Afterwards

My YA fiction, ‘Charlotte Aimes’

I am a writer, and I believe that as our world becomes more liquid modern and saturated with content, we—and our children—need strong, mindful narratives to grasp onto and engage with.

I signed up for the Ready To Lead course because leadership skills are useful for writers who, as thought leaders, can harness words and ideas as agents for change.

But there is another reason I signed up.

Over the past year, I noticed I was becoming overwhelmed and almost paralyzed with my Feels around parenting a mercurial teenager.

The stories we tell

Plum Village wall

Last summer, I was lucky enough to hear Thich Nhat Hanh speak at Plum Village, and to then accompany him on a walking meditation.

I watched on as my younger child cavorted and chased wildlife through the plum orchard with the middle-grade children … while my older child moved with the teenage squadron: all undercuts and pink-and-blue dip-dyed hair, stuck to each other like velcro, communicating with furtive looks and occasional stifled outbursts of laughter or eye-rolling.

At the time, I wasn’t sure HOW to think about my teenager.

On the one hand, I understand the ‘story’ our culture tells us:

Teenagers are up and down. It’s a difficult time. They need their space.

Yet when we become attached to a story, we start to take it for granted … and it can lose its meaning.

It can also become inaccessible.

‘Teenagers are difficult’ didn’t even begin to provide solace, nor accurately describe my daughter’s situation.

How to love

“My whole life is on my phone”

Like many kids, my older child had had a tough year, and maybe deep down I was hoping she would take the opportunity to—somehow—learn some skills from mindfulness teachings, to begin to separate herself from her emotions.

But I had no idea how this would happen. She had already begun to distance herself from us as parents (which was perfectly normal, and to be expected), and it seemed like all my efforts to communicate with her were falling on deaf ears.

That day, I watched as Thich Nhat Hanh walked and held the small children’s hands. I watched him as as the children came and went like butterflies: he let them come and go, and he patiently kept walking, and smiling.

And I cried at how simple he made love look.

Fair weather

As the week progressed, my child relaxed … so I relaxed.

But it was a fair-weather relief.

Because as soon as we were back home and it wasn’t a smooth-sailing holiday environment any more, I found myself floundering. My so-called mindful way of being seemed almost ineffectual as the stormy teenager returned.

It became pretty clear that I was the one who needed to learn some skills. And fast.

Show, don’t tell

I’ve known intellectually for many years that a person can’t possibly be the best they can be if they’re tied up in ‘The Feels’, but up until the past year it was all theory. Until the past year, I hadn’t been in a situation head-on, where it was imperative that I deal with ‘my side of the street’ in order to be fully and skilfully present for someone else.

Over the course of Ready To Lead, I’ve learned how to be mindful of—and release—some very big emotions.

As an introvert—and someone who avoids conflict like the plague, rarely externalising strong emotions—this is a big step.

I now have some concrete tools and processes that I can apply to my own life, to become more skilful as a thinker, as a communicator, and as a doer.

I’ve seen the difference. And I believe that, step by step, it will get easier as I begin to ‘show’ my teenagers how to be mindful … rather than just dole out meaningless stories and advice.

A point about The Feels

Blurred vision

In teenagers, the amygdala—the part of our brain that governs our flight or fight response and our ability to correctly read others’ emotions as well as our own—is relatively outsized. Teens often can’t even read others’ facial expressions accurately.

Which is partially how miscommunications occur between parent and child. And messy communication often leads to unskilful emotional reactions, or (in Tumblr-ese) The Feels.

I’ve seen this #IRL with my daughter and her peers, and I remember it from my own teenage years. It can feel like you’re on tenterhooks the whole time. It can also feel like drowning, like there’s no way out of the ‘bad’ Feels.

Some teens are equipped to deal with this better than others, and there are numerous social, genetic, cultural and economic factors contributing to how a person responds to the life they have.

Where to begin?

1. I find it helpful to read what experts have to say around the topic, so I’ve included a page of resources, and I hope these will be helpful to some, as they have been for me. (It is a work in progress, and I will add other resources as I encounter them.)

