Mindful Monday - Memory Lane

I have long been fascinated by memory and curious about how it works. When we try to recall something that doesn't spring readily to mind, what exactly is it that we are doing? And how do particular things, like an old photo or the smell of freshly mown grass, suddenly activate a host of memories I haven't thought about in years?

My brother and I recently reconnected with a childhood friend from the neighborhood we grew up in. Somehow, he came across my mother's obituary online and contacted us. Shortly thereafter, my brother decided to drive through our old neighborhood and make some photos.

Not surprisingly, much has changed in 50 years, but seeing the photographs has rekindled so many memories--a million tiny moments, a favorite sundress, the scent of Sea & Ski, making ice cream, Christmas lights, coloring Easter eggs, delivering newspapers, crab apples, hula hoops, our first color television, Ed Sullivan, cartwheels on the lawn. The parade of memories is endless.

How does all this reminiscing fit with a mindfulness practice that focuses on present moment awareness? I'm not sure. But I'm noticing how memories make me feel and what arises in me when I consider them. I'm learning (or perhaps re-learnng) some lessons about attachment and the inevitability of change. It's also interesting to consider which things seemed important at the time compared to what feels important in retrospect.

As for the rest of my weekly mindfulness check-in? Well, it hasn't been very impressive. I haven't been eating mindfully or moving/exercising much. Even my meditation practice, the one thing I've been pretty consistent about since the first of the year, has been all over the map. I haven't done much reading or writing. Mostly I've been reflecting and sitting with the reflecting.

And so, we begin again...
     Back to the mat. 
           Back to the breath.
                 Back to the present moment. 

Mindful Monday - One Year

This time last year, I was staring the unthinkable in the face: My beloved mother was about to die. Doris Joan Alderman Holloway left this world on June 18, 2013, and the year of treatment between her diagnosis and that day was perhaps the most intensive mindfulness workshop I could (n)ever have signed up for. Suddenly, it felt so important to take note of everything, savor every opportunity.

I think of mom every day, but I've known all along that what our mother would want is for us to go on with our lives and be good to one another.

Conventional wisdom holds that the first year following the loss of a loved one is the hardest, but a friend mentioned that she thought the third year after her mother died might have been the hardest yet for her, at least in some ways. I felt a surge of panic at the thought that it could get even harder, but I remind myself that if we make it through one year without mother physically with us, we can make it through another.

I do wonder sometimes if I talk about mom (or her death) too much. I told myself when I sat down to work on my blog post that I should instead write about something more cheerful and interesting to others, but mom is on my heart this week. I'll understand if some readers choose to skip this particular post.

When Bill and I were planning our wedding years ago, some of the best advice I got was not to get so caught up in the preparations and implementation that I, in essence, missed my own wedding. I was surprised by how many friends confided in me that the big day which they had dreamed about for so long was little more than a blur by the time they finally got through it. I'm not sure how familiar I was with the concept of mindfulness back then, but when I heard that, I made up my mind that I was going to be as fully present as I could for our wedding day, which I still remember as truly the most joyful of my life.

That wise counsel has served me at other key points in my life since our wedding. I've learned that setting an intention to be present really does make a difference, whether for a wedding or a funeral--in a time of great joy or of deepest sorrow. My decision to establish mindfulness as a theme for the year 2014 was, in part, an attempt to carry that intention beyond those peak and valley occasions into my day-to-day living.

Grief has its own timetable, and every experience with it is unique, but my central intent since mom's passing has been to simply be with my own grief as it occurs and notice what is happening, inside and out. I don't want to repress my grief and sorrow or push it away; nor do I want to magnify it or offer it undue power. I want to acknowledge grief respectfully and compassionately without giving it license to take over my life as weeds can overtake a garden. There are moments, however, when it's a bit like trying to walk a tightrope. It is especially tricky when the wind blows.

I recently re-visited the display at the Tallulah Falls Interpretive Center about Karl Wallenda's crossing of Tallulah Gorge, which I watched nervously on live TV as a child. In that line of work, you can't watch your feet, but it's also important not to focus too far ahead. There are no shortcuts, and there is no rushing. Once you are out there, if you want to get to the other side, you have to patiently cross one step at a time, whether the wind is blowing or not.

