Turmoil
My therapist says that, to some degree, we choose our lives.
As I look at mine, and my constant turmoil (or at least lack of peace), I have to wonder when I will learn to choose differently.
I find the yoga room to be a sort of microcosm of my life. As the new year began, I was nearly fainting during yoga. I've been attempting to practice in the moment by avoiding holding myself back early in classes. My tendency is to hold back early during each class so that I have energy left at the end. In letting that go, I'm finding that I have potential to really push myself further in each pose. Now, that does mean that I'm wiped out later in the class -- even to the point of nearly fainting. But, what I'm learning is that practicing each pose honestly gives me a clearer picture of what I'm capable of doing, what my limits are, and how I am progressing (or regressing, as the case may be) from day to day.
The other interesting thing I am learning (in the yoga room) is that no matter what the conditions in the room (the teacher, the heat, the students around me), I do choose how my class goes. Relativity comes to mind here. I can't control the things around me. And hard as that may be to swallow, it is a fact. But I do have some control over my reactions to the world and how I see that world: maybe even from what place I look.
This brings me back to turmoil. One thing I have noticed during the past six months is that the way I tell the story of my life (or current situation) seems to change the reaction of the people to which I tell the story. For instance, if I say that C and I are making the choice to live apart for a year or two in hopes of me finding a job somewhere we both want to live, I tend to get unconditional support. But if I say that C broke his promise to move with me, reactions tend to be angry and resentful. Both are true. Some days, I tell myself one story. Other days, the other story. My own reactions are as predictable as my friends and family's reactions.
So, just like a yoga class, I need to learn to tell myself a more peaceful story. I know all of the baggage will not disappear. But, I wonder what my life might look like if I don't hold back too much in hopes of some beautiful ending: of the perfect class (so to speak). It may be that I hold on too tightly. In fact, maybe if I let go a little more, I will find that many of the things that cause me turmoil will go with it.
The question that keeps whispering to me is, "What do I hold on to?" What is important? Marriage? Family? Career? Enlightenment? Wisdom? Contentment? Peace? Turmoil?
Why do I cling to the turmoil? What would a life of contentment look like?
Update: found this quote on a website I enjoy: "Contentment is natural wealth, luxury is artificial poverty." — Socrates
As I look at mine, and my constant turmoil (or at least lack of peace), I have to wonder when I will learn to choose differently.
I find the yoga room to be a sort of microcosm of my life. As the new year began, I was nearly fainting during yoga. I've been attempting to practice in the moment by avoiding holding myself back early in classes. My tendency is to hold back early during each class so that I have energy left at the end. In letting that go, I'm finding that I have potential to really push myself further in each pose. Now, that does mean that I'm wiped out later in the class -- even to the point of nearly fainting. But, what I'm learning is that practicing each pose honestly gives me a clearer picture of what I'm capable of doing, what my limits are, and how I am progressing (or regressing, as the case may be) from day to day.
The other interesting thing I am learning (in the yoga room) is that no matter what the conditions in the room (the teacher, the heat, the students around me), I do choose how my class goes. Relativity comes to mind here. I can't control the things around me. And hard as that may be to swallow, it is a fact. But I do have some control over my reactions to the world and how I see that world: maybe even from what place I look.
This brings me back to turmoil. One thing I have noticed during the past six months is that the way I tell the story of my life (or current situation) seems to change the reaction of the people to which I tell the story. For instance, if I say that C and I are making the choice to live apart for a year or two in hopes of me finding a job somewhere we both want to live, I tend to get unconditional support. But if I say that C broke his promise to move with me, reactions tend to be angry and resentful. Both are true. Some days, I tell myself one story. Other days, the other story. My own reactions are as predictable as my friends and family's reactions.
So, just like a yoga class, I need to learn to tell myself a more peaceful story. I know all of the baggage will not disappear. But, I wonder what my life might look like if I don't hold back too much in hopes of some beautiful ending: of the perfect class (so to speak). It may be that I hold on too tightly. In fact, maybe if I let go a little more, I will find that many of the things that cause me turmoil will go with it.
The question that keeps whispering to me is, "What do I hold on to?" What is important? Marriage? Family? Career? Enlightenment? Wisdom? Contentment? Peace? Turmoil?
Why do I cling to the turmoil? What would a life of contentment look like?
Update: found this quote on a website I enjoy: "Contentment is natural wealth, luxury is artificial poverty." — Socrates
posted by perrykat at
1:24 PM
3 Comments:
One of the smartest things I've read in a while.
Reminds me of the discussion about whether to go home after Xmas; the answer you get depends on whom you ask... it's all in the stories you choose to tell and listen to.
My current clutter battle seems a form of the same thing. Which things do you let go of, from the past, from the possible future, to give yourself space in the present to live.
Oh, and one other thing that your therapist's comment reminds me of. Abraham Lincoln supposedly said "People are about as happy as they make up their minds to be."
While simplistic, there's definitely something to that.
I love the idea of "space in the present" and what you (Jebbo) told me about the "room you want to live in."
Reminds me of what M & ME have said in response to my questions about how their home feels so peaceful: they said they planned it that way. They choose things that bring that affect.
I think Edgar Allan Poe said the same thing about writing: singleness of purpose. If a leaf is on a tree in the story, it should further the meaning of the story trying to be told.
I think I'd like to make up my mind to be happy.
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