2. From my own experience, a good place to start has been to notice my emotions as they arise, and get in the habit of asking myself The Four Questions.

3. Also, a short, habitual daily meditation helps exercise my mental ‘muscles’. It’s not always easy, but I do it, even when I’d rather be anywhere else but with my own surging mind.

Ultimately, I believe all this can only be of benefit to me—body and soul.

And, even if it doesn’t directly help my children find their way, then at least in practicing non-attachment and keeping my communication with them clean, I will not be stirring up or muddying the already turbulent waters that they are naturally trying to navigate.

Thanks

I thank Emily Bennington and Debra Hickok for their guidance over the past five weeks. Because it’s one thing to be learning to navigate your own boat … but it’s something altogether golden when you know there are others out there, like Emily and Debra, who willingly pass on their wisdom, hand over their maps … and give their time and love to help others be the best they can be—just because.

Culinary gymnastics and old habits: On self-compassion

A Plum Village staple: Oatmeal with rice milk and pumpkin seeds

I went vegan for a week last summer, and my body loved it.

I was at Plum Village, a mindfulness practice centre in France, where—every day—I helped in the kitchen. I peeled carrots, I sliced capsicum, I washed lettuce. I worked mostly silently—as we were asked to do—in order that our food preparation be mindful.

At the time, I thought: “This is it for me. This food may not be for everyone, but it seriously rocks my body.”

I felt fantastic. I could even think more clearly.

Now here I am, nearly a year later, and I still eat my Plum Village style breakfasts … but the rest of it?

Not so much.

This week in the course we’re looking at our relationship with food, and so I’m doing some digging to look for reasons why I might be eating foods that are not so good for my body.

1. Our past

I was brought up as a mostly meat-and-three-veg kid … as was my mum … and my grandmother. This diet is not unhealthy, as it happens – certainly not for growing kids. My point is that food attitudes and habits run deep.

Each of us has a history of food attitudes and consumption that we bring with us to the here-and-now.

I’m an Aussie expat who lives on the other side of the world from my parents and one of my siblings, and there are times when I (and my hubby too) crave foods that I associate with being ‘home’. It’s a way of being in connection with our families and friends.

2. Other people’s stories

I’m a tall-and-thin humanoid. (As are my kids.) People comment on it. They tell me I need to eat a good roast dinner. They tell me I’m so lucky, I can eat what I want.

Well, if you look at me from the outside, perhaps it looks that way.

But actually, like everyone, my body has its needs, and I know there are many times when I ignore my body’s complaints, to my detriment.

Part of this is that I’m afraid that if I change my diet, I will lose too much weight. Socially, that’s awkward, because people comment.

Listening to other people, though, isn’t helpful. It’s like looking at bathroom scales or dieting: it creates, as Debra puts it, an outward focus. External goals and external stories.

3. Future-tripping

I am temporally overwhelmed with the dietary requirements of my own family. Long story short – between us we have allergies and intolerances to the following: some fruits and acidic foods, soy, gluten, milk proteins, some fats, nuts, some meats, some seafoods … The list goes on, and it’s different for each family member.

I get to meal-times and I panic. On Sunday night, I panic about the week ahead. The idea of taking on yet more culinary gymnastics for myself is overwhelming. (And believe me, I know how much preparation and time goes into good vegan eating. It’s not fast food.)

In worrying about the future, though, I’m denying myself the present.

Part of this mindfulness journey – eating or otherwise – is learning how to take each moment as it comes.

Learning how to navigate each hurdle as it arises, and not worry about how many hurdles there may be.

4. Habits and comfort

I know from running full-weekend writing workshops that the food and beverage availability and quality is CRITICAL to how people perceive the overall experience.

Regardless of how much someone learned in workshops, if they didn’t get their coffee or if they didn’t enjoy the lunch … well, you can kiss the positive review goodbye.

So how do I move beyond these factors?

If there’s one thing I’ve become more aware of over the past five weeks studying mindful leadership, it’s that there’s a difference between goals and values.

There’s a difference between HOW you are, and WHO you are.

It’s a FORM vs. CONTENT thing.

