Greetings from San Antonio.
We spent the better part of the last week slowly working our way down to south-central Texas for Dana's next work assignment—and now that we're here, it's both a relief and an adjustment to be settled in one place for the foreseeable future (well, at least until Thanksgiving).
A relief because, no matter how many awesome podcasts you've queued up, sitting in the car for hours on end gets old fast. Leg cramps, gas station bathrooms, the sun always managing to shine at an angle that renders the visor absolutely useless. An adjustment because a body in motion stays in motion. Or wants to stay in motion. When you're used to relocating every few days, suddenly not relocating every few days can feel a bit like...being in a rut.
It's interesting how our brains can tell us one thing about a situation while the reality is often something very different.
As Byron Katie writes, "The only time we suffer is when we believe a thought that argues with what is." And: "I am a lover of what is, not because I'm a spiritual person, but because it hurts when I ignore reality."
Last week's newsletter took ages to write. Today's, too. Generally speaking, I've been feeling dissatisfied lately with my ability to translate my thoughts into words. I'm not sure what's going on or what any of it means or doesn't mean, but what I'm certain of is this: I've fallen into the habit of believing that transition pretty much never feels good. And I'm not the only one: I don't know anyone who's ever described a liminal phase of her life in pleasurable terms. Obviously it's not impossible to enjoy change; it seems, though, that the act of transforming, of making any significant change or reaching for any kind of growth, is so exhausting and uncertain, demanding on a level like none other, oftentimes absolutely frightening and loaded with foreign feelings...that we're focused on getting through it, on enduring the yuck feelings for as long as we have to and not a second more. There's zero inclination to make something pleasant when you're hyper-focused on your experience of discomfort.
If I stay focused on what is, though, what I find is a simple reality—one that doesn't need me to make meaning out of it, one that's sufficient just as it is, one that actually isn't unpleasant.
W H A T I S :
+ It's Monday;
+ I've a standing commitment to report my weekly findings.
+ Lately, writing is difficult for me.
What's the thought you're believing that's causing you to suffer in some way? Hit 'reply' and share it with me.
Noticing what is: leaves
Margarita Tartakovsky, MS, interviewed me for two Psych Central pieces about self-narratives (a topic that lights me up):