Into a New Year

Featured Image: “untitled (New Year’s Day),” © Tilman Köneke (own work), Jan 2016. CC BY 2.0. (license)

“At present we see indistinctly, as in a mirror, but then face to face. At present I know partially; then I shall know fully, as I am fully known. So faith, hope, love remain, these three; but the greatest of these is love.”

~ 1 Corinthians 13:12-13

In the still, gray quiet of predawn on this January 1st, I turned off the background music which usually entertains me as I eat my breakfast, and I sat in silence. Gradually, my senses began to perceive the subtlety surrounding me. A candle flickered and crackled in a jar on the table, releasing just a hint of evergreen fragrance into the air. Across the living room, the blinds were drawn back from the heavy, glass doors, revealing the shiny, irregular surface of the frozen pond and the clear, mirrored reflection of the dark, leafless trees standing on the far bank. The wan light cast the world in muted, leaden tones, and dark clouds billowed on the horizon, but there was not even the hint of a breeze. The brass wind chimes hung motionless below the porch roof. Sitting there, at the dining room table that I inherited from my grandparents, the same table around which three generations of my family welcomed decades of new years, I leaned over a steaming cup of tea and a piping bowl of oatmeal, and I was filled with gratitude and hope.

This January 1st is my second in this townhouse apartment in Vanillasville. Rather, it is the second January 1st of this life in this apartment. It is my third January 1st, A.W. – After Walden. That is how I mark time now – Before Walden and After Walden. On my first January 1st, A.W., I was still residing in Boston. In another week, I would make that perilous transition back to life in Vanillasville, with my recovery hanging in the balance. I was still shattered into a billion jagged fragments, a fractured and broken person, but for the first time in my life, they were healthy fragments, and I was in the process of piecing them together. If I could tell that person one thing, it would be this, “Even though the future is terrifying, and you can’t see the way forward, and even though the risks are overwhelming, you are going to get through this, and it is going to be ok.” Maybe that person I was on January 1st, 2015 would tell the me of now the same thing. Though I am still in the process of becoming, I am not where I was on that day two years ago. Neither am I where I was on January 1st, 2016. It is sobering to recognize the truth of this reality.

The year of 2014 was filled with death. I was gravely ill with a serious gastrointestinal illness that defied every treatment my doctors threw at it. I was mentally ill with depression, and I sank deeper and deeper into despair. When my medical symptoms made it difficult to tolerate food, the disordered eating that percolated in the background of my life for many years suddenly seized control of my entire being as a full-blown eating disorder. I survived on the last feeble tatters of what were always slightly distorted, cynical, and disillusioned faith and hope. Yet, at the end of 2014, my life changed. In May, I underwent a new and still somewhat investigational intervention for my GI disease, which worked where all the other treatments failed. Finally, in November, I entered Walden to address my mental illness and my eating disorder. Through the intensive, multidisciplinary care I received, I finally began to rewire the twisted and misfiring circuitry in my brain. The big breakthrough came one day, in the midst of a group session, when the full impact of the following realization finally broke my steely, wounded heart:  God LOVES me. God loves all of us, because He IS Love. God knows everything about me. He knows all of my sins, all of my failures, all of my faults, and all of my dysfunction. He knows how messed up I am, and he still loves me, with all of that stuff going on. Even though he wants better for me, he forgives me, and he loves me just as I am. I don’t have to change. I don’t even have to be sorry. He still loves me. AND, if God loves and forgives me just as I am, who am I to deny myself that same love and forgiveness? Do I know better than God?

That moment was not a cure-all for my mental illness, but it was a major turning point in my recovery. In the past two years, my life grew in ways I never imagined possible.

Now, here I am, on the threshold of 2017. I don’t know what the future holds, and I wonder at God’s plan for my life. What I don’t doubt is that there IS a plan. God saved me for a reason. As Bl. John Henry Newman wrote, “God has created me to do Him some definite service; He has committed some work to me which He has not committed to another. I have my mission – I never may know it in this life, but I shall be told it in the next…I am a link in a chain, a bond of connexion between persons…I shall do good, I shall do His work; I shall be an angel of peace, a preacher of truth in my own place, while not intending it, if I do but keep His commandments and serve Him in my calling. Therefore I will trust him.” This year, I would like to increase in practicing an INTENTIONAL way of life. I would like to be MINDFUL and purposeful in what I think, say, and do. Thus, I would like to continue to grow in FAITH, seeking to do God’s will rather than my own and TRUSTING that all will be well, knowing that even when I struggle, face setbacks, or suffer, I am never alone, and an even greater good is being brought about by our Creator, who ultimately wants nothing for us but what is best.