And my CONTENT—the stuff inside me—is unique. I need to be true to my bodily needs—not the way I look on the outside.

I need to nurture my VALUES, and I need to nurture my spirit. And I can’t do that without taking my body seriously.

I would like to treat myself as I would my mother, or a friend. I would like to be compassionate with this body that has served me well for several decades now. And I would dearly like to teach my daughter and son to be mindful of the body that will carry them through the next years into adulthood.

So some days I may be a vegan, and some days a vegetarian. Some days, I may eat meat or sugar. It won’t matter what the outside world ‘call’ my food on that day—vegan, or Paleo or whatever—I will eat it mindfully.

And it starts with self-compassion.

We all go through life like this. We all have universal needs … The more we take care of ourselves, the more we connect with others.

—Debra Hickok

When thinking is a bad idea: On Data and Bonafide Gurus

When I was at Plum Village with my family last summer, I took my son to the pre-sunrise guided meditation one morning.

What followed was a series of very funny moments as he went from vertical to horizontal and just about every position in between as he tried to stay awake.

I caught myself watching him intermittently out of the corner of my eye and trying not to giggle as his sincerity gave way to dramatic posturing. I tried to remind him with stifled gestures that we were supposed to be observing Noble Silence until after breakfast.

In the meantime, the man in front of me was stiller than a statue. His posture was dignified, he was in full lotus position. His dreadlocks were piled higher than a bonafide guru’s. I’d seen him several times during the day, still and silent as kids ran amok around him. I bet he was up doing Qigong at 5am. In fact, he was probably up with the monks and nuns at 3am. Who knows, maybe he never slept at all …

I stopped myself. Wow. Bonafide Guru over there was really getting under my skin. So I asked myself …

Do you know what’s really going on?

I did not.

I had no real information about what was going on in that man’s head. I had no data on how long he’d been sitting like that. He might have been dead, in rigor mortis, for all I knew, but nobody had noticed. There were a million stories I could have ascribed to his alleged meditational mastery.

I took myself back to my breathing.

This week in the course, we’ve discussed situations like this.

Debra and Emily call it ‘staying with the data‘.

That is: Not drawing conclusions based on personal interpretation.

Becoming aware of when we’re leaving the ‘data’ and starting to ascribe meaning to resonant parts of what others are saying.

When I reacted to the Bonafide Guru’s alleged mastery, I was bringing a whole bunch of my own baggage with me. I was annoyed at myself that I couldn’t still my mind or my body.

lock up your values

My reaction – my emotion – was a cue that something was amiss on my side of the street. On further contemplation, I realised I’d let my meditation practice lapse over the past years, and I wasn’t okay with that, deep down. And that’s why I was so annoyed at Bonafide Guru over there.

Digging a bit deeper, I asked myself why I would be annoyed that I hadn’t been meditating so much lately.

And there was my answer: I value spiritual growth … and over the past few years there’d been a whole lot of nothing happening in that department.

It was a good reminder to return to my values, and to endeavour to live by them, instead of just pay them lip service.

As for my son: eventually, he gave up trying to stop wriggling … and went to sleep.

I think there’d be more than a few Bonafide Gurus who’d say there’s something in that for all of us.

Stay with the data

Mental Detox: On Right Speech

When I moved to Switzerland nearly seven years ago, I only knew about three words of German, not counting a few numbers.

As a writer and wordsmith, I found this really quaint. I was up for the challenge of acquiring a new language, for sure. I figured it’d be great fun.

sign language

The reality of daily life outside the internet wasn’t quite so fun. I couldn’t find a job, I was pretty lonely most of the time, and—as a wordsmith—very frustrated. If I encountered a Real Person, I couldn’t express myself. I couldn’t talk about all the professional stuff I was interested in. I could only talk about bread and if the train was late.

After a while, however, I realised it was a blessing in disguise.

I became acutely aware of every word I spoke. Because it was so laborious to put a sentence together, I learned to be totally clear about what I wanted to say … before I said it. And I learned to trouble-shoot when my message was received the wrong way.

