Zen and the Pep Talk

Last week was an up/down sort of week. Hospital weeks always flatten me. Weirdly, the flattening extends beyond medical ugh into all kinds of other ugh.  Staying afloat pretty much becomes the goal of each day.

In that vein, I procrastinated about going to the supermarket until we were out of too many things, and my secret stash of kettle corn was threatened by the hungry horde. 

The store was unusually NOT crowded when I went, huzzah! As I loaded my things onto the conveyor to check out, I realized my cashier was one of the special needs adults who works at our store.

The local ShopRite in my town is one of the most inclusive employers I have ever seen. Kudos to them for the support they give to folks of all kinds. 

Anyway, the young woman checking out my stuff was obviously new in this role—she has helped me bag before, so I knew her a little. As she slid each item across the sensor, she oozed confidence. 

“I am doing such a great job!” she announced, about halfway through. She smiled. I smiled. How could I not smile?

A few minutes later, when an organic apple boggled the sensor for a minute, she added, “I’m not scared. There is a lot of stuff to remember, but I can do it.”

 Not only could she do it—she was DOING IT. Doing the thing…

I carried this moment with me,  and over the past week I kept thinking about my young cashier and her positive attitude, her pep talks to herself. Everytime I thought about her, I smiled.

She radiated cheerful positivity, and my day improved just by being in proximity to her pep talk.

This has been a week or two where I could use a self-pep talk, even just a simple, “I am doing a great job” in the little moments where I am, instead of wallowing in the “I am horrible at everythingggggggggggg”  that echoes in my brain in the down moments. So maybe my bathroom grout is near tragic in its biohazardness. Maybe the pile of books I am supposed to read is now about 20 high and I know I have to admit I won’t get to most of them—but I can pep talk my way through one book, one grout wipe down at a time.

A simple pep talk--there is always something to cheer

A little pep talk goes a long way to reframing a moment from ugh to positive. A pep talk acknowledges the hard, but encourages us to push through.  Even if I AM scared about something, even if I don’t have that young woman’s grit in a moment, I can do it.  Or I can tell myself I’m not scared. Scared is a state of mind, and I am not choosing to waste it on something like a to-do list of grout and reading.

I do self-pep-talk sometimes, but my ShopRite moment reminded me that I should up my pep talk game. I don’t have a cheerleader in the house to remind me “keep it up! Keep it up! Keep that momma spirit up! Keep! It! Up! WOO!”

…ok, lies, I actually do have a cheerleader in the house, but she only cheers at school, at home she is 100% teen.  And cheerleaders "don't say "woo!" mom, except in that ONE CHEER." Just so you know.

We need to cheer ourselves on! A little self-pep is a step towards zen. 

So maybe it’s “I am doing a great job!”…or “I got this”…or “Keep on Swimming!”…or “I can do this!”. Pep talks are like mantras, I guess, but really more self-encouragement as opposed to an aid to focus/motivate. 

There is always, ALWAYS something we can pep talk ourselves for. Always.

So give yourself a pep talk. YOU CAN DO IT! And you know what? You ARE doing a great job. 

Below I have included a helpful visual aid so you can give yourself a pep talk RIGHT NOW! 

Everyone loves a good word bank. 

You CAN do it! Woo!

p.s. my kettle corn stash remains safe. I know you were probably concerned about that. 

Zen and Practice (aka Hey, a Post After a Hospital Day!)

(first: our MRI day showed everything is stable--time to breathe)

“Practice makes perfect”

Yay, perfect!

Boo, practice.

And really—does practice make perfect?

Practice promotes progress. Practice builds perseverance. Practice fosters peace.

Perfection doesn’t exist. Except O’Bagel bagels (Stirling, NJ). They are pretty perfect. 

Cinnamon Bagel, O'Bagel.

 Yes, it has icing. Be Amazed.

According to family history, my grandmother was a piano prodigy. By 15 she could play Rachmaninoff with ease—but she hated performing, she would accompany other musicians or singers, but she never liked to perform solo, despite her gift.

Enter the first grandchild—the only one lucky enough to meet Grandma, who died very young. My grandfather wanted me to have piano lessons so I could play like Grandma…

But…I am no prodigy, and I hated practicing, and I hated performing on the piano as much if not more than Grandma did. Probably more, since I had zero of her skill—and even as a kid, I hated not being perfect.  I used to pray I would get the flu before recitals.

