Day 365

One year ago I made a commitment to keep a blog for one year. I decided to focus on my efforts to live a nonviolent life. Now it is time to say good-bye to this blog. Before I do, I would like to reflect a little on what I have gained from this experience.

This blog was a promise to myself. I am almost never break my promises to other people but I needed to practice doing the same for me. I am proud that I saw this project through to the end. The rewards were plentiful.

I remember that first time I ever flew in an airplane. Looking down at the landscape I saw a patchwork quilt of green and brown, only visible from a great distance. This blog has given me that perspective on my own life. I have come to see the patterns and I have gained appreciation for my hard-won sense of equanimity.

This blog has helped me to embrace myself as a writer. Some entries were insightful, some were boring. The value was in the doing. The end product was in many ways incidental. As Miles Horton once said, "We make the road by walking."

I have decided to continue down this road. One of the things I learned this year about nonviolence was that it is, more than anything else, about honoring that which is most alive for us at any given moment. That is my plan for the immediate future.

Day 364

I heard a news story today about a man who was convicted of stealing a sign that hung at the entrance to Auschwitz. The sign read "Arbeit macht frei" which can be translated as work will make you free.

I couldn't get the phrase out of my head today as I was shoveling the driveway and making bread and doing housework. There is truth in this old German proverb. There is a certain freedom in meaningful work. Of course work is only meaningful when it is imbued with a sense of autonomy and as Malcolm Gladwell points out a relationship between effort and reward.

It is sad to think of the way the Nazi's distorted this noble truth. I suppose it is not really so different from the ways our own instituions distort the truth to shape the will of the people.

Dasy 363

I woke up this morning to a blizzard. I looked through the frosted window in my room. It was like looking out from inside a gingerbread house. The buildings and cars across the street had disappeared, painted over by a wall of blowing snow. I felt shut off from the rest of the world. Yesterday I relished in the notion of isolation. Today it made me feel sad and lonely.

Then again, maybe my mood is more attributable to the calendar. The week between Christmas and New Years Day is like a chasm between the past and present. I create, edit, play and replay the movie highlights of the year that is about to come to a close. At the same time, I dream about what the new year might hold in store. It is a time for quiet reflection. Perhaps it is the perfect time for being snowed in.

Day 362

I put Kat on a bus headed for Olympia at 7:00 a.m. I was a little sad to see her go but also excited to get back home and reclaim my space. I am fortunate to have a room of my own, that I occasionally forfeit for guests.

Virginia Woolf counted a room of one's own as an essential component of the creative life. I'm not sure that I agree about the room. But I do know that I need time to be alone with my thoughts. It is wonderful to be able to close the door and shut out the rest of the world. Being alone, without distractions or obligations, allows me to hear my own thoughts and begin to understand my own mind. This is the essence of awareness.

When I was younger I never wanted to be alone. I would talk on the phone with friends for hours to avoid the silence. I would busy myself with endless projects to elude the stillness. I was afraid of the quiet because I was afraid of my own mind. I stopped running only when I was too exhausted to go on. What a gift that was.

Day 361

Last night Bill and Kat got into an intellectual disagreement. It involved philosophy and science and the philosophy of science - very heady stuff. It was interesting to listen to. I was too emotionally invested, however, to fully enjoy the debate.

At one point their voices became strained; I could read the tension on their faces. They were talking over each other, barely waiting for the other to finish speaking before leaping in to foist another intellectual jab. Their mutual frustration hung in the air; it felt dangerous. I worried that someone might get hurt.

Later, when I was falling off to sleep, I could hear them talking in another room. Bill said something that was muffled by the walls between us. Kat laughed. I huddled into the blankets and felt warmed by their comradery, my love for each of them multiplied by their shared affection.

Day 360

I was reading Natalie Goldberg this morning. She urges memoir writers to start with the scary stuff, the dark places, the hidden knowledge, the secrets. She might as well be saying write down your shame.

I think of myself as an open book. I often share intimate details with those closest to me and sometimes with people in line at the grocery store. I sometimes referred to myself as an emotional voyeur. And yet Natalie's prompt this morning got me thinking...

It is challenging for me to talk or write about my own sexuality. I can talk about sex in a clinical, detached sort of way. In fact, I was once a sexuality educator for a teen pregnancy prevention project. But when I try to write about a sexual experience of my own or even my own thoughts and feelings about sex, I experience a rush of shameful emotions.

Natalie says we have to write about the stuff we should not write about, otherwise, we will always be writing around our secrets. I wonder how much energy I expend avoiding thoughts and feelings about my own sexuality.

