Longing

Longing.  I feel longing. Underneath the disappointment, the anger, the sadness, the lonesomeness, the tiredness, the confusion (I could go on), lies longing. My whole being aches for something unnamable.

It’s tempting to leave it at that. Once I realize that I can’t describe something in words, it’s pretty easy for me to leave it behind (at least for a few hours) and sit on my meditation cushion, believing that I’m somehow accessing the unnamable. I can breathe in and out at my desk at work and experience the unnamable feeling.  I can get down to it via non-linear channels. 

I asked God if, when I encounter the thing I have been longing for, I will know it. I haven’t heard back yet.

I think I will know. I think that whatever it is is very close. I’m not sure if it’s a person, an event, a job, a chance, a vocation, a feeling, or a group. It’s probably something else entirely. For certain, it is a longing for change – either in me or in the world around me. Something needs to come in and mix up the action. But that’s not such a huge revelation. Any longing is a longing for change of some kind, even if it’s just a longing for a change within that will allow me to enjoy the world as it is.

Or maybe every longing is simply a desire for the longing to go away. Maybe longing just is, and all we can do is want it to leave us alone.  But what would I be without a longing of some kind?  Once I achieve the object of my longing, doesn’t the longing just transfer to a new object? Once it transfers, I then spend days, months, or years figuring out what the new object is.  After a while, I might lay hands on the not-so-new-anymore longing, but all that leads to is the appearance of a new new longing. 

Or maybe I’m always entertaining multiple longings. I’m filled with hundreds of longings, and when one goes away, others stay or newly appear. The longings constantly flow in and out of me.  I’m a body of ever-shifting longings blowing and whirling through me – some finding their way to the core and making a home for themselves, and others whizzing by faster than I can feel them.

I like this image of me as a swirling cacophony of movement and yearning. That’s how I experience life. It also explains why longings often confuse me. I misinterpret what they are.  I assume I have a singular longing when, in fact, dozens or even hundreds or thousands of longings compete for my attention every moment of every day. The crux of my disease is that I mistake a surface longing for one of the deeper ones. I might eat something or apply for another new job instead of paying attention to the deeper longing. I assume I want food or a career change, when maybe what I long for is far more complicated.

The key to my salvation is not satisfying longings. It must be something else.

It’s easier to attend to surface desires and far more difficult to discern the deeper longings.  I doubt those deeper longings are any harder to satisfy than the surface ones, but pinpointing what it is that could satisfy the deeper desires – that’s the trick.

So here I sit: me, a swirling mass of longing. That about describes it.

And which longing is at my core?  Which longing do I feel right now?  Is it the same longing I’ve felt for the last two months?  Or has it changed?  What is this?  And does it matter if I fulfill it?  Will I barely feel the satisfaction of fulfillment and simply move on to the next longing? Is it better to become friends with longing and let it exist in my heart as long as it chooses to stay?  When do I take action to fulfill a longing? Or could all my longings be fulfilled without me doing anything? Could developing satisfaction and contentment with the longing actually be the path to fulfillment?

Maybe.  I think I’m hungry…

I Can Take It

Many times in the past, I have wondered if I could handle someone telling me, “Michelle, you look like you’re gaining weight.  Are you okay with that?  Is there something going on?”  What about a similar question: “Michelle, you’re getting pretty thin.  Are you okay with that?  Is there something going on?”  Could I handle those comments?

The answer is yes.  I can.  People have given me enough negative comments over the years that now I know I can deal with the pang of criticism.  The pain goes away.  I can withstand that.  I would rather hear something—anything—that could steer me in a healthy direction; I would rather a stinging comment lodge itself in my head than have nothing tugging at me as I head down an unhealthy road. The criticism may not save me at the time it is given., but it could very likely come to mind later, when I lack clarity and am open for change.

I’m finally getting old enough that I recognize emotions when they pop up.  When I feel the pain of a criticism or a deep sadness rises to the surface, they aren’t foreign, strange visitors anymore.  I don’t look around, bewildered, wondering what to do with those feelings.  I feel them. I recognize them. I name them. 

I talk to them, and they fade away. They may bring things for me to think about.  They may lead me toward some action.  But the feeling fades.  And I am not afraid of them anymore.

These are the lessons for today:

1. Feel your emotions and remember them.  Eventually, you will have enough victories dealing with emotions that you will feel secure and not completely overwhelmed every time you feel them.  (And if you feel overwhelmed, you will one day firmly know that overwhelming states pass as well and that you can find treasures inside those moments.)
2. Be lovingly honest with people.  Don’t shy away from telling people your concerns if you have them.  Any words of encouragement, even if something that could potentially sting must be included in the statement, are better than no words at all when someone truly is in need.  But please, choose your words in love—don’t take so long in choosing that you say nothing—but choose loving language.