I never did. 

I know this disappointed my Grandfather (my terror of playing for him, not my immunity to spontaneous flu), which I regret, but my 9 year old self really liked reading and drawing and collecting stickers and pretending to be on Broadway more than piano—even after my parents told me that there were certain songs from Man of La Mancha that I should not belt out at Christian summer camp. 

Probably STILL a good idea not to belt “It’s All the Same” at Camp. Ahem.

And yet, while I know now that it is ok that I did not embrace piano like my Grandma did, as an adult I see the benefits of practice.  More accurately—I understand the absolute compelling need for daily practice in so many areas. Practice no longer means Hanon finger exercises on piano—although sans performance pressure those are kind of zen! Practicing things that promote health, personal priorities, and ultimately what is best for our families is essential, not for perfection, but for progress toward reaching whatever goals we have set for ourselves—even if those goals are as silly as not having Screaming Loud Face when not speaking my opinion (my kid begged me at a recent event not to make “mad face”, I told her that ship had sailed. I have resting SOMEBODY IS GOING DOWN AND IT IS PROBABLY YOU face, which can be problematic. My face YELLS what I am thinking even when I am silent, alas.)

Practice, even when it seems tedious or ineffective, encourages growth. When I started running, I ran secretly, on a field near my house when nobody would see me galumphing about. Over time I ventured on to roads, bought “running clothes”, signed up for a race—not to win, (bwahahaha) but to show up, to prove to myself that perfection doesn’t matter, practice and progress do.

Practice is simply about showing up.

Yoga is all about practice, a theme that has helped me a lot.  Each day is different. Some days are great, other days, every inhale and exhale takes effort, every moment is distracted. But with practice, yoga progresses. After a few years of practice -- AND MEDICINE—to leave that piece of the practice of self-care puzzle out is to mislead, I needed both chemistry and physiology to heal my brain—the breathing, stretching, and focus of yoga has become an important part of my life. Will I be Instagramming pictures of myself upside down on top of a mountain any time soon? That would be a resounding NO.  Will I get back on the mat tomorrow and see where my practice leads? Indeed.

Just show up. Practice.

My morning prayer practice is the same—somedays I am totally “SQUIRREL!” while reading my morning meditation and taking time to pray for friends, family, and the world. Literally “SQUIRREL!”,

I put birdseed on my deck and I see the squirrels coming for breakfast…and an occasional gray cat, recently…but in the practice of showing up for 15 minutes each morning, I am slowly getting better at being present, at checking in with God, at centering my mind and refusing to get caught up in the anxiety that a new day so often holds for me.

Practice never ends; my dad is past 70 and practices his French horn every single day—which is how he maintains his musical excellence—his phenomenal natural talent from his mom provided a base, practice grows the gift—over decades! Practice keeps us in the game, on the road, moving forward—a magical end point does not exist.

So I practice stilling my noisy face. I practice telling my self-loathing interior monologue that some days rumbles to shut up already.  My perpetually cluttered counter: I have to keep practicing dealing with papers and putting things away. Writing AFTER a scan day—here is my practice at that, at writing a few drafts BEFOREHAND--and being ok with having only one little pencil/ink sketch. Progress!

The Goal: Practice showing up. Practice regrouping and starting again when things go sideways. Practice NOT freaking out, practice responding NOT reacting. Practice seeing with eyes of charity, not eyes of OH NO YOU DID NOT.  Practice being ok with imperfection. These practices I must pursue. These are my zen practices.

We won’t reach perfection. Can’t happen. Reminding myself that that is ok is part of my daily practice.  Knowing that tomorrow is another day to try…that practice is an ongoing process…THAT is what keeps me moving right along.

What are your practices that help you get where you want to be each day?

Zen and the Weight of Ugh -- A Digression

So: Zen is a path, a moving moment in a spectrum of experience. Zen can’t be forced, it has no endpoint. I can’t control my zen, but I can practice healthy striving towards being my best self. I can use the tools I have learned to keep movin’ right along…

As long as it is a good day.

Let’s just call this The Great Reality Check. Again.

