It’s been two years since George Floyd’s murder, and as the constant stream of #BlackLivesMatter protest photos and livestreams continue to fade from our newsfeeds—please be clear that our work is far from over… Don’t let the stranglehold of apathy choke your momentum, dear friends. Keep speaking up. Keep standing up. Keeping showing up. Together, we can move mountains.
(hand lettering by Lisa Congdon)
Spring has sprung here in Los Angeles. The birds are singing their sweet songs outside my bedroom window. Fresh buds are forming on the plants in my partner, Kate’s, green garden. And I’ve been feeling the stirrings of a new season’s energy whirring in my heart—a new life force beginning to emerge. Nudging me outside of familiar patterns of being. Calling me to action beyond what’s comfortable and known.
Answering the call, I’ve recently begun stepping into new experiences. And I’ve certainly enjoyed some successes. But I’ve also been faced with more than a few failures…
Chatting on the phone with a dear friend the other day, I was sharing how challenging it’s been to witness myself falling short.
“It’s all so soberingly painful. The failures I’ve been experiencing lately make me just want to retract and cocoon back into the safety of my old routines…”
“It doesn’t sound like you’ve made any major missteps, or that you’re never going to find your footing, Jennifer. It sounds like you’re in the process of growing. And growing can be really painful sometimes….”
When I think of the phrase, “growing pains”—the first thing I think of is Kirk Cameron (I grew up in the 80’s). And then I think about my legs aching as a child (I was a tall kid)… It hadn’t occurred to me to think of what I’m going through right now as growing pains.
We feel physical pain when our bodies expand—and we feel spiritual pain when our psyches expand. Our bodies stop growing when we reach physical maturity during our development. But our psyches never stop expanding. We’re constantly emerging into new, more evolved versions of ourselves. Sometimes (read: often) this process is painful. And, although I haven’t been overly-hard on myself throughout this current spiritual growth spurt, after talking with my friend, I realized I could definitely benefit from ratcheting up the self-compassion.
So, it seems as though I’m in the midst of some spiritual growing pains. And, chances are, I haven’t seen the end of the discomfort. But I’m committed to amping up my self-compassion practice in an effort to help ease the pain. And we shall see what new wisdom blossoms from it all…
“Proud Bird” by Kellas Campbell
Your grief for what you’ve lost lifts a mirror
up to where you’re bravely working.
Expecting the worst, you look, and instead
here’s the joyful face you’ve been wanting to see.
Your hand opens and closes and opens and closes.
If it were always a fist or always stretched open,
you’d be paralyzed.
Your deepest presence is in every small contracting
and expanding,
the two as beautifully balanced and coordinated
as bird wings.(Rumi)
As a mindfulness tool, poems offer a doorway through which I can transcend the intellect, gently ushering me into direct contact with a deeper, more spacious part of my being. Touching into this other aspect of self often helps the “monkey mind’s” chatter fade into the background, leaving the focus of my attention to rest gently within the entirety of my senses.
If you’re looking for a way to help settle into your meditations—try reading a poem before you sit. You might also try reading it again after your session, noticing if there’s a difference in how it resonates for you before and after you’ve meditated. AND if you feel inspired…. I invite you to find a mindfulness practice hidden within the poem that you can try exploring throughout the rest of your day.
Utilizing the Rumi poem above as inspiration, I offer the following suggested practice:
Notice when you find yourself contracting and expanding. See if you can maintain a sense of mindful awareness and equanimity during both—delicately observing the rhythm of your life unfolding, beautifully balanced and coordinated as bird wings…
(“bad” apple on left and “good” apple on right)
A few years ago, my family conducted an experiment to see how words might physically effect our bodies. Our 7 year old son had started developing a habit of saying mean things to himself when feeling down – like, “I’m stupid.” And “I’m the worst.” My partner and I had been trying to get through to him that saying unkind things to ourselves (as well as to others) leaves a damaging impact. But, he just wasn’t “getting it.”
And then I remembered having seen the amazing results of a fascinating experiment Danielle LaPorte conducted with her family—where they talked smack to one half of an apple for a certain period of days, and loved up the other half. Admittedly, I felt somewhat skeptical about whether or not we could achieve the same results. But we decided to go ahead and give it a try.
