma in our own ways, but I’ve noticed I deal with trauma by minimizing it, dismissing it, or doing whatever I can to distract myself from the depths of my feelings. Who wants to feel sad or angry or insecure when there are movies to watch, people to call? Who wants to feel sad or angry or insecure when there are places to visit and dreams to chase? I certainly don’t. But the reality is, we can’t outrun our trauma; it clings to us like a shadow. Carl Jung said, “Until you make the unconscious conscious, it will direct your life and you’ll call it fate.”
Go with emotions like flowing down a river.
Carl, why you gotta be so spot on? I don’t want to make the unconscious conscious, but I’ve reached a point in my life where I can’t ignore it anymore. As someone said to me once, “What you resist, persists.” I wanted to punch them in the face when they said that to me, but I found, yes, it’s true. I kept working so hard to resist, but my resistance didn’t banish the problem, it only served to keep it alive. The question then becomes, how is a professional emotional runner, so to speak, supposed to all of a sudden stop running? How can a person face their demons instead?
When I brought this up to my therapist, he said to me, “Just lie down. Instead of actively trying to skirt the perimeter, yield, and let the flood wash over you.” And wash over me it did. When I stopped actively trying to do anything, all of the emotions overtook me. I didn’t enjoy it, it wasn’t “fun,” but I feel relieved. It takes a lot of energy to run away from feelings. A LOT. By stopping, by turning around to face my feelings instead, I feel drained, but in a good way. Like after a full day swimming.
To tie all of this to a spiritual concept, people talk a lot about being in the flow of life – me too – but I think it’s important to remember, getting into the flow is not always an active process. Sometimes being in the flow is allowing ourselves to be carried by whatever is here. Just like flowing down a river, it’s a lot easier if we don’t resist, and also, we have no idea where it will take us.
I dream of a world where we yield to what we’re resisting. A world where we feel our feelings instead of pushing them away. A world where we put ourselves into the flow by understanding sometimes that’s a passive process.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
I’m in rough shape today as I’m recovering from a 48-hour bug, so here is a post I tweaked from July 2011.
I want all of my feelings to be in agreement. I want to be either happy or sad – not both. Particularly not both about a single event.
Until yesterday, I was in Washington, D.C. for a wedding, which I decided to turn into a long weekend trip. I love Washington, D.C. I went to school there, I became an adult there, one of my favorite places on Earth is there. Yet, I live in California and I love California. I love the weather, I love my friends, I love my apartment, my life, my community.
I felt (and feel) sad about leaving the district because not only are my favorite places there, but also some dear friends. My heart is heavy because I don’t know when I’ll see them again. Washington, D.C. is a special place for me because I don’t have one or two good friends who live there, I have about a dozen. It’s hard to leave such a large and deep pocket of love and kinship. I was sad to leave but happy to come home. A part of me wants to pick a side, to say I’m either sad to leave D.C. or happy to come back to California. But that’s not true. I honestly feel both.
Life is colorful.
What I’m learning is my feelings are complex and multifaceted so that means I can feel both. I don’t have to pick a side. I don’t have to move back to D.C. because I miss living there. I don’t have to abandon my life in the Bay Area. I don’t have to do anything really except feel what I’m feeling. Allow myself to experience both happiness and sadness, yes, even at the same time.
My life these days is no longer black and white, it’s technicolor. I am an unlimited being so I don’t have to restrict myself to feeling one way or another. Perhaps that’s what it means to be an adult, recognizing there are numerous feelings and life isn’t as simple as I thought it was. I can feel both. I can love multiple people, places, and things, and nothing has to replace anything else. I can have multiple favorites.
I wish everything was cut and dry because life would be so much simpler that way, but in truth, it’s not. So that’s what I’m encouraging: to embrace life as it is, in all its technicolor glory.
I dream of a world where contradicting feelings may coexist. A world where we allow for all possibilities and situations without trying to force ourselves to feel one way or another. A world where we accept our complexity and our depth. A world where we know one thing does not have to preclude the other.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
The Thursday before Halloween I pinched a nerve. A friend massaged my neck and shoulders on Saturday and Sunday, which helped, but what really gave me full range of motion was rage. On Monday, I started thinking about that quote I posted last week, about how nothing in this universe happens unless God desires it, and it pissed me off. More than pissed me off, it infuriated me. I started blaming God for every crappy thing in my life.
I screamed at the top of my lungs, “I hate you!” shook my fists, and destroyed a book. It was the most angry I’ve ever been and certainly the most angry I’ve ever been at the universe. As soon as I calmed down, the pain in my back and neck almost completely diminished.
