Sometimes, my brain lies to me

Cherry Blossom Ten Mile Run (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

On Sunday, I am one of 15,000 runners in the 40th annual Cherry Blossom 10 Mile Run. This will be my first time running it, and my first over-5K run. I am excited, terrified, and not sure how to feel.

I know that I have not been training as much as I would have wanted to, but I also have been able to complete 10 miles, in a non-race environment. It was amazing to me, during that run, how much of the run was having to battle my brain. That sometimes, I have to sit with the fact that I just want to sit in the middle of the road and say, “I can’t do this, why am I doing this?” There are times when I recognize it’s there and have to sit with it. Sometimes, it’s working with the sharp sword that cuts through the crap. And so, during my test 10 mile run, I listened to Parabola by Tool and kept running, kept thinking about how much this body is a gift, this moment is a gift, and that my brain lies to me, sometimes. It tells me I can’t do things. But, I can. And I will.

So, on Sunday, I’ll be racing my heart out, wearing my Ministry of Magic hat (because it feels like magic that I am able to do this at all), my Highly Motivated Runner shirt (in gray; we should all have dinosaurs chasing us), and remembering all of the reasons I have to run.

I’ll be back, probably Monday, with a race recap. Happy Weekend!

Destroying things is much easier than making them.

Subject line from The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins.

The Hunger Games (film) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

On Saturday, I went to go see The Hunger Games (like much of the country, I’m sure). I am a huge fan of the series, and I thought the movie was well done. Yesterday, I read an article about some fans disappointment that some of the casting was of African American actors. Now, there are a lot of things I could rage and say about that statement, and part of me really wants to.

It’s only because of my meditation training that I haven’t completely flown off the handle about it.

I want to talk about the importance of being open to others and of storytelling. There is something in me that hesitates to write this post, feeling the need to caveat it with I do not find what the fans are disappointed at all acceptable. Maybe it seems unnecessary to say it. Either way, I’m trying really hard to find some compassion for what was said – both for the sayers and the recipients. That it’s important to not breed the same sort of hate-language, which seems okay because it’s against people who are wrong. They are, still, part of this world. I saw Lodro Rinzler speak a few weeks ago (he wrote a great book called The Buddha Walks Into a Bar: A Guide to Life for a New Generation), and one practice he described for cultivating compassion is to add “just like me” to the things we may say about someone else. As in, “These people have made a huge mistake … just like me.” And while the mistake may not be the same, I can’t say that I’m perfect.

I also think that the fact that there is an outcry that people are making racist comments about the casting allows us to at least begin having conversations about race, gender, power, and privilege. Collins’ book, in its own way, urges us to look at the ways we allow ourselves to be divided, allow ourselves to be used against each other, to further agendas that are clearly not based on compassion or understanding another person. The tagline for the movie poster is “The world will be watching.” And, in some ways, the movie (and these comments, found on Twitter) reminds us that we are so much closer to each other, via communication, than before, and that people are watching. What are we going to do with that? How will we behave? We will allow ourselves to perpetuate and foster division? Or do we use that to see how we are similar?

Being open to one another, and to the ways in which we are not perfect and act in ways that others find awful, it allows us to use the power of storytelling. How else are we able to connect with other human beings? How else could Suzanne Collins express some of these ideas – in a way that multiple generations and races and genders and orientations could hear it? Because, when a book and a movie get as big at The Hunger Games has (the book being one of the highest selling books on Amazon and the movie grossing $155 million on opening weekend), the story has touched people. I first read the book when a friend told me I had to. And I remember being sucked in from the start and not wanting to stop reading. I know I’m not alone in that reaction. How many times have I read on blogs, “I read it in X days. I’ve never read anything that fast!” A lot.

So, as storytellers, as legacy holders, as people responsible for telling tales and connecting with our audience, whomever they may be, what story sets you on fire? What story will you tell? What will you make?

How will you connect with others?