I've been aware of so many "firsts" as they have come along in the past year without mom--our first Christmas, dad's first wedding anniversary without his wife by his side... Then yesterday, on dad's first solo Father's Day, as I wrote the date on his card, I realized how close we were to the one-year mark. There are times when I feel almost like I'm 4 years old again, and I can't believe my beautiful mommy is gone.

Our mother can never leave us completely, of course. I believe her spirit lives on. We have enduring memories and treasured photographs to enjoy. And we have more than that: Mom's greatest legacy is everything that she taught us--and continues to teach us--in a million different ways, some of which I'm still discovering. Being mindful of those lessons allows me to stay close to my mother, year after year.

Mindful Monday - Food

I'm trying to be mindful about food this year, even though I haven't been motivated to eat particularly well--at least, not consistently. Mindful eating doesn't require that I eat or avoid certain foods or even that I limit portions. Rather, it asks me to pay careful attention to food and how it affects me.

This means not mindlessly shoving snacks in my mouth while watching television or gobbling down almost anything quickly before running out the door if I'm late. It includes stopping to notice the way food smells and feels, its look and texture. It also involves paying attention to when I'm hungry and when I'm not and whether or not I stop eating once I'm satisfied. What are my food triggers? Anxiety? Sadness? Worry?

It's amazing how much there is to notice once you get serious about eating this way. I already spend a lot of time reading labels whenever I shop for my dad's groceries because his medical conditions necessitate so many dietary restrictions, but it has slowly dawned on me that in order to eat mindfully, I have to know what it is that I'm putting in my own mouth and read more labels on the food I ingest. Since I don't have a degree in chemistry or nutrition, label reading often leads to research. Thank goodness for smart phones with internet access!

For months, I've been trying to eat mindfully, yet choosing not to moderate my diet very much. I just wasn't in the mood to do what it takes to lose excess weight. The one positive affect of my mindfulness practice thus far has been taking care that the foods I splurge on are worthy of the splurge. Mindful eating discourages a lot of junk food because when you pay close attention, most of that stuff really does look, smell, feel, and/or taste like junk.

I'm reporting on all of this in such detail today, because I think I may have reached critical mass. After months of not being in the mood to eat healthfully, something seems to be shifting. I'm not sure if it's the cumulative affect of mindful eating or more a matter of finally reaching the time of year when I have access to far more appealing fresh fruits and veggies. It probably doesn't hurt that a long series of special (splurge-worthy!) occasions is finally behind me. But, for whatever combination of reasons, I find myself in the mood to eat better.

In the past couple of weeks, I've been reading about nutrition and fitness and listening to interviews with doctors, nutritionists, and other health professionals. I'm not ready to announce any new resolutions or big weight-loss goals, but here are some things I genuinely do want to work on: eating plenty of local produce, drinking more water, shifting to a higher proportion of plant-based foods in my diet, incorporating more healthy fats (high quality olive oil, coconut oil, nuts & seeds), fewer grains and other highly processed foods, less refined sugar, and fewer chemicals/additives.

Obviously, there are more healthy food rules I could add to this list, but I want to stick with choices that I believe to be sustainable for me. As a compliment to better eating, I also want to walk more, do some yoga again, and maybe even do a little weight training.

 I'm continuing to meditate each day, and I'm still interested in reading, writing, and several other things I've talked about on other Mindful Mondays, but for right now I want to concentrate my attention on food and see where that leads.

What is your approach to eating? Do you find it easier to eat well in the summer than in winter? What helps you eat healthfully? If you have experiences to share, I'd love to hear them.

Mindful Monday - Tribute

I was very sad to learn last Wednesday that Maya Angelou had died. Although she was 86, I think I somehow expected her to live on indefinitely. I was touched by the outpouring of tributes, memories, photos, and articles about her on social media, not only that day but for several days thereafter. She clearly touched the lives of a wide array of people--including some who don't otherwise agree on much.

Ever since I read I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings in high school, Ms. Angelou has been an inspiration and an important teacher to me, as she has to millions. I continued to read her other books and poetry and was struck by how much life she had somehow packed into a single lifetime.