“For I know well the plans I have in mind for you—oracle of the LORD—plans for your welfare and not for woe, so as to give you a future of hope.”

~ Jeremiah 29:11

beanstalk
beanstalk,” © Börkur Sigurbjörnsson (own work), Mar 2012. CC BY-NC-ND 2.0. (license)

In this vein, my additional intentions for the year are…

  • to grow in true HUMILITY. A humble person knows her strengths and weaknesses, and is honest about both. May I not be afraid to say “yes,” to take risks, and to move beyond my comfort zone, bolstered by a realistic understanding of my gifts and my shortcomings. May I have the courage to ask for help when I need it, and the strength to offer help when I can give it. May I not be afraid to admit my faults with integrity, accepting myself as I am, with a willingness to confront the often-challenging process of making personal changes. May I recognize and own my mistakes with a healthy sense of guilt but without shame, seeking forgiveness and making amends when necessary.
  • to grow in COMPASSION for myself when I fail to live up to these lofty ideals, understanding that nobody is perfect, and this process is the work of a lifetime. May I also grow in compassion for others, recognizing that we all struggle, though our struggles may take different forms. May I seek to look past those differences that I am so quick to use to separate myself from people out of fear. Instead, may I foster the courage and willingness to acknowledge our shared human connection and begin to see others not as separate or opposed to me, but as an extension of myself. May I remember that we are all made by the same Creator, we are all broken, and God’s love is given freely to redeem us all.
  • to GIVE THANKS in all circumstances. Even if it seems the whole world is falling apart around me or my life is unraveling at the seams, there are always blessings to be found. Sometimes, they are hidden and obscure, and often, they may seem to be barely any consolation, but every situation is an opportunity for grace and for growth.

“In all circumstances give thanks, for this is the will of God for you in Christ Jesus.”

~ 1 Thessalonians 5:18

In our outcome-oriented, results-focused society, we are frequently reminded that effective goals are SMART – Specific, Measurable, Achievable, Realistic and Timely. (Bonus points for you if you can craft your goal into an acronym.) My areas of focus for 2017 are more elusive, metaphysical, and infinite. Therefore, I am making them intentions rather than resolutions. I am not expecting to achieve success in 2017. I’m not attempting to accomplish anything specific. Rather, I would like to continue growing through this year and beyond. At the same time, I know that concrete practices are the way to foster this progression. I think it is healthy for me to begin with a few explicit objectives. As with all balanced habits, they will invariably shift with the changing demands of my life over these coming weeks and months, but they are a start.

  • Cultivate stillness and silence daily. Practice sitting still, breathing deeply, and accessing my five senses for 10 minutes after coming home at the end of the day.
  • Reduce the amount of time I spend mindlessly watching television or thumbing through my mobile phone. Replace this time with mindful activities, such as reading, writing, art, or meditation.
  • Give my undivided attention to whoever is with me. Listen attentively rather than planning my next response. Show my face, without turning away or engaging in distractions, such as checking my phone (or turning back to my computer screen when I am at work – a tendency of mine that I would like to work on).
  • Cultivate balance in mind, body, and spirit, by making time every week for activities that engage each level of my being. Read a few pages of a book at least once or twice a week. Exercise in a moderate, healthy way (I have a specific exercise plan worked out with my therapist and dietician). I may not make time for every activity every day, but I can maintain a flexible and consistent rhythm through the week.
  • At the conclusion of every evening, before falling asleep, spend 5 or 10 minutes reflecting on the challenges, the successes, the personal encounters, and even the mundane events of the day. Use these nightly examens to assess who I am in relation to who I aim to be and reorient myself for the morning to come.

Finally, I am reminding myself once more that the outcomes that I care about the most are not those that can be assessed by any measuring stick or scale. May we all grow in compassion for ourselves and others in 2017, and may there be an increase in peace in our world through our little, daily acts.

“Let us accustom ourselves to noting that the actions that seem most ordinary are secretly directed by the order of God and serve his designs without our noticing it, in such a way that nothing comes to pass by mere coincidence.”

~ Bishop Jacques-Bénigne Bossuet

Happy New Year!

bells
bells,” © orangejon (own work), Jul 2006. CC BY-NC 2.0. (license)

 

It’s Christmas… Once Again…

Featured Image:  “Crossroads,” © Carsten Tolkmit (own work), Jul 2011. CC BY-SA 2.0. (license)

Midway along the journey of our life

I woke to find myself in a dark wood,

for I had wandered off from the straight path.

