Stillness

Jelly fish have begun pulsating into my life. They appear as stunning Halloween costumes with wavy edges of thick plastic torn into tendrils draping from glowing domes of neon pink and violet. I feel their movement in my abdomen as I train myself to belly breathe with my diaphragm lifting and settling. And I find myself drawn to linger under the giant maple, a dusting of red-orange leaves across its crown, as if I am hovering under the protective bell of an enormous aquiline mother. I believe these tiny creatures have arrived to invite me to release all I have been holding and become infused with a gentle, fluid acceptance of what surrounds me.

Last month, I chose to soothe some of my financial anxiety and break the cycle of my habitual thoughts by accepting a part-time job at a local grocery store. My hope was that this would take the edge off my fear and allow me to continue to grow through exploring my interests and limitations. So far, I have found myself far more calm and collected than I expected. Even while navigating a slew of new routines and acquaintances, I have been patient with learning and forgiving with mistakes in myself and others. There is nothing to do but process the order in front of me, share warmth with the person I am facing, and decide if my body needs a snack or a stretch. I am engaging my mind, moving my body, and stretching my heart, and when I return home, I feel expansive and peaceful. Participating in the social contract that we must work to live, and showing that I can care for myself in this practical way, has been a vital reminder that I am bright and resilient. I am grateful for the sense of security and freedom in knowing I can adapt to more and more of what comes my way.

But as much as I treasure this new sense of flow and acceptance, I still feel pulled back into habitual bouts of manic activity. During the first weeks of job training, there were times I found it difficult to release the momentum, diving into chores and side projects at home despite feeling exhausted. This left me nursing a migraine in the middle of the night, propelled by a growing panic that I would be unable to balance this new challenge with my on-going commitment to my health. And just last night, I noticed that my mind was darting undisciplined between familiar stories of anxiety and inspiration, and that I had begun binge eating: a date, then a persimmon, then a sliver of cheese, then another date, then some almond butter straight out of the jar, a second kind of cheese, another persimmon, a few olives, and handful of spaghetti squash. I felt compelled to keep moving, foraging aimlessly like a shark circling something vaguely promising as a comfortable alternative to heading out into the cold, black emptiness of the deep. My belly began to strain and I felt a sense of helpless desperation over my inability to find what I hungered for.

In my last counseling session, I shared about all the successes at my new job, asked for help integrating all my self-care activities, expressed concern about my lingering anxiety over not earning enough and whether or not to travel abroad next year, and announced my decision that I was ready to dive more deeply into unearthing my sexual trauma. In her warm, wise, and breezy way, my counselor suggested that I merely focus on observation. This would complement my work with a pelvic floor physical therapist to address the root of my lingering vaginal pain by bringing awareness to my breathing and the way I hold and move my body. My only task would be observing myself and my surroundings, focusing on releasing tension and softening my core as a nourishing break from unraveling and tackling all my feelings, motivations, and dreams. Her recommendation felt perfect, but agitatingly simple. I replied that I think I’m a prime candidate for being a workaholic. She agreed.

These experiences have left me contemplating the interplay between stillness and action. As a child, before school indoctrinated me with the importance of knowing things, I used to revel in the simple pleasure of wondering. I had no interest in finding the right answers to my questions – I simply wanted to observe and experience, marveling in everything around me and weaving my own stories. As I encountered people with different perspectives and priorities, I felt a firey urgency to defend my world by securing their agreement, but my tactics lacked reason and diplomacy. The frustration, doubt, and isolation I felt left me longing to replenish myself in a space of literal and metaphorical silence, even as I was compelled to secure a living and companionship by proving my value to our rational, productive society. In this way, I trained myself to be in constant, self-propelled movement towards one vague goal after another, which left me less and less able to adequately quiet my body and mind to receive the very thing I felt I was living for.

The challenge I now face is finding a way to break that pattern. I have consulted peers and professionals many times for help disrupting the trance of unproductive thoughts. I left my marriage partly because of my desire for adequate time and space alone. And I left my job to interrupt the consuming cycle of busyness and allow deeper clarity about my place in this world to arise. Unfortunately, I so far admit a subtle sense of failure – that either stillness has failed to deliver or I have failed to give it enough time to work on me. Part of me believes I undermined the process when I succumbed to my compulsion toward activity and allowed this new job to distract me from being fully transformed by the chill of my uncertain freedom. Another part of me feels that even with a lifetime of introspection, I would still not feel fully healed or truly ready to embody the power of my authentic self.  Perhaps it was my idea of stillness that was flawed – that it is about more than just sitting on my couch exploring my feelings.

What I am beginning to consider is that stillness is not an absence of activity, but more of an invitation toward taking a “sacred pause” in my habitual ways of being. I am releasing my former tendencies to be motivated by money, status, and material productivity, to identify myself as a leader and change agent fixing problems and making plans, and to seek comfort and meaning through romance. Stillness plays a vital role in this process every day, even if only for a few minutes of coaxing my body to relax and allowing my mind to wander. With my new job, prioritizing this precious space has required I sacrifice watching shows every day, dial back on my ambitious list of books, podcasts, and videos, and give myself permission not to publish a blog every week. With these small adjustments, I am finding that even on the days I am screaming inside for cookies and a movie, I am becoming able to remind myself that the best way to relieve the deeper hunger I feel is to settle into the simple, graceful movement of a quiet meal alone, a moment of tidying up, a few lines of song, and breathing deep into my belly.  While the reward is worth it, the struggle is always with me to divert my energy and attention, and try to find trust and comfort in this new way of being.

This part of my journey is anything but glamorous. The thrill of my rebellious and powerful decision to walk away from my old life has faded and no new path or identity has yet appeared to give direction to my restlessness. I used to be a manager, a wife, a board president, but now I have no ambitions. I have no plans to go back to school, or travel, or start a business, or seek enlightenment; nothing that would redeem me in the mind of a society that expects from us as much as we are able to give. For now, I am just a grocery store checker barely breaking minimum wage cleaning up spills, unjamming the bottle machine, fetching a replacement carton of eggs, and returning home to scribble a few thoughts and feelings about our world. My real effort is invisible, a simple intention to release my compulsion to unravel all my griefs, overcome all my fears, resolve all my conflicts, and come to a final understand myself and this world. I know that the work I am attempting is endless, as broad and deep as the Grand Canyon, brimming with a vast expanse of still water icy, viscous, and black. I am but one jelly fish, a shimmering speck among billions, translucent against the towering shadowy cliffs, surrendered to drifting suspended and weightless. I cannot wait for all to settle around me in order to rest. And I cannot rely on a patchwork shield of scraps scavenged from my former life to keep me warm. I must hold this stillness wide open in faith that I will receive the sustenance I need.

Nancy

“How surely gravity’s law, strong as an ocean current, takes hold of even the smallest thing and pulls it toward the heart of the world. Only we in our arrogance push out beyond what we each belong to for some empty freedom. It we surrendered to earth’s intelligence we could rise up rooted, like trees. This is what the things can teach us: to fall, patiently to trust our heaviness. Even a bird has to do that before he can fly.” – Rilke