When Do I Need a Swift Kick in the Pants?

Where is the balance between honoring feelings and pushing boundaries? I often feel resistance toward doing certain things. Sometimes, I’m caring for myself by recognizing the resistance and saying no to the activities or behaviors in question. Other times, I push through the resistance, do the thing, and end up with a fantastic sense of accomplishment. How do I know when to push and when to let myself be?

I suspect that the answer has something to do with investigating the motives underneath the resistance. Why do I not want to try this activity, be with this person, or start this task? Am I afraid of something? Is this an instinctual hesitancy? Are my beliefs about this situation true? Am I resisting this thing just because of the unknown? Am I honestly tired now or not equipped for this? Do I really want to do this or not?

Those are some of the questions I could ask. And I could do the same when I feel enthusiastic about doing certain things. Sometimes, I life turns out better when I put the brakes on and consider why I’m running to do something. However, I’m less likely to advocate the slower pace when it comes to enthusiasm. It’s rare that I get overwhelmingly excited about something, so I generally feel that it’s okay to go with the flow when I experience a rush of that sort.

Still, it can be worthwhile to ask whether or I’m enthusiastic about something because it’s a comfortable habit or because I genuinely want to be involved with that thing or person. Is this really enthusiasm, or is it a rush to get things done? Am I in touch with my true feelings right now?

However, even as I write this, I wonder where the balance lies. I’m not sure if I can tell where my resistance comes from. Could it be that I don’t want to give up a habit or that I truly don’t want to do that thing or go to that place or have contact with that person? Can my desires lead me astray? I suppose they can when I’m not in touch with their underpinnings.

To get in touch—now there’s a goal. I still advocate doing the harder or scarier (more-faith-required) thing when faced with tough choices, but I also don't want to neglect feelings that could have a firm foundation.

In any case, good luck seeking balance, my friends. It’s a lifelong journey!

A Dozen Roses

I think many of us have pondered the notion of flowers as gifts. On some level, giving a flower says, “Here is a beautiful object. Now, you have to take care of it, but even if you do, it will still shrivel up and die. Oh, here’s a tiny packet of magic powder that will make it last a couple more days at least!” If this is a metaphor for love, who wants it?

Well, I’ve decided that maybe I do. Sure, eternal love is a nice thought, but until I reach that level with someone, I’m okay with a flower-like love—beautiful, fragrant, gentle, and when it fades, it fades. Put some effort and sparkle into it, and it might last a little longer.

I mean, I almost feel like a fraud telling someone I’ll love him or her forever. Is that possible? Can I really say that? The cynic in me emerges when I hear other couples exchange vows of unending love and rapture. It’s not that I don’t believe that they currently feel that way. I simple know the truth of what I’ve observed. Forever love is possible, but it’s certainly not the norm.

Throughout all aspects my life, the temporary nature of most things comforts me. In the midst of my eating disorder especially, every decision seemed so weighty, every feeling so insurmountable, every challenge so unending. Nowadays, I can face feelings and know that they will end. I may feel sad now, but I may not tomorrow—or even in as little as an hour. Feelings are fleeting.

Situations are temporary, too. A heinous roommate, a broken-down car, an electrical outage—they are all situations that can be moved out of or changed. Most illnesses even fall into this category. Most of the time, we just need to keep taking steps, any steps, and we will get out of the muck much faster than if we lay down and cry because our options appear nonexistent. (Of course, lying down and doing nothing can be entirely appropriate, but doing nothing can be considered a step in itself. Life is contradiction. Deal with it.)

Knowing that things will change and move with or without my effort takes a weight off of my shoulders. If I don’t like the bouquet life has given me, it will die pretty soon anyway. I can even throw it away before it dies if I want to! Sometimes, I have to wait for things to change on their own; other times, I can help speed the process. The bottom line is, I’m never stuck. Things are always moving, and there’s always an opportunity for growth and a place for newness to slip in.

Now that I’ve defended a cynical disbelief in eternal love, I’ll turn to the small percent of love that verges on deserving the adjective “forever.” It seems to me that the love that lasts a lifetime is really a series of different loves strung together and evolving in and out of one another. Other languages have dozens of words for love, an idea for which the English language is sadly lacking. Those other languages explicitly recognize what we all know: There are many different kinds of love.

And I need different kinds of love. I don’t always need the kind of love that gives me things all the time. Sometimes, I need a love that shows me how to deal with not having what I want. Sometimes, I need admirers; other times, I need peers or even pity. Sometimes, a mother love is best, then a father love, then a friend love, then a romantic love.

Of course, emotional love is important, but so is love that takes action and does things that say, “I love you.” Some kinds of love are less actionable but no less deep. Some loves baby us, and other loves tell us to buck up and move on. Some love accepts us exactly as we are, and another love might encourage us to change. All of these kinds of love, and more, cycle in upon each other and take turns.