How hard it is to tell what it was like,

this wood of wilderness, savage and stubborn

(the thought of it brings back all my old fears),

a bitter place! Death could scarce be bitterer.

But if I would show the good that came of it

I must talk about things other than the good.

 ~ Dante, “The Divine Comedy,” Inferno I, 1-9

It would seem that I am at a crossroads of my life, and it is difficult to write about, mainly because it is hard to describe and confusing to experience.

When I first relocated to Vanillasville from Washington, DC, I never intended to stay. I welcomed the reprieve from the traffic, the expense, and the intensity of the city, but it was supposed to be a temporary respite. My family, my friends, and the cultural identity were all on the East Coast. I meant to work for three years, gaining experience and knowledge in my field, and then my company would relocate me somewhere else in the country. I was 26 at the time. I still believed that my life was something that I planned and controlled.

Those three years passed, and indeed I was offered an opportunity to relocate to the West Coast. By then, I was disillusioned by the sacrifices I was making for my career. I was working 80 hours a week, and there was no existence beyond my job. I dreaded moving west only to continue the same self-destructive pattern. It was the wrong move both geographically and existentially. At the same time that I was facing this transition, another position opened within my organization that would allow me to remain in Vanillasville but would effectively remove me from my competitive professional ascent. With 40-hour work-weeks, it would both give me a life and suspend my career. Neither option was perfect, but I chose my mental, physical, and spiritual health. I stayed in Vanillasville.

It would still take another year or two, a brush with my own mortality, and boatloads of therapy for me to begin to understand what Lucy’s father told her in one of my favorite movies, While You Were Sleeping. “Life doesn’t always turn out the way you plan.” I would never wish the severe, debilitating, life-altering colitis that affected throughout that next year on myself or anyone else, but the devastation of that disease led me to mental health for the first time and started me on a path to mental, emotional, and spiritual healing – the most meaningful and important journey of my life.

When I stepped away from my power-career trajectory, I took a position below my potential. It was what was necessary at the time, and it provided space for me to grow in ways I never imagined were possible. And yet… the job itself was never exactly satisfying or fulfilling. I always imagined there was something more out there that I could be doing. “One day,” I would tell myself. “When I am better recovered. After I am able to build some better professional connections and broaden my experience. When I’m strong enough. When I’m ready.”

When is that day? How will I know when I’m ready? I will never be strong enough, or prepared enough, or recovered enough, or experienced enough. The truth is that my recovery is going well. After more than two years, I continue to remain in remission from binge eating disorder. I never thought I would be able to be so flexible, adaptable, and relaxed around food. From time to time, I even find myself experimenting with the word “recovered.”

Two weeks ago, I emailed out my resume. Two days ago, I was given a telephone interview with the director of a program that would be a “perfect” fit for me, from all outward signs. Perfectly imperfect – it is still located in the Midwest. I don’t know what will happen. I don’t know what I want to happen. What I do know is that there is no going back. My job is a good one, providing a stable salary, excellent benefits, and allowing me to dedicate my energy and free time to what I value the most, but I recognize now that I can’t stay in one place forever. It is said that part of the temperament shared by many people with eating disorders is an aversion to risk, and I believe it. To leave behind this familiar world, where I am confident in my abilities, secure in my surroundings, and supported by a nurturing network of wonderful people, is both exhilarating and devastating at the same time. Yet, I can’t unlearn what I am coming to know about myself, and I can’t grow backward.

As Christmas Day nears, I am considering how far I am from where I was at this time last year. I can’t help wondering where I will be when next Christmas arrives.

“Don’t be afraid to give up the good and go for the great.”

~ Steve Prefontaine

adventures-in-averell
Week 27: Adventures in Averell,” © Alexandria Lentz (own work), Jul 2011. CC BY-NC-ND 2.0. (license)

Resigned Acceptance

Featured Image:  “Wedding Invitation,” © Rachel Knickmeyer (own work), Jul 2009. CC BY-NC-ND 2.0. (license)

“What is the reason that you don’t want to attend this wedding?” Kelly queried from across her desk during my nutrition appointment several weeks ago. “Are you avoiding a social situation because you don’t want to face the food aspect of it?”