Revisiting old writing (Or, how I’m learning to love revising)

I have been keeping a paper journal for the past seventeen years. I have over one hundred paper journals in our basement, with years of memories, snippets of stories, and quotes galore. As I’ve said before, there’s a story that’s been percolating (or haunting me, take your pick) since 2010. Since that time, I’ve done a lot of hand written material for it, and those writings are tucked away in two specific journals. I used to use 750 Words (a great writing tool I highly recommend!), and have nearly a year and a half of writing from that, some of which was specific to this story. I probably have over a hundred pages of material to work with and go through, to find what may be relevant to what I’m working on.

What do I do with all of that writing!?

I will admit, up front, I do not have clear answers to this question. I rarely, if ever, go through my past journals. Usually, it’s to try to see what I was thinking about a situation or memory that comes to mind for some reason. I don’t usually go back through looking for pieces of writing. (I also rarely go back over essays and short answer test questions when I’m in the academic realm, but that’s another post, for another time.)

Flagged journals. Revisiting old writing is challenging.

The first thing that I am trying to do with the writing is to at least get it typed up. I have gone through my journals and marked with Post*It flags to mark where I specifically did writing either about or for this story. (I am one of those journalers who includes everything in her journal. I’ve tried keeping things separated, but it’s just too confusing for me.) When I scanned through the journals, I found it helpful that I had often marked “FICTION WRITING” when I specifically knew that I was going to be doing that type of writing.

I found the first part of that process, the flagging, invigorating. While there was some frustration with the ambiguity I talked about in my previous post, as inwhy haven’t I finished this yet?, I also recognized that there were some places I’d written myself into corners, other places where I was able to write myself out of them. Even just scanning through the entries, I saw there were lines of brilliance that I could work with, along with the dredge of just spewing onto the page.

It’s important to get through all of it. It’s the dredge that fertilizes the brilliance.

I’m not always one who likes to revisit writing. It’s one of the reasons I have not thought seriously about publication. I want to think that it’s okay and done when it gets out of my head and onto the paper. And, for the most part, I don’t share my writing, so it’s a moot point. But, recently, this type of blogging, with clearer focus thanlet me tell you about my day, has been an interesting leap into publishing, into writing with a distinct purpose. I think about these posts more than the off-the-cuff blogging I do at another site. And so, I am beginning to see the importance of revision, revising, and revisiting.

And, perhaps beginning this blog, Visible and Real, has helped me look at those journals and pages of writing as potential friends, catalysts, and opportunities, instead of giving them scared looks and running away. A new way to look at them, a new way to see what I’ve been doing. Revision, as they say, is re-seeing something, sometimes like it’s the first time.

I’ll let you know how the typing goes…

Sitting with ambiguity in writing

I have been thinking quite a bit about persistence and the process of writing. Part of it is from ongoing conversations with other writers, but the other part of it is this character/story I’ve been working on since 2010. What topped it all off was a donor-only email that went out from the Office of Letters and Light, the awesome non-profit who hosts NaNoWriMo [National Novel Writing Month] every November. The title of that email was, “When You Love It Too Much To Let It Go.” I’ll be honest and say I haven’t read the whole thing yet, but just the first part of it reminds me of this story, which we’ll call SAH for now. (SAH stands for Safe as Houses, the first iteration of this story.)

This history of this story began during NaNoWriMo 2010, when an idea hit me and I followed it through to an ending. My computer promptly crashed five days later. I thought I had a backed up copy – but did not. Last year, during NaNoWriMo, I took pieces of the story and explored a character who had been knocking around my brain. It took ideas from the 2010 story and was a different way to end the story. I didn’t finish but was intrigued and have been writing pieces from this character’s story on and off since November.

I’ve been pinning a lot of hope on this story. And, with hope, ultimately comes fear. Fear that I won’t be able to do justice to the story (or character). Fear that it won’t “be right.” And so, I allow fear to hold me back. (Recall the previous post about practice?) It means there’s this cycle that keeps going on – fear of not writing right, then I don’t write. Because I don’t write, I fear I can’t get it right (and, as it happens, I don’t even get it written!). So, the cycle continues.