I also had to learn to live without the possibility of laughing about CONTENT – the usual banter you experience as a native speaker who gets a kick out of words—and instead learn to laugh about FORM. By that, I mean I had to learn to step back, laugh at my mistakes, laugh about my vulnerability, and laugh about the ridiculousness of being an educated adult … who could barely make herself understood by a kindergartener.

At cross purposes

I had bad days, of course, but—over time—I’ve also learned that sometimes when someone sounds rude, it’s just their culture to say things that way. So I’ve learned not to take things personally.

Okay, so now it’s a different story. Seven years later, I have friends of different nationalities, with different cultural backgrounds and different professions. I have professional networks, I’m self-employed, and I spend quite a bit of time speaking (imperfect) German. My writing is much stronger for my experiences as a second-language speaker, and communication is not so difficult these days. But, because of this, it’s bound to be less mindful than it was when I was so painfully aware of every word I uttered.

Modelling Right Speech

This week in the course, Emily talked us through the Four Pillars of Right Speech, and I think for me it’s a good time to revisit this awareness of words … and it’s a great time to model this for my kids.

I hope it will be useful for my daughter especially. The teen years are often the years when younger friendship groups shift and new bonds are formed, and a part of this is working out where you fit in among your peers: which people are like-minded and which ones are not such a great fit.

Talking about other kids was, as I recall, a part of this bonding. My peers and I made sense of others’ behaviours and opinions by discussing everything. Every minute detail. 

My mother told me many times that it was best not to talk about others behind their backs, and I often heeded this, even though there were times I was itching to plunge the knife in and twist it good and proper. The times I didn’t heed the advice, it didn’t feel good. It was a messy feeling, which got added to the already large emotional muddle going on inside my teenaged self.

Fixing the life-line

These days, not only can teens talk to each other in person, but they can text and facebook and tweet and tumble their opinions about others publicly.

This is broadcasting in a way that I and my generation couldn’t even have imagined when we were at school. And it makes our job as parents even more challenging, and even more necessary.

So as a first step, I’ll be ditching any words that are:

1. False (lies)
2. Divisive (slander)
3. Harsh (rude or abusive language)
4. Gossipy

And I will be replacing these with words that are:

1. True
2. Helpful
3. Inspiring
4. Necessary
5. Kind.

As Emily reminded us:

It’s impossible to think negatively and act positively.

Feel free to join me. 🙂

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In praise of robots: on compassion and action

In a spirit of mindful awareness of my words, I need to mention that when I’m around my kids I don’t like compassion.

Google it. It’s a b*tch.

I don’t like it because I can’t control it.

It’s the beast that makes me weep for children in Syria and Ukraine. It’s the pestilence that holds me paralysed as I feel my child’s pain.

And it prevents me from moving forwards, from making decisions … from being a skilful parent.

In an introductory video (you can see this video here – thanks Debra), Debra walks us through what we refer to as ‘The Four Questions‘. These are tools (questions to ask yourself) for good decision-making: for being less ‘reactive’ and for kick-starting a more mindful approach.

1. Can I notice what is happening right now?
2. Can I allow it just to ‘be’ here? (Can I make space for response?)
3. Can I bring some compassion or kindness to what I am experiencing?
4. What needs to happen now?

Firstly, as an introvert, my modus operandi is to stop and think. You won’t find me reacting instantly. It drives my extraverted friends crazy, and it drives my kids to distraction because they want everything to happen instantly. Or yesterday. But I’m okay with that.

The challenge for me is to be sure I’m actually actively creating space, and not just silence. There’s a difference.

Unfortunately, if I don’t act, inaction and passive parenting become the decision.

I am not sure how to think about this.

So I’m opting to let it go for the moment, and trust the process.

I will memorise these questions so that when I’m faced with an emotional teenager and I have an emotional reaction to her, I have a tool to fall back on. Questions to break through the Feels.

Because, Compassion, you suck.

Today, I’d rather be a robot.

Creativity, language and pausing for reflection

It’s week 3 of The Course, and it’s a week for mindful visioning.

While I am continuing on my mindful meditation path—and in doing so building in skilful habits—I’m taking this week as time to breathe. Time to disengage from the information we’ve covered during the past two weeks … and let my subconscious go to work.