The idea that she thought it likely that, after two years of recovery, I remained so dreadfully afraid of eating in situations beyond my control that I would avoid them entirely caught me by surprise.  My shocked reply was genuine. “No!” I exclaimed. “Not at all! I don’t want to go because the trip itself is going to suck, and I’m going to come back exhausted and feeling like shit.” As I spoke, I recognized the alarming nature of these predictions, and for an instant, I wondered if they were the result of my catastrophic, all-or-nothing thinking. It didn’t take long for me to conclude based on past experience and knowledge of my itinerary that there was sufficient evidence to support the prognostication. Departing Friday at noon, I would fly west to catch a connecting flight to the east coast, spend one night at my parents’ house, then drive an hour north. On Saturday, I would attend a wedding that was not scheduled to begin until 6 pm, and then I would awake at the crack of dawn the next morning so that I could drive another hour back to the airport to rush onto the only plane departing westward on a route that would return me to Vanillasville before midnight. After logging 10,892 airline miles already this year alone, I was practiced enough to know that I would be utterly drained, and familiar with myself enough to appreciate how much of a toll that physical and emotional depletion would truly exact from me. I was utterly dreading the trip. Yet, the tickets were purchased, the rental car booked, the hotel room reserved, and my RSVP was in the mail.

It seemed that there were certain events in life that demanded a choice. What type of person was I? Who did I want to be? This wedding was one of those occasions, and I was going to show up and be present. Period. No matter what. End of story.

Alexandra, Greg, and I were in college together. For four years, we studied together, endured together, celebrated together, and grew to approximate adults just a bit more closely together. Finally, we graduated together, and from that day, we continued to show up for each other at those major life events, despite being scattered to different corners of the globe. When Alexandra married George, we were both there, though it required Greg crossing multiple continents to be at their wedding. When I completed a grueling second degree, they were both there, though Alexandra and George were in the middle of moving halfway across the country. During those first, sleepless weeks after Alexandra’s daughter was born, I was there to keep her company and offer what little emotional support I could, though by that time, I was struggling desperately to cope with my own eating disorder. When I fell seriously ill with colitis, Greg was actually living in Vanillasville and working on his master’s. Though we didn’t see much of each other or speak very often, he was the one who brought me to my colonoscopy and drove me home when there was nobody else for me to call.

There was no doubt that I was less than enthusiastic about sitting on four planes, traipsing through six airports, and transiting more than 2,000 miles in order to spend a few hours at a wedding where I would know precisely three people, including the groom. Neither Alexandra, George, nor I ever met Greg’s fiancé prior to the reception, nor did we know his family, nor were any of our other college friends going to be in attendance. Yet, I was going, and so were they. Though the last time Greg and I spoke was probably a year before, I could not imagine an excuse worthy of keeping me from being present for my friend at his wedding.

vancouver-airport
Vancouver Airport,” © Matthew Grapengieser (own work), Jul 2011. CC BY-SA 2.0. (license)

As the day of my departure neared, I prepared myself with stoic resolve. I was genuinely excited to see Alexandra for the first time since spring, but I was steeling myself with realistic expectations. There would be joy in spending time with my friends, and the wedding would be a jubilant occasion, but I knew full well that it would be a trying weekend, and it was not because of the food. A single “off-nominal” meal did not give me palpitations. Considering where I started two years ago, the ease that I felt about the dinner was alone worthy of celebration. However, the greater victory for me was my resigned acceptance of reality. I dreaded how depleted I would feel as I dragged myself out of bed on Sunday morning, and I recalled how crummy it was to endure a full day of traveling with barely any physical, mental, or emotional reserve. Yet, I would survive. The sole reason that I was able to forecast these predictions was because it would not be the first time I stretched myself so thin, and it would not be the last. Been there. Done that. The travel would not be fun, but the world would keep turning, and I would be fine.

Without building up fanciful dreams of what would be and without overly dramatizing the challenges I would face, I set off. “It is what it is,” I told myself when my connecting flight was delayed. “I was ready for this,” I told myself when I walked through the doors of the only motel in the tiny town and discovered the place decorated with mystery stains and reeking of tobacco. After a few rounds of deep breathing, I decided that I really would not be able to sleep if I remained there, and I settled on my plan B – driving the hour back to my parents’ house after the reception ended and leaving from there for the airport in the morning. When dinner wasn’t served until 9 pm, I wasn’t fazed, though my heart did skip a few beats when the waiter brought us each a tiny plate of ravioli before serving the salads. “Where are the vegetables?” I bemoaned to Alexandra and George while reminding myself that it was just one meal, and telling myself that three raviolis would not harm me. The night was not about me, and I wasn’t there in search of fun and enjoyment. I was there to be present and to support a friend. So, when the music began and nobody rose from their tables, Alexandra and I didn’t hesitate to awkwardly and conspicuously dance alone through the excruciating length of an entire song, until two, then two more, then gradually many others joined us on the floor.

