One Rich Life
“Is reading silent in any sensible understanding of that word? Does it deepen the silence around us or break it up? When we read are we listening to the author, conversing with the author, or are we looking more directly into the author’s mind, seeing the author’s thoughts, rather than hearing her voice? How might one define silence in relation to the written, as opposed to the spoken, word?”
Sara Maitland
Top Dog Sam. He’s been with us since 2003.
There is a toolbox in my heart. It’s filled with all sorts of things that help me navigate through my days and keep my life on the straight and narrow. When I begin to feel a bit off, anxious, or fearful, I can reach in and pull out something that will bring relief, slow me down, and get me back on track.
My tools include things like taking time to sit and meditate, choosing to take a hike, or a quick walk around the block. My weekly Yoga and Pilates sessions also figure in as tools as well as my cross-trainer that I can jump on anytime and work off a bit of anger or frustration. My weekly phone chats with dear friend, Sharon, who lives too far away to have tea with in person, brings me laughter and helpful listening when they’re most needed.
There are lots of books in my box as well, like those written by Buddhist Nun, Pema Chodron, that can straighten out my thinking when I’m in a quandary and need a bit of inspiration. Poets like Mary Oliver, Mark Nepo, and David Whyte are also on the shelf. A goodly number of memoirs are stacked inside. I love them because they help me to see how others navigate troubled waters. Some of my favorites includethose by Cheryl Strayed and Mary Karr.
But some of the best tools I’ve ever had were dogs and cats. A year and a half ago Molly left us to join my other deceased companions somewhere over the rainbow. She was the love of Sam’s and my life. She left a hole in our hearts that nothing could fill.
Very Special Molly
Over time, Sam and Bill seemed to become one with each other but I was feeling a bit left out. To try to even things out we adopted Terry, last summer. He didn’t last very long because he beat up on Sam, as well as on much of the furniture. Thankfully he is now with another family with two little boys to keep him busy and no other dogs to be jealous of. But Bill was heartbroken when we had to give him up and didn’t want to try another dog in fear that again, it too might not work out. We both get very attached in very little time. He told me he might be open to trying again after the holidays. I agreed, while that hole in my heart just stayed put.
In the meantime, I followed Animal Connections on Facebook. They are the folks who had rescued Molly from a terrible living situation. Over the last six months I’ve watched one sweet, little dog after another go off to their forever homes. One little guy in particular caught my attention. He and his brother were given up by their family, who for one reason or another could no longer care for them. I knew that I couldn’t take in two dogs and figured I’d never get to meet the one that looked a bit like Molly.
Brody, four years old, and as sweet as can be. Ear-do #1.
I followed Brody and his brother, Morgan, as they were sent off to a foster home, getting in a car accident on the way. Though Brody wasn’t hurt, he was scared and ran off into the woods and couldn’t be found. Crazy me didn’t sleep well that night, worrying about a little dog I’d never met. After he was found the next morning, I was relieved and ecstatic that he was back with his brother.
The holidays came and went and when I asked Bill if he was ready to try another dog out, he said no. Sam seemed to be happy on his own and was more Bill’s companion than mine. They were both happy and out of respect for them, I gave up expecting that I’d fill that empty corner in my heart.
Then just a week ago, I got a message a friend who works with Animal Connections. It seems Brody and his brother had to be separated because suddenly Morgan was beating up on his smaller sibling. She said that Brody might be a great fit for our family and asked if she could bring him over to meet us. I hesitated before showing the email to Bill, but ended up pleading my case and he gave in.
Brody, Ear-do #2.
Brody has been with us now for a week. I adore him and the hole in my heart is overflowing with love and a little fellow who jumps up on the bed in the morning when the alarm goes off, and kisses me awake. Sam at nine years and possibly feeling a bit arthritic is not as playful as he once was, but seems to enjoy having Brody for company. And of course, Bill is as much in love with this little guy as I am.
How about you? What’s in your toolbox?