Day 359

Kat was checking her Facebook page yesterday and noticed a conversation about "Christmas" started by one of her friends. Her friend was frustrated with people who assumed that she was celebrating the holiday. She insisted that "this is not a Christian country." This set off a whole string of responses, both angry and sympathetic.

Here was that drama again. Kat goes to a liberal arts college that is full of would-be activists. They remind me of myself when I was younger. Always struggling, always fighting. There is an air of drama all around them because they are always casting themselves as the protagonists in their stories and others as the antagonists.

I have been working to recast my own stories: no antagonists, no protagonists, only human beings all struggling to be accepted, to connect, to love and be loved. It doesn't make for good drama but it does make for a more peaceful life.

Oh yeah, and happy nondenominational winter season greetings!

Day 358

Kat was upset with me for something I said or something she inferred from something I said. I didn't respond with as much empathy as I would have liked. Instead, I asked, "Why all the drama?"

I have been thinking about that question since this morning and remembering that I used to have a lot more drama in my own life. Maybe it was circumstance, but I suspect that it was at least partly due to perception. When I was younger I didn't so much create drama in my life; Rather, I looked at life through a dramatic lens.

Over the years I have learned to accept more, resist less and to slow down and breath when I feel myself escalating to the point of crisis. I would like to think that my new "no drama" policy indicates that I am getter wiser. But maybe it just means I don't have the energy I used to.

Day 357

At the risk of making my life sound like a TV movie of the week, let me just say that my daughter used to be a boy. It is probably more accurate to say that I used to think of my daughter as a boy. I haven't written much about that here because it is really more her story than my own.

She is here now and I sometimes slip and call her by her old boy name or use male pronouns to refer to her. This is frustrating to her because she is just beginning a process of transformation that will make her outsides more congruent with her insides and she needs all the support she can get. I want to be supportive but the whole experience is making me realize how tied I am to the past, even when I don't want be.

Day 356

So, what do you do when someone you love is acting like an asshole? That was the question I found myself asking yesterday. I am well trained so I immediately responded, "You love them anyway, of course. They are probably just crying out for empathy.

This was the moment when that little devil in me reared his ugly head and said: "Fuck that! What about me? What about what I need? I'm tired of being kind and understanding."

"Oh, so you need empathy too," the little angel was speaking now. "It sounds like your needs are not being met in this relationship right now. Maybe you need to take a minute to experience those feelings of disappointment and figure out how to take care of yourself."

I think I was finally able to find common ground between the angel and the devil in a place where everyone gets their needs met.

Day 355

A friend gave me a gift bag that contained, among other things, a fancy chocolate bar with almonds and toffee. I was exhausted today from all of the Christmas bustle when I decided to take a break.

I broke the candy bar in small pieces and popped them in my mouth one at a time. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the silky sweetness as each piece slowly melted. After eating half of the bar I decided to give the other half away.

I wish that I would handle everything in my life this way: appreciating the generosity, savoring the sweetness and sharing the pleasure.

Day 354

I love having Kat here and yet it is disruptive to my normal routines. She has taken over the space I normally use as an office. It is also my meditation space. I have lost my home base. I feel unsettled and tense.

Through meditation, I have learned that my tension generally resides in a space at the base of my abdomen. I experience it as a knot in the pit of my stomach. I have trained myself, when I am tense, to breath into this space. As I close my eyes and focus on my breathing, the space begins to expand, the tightness is relieved.

This disruption in my routine is good because it reminds me that I can establish a home base wherever I am. By focusing my awareness on my breathing, I am reminded that home is here and now.

Day 353

Soon after I started teaching I gained new insight into my own teachers. It never occurred to me before how much they wanted me to succeed.

As a teacher I am invested in the success of my students. I want all of them to get A's and pass my class and finish their degrees and realize their dreams. My harsh reprimands and strict grading do not always reflect this desire (at least not in the eyes of my students).

It's not unlike being a parent. We want our children to go out into the world and make a place for themselves, knowing full well that when they do they will no longer need us. It is bittersweet.

Day 352

Kat got here at 2:00 a.m. I waited up for her and we sat and talked for a couple of hours before going to bed. We got back up a few hours later and went out to lunch - talked and laughed and enjoyed each other's company. We went shopping and bought materials for a project we are planning. Something to do to keep our hands busy while we visit some more. She will be here for about 10 days. I wonder if I will be ready for the silence when she leaves.

I was sitting in a restaurant with a friend once. She was distracted by a couple who sat a few tables away. She kept looking their way. I remember thinking: she is not really here with me. She was absent in the way my mother was often absent when I was a little girl; in the way that I was absent when Kat was a child.