In the end, it was a lovely time. The night was imperfect, and that was ok. It was a delight to see Greg so happy, and Alexandra, George, and I relished each other’s company for the evening. I accepted all the elements that were beyond my control without resistance or anxiety, I adapted to every hiccup and snafu, including nearly missing my return flight on Sunday morning. I was thankful for every moment of grace and for every small consolation. It took me an entire week to rebound, and I wound up leaving work sick on Tuesday, but ultimately I managed to recover my sleep and my sense of wellbeing. Through it all, I proved to myself that I was capable, not of physical endurance, but of mental flexibility and emotional regulation. I demonstrated to myself that I could be loyal and place others first, while maintaining a healthy sense of boundaries and remaining aware of my own needs. Finally, I found myself humbled with gratitude for the strength of the connections that united us all. Relationships worth undertaking such a journey were the greatest gifts of all.

“[E]very time you make a choice you are turning the central part of you, the part of you that chooses, into something a little different than it was before. And taking your life as a whole, with all your innumerable choices, all your life long you are slowly turning this central thing into a heavenly creature or a hellish creature: either into a creature that is in harmony with God, and with other creatures, and with itself, or else into one that is in a state of war and hatred with God, and with its fellow creatures, and with itself. To be the one kind of creature is heaven: that is, it is joy and peace and knowledge and power. To be the other means madness, horror, idiocy, rage, impotence, and eternal loneliness. Each of us at each moment is progressing to the one state of the other.”

~ C.S. Lewis

wedding-gift
wedding gift,” © Julian Wylegly (own work), Mar 2009. CC BY 2.0. (license)

Prayer for Morning

Featured Image: “New year’s Eve morning dew #1 20141231,” © Yasunari(康就) Nakamura(中村) (own work), Dec 2014. CC BY NC-ND 2.0. (license)

“The One that rules over men in justice / Is like the morning light at sunrise / on a cloudless morning, / making the greensward sparkle after rain.”

~ cf. 2 Sm 23:3-4

“Every morning we arise afresh in Christ our light. Ancient Christian writers warn against ‘morning demons’:  yesterday’s worries and grievances returning to poison the new day.”

~ October 31, 2016: Prayer for Morning,Magnificat

I know morning demons well! I confront them in the mirror every day at 5:30am as I wash my face, blow out my hair, and apply my makeup. It always frustrates me that during those 20-30 minutes, I am invariably flooded with preoccupations about all the worrisome and troubling thoughts that are crying for my attention. They rush upon me all at once. It seems that one anxiety-provoking notion recruits another and another in an escalating spiral. In like fashion, one bitter and resentful animosity about some conflict at work, some perceived injustice, an invalidating experience, or some other occasion for ire stirs up memories of all manner of past injuries and offenses. My emotions run away with me, and I am left in a conflicted and tense state, vexed by my inability to self-regulate and by my failure to think dialectically, objectively, and compassionately.

Once a month, I receive a small devotional booklet in the mail called Magnificat. All month long, I tote the little collection of passages and reflections around with me, just in case I manage to create the time and silence necessary for a brief meditation. On this last day of the month, the pages are now very tattered. Opening them to read the words of this morning and realizing that the struggle against these “morning demons” is (and always has been, and always will be) a part of the universal human condition reminds me why making space for quiet contemplation is worth the effort. I am not uniquely broken, and I am not alone.

Wishing you all a beautiful, blessed week and month ahead.

Critical Moments

Featured Image:  “American & Italian Cuisine,” © GmanViz (own work), Nov 2007. CC BY NC-ND 2.0. (license)

An extrovert trying to be an introvert to avoid being hurt… that was how my first therapist described me. Isolation and feelings of loneliness were always sources of pain for me. Exploring my need to be in the company of other people and embracing the discomfort and uncertainty inherent in the swampland of forging personal connections was a first beyond the entrenched cognitive-behavioral-emotional loops of my chronic depression. Reengaging with old friends and building new relationships were dramatic shifts outside of my comfort zone, and these efforts were challenging enough. At a time when I was also waging a pitched war for my life against binge eating disorder, the fact that many (perhaps most) social situations involved food only heightened the drama. My recovery from my depression and my eating disorder were too interdependent to be dissected apart. As I battled on, my friend Amelia was a close ally on both fronts. We fell into a routine of meeting up after work every few weeks for dinner, making our way through a circuit of the best local restaurants in our little area. Over seltzer with lime and decaf black coffee, we shared all the details of our lives, from the most mundane to the deepest and most heartfelt. Each meal was anticipated with delight as an opportunity to be genuine and authentic for a few hours. In the comfortable cocoon of merry conversation, I grew increasingly resilient as I coped with one menu and then the next.