This is a strategy I use as a fiction writer, as a blogger, and as an introvert. Over the years I’ve realised it’s a reliably good strategy for me, in that it allows me to ‘process’: to step back so I can see the woods for the trees. Join the dots. See new connections, and let go of extraneous fluff.

One way I do this is by walking in nature.

I recently read an article in HuffPost that outlines the creative process in more detail. When I read it, I was nodding to myself in agreement. Especially when the topic of ‘mindfulness’ was raised.

But, I have to admit, when people call themselves ‘a creative’, I get a bit nervous.

I understand the evolution of the ‘nouning’ of the word ‘creative’—some people work in creative industries, and what with the advent of social media like LinkedIn and Twitter, it’s useful to be able to describe yourself. (“I’m a creative.”) Having a category in which to place one’s self is also a comfort to many artists and writers whose art dictates an alternative way of operating in the fiscally-driven, modernist world.

And yet everyone is creative.

I reckon everyone has the capacity to think outside the box: about their lives, about abstract problems, and about life in general.

seeing the blues and the greens

I don’t think you need to be working in a ‘creative industry’ to be creative. I certainly don’t think by labelling one’s self as ‘a creative’ that it makes you any more or less of a person than anyone else.

Mindful words

This week, as I write my first office-job application after many years as a freelancer, I’m being mindful of terms we use to describe ourselves.

I’m being mindful of the words I use around my children, and I’m carrying with me Debra‘s challenge from Week 2: to notice when I describe a state of mind.

Which words am I using? Which story am I telling myself?

For me, as a parent, the biggest challenge is to find ways to help my kids notice their words when I hear them doing the same.

Because sometimes a parent is the last person a teenager wants to listen to.

Or is that just a story?

And so I keep walking.

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“Welcome aboard Inner Critic Airlines”

ready to board the early morning flight

I haven’t been able to complete one of the tasks set in the course this week. We were asked to share with the group how loud our Inner Critic is.

The Inner Critic is that voice who begs to differ. She’s the one who reminds you of your fears. She’s the one who puts the brakes on.

So I haven’t done this exercise because, at the moment, I am strapped into the passenger seat, waiting for take-off.

My Inner Critic is alive and well, and quite comfortable in the pilot’s seat.

I know my IC is driving because as soon as I had to tell the group how loud her voice is day-to-day … I couldn’t do it. I was too scared to even think about it.

“Looks like that would be a risk,” my IC announced over the intercom. “You know you’ll look stupid if you share your opinion. 

“Why not strap yourself into the safety of the passenger seat instead?

“Oh, and welcome aboard, valued frequent flyer, by the way. Glad you could join us. Again.”

Ah, Risk and Opinion. My old pals.

Unfortunately, when my Inner Critic enters the aircraft, I don’t push her away or ignore her, as it was suggested most people do. Nope, like a well-trained passenger, I listen to her announcements.

And it sucks. A lot.

Mothers and daughters

Some years ago, I did a course about caring for daughters. (I probably did it out of fear that I’d do something wrong in the future, now that I think about it. Oh well. *Raises eyebrow. Lets it be.*) It covered such things as: helping girls gain good attitudes towards money, mother-daughter communication, healthy eating, and so forth.

One of the topics was ‘negative self-talk‘, and there’s no doubt this is a big one for teenaged girls. I see it in the proliferation of self-deprecating comments tagging selfies on Instagram and Facebook. I see it all over Tumblr, where some of the one-liners posted are heartfelt cries for approval. Some are, admittedly, lines quoted from popular songs … but heck, that ain’t much consolation. Because it’s clear there’s a booming culture around negative self-talk.

I haven’t talked much with my own daughter about this. I’ve touched on it, and it’s been met with defensiveness and emotion. I recognise that reaction, and I haven’t known what to do with it.

But this week, Debra handed me a lovely pair of tools that I think are going to  be helpful if I end up strapped into the passenger seat. And if I happen to see my daughter buckling her seatbelt.

1. Name it. Acknowledge that the Inner Critic has come online.

I see that fear is in the room. I see that fear is in this space.