Most folks reading here likely know that in 2004 my then 6 year old daughter was diagnosed with a large brain tumor, secondary to a genetic condition called Neurofibromatosis Type 1.  While I told her story (up to a few years ago) in this blog,  this space was originally meant to be a space for medical free writing. 

Yeah, that has only sort of worked. Context is everything, and brain tumors completely changed the trajectory of our family's life.

For my kid, after one failed chemo a second tumor area appeared. Throw in a third chemo fail a year later and add a third tumor in an even more precarious location.  

G, the week after diagnosis 

and her first surgery

This kind of diagnosis and its concurrent ongoing horrors leave a mark, to say the least. A mark on me, my spouse, my other children, my extended family, my friends…and of course on my child who remained a sparkly smiley diva queen goddess through the awfulness of her suffering. 

Dressed for Chemo Protocol #5, 2012

She never lost her faith. She would wail and express loudly her displeasure (OH SO LOUDLY), but she stayed so positive. For her, we all kept going.

Everything fell apart over two years…and then barely held stable for 5 (many scares)…then fell apart again over another two years…then two other unrelated medical issues in subsequent years…we are talking a decade of really difficult stuff.  Her older brother and younger sister endured a complete upending of their lives, too, over and over. And overall, despite her own fears, my mighty G stayed positive and hopeful.

In the middle of this we found out her younger sibling had medical issues as well—challenges she prefers to tell in her own way, her own time. That is all I will say about that… well, and that she too remains positive and carpe every day-ish about her life. 

I wish I could say the same for everyone in their orbit, starting with me. 

In my old job some colleagues found me “scary” and told me so.  Hearing this hurt. But they were right.  Faced with a life and death battle for my kid, the "don't rock the boat", "avoid conflict at all costs" pre-Ugh version of me ceased to exist.  Life is too short to put up with garbage--especially when my kid's peace and well being were compromised. 

Massive anxiety caused by the general chaos at my old job also made me “scary”.  I desperately needed order, needed SOMETHING to work smoothly, because the weight of G’s Ugh, the chaos it wreaked and the late effects it caused were (and are) omnipresent, even when we were not in the middle of actual medical crisis. 

Stable brain tumors are still brain tumors.  In my kid's head. 

!@^&!(@%!#%

I can’t begin to talk about trying to be more zen without acknowledging the Ugh—because it is always there. Always. No snow days for ugh. Always there.

The weight of ugh is real. And some days, the weight of the ugh that hit our family in 2004 just flattens me. Anxiety and mild depression were my companions BEFORE my child got sick – pediatric oncology didn’t exactly perk things up for my brain. 

So—this is how I see the Weight of Ugh in life. Maybe this is helpful. Maybe not.  I think everyone has something—or at some point you will. I hope not…but life tends to smite. And learning to live in that smite and still keep moving forward has been the work of the last 14+ years here. 

If nothing else, know you are not alone when you are carrying Ugh. The isolation Ugh leaves in its wake is one of its most awful legacies. You are not alone.

***********************************************************

In the beginning, the weight of ugh is everywhere and everything. It crushes the soul. There is only darkness and shock and despair.  In our particular journey, we’ve had a few repeats of this stage of the weight of ugh. 2004... 2005...2006...2008...2011...2012...2016.

This is the stage (at least the first time) where people rally support and love. This is the stage where you really need folks to run interference for you on information sharing, etc. This is the stage where you feel like darkness is swallowing you. Everything is darkness, darkness is everything. "I wake and feel the fell of dark, not day..."

This is the stage where you can taste terror, where you can feel it. Hearing a devastating diagnosis...having a chemo fail...having new tumors show up...having all the tumors grow dramatically instead of shrink while on a trial--in these moments terror's metallic taste fills your throat, and a vise tightens around your chest, your blood pumps hard in your ears. 

Even typing this, I have to take a deep breath.  This is not today, at least not the today when I am typing.

In the second stage of ugh, you start moving as best you can—dragging the horrible weight, barely able to stand under it. In our case this stage was the start chemo/do research/disaster response portion of things…and honestly, stages one and two wavered back and forth a bit. I would just lift the darkness a speck to do mom stuff and then school would call to tell me my kid could no longer see any letters beyond the big E on the eye chart. I could rally my 6 year old for clinic and then find out her chemo failed, tumors grew.  Stages One and Two are a nauseating seesaw back and forth. 