In April, Amelia accepted an offer of a new position and relocated to a city five hours away. It was a long-expected move, and there was nothing sudden about it. I was excited for her, and I was prepared for the change, but there was a difference between predicting loneliness and then actually feeling it. Over the summer, I continued to travel frequently, remained involved in all of my meaningful activities, and maintained my connections with all of my long-distance friends. Yet… I spent much of my time alone. It didn’t always feel like loneliness. I remained connected and I didn’t dwell in any sense of isolation or entertain self-pity. However, every once in a while, I felt the definitive absence of my friends. At times, my therapist and I spoke about the subject, but we never arrived at any useful conclusions. I continued to participate in yoga, I lingered after mass each Sunday to chat with my casual acquaintances from my parish, and, every so often, I went out to lunch with some of my coworkers. None of those fleeting connections filled the empty space in my heart that longed for a kindred spirit.

It was a Friday afternoon a few weeks ago, and I was leaving work in just such a state. I was at the nadir of a several-day funk, and I was not looking forward to a solitary weekend. My mood was low and my anxiety was piqued, triggered by automatic, alarming, all-or-nothing type thoughts about an upcoming professional conference and all the logistics of another trip. To an entirely new city. Alone.

My phone buzzed, and a lengthy text message popped onto the screen. It was Amelia! “Pete and I are headed your way for the weekend! There’s a cycling convention in town. I know it’s last minute, but we’re going out for dinner at Giovanni’s on Saturday night if you want to come. Let me know!” Amelia was returning at precisely the moment it seemed that I needed her most! My heart perked, but my head reeled at the name of the restaurant. Giovanni’s was decidedly unsafe.

“Lord, you have probed me, you know me: / you know when I sit and stand; / you understand my thoughts from afar. / You sift through my travels and my rest; / with all my ways you are familiar. / Even before a word is on my tongue, / Lord, you know it all. / You formed my inmost being; / You knit me in my mother’s womb. / My very self you know.”

~ Psalm 139:1b-4,13,14b

Competing ideas zipped into my consciousness. “No,” was a prominent voice. “No” to the menu, “no” to the restaurant, and “no” to everything that they both represented to me. Giovanni’s exemplified everything that I found repugnant in American food culture. It was about as far from authentically Italian as one could possibly find. The fare was entirely Midwestern American, featuring pasta with a side of bread, served with meatballs, sausage, salami, and pepperoni, heavily doused with cheese, cream sauces, and more cheese, and served with a garnish of tomato sauce. The three salads on the menu consisted mainly of iceberg lettuce, croutons, and, you guessed it, more cheese. The only entrée that included a vegetable was fried eggplant parmesan. There weren’t even any vegetable sides offered.

lightly-breaded
Lightly Breaded,” © Gexydaf (own work), Jun 2012. CC BY NC-ND 2.0. (license)

Against these objections, I also heard myself stating a decisive, Yes.” My memory of a recent appointment with my dietician resonated, and I couldn’t escape the echoed repetitions of Kelly’s voice, “You may not skip social things because of food.” I was grateful for her clear, direct manner, which left little room for quibbling. “Yes” to Kelly, “yes” to Amelia, and “yes” to connection, friendship, and wholeheartedness. I couldn’t conceive how I would manage the menu, but there was little utility in obsessing over it. Reading and rereading the descriptions of the unappealing choices would not alter them or make them more acceptable. Memorizing every deplorable detail would only make me more anxious. I admitted to myself that there were no safe choices; I replied to Amelia that I was not in the least bit comfortable with the restaurant; and I expressed my tremendous joy at the prospect of seeing her again, committing myself, for better or worse, to whatever this dinner entailed. Decision made, I settled into waiting with a combination of exuberance and resigned acceptance.

As afternoon succeeded morning on Saturday, a familiar exchange revolved through my head. Yes/no. Excitement/acceptance. Tranquility/anxiety. Amelia and Pete were at their cycling convention, and I awaited their word on a dinner time. It wasn’t until 3:30pm that I heard from them. Could I meet at the restaurant in two hours? Typically, 5:30pm would be “way too early” for me to eat, especially given the typical later timing of my weekend lunch. However, on this particular Saturday, I was grateful that the short notice left me little interval for pre-planning, advance calculations, or ruminations. Still in yoga tights and looking a teensy bit too disheveled for a sit-down meal, even at the most casual of places like Giovanni’s, my main concern was making myself presentable and getting across town in under 120 minutes.