I recall watching an interview she did with Oprah Winfrey in May of last year, as my mother was dying. I knew mom would want to see the interview if she were well enough to watch it, but it had become so hard for mom to focus that I ended up watching it without her.

I enjoyed being reminded of so many wonderful Maya Angelou quotes last week. The one below has often guided me during the past year as I've struggled in mom's absence to try to deal with my dad and all his health concerns, including some memory and other cognitive challenges.

I remember the first day that it occurred to me to focus on this wisdom, after a difficult stretch with my dad. He visibly softened, and we had the best day together that we'd had in quite some time. Whenever I felt frustrated or uncertain about what to do, I would silently paraphrase Ms. Angelou's words to myself, with dad specifically in mind: "[Dad] will forget what you said, [he] will forget what you did, but [he] will never forget how you made [him] feel." As I left dad's house that evening, he seemed more content than he had in weeks. And when we said our goodbyes for the night, dad actually said to me, "You really made me feel good today."

It's quite an exercise in mindfulness to notice how your actions in the present moment are affecting those you are with. Another valuable exercise, of course, is noting your own feelings. I'm fortunate to be able to say that I always felt safe and supported in my mother's presence. I don't have her grace, but I hope I have at least learned from her how to be supportive of others.

The rest of my week doesn't seem all that worthy of a mindfulness check-in, as I have little new to report. I'm still meditating daily and trying to exercise more. I'm eating mindfully, but not all that moderately. I've made significant progress with clutter clearing, which feels good, even with so much yet do to. And I did read another book. It was non-fiction, this time (which is far more typical for me): Learning to Walk In the Dark by Barbara Brown Taylor. The book was every bit as good as I expected it to be. Among other things, it was a reminder that darkness isn't all bad.

In spite of considerable reflecting, I haven't done much writing recently. As we approach the first anniversary of mom's death this month, I'll probably do more journaling. Just as darkness isn't all bad, grief isn't all bad, either. It's part of living, learning, and growing.

Mindful Monday - a ramble

In the United States, the last Monday in May is a day we set aside to remember those who have sacrificed their own lives defending the freedoms of others. I have read that the commemoration was begun by former slaves honoring union soldiers who were killed in the Civil War. The holiday has since gone through several transformations, with the two World Wars broadening considerably the way we approach what we now know as Memorial Day.

It's an overwhelming thing to consider deeply the atrocities of battle and what war means for those who ultimately died serving their country as well as to their families, and indeed to our society. I am ill-equipped to provide meaningful commentary other than to simply say that it felt very much in keeping with my mindfulness practice to pause and reflect on war, courage, and sacrifice during this past weekend.

The balance of my mindfulness check in is comparatively mundane. I've continued to meditate each day, but decided to pull back to only 12-15 minutes at a time. When I increased to 20 minutes per session for a while, not only did I find it more difficult to focus but I also noticed that I was beginning to view meditation as a chore or obligation and was far less likely to do any additional mediating (such as a guided meditation) elsewhere in the day.   

More is not always better (a lesson I often have a trouble with), so I'm experimenting with the time and trying to stay out of all-or-nothing territory by remaining flexible. There's a blog I've been following in recent months by a busy young woman with a family and a business who is clearly exhausted and frustrated with her life. I cannot help but notice that in an effort to gain control of the situation, she keeps adding requirements to her various disciplines, but never seems to remove or replace any of the existing ones. The list just gets longer and longer. Not only does she feel she must meditate every day, but for long periods of time, both morning and evening. She also does yoga every day and blogs every day (no matter how exhausted she is) and writes/posts a poem every day and on and on. At the same time, her resentment mounts toward anything which may interfere with these practices.

Frankly, I've been reading her blog less, recently, because it has become too painful. Part of that pain is empathy, for I have been known to enact my own version of the same phenomenon, adding requirement after requirement to my own list without pausing to consider that what I am doing is not only unnecessary--it may even be unhealthy.  Meanwhile, my loved ones look on helplessly as I dig the hole ever deeper, bristling at any suggestion that there might be a better approach. I've noticed a similar tendency in my brother.

The particulars are different for each of us, but all involve a kind of obsessive perfectionism, which I have come to learn (thanks to the work of Brene Brown and others) is a very different thing from healthy striving for excellence. Sadly, most of us these days seem to be at least somewhat complicit in the glorification of busy. It's a very bad habit.