By stage 3, you learn how to balance the Ugh a little and drag it along, but gosh it is heavy, and you strain to get through the days. Time has passed now. Some of the support crew have moved on to other needs and crises, and hopefully you find some other support within the Community of Ugh. You realize at school events or other social things that you are living everyone's worst nightmare, and that gets super awkward, super fast. But you keep going as best you can. You have responsibilities. What choice do you have? Laundry continues to pile up. Kids have to get to baseball practice or ballet. People at your house still want to eat dinner. You keep moving.
                                     
Stage 4—the Ugh is just a part of your day. You can drag it along with you, do what you need to do, but don't forget it. Ugh has changed you. Not necessarily for bad or good, just…changed. We existed between stages 3 and 4 (back and forth) for a long time. This is when I was most scary. Ok, I still am scary if you mess with my kid. She doesn’t have any scary in her, so that is my role. I remain utterly unapologetic about that. Still—in this stage of Ugh, other folks may have moved on or forgotten that you are still dragging this thing behind you. They resent that you aren't the same, or they just move on. You have a new normal. Meh. 

But you know that your people in the Community of Ugh are YOUR PEOPLE. And you are grateful for their strength when you have none, and you can share your strength when THEY are being smote by new Ugh. 

You cannot ever GET OVER the UGH. Like I said a few posts ago, you have to just learn to BE with it. Ugh has become a companion for the road whether you like it (um, no) or not.

THIS IS SO CRITICAL. The Ugh exists as context for EVERYTHING. Every. Single. Thing. All things filter through the lens of whatever catastrophe struck. Just like I can only see my computer because of my Coke-bottle lenses on my glasses...I can only see my days now through the lens of my lived experiences through Ugh. 

And thus we reach Stage 5 of Ugh, when Ugh lingers in the background. You know it’s there. Its shadow is long. But you can live. In our case—we interact with people now who do NOT know our story. Since more than half of my mom life has been consumed by this Ugh, that is pretty amazing. But now that it is in the background, we can leave it there. Cautiously. Alertly. It takes very little--a headache, a wave of dizziness--for us to be on high alert again.

It isn’t gone. It is still always there. THIS is why  zen work is so hard. This is why metanoia, that change of mindset, can be impossible to grasp at some days. Ugh is not an excuse, but  the Ugh is the context for everything

I can't help it, I'm a teacher, I have to repeat the important parts--and in life, even without Ugh, context is everything.

If you are carrying/dragging/keeping a side-eye on Ugh of your own—know you are not alone. 

Everyone has some kind of thing they are carrying—maybe not as big as catastrophic illness, maybe bigger—maybe the loss of someone you loved. People carry chronic illness, mental illness, stress, financial woes, strife in the family or workplace. We are all carrying ugh.

Be gentle with yourself. 

Be gentle with each other. 

Let’s keep movin’ right along together. 

As this is posted, we are en route to the hospital for MRI day, to see if my daughter’s tumors remain stable. Last time we had MRI day I stopped writing altogether for months. This time, as per my sister's advice, I wrote this blog ahead of time, as my mind goes towards our impending hospital trip. Even today, two weeks before our actual trip,  I can only write about ugh. 

And that’s ok. That is real. That is the context of my life long road trip—and I have to just keep practicing being at peace with it so I can keep movin’ right along.

How do you manage through the difficult stages of Ugh in your own life? Would you add any other stages to my 5 part staging of Ugh?

Stay strong, friends. You are not alone.

Zen and the Trash Can (or Recycle Bin)

Big News: In the last week, I threw away some papers.

Please, please HOLD YOUR APPLAUSE. 

Literal holding of Applause. Heehee.

These were Papers of Significance. 

Ok, so I am a historian by vocation, and I see most papers as papers of significance. 

Side thought, I wonder if you can be a historian AND a minimalist? I doubt it. I wonder if your scholarly work centered on minimalists, would you need to approach that in a minimalist way?  Would your library notes be perfectly organized, no post-its or highlighters or random jotted envelope backs with insights shoved in a file? I doubt it, I think you’d have files and diagrams and notebooks full of notes and pictures in digital and paper folders and information galore.  It would be a great Irony…an abundance of material to study people who eschew abundance of material things…

ANYWAY:  I threw away papers that I once deemed important because of how much they bothered me. 

I know, wait, what? They were … irksome? 