I bring this up because so often I hear people say, “Don’t get angry,” or proclaim that anger is not very spiritual. There’s an expectation that we meet every situation with peace and contentment, that nothing ruffle our feathers. I’m sorry, but I’m not evolved enough for that. The best I can do is suppress or repress my feelings and that’s not a solution because suppressed and repressed feelings have a tendency to act as ticking time bombs or come out in other, non-healthy ways. In my case, repressed anger manifested in my physical body as a pinched nerve.
There’s a place for everything in this world — even angry lightning storms.
My spiritual teacher says we should not be misguided, swayed away, or unduly influenced by anger. That we should not allow the instinct of anger to take control of us. That anger should be regulated. He very much advocates non-anger, but I don’t know how to cultivate non-anger, so the best I can do right now is work on regulating it. And how am I supposed to regulate anger if I constantly keep it locked away in a drawer? In order for me to control something, I have to understand it’s full range so I know what’s appropriate in any given situation. That means allowing myself to get angry, and yes, even get angry at God.
What I find interesting is even anger brings me to my goal of union with the Supreme. My teacher says, “Even when you think of God as an enemy, you are involved in Him. Really, our mind is more activated [to think about somebody] by anger and hatred [than by positive propensities]. When we have a quarrel with somebody, we keep on thinking that the next time we meet that person, we will say this or that. Therefore, God will be attained whether you love Him or hate Him.”
That to me means it’s OK for me to hate God right now. It’s OK for me to be angry at God right now. All of my feelings are allowed and acceptable. I don’t have to hold anything back for fear of being punished or unloved. Do I enjoy feeling so angry? No, of course not, but until I get to such a state where anger no longer exists for me, I’m learning to control it and that means feeling angry in whatever capacity I do. Who knows? I might improve my posture in the process.
I dream of a world where we allow ourselves to feel all our feelings. A world where we understand to control an instinct, first we must express it. A world where we know it’s OK to be angry at God and even to express hatred because it all leads to the same place.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
P.S. Help me create a world we wish to see by becoming a patron.
Many moons ago I fell in love with a guy who “made” me feel the highest highs (and the lowest lows). Being around him brought out the creative side of me, the side that writes poetry, the side that appreciates art and synchronicity and mysticism. When things didn’t work out between us I was crushed for many reasons, one of which was the belief that I would never feel the same again. That I would never feel a love so intense, a bliss so blissful, or a creativity so constant. You’ll notice that I put that first “made” in quotes — that’s because he didn’t make me feel anything that wasn’t already within me.
This stuff is already in us, just like how ice can’t be made without water.
The other day I watched a TV show (I won’t say which one because, well, spoilers) and one of the characters lamented the loss of her paramour because he brought out the creative side of her, a kind of magic she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to recreate without him. Her friend responded, “Honey, don’t forget that was already in you all along.” Now, people have been saying variations on that to me for a while, but it wasn’t until I watched this TV show and heard the words said in precisely that way it sunk in. I finally felt in my heart: “Oh, right. Those feelings, that creativity, already existed inside of me. It wasn’t a magical conjuring by this guy. It didn’t appear out of thin air.”
For a long time I thought the only way I could ever feel as blissful, creative, alive, etc. ever again was to be around that guy or to find another one. The internal feelings within me were always dependent on the presence of someone else (or something else). Realizing all of these feelings, this creativity, this magic exists within me frees me from the chains of external attachments. Frees me from the belief I have to have someone else around in order to feel them.
I bring this up because so often I hear people talking about how they need to go to India to find spirituality, or they need to go to this place to feel at peace. Or they need to date so and so in order to be happy. Or whatever, I’m sure you’ve heard the same things. Of course external things influence how we feel, I’m not denying that, but what I am saying is our joy, our bliss, our creativity, fill in the blank, are not dependent on external people, places, or things. Those feelings exist within us all along. Another person wouldn’t be able to bring them out of us just like how you can’t make ice without water.
Take me for instance. I still write poetry on occasion and I still appreciate art. I don’t have to have somebody in my life in order to bring out my creativity or help me love paintings, I can do that for myself. I don’t need to attach any of my internal qualities externally because the entire universe already exists inside of me — I have everything I need.
I dream of a world where we realize all the feelings we associate someone or something else bringing out in us we have inside already. A world where we remember we don’t have to go chasing after anything to elicit peace, joy, or love. A world where we treasure our inner landscape and play there often.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
I had a very interesting conversation this week with a friend. He said there’s a difference between feeling an emotion and attaching a story for it. For instance, I may be sad about losing a relationship, which is a natural emotion, but what makes it worse is the story I tell myself on top of it such as, “I’ll be alone for the rest of my life, no one will ever love me the same way,” etc. What can compound an emotional state is the added storyline we give it.
I like storytelling, but not when I use it to manufacture misery.