There may be times in a relationship when two people treat each other more as friends, then more as lovers, then more as colleagues. The pros at this learn to integrate all kinds of love. They appreciate the diverse methods of love-showing instead of getting stuck in a single idea of love. And most importantly, I think, forever lovers remain open to the idea that love could change, and they embrace that change and love in whatever way they are capable of at the time.

No love is perfect, or maybe that means it’s all perfect.

Anyway, my final conclusion is that flowers are, in fact, an entirely appropriate representation of love. As if it even needed to be said…

Simple and Sweet

I recently wrote a simple, happy song called “Colors of You.” Something in me loves a simple, breezy song. I admire its sweetness because so few of my songs have that quality. I tend toward the intense ballad, which I enjoy equally, but those few lighthearted pieces are treasures in my heart.

This extends to life. I am attracted to high-drama, bold color, and intensity. I try to create these things and live within them. But when I happen upon a simple moment with just the right feeling and all the right colors, I smile and relax. I am relaxing right now, as the sun shines through my window and I have no pressing business to attend to until I return to work next Monday. Glorious.

This life is beautiful and precious. I don’t think any gems are wasted, even if I’m the only one here experiencing them. Perhaps someone else out there is experiencing a charmed moment, too, and in a way, we share it together. That makes my heart smile.

See, I’m as cheesy as it gets… and I’m owning it now. For years, I dismissed the lighter part of me ‑ the delicate, girly, Disney-feature-film (if you will) part of me. Now, I like and appreciate her. Cynicism gets you places, but not everywhere. The same can be said for the more rainbow-esque part of me. I’m glad to embrace both elements now.

Anyway, I wish you all 365 more jewel-like days in 2009. Hopefully, it will be the best year yet! For my part, I’m certain it will be. Sure, parts will smell like the used Trans Am of a 16-year-old boy without enough money or sense to purchase deodorant. But other parts will be fresh as a daisy! Hope it’s filled with whatever makes you happy (and if that’s stinky teenage boys, more power to you, as long as we’re in legal territory…).

Happy New Year!

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Oh, and it has come to my attention that more than one reader out there is restraining him/herself from commenting or emailing me after digesting my posts. Just wanted to say, feel free to comment or contact at any time! If people don’t comment because no one else does, then the ball never starts rolling. And even if it never starts rolling, I enjoy the few comments I do get, whether online or in person. Thanks to everyone! I appreciate you all more than you can know :)

Has the Universe Assigned Me a Special Role?

Sometimes, I feel like the designated Cosmic Container of Sorrow. I have no personal reason to be sad, except the usual underlying sadness that most humans carry, but I cry and lay around and feel sadness pumping through me so often. I even relish it! I feel happy to feel sad. I feel happy to feel anything, so I pick up sadness and run.

I think that if some divine hand were to affirm my role as the “Cosmic Container of Sorrow,” I would be more accepting of it. I could hold my head high as a strong person, capable of taking on and expressing the sorrow of the universe, rather than pondering over my feelings and wondering why I’m not happy-go-lucky or if I am just a whiney baby.

I’m not a crybaby, I don’t think. One of the things that makes the sadness linger is often my reluctance to share my weakened, sad condition with others. And as I said in an earlier post, I’m working to open up earlier and more often. But recognizing that doesn’t make it easier. The sadness I felt earlier today is fading right now, but oh, it gets so strong.

I definitely long for other emotional people to share these things with, but I find myself consistently stymied when trying to think of who to call or talk to. I wish people would come out of the woodwork and help me express my emotions. I imagine someone who would stick with me through my ups and downs and my frequent lack of desire to be with people. He or she would also encourage me to get out and be with others when appropriate.

Immediately following this fantasy, I realize that no one will probably be able to do that. Perhaps… I believe in miracles. But until the miracle happens, I have to learn to do these things myself. Will I??

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I’m also in the midst of looking for more ways to expand in the virtual realm. Will I create my own website? Possibly. Will I try to use it as a landing page where I can advertise myself as a speaker and performer? I would. I just have to explore the available avenues. I can build a web presence, and I can create a community space for people to come together. I am interested in these things.

Hmmm, now I’m fantasizing about someone who can help me do that. Ugh… Do I really have to bother with making friends and all that jazz?? ;)

A New Project: Sharing Emotions...without thinking them away

I miss the boat. It takes me quite a while to connect with people, and I always feel that I miss numerous chances to take relationships to that infamous “next level.” Up to now, I have blazed a trail of mostly shallow friendships that I don’t discover are shallow until well after I assume I’ve opened up and connected “adequately.” Luckily, at this point, I am better able to gauge the true depths of my friendships and enjoy a few truly wonderful, strong connections. For the longest time, however, I remained puzzled as to why so many of my relationships stayed on the surface, leaving me unsatisfied.