In my case, it's often a way to deflect attention away from something else I really do need to look at or work on. I think I'm more aware of this tendency than I used to be, which gives me a better chance to address it before it gets out of hand. Yet I still let it sneak up to me, occasionally. One of the most important questions to ask myself in those moments when I insist that I have to do something is, "Is that really true?" closely followed by, "What would happen if I did it differently or not at all?"

I don't have to give up on meditating to adjust the timing to shorter sessions of fewer per week or a different type of meditative practice. I don't have to give up on half of my New Years Resolutions just because I haven't managed to accomplish them all at once. But I do need to let go of the ridiculous notion that I can - or even should - do it all. Even more absurd is the expectation that I should be able to do it all at once.

One of the things I almost entirely gave up for a while in my misguided glorification of busy was something I dearly love: reading. So I'm happy to report that I'm 90% of the way through reading a novel!

The vast majority of the reading I've done in the past 20 years has been non-fiction. For one thing, I read very slowly (especially narratives, in which I can savor each word and turn of phrase), and I find it extremely jarring to start and stop once I'm immersed in a story. Also, I find stories highly affecting and often troubling--especially violent scenes. They can occupy my thoughts and dreams for weeks or even months afterward. So I end up avoiding them, but I also miss them.

When I do finally read good fiction, I remember how much it means to me and that I'd really like to read more. I got bogged down in The Goldfinch a couple of months ago, after hearing from friends who were troubled by the ending, and I've yet to complete it. Prior to that, I had started several other books that I didn't finish, either because it was time to take them back to the library, or I got sidetracked, or I just plain couldn't get lift-off with the book. (Gilead was one example.)

I'm currently finishing The Signature of All Things by Elizabeth Gilbert and have been struck by the amount of research required for this historical novel--not only of history, but of botany and even languages. Had I not heard the author talking about the book in an interview, I doubt I would have chosen such a novel to read, but now I'm almost sad that the adventure is coming to an end.

I'm delighted to be finishing the book, though, because I was beginning to think of myself as someone who just didn't do that anymore. It's funny how quickly we are willing to categorize ourselves. By January of this year, I had come to think of myself as someone who used to read novels, used to be thin, used to meditate. I could go on and on with "used to" phrases. What an odd (and limiting) way to define oneself.

Today, I'm someone who meditates regularly and who enjoys reading and blogging. I'm still very much a work in progress, but I am finding that mindfulness practice helps me not only live more fully in the present moment but also to define my life more in terms of the present and less in terms of to do lists (the future) or used to's (the past).

Well, that was quite a ramble. I wasn't sure what I wanted to say when I started to write, and I'm not sure I ever decided, but those are some of the things I've been thinking about. How about you? Any thoughts you would like to share - perhaps on Memorial Day, commitment, reading, defining your life, or something else? I'd be interested to hear them.

Mindfulness Monday - Ordinary Blessings

Oh, the irony of forgetting to do one's MINDFULNESS check-in on the appointed day--and not for the first time, either. Oh well. Let's just say that caring for aging parents can be a challenging exercise in mindfulness.

I'm continuing to meditate and doing a little better with mindful eating and moving. There's quite a bit going on this week, and I'm behind with almost everything, so mindfulness starts to feel like a luxury I can't afford, even though I don't really believe that.

I want to stay present, but notice that I am often lost in the past or worrying about the future. Yesterday, in the shower I found myself mentally rehearsing an (anticipated) argument. I wish I could say it was the first time I've ever done that.

Still, I feel more grounded than I did before I re-committed to my meditation practice at the beginning of the year. Looking at the stats on my Insight Timer (an app with which I keep track of meditation sessions) is a great reminder of how even small steps add up, over time. I've logged about 48 hours since January 1st, only 10, 15, or 20 minutes at a time.

Taking care of my father is also a reminder not to take for granted the little things in life. Dad can no longer easily walk across the room to do even the simplest task. His dietary restrictions are so complicated that it sometimes feels like he needs a team of dietitians working for him. Gone are the days of endless variety. When your kidneys stop working and your heart and brain and digestive system have all been damaged in one way or another, even food and drink that would once have been considered healthy can be fraught with peril. The common refrain, "Drink plenty of water!" no longer applies to you, for example. Day-to-day survival is dependent on being hooked up to dialysis machines every other day, hours at a time.