Now, I’m not saying I don’t want to care about this story, or character. I’ve had to find different ways to get into her head, and recently, have been writing from another character’s point of view. It’s the only way I’ve been able to see some of the flaws and some of the places where I kept getting stuck. There’s been good in that I’ve been able to find various ways into this story.

November (Photo credit: kurafire)

The problem? I still don’t know where I’m going with it! I find myself struggling with that ambiguity. And I think about my meditation training, and how there is ambiguity in our lives – every moment of every day. That my time on the cushion gives me the tools to come back to my breath (or, as I do in writing, come back to the page), and explore what’s there. I can’t know everything. Sometimes, you keep doing something simply because you want to see how it is going to turn out. And, for writing, is there more joy than that discovery process?

As a reader, I trust that the writer will draw me in enough and keep me going enough that I can follow. As a writer, I need to come to terms with the fact that the process of writing also takes trust. I won’t have the answers in front of me, right away. I need to let go of clutching to the story, so I might let it fly and see what is brought back. Because there, my friends, is often magic to be found.

What might you find by leaning into ambiguity?

“Writing is like driving at night in the fog. You can only see as far as your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way.”
― E.L. Doctorow

Some reminders of practice

I practice. I don’t get things right a lot of the time. So, I prefer to look at things as a practice. I have instead tried to being focusing on some areas where I want to (eventually) see improvement. I set (mostly) small goals and try to see where they take me.

This past January 1, instead of resolutions that were well intentioned (and even SMART), I set goals for myself for the whole year. Rather than  say “I want to lose 30 pounds in the next twelve months,” I set a goal for the number of miles run and the amount of time exercised – for the whole year. I also feel that it allowed me to focus on making certain areas of my life more present and more of a practice, rather than make judgments about myself as a person if my goal wasn’t met by, say, February.

What this allowed me (I see from a three and a half month 20/20 rearview mirror) is to practice the art of practicing! That none of us really gets it all right, all the time. It’s part of that being human thing. And, being a “practicer,” I’m trying to understand that part of thepractice is being present to the times I don’t “measure up” and see it as part of a larger process. Practicing something develops skills and physiological memory about that activity. It builds muscles for those things that matter to us. And like muscles, they get tired and need a rest or they shrink when not used regularly.

On Sunday evenings, I meet online with a friend who also writes. It’s a practice that I’ve come to appreciate. It’s one time during the week that I know I will write, that even if there are other times I think about writing during the week but can’t. Sunday night is one time I will sit down and put pen to paper. This past week has been crazy and did not allow me any time to sit down and write. I realized this Sunday night when I opened my journal and saw that the previous entry was from the Sunday before. While it’s not always easy, I can often get at least a full page or two in the half hour writing session with my friend, even if it’s a lot of blah, blah, blah. Sunday, I kept coming up short. It was like my pen was stuck. I got about half a page.

Today, in thinking about the lack of words generated, and the lapse of time between writing sessions, the reminder of practice as a a constant process rang through. I understand that sometimes, things get in the way of practicing. Of course, that also means there needs to be the understanding that there may not be the same growth in that area. That not having or making the time to write, my ability felt weak and I had a lot less confidence in my abilities. That clearly translated into how I was thinking about myself and my writing; yet, those messages aren’t the complete story, either!

The reminders of practice keep me coming back, to learn more about the process of practice, to learn more about myself. It also allows me more compassion toward others, because we all struggle with this, whether it’s making/finding time to write, meditate, run, work out, cook good for us food, do yoga… whatever it is that centers us and lights us on fire, we struggle sometimes to practice. And yet, the fire of the things that center us? That’s important to the vitality of this world.

Do you see practice as part of your life? Why or why not?

The chance to be alive and breathing

Subject line comes from the song, “Parabola” by Tool.

Nearly eight months ago, J., a former co-worker of mine (and one could argue, employee, as I was his manager for a brief period) committed suicide. We weren’t super close, though when another former co-worker/employee told me he died, I wasn’t surprised when she told me the details of his death.