—from Tara Brach

2. Keep the good stuff. Because there’s gold in there somewhere.

As it was put to us: this voice has been with you for a very long time and it has evolved and served you well over the years as a guide to help you place boundaries and assess risks. It’s an old friend, who doesn’t understand that context changes – and fast, in this liquid modern, digital age. So consider its message, and consider changing the way you relate to it.

For me, these two approaches are a start. Even if I can only get as far as the first one, I know I’ve taken a step in the right direction. (Ahem, the pilot’s seat.)

Now I just need to trust that I will be able to talk to my daughter about her relationship with her Inner Critic when the time comes.

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Selective memory, facebook, and letting go

When people ask tough questions, it’s often met with resistance.

This happened to me this week when, during the first week of Ready to Lead, Debra challenged me to notice how often I think: “Parenting is so difficult!”

Actually, I’ve observed I don’t actively think this very often, but as soon as she put it out there, I knew I was guilty. I felt it in my bones. It was an attitude.

Not only did I believe parenting is difficult, but I also resented it.

“Nobody I know had such difficult babies! … My nerves are already fried! Surely I’ve done my time?! … When will this parenting thing let up?!”

I realised I have been stuck in the past for quite some time.

I hang my head in shame.

I, of all people – a writer – should know the power of words. The power of our own stories to colour and create our experiences. The power of words to hold us hostage.

I’m not a big facebooker. Part of this is because I’m an introvert (I’ve written about this before). I prefer to keep quiet, do the thinking, collect a few bits and pieces to share, and share them in one burst. That way, I know I’ll be able to manage my response to people’s feedback.

Another part is that I want to respect my children’s privacy as they are now older children, and are starting to have their own social media profiles. I’m an author, so I have a fairly public profile. But my readers don’t all know my kids and, in fact, to my children, most of my ‘facebook friends’ are strangers. (Half of Tumblr probably knows my daughter, but that’s another story.) The idea of posting personal photos makes me uneasy.

I’m completely okay with being a facebook under-performer, but after Debra challenged me this week, I now realise there’s another contributing factor in this general uneasiness about my output via social media and elsewhere.

I’m afraid.

Not so much of what people might think of my posts, but because I don’t want to jinx the future.

Sounds bonkers, but I’m worried that if I hit a rough patch in my life I won’t have the energy to keep interacting and pumping out content that friends or readers or followers have come to expect. (It happens sometimes, the silence, when I’m processing deeply.) And then maybe I’ll feel like a failure, or like I’m letting people down – as I have felt in the past, many times.

You can see what’s going on: I’m stuck in the PAST, and I’m worrying about the FUTURE. 

Talk about painting yourself into a corner!

After a week of consciously noticing my thoughts, of being able to see where they are (past or present) and what they are (emotional or strategic), my challenge is to simply observe them, raise an eyebrow, and let them be.

As a transmedia writer, I’m keenly aware of the power of ‘select and arrange’. Choose, curate, highlight, omit. This is how narrative works. It’s how our memory works. It’s how facebook and other social media work. But it’s wise to remember that by the time we see it, it’s been selected, and it’s been arranged. 

a rare, still moment

For me as a mother, a big part of being a better parent has to be letting go of these selective narratives. Letting go of ‘difficult’, and not engaging with future fears.

Letting go of fearful feelings that I’m starting this parenting gig all over again with teenage years … and that maybe I can’t do it ‘right’.

Because it wouldn’t be fair to my kids to bring those anxieties to their here-and-now. For them – and for me – it’s a brand new day.

Their mistakes won’t be the same as mine, just as they are different people with different personalities.

My adult knowledge about what could go wrong doesn’t mean it will go wrong.

I must learn to trust them to have their own lives, to make their own mistakes, and to find their own solutions and paths through this ever-changing world.

If we are offering our kids our guidance (in its various forms) and for whatever reasons (there can be many) they do not take in the lesson, just step out of the way and allow life to interact with them and bring them what they need.

—Byron Katie

Thank you, Debra, for this quote.

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Context gymnastics: the stories we tell ourselves

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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