I am so grateful that I finally learned to be more present, to attend to my own need for authentic connection. It is amazing to show up in a relationship and find that I am not alone.

Day 351

Years ago I taught this class for high school students on critical thinking. One kid, kind of a slacker who I sometimes suspected of being stoned, came in during the third week of class, slouched in his seat, groaned and said, "This class is driving me crazy. You've got me thinking about my thinking."

Lately I have been thinking about my own thinking. More specifically, I have been thinking about anxiety and excitement. Closely related, it is sometimes it is hard to distinguish between the two. Both arise from anticipation. I feel anxious when I anticipate that something terrible is going to happen; I feel excited when I anticipate that something wonderful will happen. It's all crazy, since I have no way of knowing what the future holds.

Feelings of excitement or anxiety serve as reminders to return to the present moment. I hope that kid learned as much from the critical thinking class as I did. I'm still learning...

Day 350

I spent 11 years in college: 4 years undergrad, 2 years working on my master's and 5 years working on my Ph.D. The emphasis was on developing my rational mind. I acquired knowledge and studied big ideas. I learned to reason and analyze, and synthesize and aggregate concepts (I also learned some pretty big words).

During the my last few years of graduate school, I starting reading Michel Foucault. A brilliant thinker, his theories about the role of discourse in human interaction are a testament to the power of the human mind. Toward the very end of my studies I read this passage from an interview that was conducted with Foucault during his final year of life: "...we have to create ourselves as a work of art." Suddenly, everything else I had learned paled in comparison.

I felt a very strong desire to uncover and unleash my creative energy. I felt like a person who, suddenly learns she can walk after years of being confined to a wheelchair. The muscles are atrophied and must be strengthened. Walking is awkward and ungraceful, sometimes even painful. It is a long and grueling process. I am beginning that process now. I try to work my creative muscles. It is hard to be patient because I dream of running marathons.

Day 349

Some days I struggle to identify one topic worthy of writing about. Other days I have 2 or 3 to choose from. Today I don't want to chose.

Subject #1

I woke up this morning with a familiar dread hanging over me. I had already designated this as a writing day. I heard a familiar whine in my skull. Oh, no. I don't want to write. It is too hard. It's Christmas time and I want to bake cookies and drink hot chocolate and sit by a fire (so what if I don't have a fireplace).

Then I received an email from a friend who was at work. She said that she would like to be in a coffee shop writing today. Suddenly I realized that writing doesn't have to be an obligation, it can be an opportunity. I am blessed right now to have the time to write. What a gift. Even better than cookies and hot chocolate by a fire.

Subject #2

Lately I have been fantasizing about skydiving. Now I do not really want to jump out of a plane. I am terrified of high places and even more afraid of falling. What I want is to move fast and feel the metaphorical wind in my face. I want my heart to pound out of my chest with excitement. I want to get goosebumps of exhilaration. I want to laugh at danger and cheat death. I want to step off the edge, feel myself fall and then be thrust up at the last minute by a parachute of my own making. I am tired of playing it safe.

Bring it all together...

Maybe it's all about the writing. Maybe skydivers get up in the morning before a jump and feel the same kind of dread as I do. Maybe they do it anyway. Maybe it reminds them that they are alive. Maybe I need to learn to think of writing as an aerial act.

Day 348

I watched this video yesterday based on a book called the Empathetic Civilization by Jeremy Rifkin (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l7AWnfFRc7g). You know how you sometimes here a message over and over again and then one day you hear it again, only this time it sounds totally different, you connect with it in a new way, the idea comes to life.

That's what this video did for me around the idea of empathy. It was like a missing puzzle piece that clicked into place. Bottom line: if we want to end conflict and war and all the forms of oppression that we inflict on each other, we must learn to give and receive empathy.

There was a line in the film that really resonated with me: "empathy is the invisible hand." Perhaps the only way to really experience the divine is through empathetic understanding, it is the key to unlocking the secret of our interconnectedness.

I feel like a new convert to the church of empathetic understanding.

Day 347

I am feeling a little sad today, disappointed that my plans for Christmas are unraveling. I was looking forward to spending time with Kat: cooking together, shopping together, just being together. Now, I'm not sure how I will spend the holiday.

In the midst of my sadness, I keep thinking about fudge. I imagine pressing it against the roof of my mouth with my tongue, the sugary goodness spreading from my palate to my brain, to the parts of my soul that are aching right now, the pleasure serving as a distraction from my sadness.

