So many inner-voices show up to tackle the mundane and the life-changing; and they don’t always agree.
My blog and I have been fighting today. Ok, maybe just not cooperating. I’ve taken a stab at two different posts, and it ain’t happening. I’m bailing on both. I’ll come back to them in a day or so and see if I can herd some cogent thoughts and sentences together. Or start something new.
In the meantime, here’s a quote from my Headspace meditation app:
Maybe I’m obsessing or resisting too much.
Hope things are going easier for you! 😊
Photo source: Headspace
I like this quote, yet I’m having a hard time saying why. There’s something about it that encourages me to rely on myself more; to trust that I know who I am, even if I don’t know myself fully. Is it even possible to know oneself fully?
When I’m uncertain, there may be good cause to look to others for guidance. But there may be equal cause to sit with myself; to try and gain a clearer sense of my own being.
I like to think the quote is reminding me that my sense of self is actually there; that there is a knowing, and I can rely on it.
And to remind me that the opinions of others may, in fact, be clouded by their own not knowing.
Does this quote resonate for you? I’d love to get your take on it.
Photo source: Headspace
Bubba and I were having a tiff. It was a Sunday night around 10 pm. We were in the house, face-to-face, quibbling about something.
Suddenly, from outside, the crunching sound of metal crashing into metal screamed at us. Whatever Bubba and I were talking about, it stopped. We turned, in unison, and headed down the hall. As we neared the front door, we heard a second crash.
Our neighborhood is filled with cars parked on the street; mine was one of them.
That doesn’t sound good, one of us said.
And how the ‘eff can there be two crashes?
My 5-year-old Nissan was in front of our house, shoved a couple of feet forward from where I had parked it. Slightly behind was a black sports car, askew and partially jutting out into the road. I walked over to my car. The rear, left corner was smashed, the tire and rim damaged; clearly not drivable.
Bubba walked over to the window of the black car and confirmed the driver was okay; dazed, but okay. License and insurance information was obtained. The driver, distraught over a fight he’d had with his wife, could barely hold back tears.
We asked questions: Had he hit my car twice? Yes. How had he managed that? He’d turned his steering wheel to drive his car around mine. Unbeknownst to him, his steering column had broken with the first crash, so his tires hadn’t turned. When he accelerated, his car ran into mine a second time.
Neighbors who had come outside upon hearing the crash drifted back in. Their cars were fine; it was a hiccup to their normal Sunday nights. I called my insurance company; this was more than a hiccup for me.
I drove a rental car while the insurance process proceeded. Someone advised me my insurance company would stop paying for the rental once my vehicle was either fixed or deemed totaled. The insurance adjuster hinted that totaled was likely; I felt an urgency to decide on a replacement car. Two weeks after my Nissan was totaled, I came home with a Honda CR-V.
I was initially ticked-off that my low-mileage, great condition Nissan was destroyed. But it turns out I like my replacement car better. Plus, no one was injured, and I’ve since received multiple attorney letters claiming my old Nissan is currently on a lemon list. Not my problem! I don’t own it anymore!
The best lesson for me was I got to see how quickly Bubba and I switched gears; how we went from being at odds with each other to uniting, joining together to take on whatever was out there. My car may have been totaled, but my relationship with Bubba was strengthened.
Photo source: Pixel-mixer on Pixabay
Sometimes Bubba or I experience a bright ah-ha moment, as if a curtain of confusion is pulled aside and some aspect of life suddenly makes sense. Akin to realizing the snake in the corner we’ve been scared of isn’t a snake at all, but a hose.
We explain our brilliant insight to the other, who nods in enlightened understanding. Yes, yes! That’s my experience too! What an awesome analogy!
We grab pen and paper, write down our insight—as best we can—and sigh with satisfaction. This, we’re sure, will help us understand life and ourselves better; it will help us navigate the next, similar stress that comes our way. It’s an amazing doorway to self-knowledge.
A few days later we revisit our notes, excited to reignite the spark of awareness we captured; to build on it. We look at what we wrote: Scribble, scribble, “all a giant mustache,” scribble, scribble.
Huh? What the ‘eff does that mean? How is life a “giant mustache?”
Bubba and I look at each other across the table; neither of us has a clue. It had seemed so clear, so concise, so self-evident at the time. We were sure our shorthand scribble would make sense when we reread it later.
Well, one of us will say, at least we enjoyed our moment of enlightenment while we had it.
Anyone else have cryptic scribbles that leave you puzzled?
Photo source: qimono on Pixabay
I recently wrote a two-part piece about navigating relationship when things aren’t going smoothly. My kernel of understanding is reflected in this Headspace quote. Being okay with my mind—accepting it, even when it’s anxious—feels kinder than disapproving of it. There’s freedom in that.
Here are my posts:
Photo source: Headspace
I want to prepare meals with Bubba without getting defensive and having a tiff. But what if defensive is ok?
Bubba and I have relationship patterns that sometimes scuff up against each other. It can result in momentary relationship glitches. Or derail a day.
Some are random and rare; others, predictable and more frequent.
In A Wretched Mess, I wrote about a common kitchen scuffle we experience: Bubba offers to help me cook, and I resist it, experiencing his help not as help, but as a statement I’m doing it wrong.
Bubba wants to enjoy making meals with me. My getting snippy takes away the fun, so he leaves the kitchen, usually with disapproval. His leaving means we’re not doing it together, plus we’re both upset. It all feels crappy.
Do you ever respond to something—or someone—in a way you wish you didn’t? Yet you respond that same way repeatedly, butting heads in a familiar dance pattern?
When Bubba and I started living together, one place we ran into relationship speed bumps was the kitchen, usually when I was preparing food. I rarely work off a recipe, so my style is free-form. I don’t actually know if what I’m making will work, but based on having watched mom cook—and enough personal success of my own—I’ve been content with my approach.
Then Bubba moved in. He’s comfortable in the kitchen. Sometimes he cooks; sometimes I do. When I’m cooking, he often offers to help. But instead of welcoming his offers, I’ve often resisted them; gotten defensive.
I think I’m in control. Until I come out of a store having bought something that was not remotely on my mind when I went in.
What did I spend $40 on at Marshalls?
I was returning things I’d bought a week earlier and grabbed the receipt. A $40 item jumped out at me: Gourmet Housewares followed by a string of UPC numbers that provided no further clue as to what it was. What could I have spent $40 on at Marshalls? And, more surprisingly, why couldn’t I remember what it was?
I tried recalling the Gourmet Housewares section I’d shopped in, and what items I’d considered. I did a mental walk-through of my house, trying to envision each room, striving to recall if there was something I’d needed—or wanted—for that room. Blank.
I could identify the other four, modestly-priced items on the receipt; how could I not remember the most expensive thing?
I swiveled in my chair, scanning my office space. Then I saw it.
I used to remember phone numbers. Lots and lots of phone numbers.
Now I don’t, except for my dad’s, because he has a land line with the same number that existed before cell phones. The rest of the numbers I call are remembered for me by my phone. It feels weird to realize I couldn’t call Bubba or my daughter without my phone.
Now I remember passwords. Lots and lots of passwords.
Despite all the ways technology is disrupting things, I’m still getting my mental exercise.
Photo source: AbsolutVision on Pixabay
Walk the Goats 