Temporariness

"This, too, shall pass."

How many times has one of us bristled upon being told this by a well-meaning companion, after we have gone through all the trouble of venting out our anger and frustration?  I know I hate to be told this; it comes across as almost condescending.  However, when tasked with giving advice to someone in some less-than-ideal situation, it's usually the first thing that pops into my head.  In one way or another, I want to tell them, you will not have to deal with this issue anymore.

I have been thinking about this advice with regards to myself lately.  And I think that it is the only thing stopping me thus far from expressing my impotent rage in any means beyond writing or complaining.  Every day, my anger at my family builds.  (The Artist excepted.)  Every day, I have no control over anything they are doing.  Every day, I do have control over how I am responding.

I have my moments.  I just finished sending a profanity-laced tirade to K a short time ago, venting about everything I could think of.  And when the going gets rough, my thoughts usually turn to extreme measures such as postponing grad school so that I can move out and never speak to them again.  Which, of course, when you boil it down, means that I would be deferring an important goal in order to escape a toxic situation.  I shouldn't have to choose between the two; circumstances should not be such that my voice is unheard within my family and my needs and very existence go unrespected.  (Again, the Artist excepted.)  But the fact is, I have lived at home for over a year now.  True, I moved home so as to leave an apartment which was across the street from RJ's apartment, and because the enormous amount of time I spent alone was starting to really mess me up, so I naturally did not expect that my relocation would be a case of "out of the frying pan, into the fire."  But I've made it this far, and the end, sort of, is in sight, perhaps within the next year or two.

This, too, shall pass, indeed.  It may take awhile, but it will.  The endless cycle of pain caused by RJ, in which I thought I was caught until the end of my days, did pass.  College, which made me utterly miserable and seemed interminable, did pass.  My heartbreak over losing my best friend in high school due to a falling out, did pass.  My heartbreak over my ex-boyfriend, "the Firefighter," breaking up with me, did pass.  Every horrid thing which I have experienced in my life has passed thus far, or will do so eventually.

It is this knowledge which I must keep in mind as I head home from work tonight, and this knowledge which I must remind myself of as often as is necessary in the year ahead, for I think that will be my greatest challenge heading into 2011: learning to accept how very many things I cannot change, and ceasing my lifelong struggle against them.  Everything will pass, over time -- I will appreciate and remember the good, and let go of the bad.

Wishing everyone a very healthy and happy new year.  Namaste.

2010

In ten days, 2010 will draw to a close.  What a year it has been!  Developments which I could not possibly have foreseen in 2009, much less dared hope for, have come to pass.

As is natural at the end of a calendar year, I have been reflecting upon the events of 2010, and what the changes it wrought have meant to me.

At the most basic level, the passing of 2010 will push 2009 further into my past.  When I refer to the painful events of last year, I will no longer say "last year."  This in and of itself is liberating; I think I may have said "last year" more times in 2010 than I have in the rest of my life combined, in a seemingly endless circle of cross-referencing what has happened now with what happened then.

What happened then is over now, and has been for quite some time.  The life-altering events of last year -- nearly all of them revolving around my ex-boyfriend "RJ" and the dissolution of even the remnants of our friendship -- affect my life in many ways and will continue to do so for quite some time, but with every passing second, the influence of those events diminishes.  Although my path was diverted by the influence of the heartache and depression I experienced, I am forging my own path now, determining its direction independently.

If 2009 was a year of a broken heart, unending darkness, and a near-total loss of hope, 2010 was a year in which dreams were born or realized.  Through utter serendipity and probably the greatest stroke of luck I have ever been bestowed, I met a gentle, loving soul with whom I would be happy to be partnered for the rest of my days.  I also finally began planning a future in a new career; I have been unhappy, underpaid, and underutilized for five years in my current office job, and I at long last found myself ready for a change.  I found out yesterday that I was accepted into my chosen course of study at a local college, and will be pursuing a graduate degree beginning in a bit over a month.

I believe today, more than ever, in the common bit of wisdom about everything happening for a reason.  I believe now that I needed to struggle through 2009 in order to come out the other side, 2010.  I don't think I would have had the strength to initiate such a drastic change in my life at any other time, but now that I have gotten through 2009, I know that I can accomplish almost anything.  I don't think I would have had the maturity and wisdom to tend to my relationship with K as carefully as I have, but now that I have seen how terrible a bad relationship can be, I am able to truly appreciate who K is and what he means to me.

I still don't know what it was that stopped me from carrying out my suicide plans last year.  Fear of inflicting a loss on my mother and sister after we had all already experienced my father's unexpected death?  Wondering who could provide my cat, "Tabby," the same loving care as I could?  Considering the possibility that, perhaps, this too would pass?  It was probably a combination of these things.  And it is an understatement now to say that I'm glad I stuck around to see what the new year would bring.  It has brought healing, accomplishment, love, and hope for the future, things that taste all the sweeter now for how convinced I was that I would never taste them again.

There was always a glimmer of light nearby.  How wonderful that I held on to it in the darkness; how beautifully it shines now.

Namaste.

Mortality

It's been difficult to keep up with my meditation.  Time runs away from me and I soon find that it is very late and well past time for me to go to sleep, so I don't do it.  Or I am too angry, or depressed, to make the effort.  Or the noise level in my house is such that concentration will be impossible.

None of these are good excuses, though.  Not really.  Meditating will help me slow my mind in preparation for bed.  One of the times it is most critical for me to meditate is when I am upset.  And as for noise, there is nothing I can do about it without poisoning the atmosphere within my family, and so it will be a practice in placid acceptance of that which is beyond my control -- an important lesson, to be sure.

Last night I was, as I often am these days, feeling frustrated and angry as night approached.  It was also past my bedtime, but I resolved to meditate anyway.  I tried again a "focus" that I have used a couple of other times in the past: I concentrated on exhaling "darkness," imagining air stained black with anger and pain coming rushing out of my nostrils and then dissipating to harmless nothingness, allowing me to breathe in air that was refreshing, cleansing, and pure.  In order to properly capture the mental image, this focus requires me to exhale much more strongly than usual, which isn't in and of itself very relaxing.  However, for a number of the exhalations (but not all), I could feel the darkness binding my heart and clogging my chest lifting somewhat, dislodged by the force of my determination.

At the end of my meditation, my mood was improved a bit.  It is worthwhile, then.

Also at the end of my meditation, with head bowed and hands in prayer position at my chest as usual, I endeavored to forgive myself for my foibles.  I think I am harder on myself than anyone in the world could even dream of being, and I no longer wish to see myself that way.  I have my moments and my flaws, but I am unique, loving, and possessing a beautiful spirit.  It was to that spirit that I dedicated my practice last night, and will dedicate my practices in the days to come.

Reading of Elizabeth Edwards' death today has led me to think about that which nearly all of us assiduously ignore: our own mortality.  I wonder if I will be similarly afflicted someday; I do have a very strong history of cancer in my family, unfortunately.  Even before her passing, due to my generalized fear of losing those whom I love, I had been thinking in recent days about the degree to which my life would change if, say, I lost K.  I can only begin to imagine the devastation such an event would create.

To that end, I am grateful today for each moment I am able to spend in the company of my loved ones.  What I have today may be gone tomorrow, so it is imperative that I live with love and appreciation.

Hold on, hold on -- hold on to what you've got.
"Lean On Sheena," by The Bouncing Souls

Namaste.