Oh, I know that the relief would only be momentary, but sometimes that seems like enough.

Day 346

Kat called me yesterday. I said, "How are you doing?"

She said, "I've been a little nervous about this phone call."

"Why?" I asked.

"Well, I'm not sure I'm going to be able to be there for Christmas like we planned," she replied.
"Oh." I was carefully weighing my response. I was disappointed but also curious about why she was nervous to tell me this.

We talked about the obstacles that might prevent her from getting here for the holiday. Finally, we came back around to the other question. "Why were you afraid to tell me that you might not be coming?" I asked.

"I was afraid that you would pressure me to come," she said.

I know where this fear comes from. Whenever I wanted someone to do something, I used to whine and cajole and argue (logic was my favorite weapon of manipulation) until they gave in. Kat's comment made me realize how difficult that must have been for those around me. I thought that when I got someone to do what I wanted, I won. Now I see that I lost far more than I gained.

Today, I do not want anyone to do anything for me unless it meets their needs. When people give to us out of guilt, or fear or just plain exhaustion, everyone loses. Manipulation drives a wedge through the relationship that prevents real connection.

Day 345

I got together with some friends yesterday. On my way home I started evaluating my performance. Did I behave properly? Did I make a good impression?

I came to the conclusion that I was too insecure, too emotional, too flighty, too vulnerable. In other words, I did not play the role of my middle aged self very effectively.

Just last night I heard someone say that adulthood in our society is characterized by a lack of emotion, a flattening of affect. It's funny, I didn't learn to fully experience my emotions until I was over 40.

Perhaps that means I am doomed to a life of immaturity. On the other hand, it may be a blessing.

Day 344

A friend called me yesterday and told me about a writing project she is working on. I immediately started searching for books and articles that might be helpful to her.

I enjoy helping people. I think that we all want to contribute to the lives of others and to the world in meaningful ways.

It is sometimes difficult for me to reach out and ask for help when I need it. I have to remind myself that by graciously receiving I am giving others a precious gift.

Day 343

Yesterday I posted my blog and went for a walk. While I was walking I realized that I hadn't been completely honest. I wrote about the apprehension and fear I have as a writer each time I have to face an empty page. I speculated that my fear was a fear of failure.

Actually, I think that my fear has more to do with facing myself. It is not unlike the fear that comes up for me around meditating. I am so invested in the egoic facade that I have created, this sense of self that I have built brick by brick in my mind. I am afraid to look in the mirror. What if there is nothing there, only emptiness staring back at me?

There are times when I am writing (or sitting) when the self starts to fade away. The past and the future are each revealed as figments of my imagination. There is only this moment. It is clear that there is no enduring self. The ego dies. I am afraid.

Day 342

Yesterday I made a commitment to write today. I woke up this morning too scared to get out of bed. I pulled the blankets up around my chin and clamped my eyes shut, refusing to face the day, or more accurately refusing to face the page.

Ask anyone who has ever claimed the title of writer and they will tell you about the terror. Remember watching Psycho; that moment when the Norman appeared in shadow, his knife looming over Janet Leigh as she showered. The anticipatory dread associated with writing is something like that. That's the dread I felt this morning.

Ultimately, the dread is associated with a fear of failure, I suppose. What if I attempt to fly but never even manage to take off? What if I have nothing to say? What if I bare my heart and soul and they scoff at it? Worse yet, what if no one even takes notice?

Yeah, writing is scary business. I am trying to take the advice of people who have been at this a little longer than me. It's simple they say: just show up and write. Don't worry about being good or getting published. Just put the pencil to the paper (or the fingers to the keyboard, as the case may be).

I suppose I wouldn't do it if I had any other choice. More and more I am thinking that I don't. Writing (or, at the very least, creating) is like breathing. Sometimes the terror steals my breath away and I have to remind myself how to breath again.

Day 341

Sometimes my sense of equanimity just seems to evaporate, like puffs of steam rising from a tea kettle. Other times, I imagine it jumping off the bed and slipping out the window when I wake at 3:00 a.m., like the gingerbread man who escaped from the old woman who made him.

Bottom line: it is gone. I am thrown off balance, cast about by frustration and anger and fear. I know how to reclaim it. There are certain activities that bring me inner peace: writing, meditating, moving, being outside.

Without a sense of equanimity it is hard to find the energy to do these things. That is where I am today: my sense of equanimity gone, needing to reclaim myself by doing those things that bring me joy and peace, struggling to find the energy.