I bring this up because I have trouble letting emotions go through me. I’ve spent a good chunk of my life doing what I could to not feel, to avoid feeling my feelings at all costs, to keep them at bay because I was afraid of feeling the feeling. In my mind, it was better to not feel angry, sad, lonely, etc. in the first place. So now that I’m sober (i.e. actually feeling my feelings and not trying to numb out), I still have a hard time letting my emotions pass through me, precisely because I can drag them out by adding a story to them. The emotion turns into a big dramatic thing, I make it so much worse on myself by piling on untruths such as, “I’ll feel this way forever,” or “Things will never change.” There’s a lot of “always” and “never” in my stories. And a whole lot of catastrophizing where I jump from, “My neighbor is playing loud music,” to, “Oh my God, I need to move somewhere else!”
I’ll admit much of this has to do with the fact I’m an anxious and melodramatic person. For those of you who aren’t, you probably can’t relate to much of what I’m writing about. However, for those of you who can, I want to point out how these stories and the catastrophizing makes the emotion so much worse than it has to be. If I allowed myself to feel my moments of grief, or sadness, or loneliness, they wouldn’t last NEARLY as long if I didn’t throw extra fuel onto the fire.
I’m not sure what to do about all this other than to make myself aware of it. My dear friend who’s a therapist tells me often awareness by itself can make a huge difference. Maybe by understanding I tell myself a lot of false “truths” I can catch myself in the act and remind myself they’re not the case. Just because I’m scared about not receiving my passport on time to leave for Europe, doesn’t automatically mean my boss will get pissed and fire me and never send me to Europe again. Instead, it’s better for me to stay present with what is and acknowledge, yes, I’m anxious about my passport arriving in the mail, but that’s all I get to be anxious about, because nothing else has happened.
A lot of what I’m talking about – stories, emotions – has to do with being present, with paying attention to what’s in front of me and not future tripping or spinning out to what could be. There are a million things that “could be,” and when I start attaching emotion to all those possibilities, that’s when I really get into trouble.
I dream of a world where we feel, process, and let go of what’s before us. A world where we stick with whatever emotion we’re feeling and not compound it by telling ourselves falsehoods. A world where we act like straws, allowing emotions to come in and emotions to go out, understanding the process to be fast or slow depending on how much extra stuff we throw in. A world where we cut down on the stories we tell ourselves.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
I have a friend on facebook who utterly intrigues me. She’s a twinflame matchmaker who’s on a mission to help women become high healed priestesses and engage in their bli$$nesses (bliss + business). Her website, photos, and messages are awash with pink and all things girly. She talks a lot about healing the divine feminine and awakening the feminine energy which is in all of us — men and women alike.
Also, yesterday was the winter solstice here in the Northern Hemisphere. Another friend shared this picture and message: “Happy winter solstice! To the divine, sacred spirit of the feminine opening everything.”
I have no idea whether this is photoshopped or not.
What I’m saying is feminine energy has been on my mind. I’ve been thinking about what it means and noticing there’s been a distinct imbalance in my life, a skewing toward the masculine energy more than the feminine. It seems to me masculine energy is all about doing, acting, moving, while feminine energy is all about being, receiving, and stillness. Given the choice, I’d much rather “do.” Tell me the action to take and I will. Stillness, having patience, these are much harder for me but I’m being called to bring forth my feminine energy more and more.
On Wednesday, I had a conversation about fear and my therapist asked me what my typical response is. My typical response is to power through it. To rush through fear like a warrior charging into battle, but the warrior doesn’t always work for me because sometimes there’s no action to take. Sometimes all my fearful self wants is a hug, which means nurturing and caring for me. Calling forth my softer side.
I won’t say my softer side has been lying dormant — it hasn’t — but cultivating the feminine within me has been a process, an awakening of sorts. If you think about it, waking up requires more than opening your eyes — you also have to throw off the sheets and sidle out of bed. I opened up my eyes long ago, and now I’m stretching.
I guess I’m writing this post because I’m noticing the value of the feminine and I want to encourage other people to engage their softness too. I used to think soft meant weak, vulnerable, open to attack, but the more I’m dismantling my fear, the more I notice it takes a lot of courage to be soft, to be vulnerable, to nurture. And it doesn’t mean I have to be one way or another — sometimes the warrior is necessary, but so is the pink fuzzy blanket.
I also want to say here, in the past I might have berated myself for not being where I want, for not being “awake” already, but I’m noticing there’s deliciousness in waking up. There’s softness in the process. This is me encouraging you to be OK with where you are, to know whatever awakening you are going through it’s perfectly fine for it to be gentle, for you to not be finished with it yet. Savor where you are, you’ll be awake soon enough.
I dream of a world where we don’t rush the process. A world where we understand we wake up (metaphorically speaking) when we’re ready. A world where we value both the masculine and feminine side of ourselves. A world where we live in harmony with ourselves calling forth what is needed when it is needed.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.