© Joan Z Rough, 2005
“A few years ago I was overwhelmed by deep anxiety, a fundamental, intense anxiety with no storyline attached. I felt very vulnerable, very afraid and raw. While I sat and breathed with it, relaxed into it, stayed with it, the terror did not abate. It was unrelenting even after many days, and I didn’t know what to do. I went to see my teacher, Dzigar Kongtrül, and he said, “Oh, I know that place.” That was reassuring. He told me about times in his life when he had been caught in the same way. He said it had been an important part of his journey and had been a great teacher for him. Then he did something that shifted how I practice. He asked me to describe what I was experiencing. He asked me where I felt it. He asked me if it hurt physically and if it were hot or cold. He asked me to describe the quality of the sensation, as precisely as I could. This detailed exploration continued for a while and then he brightened up and said, “Ani Pema…That’s a high level of spiritual bliss.” I almost fell off my chair. I thought, “Wow, this is great!” And I couldn’t wait to feel that intensity again. And do you know what happened? When I eagerly sat down to practice, of course, since the resistance was gone, so was the anxiety.”
Pema Chodron
Yikes! Yesterday was the first day of February. I set a deadline to finish a draft of my memoir by September first. I don’t know where last month’s thirty-one days went. I swear it was just yesterday that I welcomed in the New Year with excitement. My head was filled with ideas. I jotted down notes every time a new one came along and began getting out of bed at six-fifteen every morning so that I could walk the dog, get some exercise in, and have breakfast before plunging into a two-hour write.
I set of goal of writing for at least twelve hours a week. It doesn’t sound like much for a serious writer, but that time allotment does not include reading other blogs about writing, checking email, wasting time on Facebook, meeting every two weeks with my writing coach, or keeping this blog up to date.
I also decided I would no longer allow myself to get fixed like glue to the television screen every night after the evening news, even if there is something “good” on. Bill and I have gotten into the habit of watching House Hunters International on HGTV, every evening at seven. It’s the cheapest way to see the world and somehow very addictive for two old farts like us.
Instead, most nights, I’ve been taking that hour to try to make a dent in the piles of books I have sitting by my bedside and in the living room. I figure a writer needs to read in order to write. But if I wait, like I usually do until I get into bed, I’ll be reading the same damned paragraph every night for the next three months. Don’t laugh. It really happens.
So how’s it going? I’m sorry you asked. I’m completely frustrated, overwhelmed, and every day ask myself, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
I LOVE my actual writing time, when there are two hours in a row to go at it without interruption. The morning is best, but in order to keep my aging body from pooping out, there are several sessions of Pilates and yoga to go to several times a week. They meet only in the morning.
And then two weeks ago I signed up for a six-week class with Dan Blank, on building my writers platform. Oh my goodness. If I wasn’t already overwhelmed before, I certainly am now.
What was I thinking? Though writing this book is not about making millions of dollars or being on the New York Times bestseller list, I certainly do want at least more than twenty or so people to read my book. And since I will in all likelihood self-publish this very well written gem, I’d best find out how one goes about doing what I think I’m doing. I’ve finished Dan’s first lesson with its homework and am now settling into the second lesson. I put a few drops of Dr. Bach’s Rescue Remedy, on my tongue when the anxiety of, “I have to do what?” kicks in.
Seriously, it’s scary. I’m a seventy-year-old introvert, who loves to spend her time creating, not selling. Technology gets the best of me, and frankly, I don’t give a fig about social media and all that other stuff I don’t understand.
But rather than begin to sound like my mother, who a lot of my book is about, I’d best not say too much more.
Instead, I will pass on a quote from my daughter, Lisa, who in her latest, Sacred Circle Newsletter, wrote:
“What if there was no such thing as failure? What if everything was akin to a great big fancy science experiment where the results simply gave you new information and didn’t define who you are? What if the results of your “experiments” changed with the seasons, shifted with your moods, and weren’t necessarily static and permanent? What if at any time you can choose to change your mind about the direction your “experiments” are going?”
Reading that yesterday helped me to adjust my attitude a bit. I know I can do just about anything for a little while and since the class is only six weeks long, I’ll experiment and see if this platform building stuff takes hold. By then my anxiety about creating a brand and building relationships with people I don’t even know, will hopefully find a new home.
I must say I am enjoying working with a group of writers who experience the same fears that I do and Dan is fabulous. He has a lot of patience with us and everything he says makes a whole lot of sense. So I’m sticking with it. I’ll keep on writing as well and work at trying not to be so OCD about getting a draft done by 11:59 PM on September first.
What about you? What’s causing you to be overwhelmed and filled with anxiety? How do you deal with it?
“Although some use stories as entertainment alone, tales are, in their oldest sense a healing art; and the best, to my lights, are those who have lain with the story and found all its matching parts inside themselves and at depth. In the best tellers I know, the stories grow out of their lives like roots grow a tree. The stories have grown them, grown them into who they are.”
Clarissa Pinkola Estes