Yes. Yes they were.

And….this was a challenge??

Yes. Yes it was. 

Seriously—this was a metanoia moment for me, a massive mindset change.  I share it because maybe you have this sort of moment, too. 

I tend to hoard anything that in my estimation contributes to memory. I feel a compulsive need to preserve things, anything that encapsulates a particular event, moment, etc.  Certainly this tendency was exacerbated by my child’s catastrophic illness, when I felt that things might someday be all I had left…but I held on to stuff well before 2004.

As a history teacher, this is handy, I have some great primary sources—daily newspapers from September 11, 2001 through September 17, 2001…you can see how that trauma unfolded in real time, which forms a fascinating counterpoint to hindsight.

But there is a negative flip side to this. I have a habit of saving EVERYTHING because documentation is  important, etc.  I save letters, memos, notes from things that frankly make me insane. Because in my mind, these documents are evidence of why my indignation and frustration were uber righteous.  Literal piles of papers that sabotage my ongoing attempts to find zen.

Yeah. I know. This seems nonsensical.

I have had notes from meetings, etc. where I literally wrote angry side commentary throughout. Therapeutic in the moment, but not so healthy years later. One look at my “lies, lies, and more lies” commentary in the margins of meeting agendas and I am back in that less than zen moment. 

Frankly, this is ridiculous. WHY DID I HOLD ON TO THIS STUFF?

I had to let the papers go.

If you are now singing “Let those papers go!” to the tune of the old spiritual, Let my people go, you are welcome.  Especially if you are hearing it in your head in the voice of Brian Stokes Mitchell or Paul Robeson. You are welcome. 

Bonus: you can hear Paul Robeson sing that if you click here. YOU ARE WELCOME.

Anyway, it took a moment, this discarding. I had to skim the document in my hand, feel that wave of disgust and anger that document always creates, and then I tossed it. I kept going, I threw away more papers, letters and such that contributed a LOT to my dismay, frustration, and sense of institutional injustice over a period of several years.  Until now, I have not been able to do that. But I need to be free.

Random side note: I am a hard core recycler. For my mind’s ease these documents needed to be ripped up and discarded, back unto the earth from which their tree of origin came. But normally—RECYCLE!!

Totally a teeny tiny slo-mo change kind of moment, but I am claiming it. Cue Chariots of Fire theme…Amen, alleluia. Being in the present (yikes, need to tidy here) versus wallowing in the past.  

I can’t purge EVERY negative paper. I will never get rid of the scribbled notes from my daughter’s diagnosis day, the failed chemo notes, the miscellaneous hospital crafts, etc. These papers hold hard memories, but they are G’s and ours, and they remind me of how mighty my kid is. They are history that needs to be remembered.

But papers that reinforce negative memories from situations I CAN step away from, I did step away from? Why save those? 

WHY THE HECK HAVE I SAVED THOSE?

I know I still have more papers like this squirrelled away in files. 

I have to close my own darn mental trap door to the chute o’ dismay, in lieu of other sorts of closure. I can only control my response to things—not what generated that response.

 I close that door by letting go of the papers that hold the meat of a whole lot of frustration, disappointment, and in some cases betrayal. Shut the door already.

To paraphrase Marie Kondo, these things did the opposite of “spark joy”. They sparked something alright, something between indigestion and extreme Jersey-girlitis. Tall shoes wearing/scary lady/you can’t handle the truth-itis. 

Yeah, it’s like that. 

When I threw that paper away, I actually felt freedom.  I am past those frustrations. Thank you, next. 

Yes, I just quoted Ariana Grande. Ay caramba. What is going on here? FIRST TIDYING, THEN RANDOM AG QUOTES? Prepare for the Riders of the Apocalypse!

(Although technically, the quote should have been Thank U, Next. But "You" is only 3 letters. Why weirdly shorten that? Discuss). 

Move forward.

It’s part of the practice. I may need to practice this one lousy paper at a time—but I know it can be done. I have started--and I hope I can build momentum and continue to dig myself free.

 Do you have any things like this? Physical objects that lurk in the drawers or closets in your house, things that will make you happier if they go far away, to that great recycling pile in the sky? What sorts of literal things do you need to let go of to be your most peaceful, best self? 

Let those old things GO. And let's keep movin' right along. :)