When I arrived (only 10 minutes late – which is just on time for me!), I was so flooded with the excitement of seeing my beloved friend that I could barely focus on anything else. It was impossible to read a menu and survey all the sights and sounds of my new environment while maintaining the bubbling flow of conversation that gushed forth the instant Amelia and I reunited. I tripped my way to the table, so distracted I was peering over my shoulder in an attempt to keep her in sight, as words tumbled out in all directions from both sides. It was after the waitress paused at our table for the third time to take our orders that I concluded it was time to settle into dedicated concentration for the task at hand – to hobble together some sort of manageable compromise from a truly abysmal list of choices.

“It is just one day.”

“It is just one meal.”

“It is not going to kill me.”

“I can do this.”

When the pleasant waitress returned once more, I smiled sweetly and asked innocently, “Do you have any side vegetable dishes?” I fully expected her negative answer, but I wasn’t yet discouraged or dissuaded. “Do you have any vegetables?” I asked in my most saccharine way. Like, at all? Like, in the entire restaurant? Like, could you go to the grocery store and buy me a carrot?

She twisted one corner of her mouth and scrunched her nose as if she was racking her brain. “You know what, let me check,” she responded kindly. I tried not to be too appalled that it seemed like such a bizarre, foreign idea that a patron would want to eat a vegetable with her dinner. A few moments later, she returned triumphantly with the answer: there were spinach and red peppers in the kitchen.

“Perfect!” I internally rejoiced. I asked her if it would be too much trouble to steam some spinach for me. She offered to sauté it. I asked her to sauté it lightly, ordered the grilled chicken with pasta and pesto, and said a little prayer under my breath that my meal wouldn’t arrive at the table swimming in oil. “It’s out of my control now,” I told myself as I settled back into the rhythm of conversation, happy, content, acquiescent, pleased, relaxed, and willing.

“It is just one day.”

“It is just one meal.”

“It is not going to kill me.”

“I can do this.”

It would be a lie if I denied that I was unconcerned about gaining weight. Those thoughts were present. I was upset and disturbed by the food selection and by the relationships with food and eating behaviors reflected around me. However, in a moment when I was faced with a choice to isolate within the safe, protective shell of my eating disorder or turn all of my self-protective instincts upside down, I committed to the uncertain path, and I forged ahead without wavering. It felt risky, it felt reckless, and it felt real. In a less-than-ideal situation, I did better than cope. It felt like progress.

day-148
Day 148,” © Flood G. (own work), Feb 2012. CC BY NC-ND 2.0. (license)

Presence of Mind

Featured Image: “Bicycle,” © Ian Sane (own work), Dec 2009. CC BY 2.0. (license)

“I am not absent-minded. It is the presence of the mind that makes me unaware of everything else.”

~ G.K. Chesterton

In my imagination, there is an ideal of what it would mean to be perfectly mindful. There is a notion, a concept, of always being in the present – fully aware of what is going on around me, fully conscious, awake, and attentive to my external environment and my internal thoughts and emotions. My therapist tries to tell me that to be always mindful would not be mindful, but that makes little sense to me. As I gradually make my way through my book on mindful self-compassion, I draw encouragement from learning that the moment we become aware that we are not being mindful, we become mindful. (I know that I’ve been writing about this same book for months. I’m a slow reader, okay! It also doesn’t help that I jump from one book to another, then onto a third, then back to the first).

One afternoon, last weekend, I set out for an autumn bike ride along the paved trails near my house.

The fall is one of my favorite seasons, and it always stirs up some very strong memories and emotions. They swirl together fluidly, making it impossible to follow a linear ribbon of thought or recollection. Light and dark, faces and names, places and ideas, happiness, joy, gratitude, nostalgia, pain, loss, guilt, delight, sorrow, shame, laughter, tears… they all mix together like so many disparate ingredients poured into one giant bowl. Flour, sugar, eggs, and milk form a smooth batter, never to be constituent parts again, but richer for their joining.

