Showing posts with label Freedom. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Freedom. Show all posts

Monday, February 4, 2019

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. 
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. :)

Thursday, October 12, 2017

What the Heck is the Convoy of Zen?


So what the heck IS the Convoy of Zen? 
In my day job, I am a high school history teacher—and my students know I am a beast about precision of language, which is kind of funny since I am being pretty free in my application of the word “Zen”. 
When I reference Zen I mean the fruits of traditional Zen meditative practices: peace, thoughtfulness, working with intention, acceptance of the present moment.  In my usage, zen (lower case) is mental space, freedom from anxiety—basically the opposite of my normal spastic freak-out default mode.  I have zero success meditating (Z.E.R.O.—my internal voice Never. Shuts. Up.), but the simplicity and “being” of Zen practice make sense to me within the framework of the religious tradition I live by (Catholic—I have not had much success with Catholic meditative practices, either, and by not much I mean super close to Z.E.R.O. Urp.). 
                               *Zen = Not Perpetual Freak-out Mode*
In my one brief and awkward stint with therapy the counselor suggested exploring mindfulness, and I scoffed pretty massively. SCOFFORAMBA galore

We were in the thick of medical things then; now I get that I needed a little space outside of day to day medical crises to realize that accepting things and just working through that acceptance is probably healthier than the denial/rage/spastic creativity approach I tended to take to deal with the marathon of aggressive low grade brain tumors...

 (“You need a song about chemo? I CAN WRITE YOU A SILLY SONG ABOUT CHEMO, GIVE ME THIRTY SECONDS”. We were legit the Village People of the oncology clinic, silly hats, hand motions, and all).
But in the middle of everything, I could not do mindfulness. I wanted things to be fixed/better/not a catastrophe every other second.  That is what it is.

(Side note, therapy is a super useful thing and I really should have kept going more than like, 3 times.  Some things really require professional help. I will um, add that to the zen list. Yes. Ergh....)

---------->ANYWAY, keeping up the near frenzied holding-it-togetherness of those years proved unsustainable once the dust settled and I had to actually process “What the Heck Happened Here?” and more importantly, “Now What?”

I also tell my students that history rarely works as a strict chronology. Timelines are a tool, but one little line with date dots does not a history show. History is much more of a tapestry or web, interconnected fibers crossing and recrossing and affecting the paths of other fibers…
My own zen trek is kind of like that. A little all over the place, but ultimately moving forward, hopefully.

Remember those old Family Circus comics where the kids would march all over the neighborhood and leave a little dotted line trail criss-crossing everywhere behind them? THAT is what it’s like.
So as I try to put all this into words, I ask for patience and an awareness of the tangly wiggly all over the place-ness of how I am figuring this out. Ideas overlap. Some things I have discovered very recently have been so helpful I WISH I had started them earlier, so I will reference them earlier (Bullet Journal, I’m looking at you).  Some things will take longer to flesh out.

I make zero claim to having any deep insights—I feel a little like an ancient explorer discovering a new world in which an awful lot of people already live. Uh, yeah. “Discovery”.
If you already live on the islands of zen I am just learning about, Hello! Glad to finally get here! Let’s have an umbrella drink and enjoy the possibility of sunshine! If not, I hope you enjoy the exploration, too.

Movin’ right along really is better with friends. Thanks for jumping in the figurative Studebaker and coming along for the ride.


Serious Side Note: If you are seriously depressed, or really struggling with getting through each day, please talk to a doctor.  Please talk until a doctor can HEAR you and help you figure out a plan. These ideas here might be helpful, but a lot of them only helped me AFTER I talked to my doctor.  That is another story for another time…but take care of you.


Sunday, April 9, 2017

Me Vs. ChocoBunny


So on Saturday, I made a vaguely top secret trek to the best chocolate place in Jersey—the Fudge Shoppe in Flemington. 


(As soon as I walked in the door at home holding a plain, unmarked brown bag, survivor kid said “HEY, YOU WENT TO THE FUDGE SHOPPE?” Ahem. Top Secret. Ish.)

When my survivor kid was in the early years of her journey, we drove by the little barn-like building that says FUDGE in giant letters every time we drove to Philadelphia for treatment or scans or oncological whatnots.  One day we stopped in—and the delightful older gentleman who founded this store offered us free samples fresh fruit covered in chocolate, and we were instant converts to the Church of Fudge Shoppe.

As part of my radical plan to “Take Back April 5”, I thought about going back to Flemington (a 35 minute drive) to get the darn giant chocolate rabbit that I had vowed to get if the chemo trial was not a fail.  But the day was busy, and a special trip for something way too large for a random day just didn’t fit my schedule.  But the idea stayed with me during my pre-Easter pilgrimage yesterday…

And there, now within reach (not on top of a high shelf, as it used to be displayed 5 years ago), was the giant ChocoBunny. That rabbit is magnificent, literally 3 feet of molded milk chocolate old school awesomeness, made with a lot of love.  Decorated with buttercream accents and candies attached to the bunny’s basket, the rabbit stood sentinel over all the smaller chocobunnies and crosses and dinosaurs (yes), Easter pops, and filled eggs of every variety. 

For five years, this beautiful ChocoBunny stood as a sad symbol of our chemo defeat.

But yesterday, as I stood in front of ChocoBunny, clutching my basket already too full of treats (life lesson, DON’T go to the Fudge Shoppe before breakfast), I just thought, "wow, that is pretty awesome to behold, but at $250 it is um, just nice to behold". 

(Five years ago I had no clue how much this edible art COST!! YIKES! But probably still worth it.)

Thus I continued choosing regular Easter hoorays for my family while humming a happy little hum.
Like these. These are from the Fudge Shoppe Webpage.
They are so delicious. Sooooooo delicious.
Freedom!

I am still a bit agog at the grace of this moment, "getting over" Sorafenib. (As long as no doc says something stupid like, "oh, we knew there were problems with that study". Just not that one again.*cough. That was not a great moment.) But really—FREEDOM!

Agog.


I didn’t need the massive ChocoBunny to prove that the disastrous trial is just a memory.

SAY WHAT, WILLIS?


Truthfully, the free sample of choco-covered pineapple—the pathway to my original conversion to this chocoshop-- admittedly did not hurt my newfound zen.

So in this step in my attempts to keep Movin’ Right Along, it’s Me- 1, Random Bad Associations -0. And since EVERYONE in my family is going to end up with Fudge Shoppe chocolate, it’s really a win for all.

And a win that involves really good chocolate from a little family business—THAT is a win indeed. :)