The first week of the course has flown by. Literally. I was on a plane for 27 hours; in transit for around 35 hours.
Twenty-seven hours in the air is ample time for mindful contemplation. It’s ample time to watch about a zillion movies, play games, catch up on TV box sets etcetera, too, of course. But this trip I opted for ‘less is more’, and took time to rest, and to be in the moment.
Not fill my head with other people’s ideas.
At 40,000 feet.
Sitting with rows of strangers, all facing the same direction.
While being attended to by people all dressed like Barbie and Ken … in a tin container … in the clouds …
That’s one of the things I love about being a writer: with practise, you learn to be gymnastic with context.
ZOMG! Jaws in the air! Nobody’s safe!
Which is both a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, being able to be flexible with context allows the most glorious opportunities for humour; for re-framing situations. For helping others who are stuck in the quagmire or who need an outsider POV. It’s a skill I employ when I’m parenting, and it’s a skill I’m proud of.
And on the other hand … not at all.
Because it also means I am adept at giving my imagination free rein … in unhelpful ways.
One of the questions Emily posed this week was:
Have you noticed any areas of your life where you are on autopilot and allowing circumstances to control your behavior versus creating space for choice?
Creating space for choice. It’s an important step.
Thoughting versus Thinking
So instead of reacting when one of my kids tells me a story about a choice they’ve made, or a way they’ve behaved … Instead of allowing my imagination to join dots and build future outcomes … Instead of all this, I’m on a mission to train myself with mindfulness to be aware that I have a choice in how I respond.
To not let that crazy writerly autopilot take over.
The Feels
Family, loved ones, friends—these are all in the realm of emotion for me (and most people, I’ll warrant). And this is where I ‘feel’ most at sea, most out of control.
the space between
This is where unless I can find my inner navigator, my ‘rowing girl’, I am forever in reactive, thoughting mode.
This week I was reminded that a good place to come back to is breathing.
Just breathing. Being aware of every breath.
It sounds so stupidly simple, but it’s the best place for me, as a writer, to start.
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The Feels 