My mind was fluttering with activity as I pedaled along the tree-lined paths, legs pumping, lungs heaving, and heart nearly bursting with all the glory of that autumn afternoon. When I returned to my apartment, I was in danger of falling into self-criticism for being so mindless. Though I did notice the sparkling rays of the setting sun, the fresh current of the air, and the smell of damp earth, I could not deny that I was largely preoccupied during my ride. As I stretched my sore quads, I turned on the television to a biopic of G.K. Chesterton. Not knowing much about this British author, I continued to watch, and I found myself presented with the above quote. It gave me pause for deeper consideration.

Perhaps there is more to this practice of mindfulness than I am allowing.

chesterton
G.K. Chesterton,” © Zach Brissett (own work), Aug 2005. CC BY-NC-ND 2.0. (license)

The Big Dig of Life

Featured Image: “Big_Dig_1999_1016_16,” © Martin & Jessica O’Brien (own work), October 1999. CC BY-NC-ND 2.0. (license)

Anyone from the New England area is familiar with The Big Dig. You don’t grow up in New England without at some point in life, driving in it, through it, around it, or sitting in traffic because of it. With a loan repayment plan that stretches into 2038, as far as I know, it remains the most expensive highway construction project ever in the history of the United States.

Work on The Big Dig spanned three decades, and the costs before interest totaled $15 billion. When all the debt was tallied, the final bill came in at $24.3 billion, which far surpassed the originally projected $2.4 billion. In the end, it took more money to finance The Big Dig than went into building the Chunnel. That same investment would buy NASA four Hubble telescopes! The Big Dig was an ambitious undertaking. Ground broke in 1991 with dredging for the Ted Williams Tunnel, and the project was plagued with all sorts of setbacks and controversies. Some of the problems encountered along the way were devastating. The failure of the anchors affixing the concrete slabs to the roof of one of the tunnels resulted in the tragic death of a woman when the ceiling collapsed on her car. There were also countless leaks. Dangerous guardrails were eventually replaced. However, the last touches were completed in 2006, and the Big Dig was declared dug.

Except, the work was never finished. Not really. On a recent visit home, all the lights in the entire length of tunnel that I traversed were turned off for inspection and maintenance, and one lane was closed while road crews in bright orange vests and hard hats poured over blueprints, shined flashlights into crevices, and wielded heavy equipment. Ten years after the project’s official conclusion, the work continued.

Messy, complicated, costly, and time-consuming, with traffic patterns becoming more snarled and congested before any hint of improvement… working with a goal in mind and a grand, aspiring plan, hoping for success while muddling through first once complication and then another, some with disastrous consequences, without any real guarantee of the desired outcome… all the while facing criticism and wrestling with doubt…

Big Dig Signs
Big Dig Signs,” © Stephen Gore (own work), March 2004. CC BY 2.0. (license)

When I think about The Big Dig project, it seems an apt metaphor for my life. Thanks to the second law of thermodynamics, even in its current state of “completion,” the tunnel requires continual care and upkeep. In the same way, I am always struggling to adjust under the ever-shifting imbalances of my life. I am always digging deeper, exploring the dark, hidden parts of my mind and my heart, trying to bring the life I live into some sort of closer alignment with the values that I hold so precious. Never, ever will the work of my life’s project be complete. Never, ever will I achieve a steady state. The excavation is ongoing. There is a constant patching of one crack, only to then find that another is opening somewhere else. Careful examination reveals giant potholes. Sometimes, I fail to discover these until I am lying face down at the bottom of one, spitting out rocks. Once I extricate myself, I must go about the hard job of patching it up and repaving.

Increasingly, I am becoming more and more convinced that the concept of “balance” and the ideal of “serenity” are, in a way, illusions. Peace, it seems, may just arise from the ability to be malleable enough to seamlessly, consciously, mindfully re-prioritize with the fluid demands of each new moment. Wouldn’t it be bliss to be able to recognize a slight alteration in circumstances and let go of the needs that were so pressingly important minutes ago in order to make space for the demands of the new context? How much of the imbalance and suffering in my life springs from either an inability or a refusal to recognize and accept reality? I don’t think I can answer that question. All I can do is keep digging.

Zakim Bridge
Zakim Bridge north tower reflection at dusk,” © Chris Devers (own work), September 2008. CC BY-NC-ND 2.0. (license)

Sources:

  1. Goldman N. “7 Things that Cost Less than the Big Dig,” WBUR News. Jul 12, 2012. Accessed on Apr 6, 2016.
  2. Hofherr J. “Can We Talk Rationally About the Big Dig Yet?Boston.com. Jan 5, 2015. Accessed on Apr 6, 2016.
  3. The Big Dig:  Facts and Figures,” Massachusetts Department of Transportation Highway Division. Accessed on Apr 6, 2016.