Day 340

I have been a little tired and achy for the last couple of days. This morning I got up, checked my email, had a cup of tea and a bowl of oatmeal and went back to bed. As I laid there I started to realize how much I was literally fighting the aches and pains and chills.

I opened my eyes and caught sight of a little flag my friend made me. It is bright green with an abstract pattern that resembles leaves in spring. It says SURRENDER. She ran out of room as she was applying the appliqued letters so the E and the R sort of drop of the edge of the word. I smile every time I look at it.

I have never been good at surrender. I pride myself on being a fighter. I remember taking swimming lessons when I was about 8. I don't think I ever graduated from the Guppies, in part because I couldn't surrender. I laid on my back and tightened all of my muscles, refusing to be buoyed by the water. Somewhere in the recesses of my mind was the fear of being dragged under and carried away by the undertow. Ironically it was my refusal to let go that inevitably caused me to sink like a stone.

Day 339

I have been trying for several hours now to think of something clever and smart to write about. Eventually I gave up and decided to just settle for a good enough blog entry. Still nothing.

The truth is: I have nothing to say today.

The end.

Day 338

I got together with a friend yesterday who told me about being summoned to her son's school because he hit someone. Instead of punishing him she tried to empathize and understand the reasons why he might have hit the other boy.

I have to admit, this is one aspect of nonviolent communication (NVC) that I am somewhat uneasy with. NVC places an emphasis on empathy and away from blame. I am sometimes concerned that in the process we fail to hold people accountable for their actions. Ultimately, there is no impact on behavior.

I can imagine a world where children are not punished. Where they receive empathy when they make a decision that negatively impacts other people. Where they learn to empathize with the people they harm. Where they learn to slow down and pay attention to what was happening when they made the decision that harmed others. Where they have the opportunity to commit to different behavior for the future.

What can I do to start creating that world right now?

Day 337

Every once in a while I run across a passage that is so moving and inspiring, so resonates with me and speaks to my thoughts and feelings, I must share it with other people. Here is the latest:

...you are saved not in order to live
you have little time you must give testimony

be courageous when the mind deceives you be courageous
in the final account only this is important

and let your helpless Anger be like the sea
whenever you hear the voice of the insulted and beaten

let your sister Scorn not leave you
for the informers executioners cowards - they will win
they will go to your funeral and with relief throw a lump of earth
the woodborer will write your smoothed-over biography

and do not forgive truly it is not in your power
to forgive in the name of those betrayed at dawn

beware however of unnecessary pride
keep looking at your clown's face in the mirror
repeat: I was called - weren't there better ones than I...

(from The Envoy of Mr. Cogito by Zbigniew Herbert as quoted in The Liar's Club by Mary Karr)

I read this and had the feeling I had used to have in church as if the minister could read my mind and was speaking directly to me. I thought: yes, this is why I must write.

Day 336

When I was a little girl I used to love to ride the bus to the Baptist church on Sunday morning. The preacher would pace in front of the congregation, his face flush with emotion as he pleaded with us to turn our lives over to God. We were like sunflowers, planted in the pews, all leaning toward the sun.

My heart would nearly burst when we would sing This Little Light of Mine or I've Got Joy, Joy, Joy, Joy Down in My Heart. Sometimes my little body felt like too small a container for all the passion and joy I felt. I was connected to the life force and creative energy flowed like lava through my veins.

As I reached puberty I started to be self-conscious. I could hear their angry wonder: "Who does she think she is?" I didn't want to be accused of being "too big for my britches." I consciously tried to make myself small.

I have spent much of my life trying to make myself small. It's sad really.

More than ever the world needs us to contribute as much as we are capable of giving. We can no longer afford to make ourselves small.

Day 335

I think that I'm so drawn to writing lately because I am fed up with the "real" world. Sometimes I feel so bombarded with propaganda and hate and just plain stupidity. I just want to check out.

There are really only a few options for checking out. The first, suicide, is out the question for me. In spite of my frustration with humanity, I have a ferocious love for life (and a tremendous aversion to pain). In moments of despair I have considered the second option, insanity. To escape into madness does have a certain appeal. However, the straight jacket is so confining (and doesn't make much of a fashion statement).

So I am left with only one option: to write. As a writer, I can create my own world. I can create multiple worlds into which I can escape. For as long as I can remember I have dreamed of a world where people live in peace and recognize that we all exist as part of the same divine source. That world does exist; writing may be my only opportunity to share it.

In his book Zen in the Art of Writing Ray Bradbury says, "...gently lie and prove the lie true...everything is finally a promise...what seems a lie is a ramshackle need, wishing to be born."