Recently, I do a lot of what my grandmother would have called counting my blessings. I've never actually tried to keep count, but it would take more storage than my computer has to log them all. Too often, we don't notice these gifts until they aren't around anymore.

So many ordinary blessings quietly enhance our lives until time is up, and our gifts take new forms. What little things make your life fuller, richer? What would you especially miss if it disappeared tomorrow? Be sure to enjoy it today.

Mindful Monday - Feeling Grateful

Well, I wrote it on Monday, but I forgot to add the pictures and publish it until Tuesday...

Maybe it's because my birthday is this month or because I love beautiful flowers and the return of warm weather, or perhaps it's because as a child I knew the school year was drawing to a close by now, but for whatever combination of reasons, I've always looked forward to May. I've noticed that my mindfulness practice has helped me tune in to a few of the incredible details we city dwellers can miss this time of year if we aren't careful--especially in nature.

The Biltmore Estate azalea gardens on my birthday!

I'm also finding that mindfulness and gratitude very much go hand-in-hand. Gratitude increases mindfulness; mindfulness encourages gratitude. How can you feel grateful for something you barely notice because your mind is elsewhere? Watching for reasons to be thankful is a type of mindfulness practice. Even when I wasn't meditating regularly, I kept a gratitude journal in which I recorded about 5 things I felt grateful for each day--or most days.

Keeping a gratitude journal--something I still do--can be fun, especially if you don't give yourself too many rules to follow. I fell into that trap, initially, having started the practice during a low point in my life when I wasn't in a very positive frame of mind. I read somewhere not to repeat the same gratitude twice and to challenge yourself to increase the length of your list each week. But that proved to be the recipe for a resentment journal, which wasn't at all what I had in mind.

The point isn't to challenge yourself. (Life is already plenty challenging.) It's to cultivate the habit of watching for what is good and also to remind yourself that no matter what is going wrong, there are always things going right that you can feel good about. Over time, the shift toward focusing on the good can be life changing.

Like meditating, if you decide to start a gratitude journal, there's no need to worry about doing it wrong. The important thing is simply to do it. If 5 feels like too many things to list, start with 3 or even 1. No entry is too trivial: the feeling of a breeze, the texture of fabric, the taste of ripe fruit, the sound of rustling leaves or a cat purring. If you don't want to make your list at the end of the day, you can record things as you think of them or first thing in the morning. If there's a stretch of amazing weather, write it down every day, if you like. If you have an awesome day and want to enumerate a dozen things, go for it.

If you like to write with ink in a paper journal, that's great. If it's easier for you to use an app on your phone or tablet, that works just as well. If writing or typing is a challenge, you can record daily voice memos. If you like to take pictures, you could even keep a photo journal, full of things you feel grateful for. How wonderful to create a gratitude album you can look through when feeling low! (Come to think of it, perhaps most photo albums are gratitude albums?)

If you aren't ready to commit to any of those ideas, consider simply pausing for a couple of seconds to make a mental note any time you notice yourself smiling or feeling good.

In some forms of meditation, we are encouraged to notice when our mind wanders from our chosen point of attention (often the breath) and to consciously label our thoughts, "thinking" as we refocus. Why not similarly note and label "gratitude" when we notice something we feel grateful for?  Or mentally pause to say, "thank you" each time. Author, Anne Lamott, says that you can boil down most prayers to one of three: Help, Thanks, and Wow. I'm inclined to agree. For those of us who pray, thank you is a perfect prayer, however you choose to offer it.

As for my weekly checkin, I do indeed have much to be thankful for, having just celebrated my birthday with my beloved. I'm in the mood for spring cleaning and clearing clutter. I've been walking. I'm eating more mindfully, although I've made the conscious choice to splurge quite a bit recently. I'm meditating every day and spending more time in nature, which I find both calming and inspiring. I still want do more reading and writing and do a better job of sleeping at night, but I'm optimistic about improvements in those areas in the weeks ahead.