We weren’t super close – it’s hard to be that, sometimes, when there are shifting management roles. I was a supervisor when he was hired and I remember helping to train him. We talked briefly in the two years I knew J. that he struggled with depression. I shared with him that, in my own Stephanie way, I understood. Depression was not new to me and is something I have had my own battles with.

Over the past nearly-eight-months, I have often thought of him. Of his laughter, of the way he would work to interact with our customers, and the stories he would tell. I would swear that I see him on the streets (though I now live nearly a thousand miles from where I knew him).

A former yoga teacher of mine, at the beginning of our practice, would say to give up the practice, make it into a sadhana, to offer our time on the mat as a spiritual practice. For me, there are links to Tonglen practice, the practice of giving and taking. Pema Chodron describes tonglen as one way to open up to the pain of others, to create compassionate space around difficult issues. Even though we weren’t close, this former co-worker’s suicide is something I have been carrying with me.

Four Noble Truths (Photo credit: Miguel Ramirez)

Recently, as I have been training for a 10 mile race, I have been thinking about the convergence of these two items – J.’s life and death, and sadhana. Yesterday was my last long run (10 miles) before the race. As I was struggling through the last three miles, I kept thinking about struggles that we, as humans, face on a daily basis: depression, anxiety, loss, grief, death, suffering. This life is not easy. As one of the Four Noble Truths of Buddhism states, life is suffering. How do we sit with suffering? How do we acknowledge our own suffering and that of others? How do I offer myself to this world, know that if I choose to live fully and openly, it will probably hurt? How do I continue to do that, and remain open?

Because J. has been on my mind so much, and there are many people in this world who deal with the darknesses of depression, I have tried to begin offering up my running as a practice – as a way to open my heart. With every breath, every step, every mile, I try to remember this chance to be breathing, and to breathe in what I can of the pain and breathe out the meditation of running… to try to send what I receive in my practice out to others.

In that sense, when I run, I do not run for myself. I run for what I may be able to send out into the world.

If you are currently experiencing thoughts of suicide,
please know you are not alone.
National Suicide Prevention Lifeline ~ 1-800-273-8255.

16 years, lessons learned, and a new online home

I don’t even want to think about what iteration of online blog-type landing spot this is for me. Well, maybe I do.

I first got logged on to the Internet when I was 14 years old, in 1996. I learned about the Internet and the joys of online publishing through The Idiot’s Guide to HTML and an off white 386 with modem. In the intervening years, I have hand coded pages, have had pages made for me which I updated, and used sites like LiveJournal and Dreamwidth.

In the 16 years, I have graduated three times (high school, undergraduate, and graduate school), lived in four states and two countries, and learned more about what I want to do with the years I am given on this earth. I have cycled through HTML pages with wild backgrounds, badly written poetry, and locked journals. I’ve learned about online privacy and stalkers. I’ve begun to find the voice in my own throat and have started to own it.

In the 16 years, I have continued to write, filling more than 100 journals. I have discovered the joy of running. I have discovered the necessity of meditation practice. I practice within the Shambhala lineage. In the past four or five years, I have worked with two amazing teachers, Miriam Hall and Natalie Goldberg, in incorporating my writing and sitting practice. I also have begun incorporating my meditation and running practices by looking at my runs differently than simply pounding out the miles.

This blog has morphed from its original beginnings. I started it as a way to process through my experiences as a counseling graduate student. I found it ironic, and kind of disturbing (to me), that the title was Visible and Real, but I was highly conscientious about not connecting it to myself or my school, due to fear of potential ramifications. Even as I was trying to be real about my experiences, I was not allowing myself the authenticity of being visible. I decided to scrap that and change the content and focus. So, I have privately archived those (few) entries and am refocusing things.

Writing, mediation, and running have become three things about which I am incredibly passionate. I want to share my experiences and learning with others. This is my attempt to do so.

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