Well, a revolution this week has enlightened my situation somewhat: I don’t admit my vulnerability. Of course, I am a strong woman who can care for herself, but that does not mean I am without needs and desires that I would rather not fulfill on my own. I need help so much of the time. I feel alone. I feel afraid. I feel confused. I long to be really known and to know others. Can others sense this about me? Do I ever admit to any of that?

I have been doing so well with feeling my emotions, and I’m even better at working through them, rationalizing them in a positive way. I, in a sense, “therapize” myself. I work through my feelings and learn from them. Nonetheless, something has been missing in my emotional journey.

I tend to express the emotion to myself, crying for hours or beating up pillows in anger. But rarely do I ever tell anyone about what happened. It’s hard to imagine that I would call someone and admit to sobbing for half a day. By that time, I’ve usually already “worked through” the issue and disregard the need to share my raw emotion with someone else.

In the same vein, I hesitate or don’t even think to call someone and ask for help when I’m just at the beginning of feeling something difficult. I devalue working on my emotions with someone. I devalue the mere expression of emotion in front of someone’s face, talking about the honest emotion I’m having without mitigating it with all the reasons or explanations I’ve already come up with.

I realized I was missing this crucial step of expression to others when I pinpointed a deep desire. Many times, I simply want people to let me feel feelings. I don’t want the feelings “fixed,” and I don’t want them ignored. I just want to be allowed to feel. And I long for someone to see me emoting and allow it. Despite this desire, I almost never get to the point of sharing an emotion without quickly following my share up with my nice, neat therapized package. I don’t want to overwhelm anyone with negativity. Life is fun and positive! Shouldn’t I ensure that the positive spin takes center stage rather than the darkness of my original feeling?

No. The explanations and background surrounding my emotions are valuable, but not at the expense of giving the feeling itself credence. By hiding the depth of what I’m feeling, I miss out on a connection with the world I’m meant to have.

By not admitting my frailty, I separate myself. I think I want that separation, that it makes me strong. And for whatever reason, I think that once I’ve worked through a feeling, it’s a sign of weakness to return to it in its raw form to share my experience with another person.

Well, time to stop this. I am deciding t make a concerted effort to share more of the difficult feelings I have with others and to abandon my fear of being seen as weak. Someone who feels things as deeply as I do cannot be weak. But I am human. And I want others to know that. It’s difficult to feel connection with a “perfect” or “invincible” person, and I try to come off as both of those things, despite the fact that I am neither.

I treasure it when someone is willing to share with me a true emotional moment. I am impressed and honored when someone entrusts me with their true feelings, without explaining them away.

This new way of working with feelings and other people will take a while, but it will be worth the journey. I’ve already begun experimenting with this, resulting in some embarrassment, but also incredibly revelatory moments with others and a deeper sense of connection. Ultimately, this exercise is simply an extension of me not covering anything up and being authentic wherever I am. No need to perform… unless I’m playing on stage ;)

From Letters to a Young Poet (Letter 8) - by Ranier Maria Rilke

I wanted to share with you all a passage that was given to me by a dear soul this weekend. It applies to my life and my latest experiments with living in remarkable ways. Enjoy!
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We have no reason to harbor any mistrust against our world, for it is not against us. If it has terrors, they are our terrors; if it has abysses, these abysses belong to us; if there are dangers, we must try to love them. And if only we arrange our life in accordance with the principle which tells us that we must always trust in the difficult, then what now appears to us as the most alien will become our most intimate and trusted experience.

How could we forget those ancient myths that stand at the beginning of all races, the myths about dragons that at the last moment are transformed into princesses? Perhaps all the dragons in our lives are princesses who are only waiting to see us act, just once, with beauty and courage. Perhaps everything that frightens us is, in its deepest essence, something helpless that wants our love.

So you mustn't be frightened, dear Mr. Kappus, if a sadness rises in front of you, larger than any you have ever seen; if an anxiety, like light and cloud-shadows, moves over your hands and over everything you do. You must realize that something is happening to you, that life has not forgotten you, that it holds you in its hand and will not let you fall. Why do you want to shut out of your life any uneasiness, any misery, any depression, since after all you don't know what work these conditions are doing inside you? Why do you want to persecute yourself with the question of where all this is coming from and where it is going? Since you know, after all, that you are in the midst of transitions and you wished for nothing so much as to change.

If there is anything unhealthy in your reactions, just bear in mind that sickness is the means by which an organism frees itself from what is alien; so one must simply help it to be sick, to have its whole sickness and to break out with it, since that is the way it gets better....