To start the experiment, we took a fresh apple, cut it in half, and placed each half in a separate, airtight jar. We labeled one of the halves “Good Apple” and the other “Bad Apple,” and we left both sealed jars on a dark shelf in the corner of the kitchen.
Every day we said kind, loving, encouraging things to Good Apple—and mean, nasty, discouraging things to Bad Apple.
And 20 days later…
It’s time for me to admit something. I’ve been in the closet. I’ve been ignoring a huge aspect of myself, and I just can’t do it any longer. Maybe it won’t seem like such a big deal to you. But here it is…
I’m <cough> spiritual.
(this is a cartoon version of me wearing a black wig after coming out of the spiritual closet, in case you were wondering)
And I’m not just declaring that I’m now an “SBNR” (spiritual but not religious) person just because I live in Los Angeles and it’s the hipster thing to say.
Nope.
I’m talking about dedicating myself to creating a uniquely personal spiritual path rooted in mindfulness; I’m talking about opening up to learning about different spiritual traditions to see which practices might feel like a good fit to explore—and which ones don’t; I’m talking about deepening my meditation practice with the intention of connecting not only with myself and others—but also with the giant Mystery. Love. The Universe. Spirit. Whatever I decide to call that thing (or no-thing). And, although this is hard for me to believe—my staunchly secular mindfulness meditation practice brought me to this place.
Weird… Right?
They say finding a new home is one of life’s top stressors.
They’re right.
My partner, Kate, and I were recently told we need to move (our landlady’s selling the house we’ve been renting). And, the moment I heard the news, my mind started grappling with trying to find some semblance of solid ground. My immediate reaction was, “but I don’t want to move!…” And then all the reasons why came rushing into the courtroom of my mind—building the case for why we should stay…
YOUR HONOR, KATE AND JENNIFER HAVE LIVED IN THAT HOUSE FOR OVER TWO YEARS—HAVING ONLY RECENTLY TRAINED THEMSELVES TO TUNE-OUT THE NEIGHBORS’ BARKING DOGS AT ALL HOURS OF THE DAY AND NIGHT. THEIR POWERS OF SONIC SOMNAMBULANCE TOOK YEARS TO HONE… SO, I ASK YOU, IS THEIR BEING TOLD THEY NEED TO MOVE FAIR?….
I THINK NOT!
A while back, when I was in the midst of the certification in mindfulness facilitation program at UCLA, I was asked to write a paper on the topic of diversity, and I noticed an immediate sense of dread when the topic came up—followed by some major resistance.
It’s a sticky subject for me—one I’d much rather sweep under the rug than examine. And, because of this, I’m going to share what I wrote…
When I think about the topic of diversity, I flash to my “sheltered” childhood—which was utterly devoid of it. I grew up in a predominantly-Caucasian, upper middle class, quaint, rural town in New Hampshire. Monochromatic white saltbox Colonials lined the center of town, offset by swaths of apple orchards and strawberry fields.
Every harvest season, a line of rickety, lime-green painted school buses would roll into town. And I remember staring at those buses, feeling this weird fascination with their “otherness” back then. I later found out they were packed with Jamaican migrant workers hired to work the orchards and fields.
Reflecting back on this now, I feel a sharp knot in my left side, just below my ribs. My breathing is shallow. My brow furrowed. I feel ashamed. Sad.
I recently had my first MRI (due to an infection in my arm from a kitten bite)… And the MRI wasn’t a fun experience. But, wow—what a great opportunity to observe my mind! It’s interesting how things that trigger me often prove to be my biggest teachers.
THE COURAGE TO BE GENTLE
It takes a lot of courage to be gentle in the face of things I find challenging.
Embarrassing…
Humiliating…
I want to harden
When I’ve made a mistake…
All I want to do is ROAR.
It takes a lot of courage to be gentle.
Now I soften.
I often find myself wanting to harden when life feels difficult, or when I’ve made a mistake or feel embarrassed in some way…. My body automatically tenses in these situations—and so do my emotions.
One of the biggest things I’ve recognized on this path of mindfulness is how judgmental my mind tends to be. It judges people, things, experiences…. Whatever it encounters (especially if it’s something new), my mind tends to slap a label on it. And I’m not talking about objective labeling here…. I’m talking about the reactive deeming of whatever the object of my mind’s attention is as “bad” or “good.” “Wrong” or “right.” “The worst” or “the best.” Or some variation in between.
Basically, I’m talking about labels that judge.