introspection

If you’re at all like me (and I know you are!), as December comes to a close, and 2018 becomes just the dumpster-fire-of-a-year that it was, getting smaller and smaller in the rear-view mirror—I turn introspective. 

Introspection is great. But it’s highly underrated. The thing is, it’s nearly impossible to do in a crowd—or while chewing—and I don’t know about you but that’s where I am and what I’m doing this time of year, most hours of the day. Truth be told, it’s more like a solitary act done with your mouth closed and that can make things complicated.

But I need it you guys. Desperately! It clears out the cobwebs and it gets me headed in the right direction, otherwise I might make a somewhat unintentional u-turn and drive right back into the fire. 

As 2019 approaches, there are certain things I want to carry forward—and there are other things I want to leave behind in the “dustbin of history” as they say.

Many things can trigger introspection. This year, mine was triggered by an interview I heard on NPR with Michael Pollen. His new book, How To Change Your Mind, talks about the clinical trials being done using psychedelics like LSD and psilocybin (the active ingredient in hallucinogenic mushrooms) to help the severely depressed, treat addiction, and lessen the anxiety of individuals who’ve been given a terminal diagnosis and are facing imminent death. 

One woman he heard about had overcome ovarian cancer but was so paralyzed by terror of its reoccurrence that she was unable to live her life. As she put it, “It’s all I think about.” 

Let’s stop right here. Who hasn’t had trouble ‘getting over’ a terrifying setback in their life? I think we can all agree that’s a pretty universal fear. 
A reoccurrence? 
The ‘other shoe’ dropping? 
More bad luck?

Anyway, they had my attention.

During the study, when they gave her the psilocybin, (Which by-the-way, is not like you and a bunch of your friends taking mushrooms in Debbie’s hot tub back in 1980. In this trial they were monitored and guided by professionals). Anyway, once on the drug, she took a tour of the interior of her body and during that tour she saw a large black mass in her chest. Cancer, right? Well, that was her first impression too. She was urged to confront it, not run from it and when she did it revealed itself to be…wait for it…her FEAR. So she stood toe-to-toe with it, and screamed “Get the fuck out of my body!” And in the process, she eradicated it from her life. Entirely! Gone! Bye Bye forevah!

What she told the interviewer was this, “I can’t control my cancer, but I CAN control my fear.” and that was a revelation to her. WE REALLY CAN CONTROL OUR FEARS YOU GUYS! And we don’t need magic mushrooms to make that happen. We only need to believe it! (Insert giant forehead slap here.)

Here’s the interview, it’s FACINATING!

‘Reluctant Psychonaut’ Michael Pollan Embraces ‘New Science’ Of Psychedelics 

‘Reluctant Psychonaut’ Michael Pollan Embraces ‘New Science’ Of Psychedelics 

So, this was just a super long way to say that during my introspection, I decided that in 2019 I would control the things I can, like maybe even my fear, and leave everything else behind! 

What do ya think? Sound like a plan?

Here are a few I’ve been thinking about just this week. Maybe you can add yours below. 

Aging—Can’t control it. I can only manage my feelings around it, use a moisturizer that costs as much as a time machine, and wait for acceptance to kick in. I’m thinking any day now.

Politics—Can’t control it. But I can control my exposure to cable news and manage the stress I feel when I hear his voice saying something stupid.

Boundaries—Can’t control how people react to them. I can only control the loving but completely necessary implementation of them on my part. 

Other People’s Crazy—Can’t control it and I used to think I would die trying. I can only control my perception of crazy and I swear to god that makes a huge difference!

Let’s change our minds you guys, and march into this new year as the brave, resilient, joyful souls we really are!

Carry on, 
xox

You know those things you do in your life that seem like a good idea at the time?

How when you’re young you feel as if you have all the time in the world to change them if they turn out to be nothing more than a bad habit?

Like jaywalking, talking with your mouth full, or unprotected sex?

I smoked cigarettes. Not all the time. Just socially. At parties mostly, and clubs, or with my roommate at the Formica dining table we had in the kitchen of the little rental we shared with my sister, who did not partake in this most unhealthy of habits. We kept a pack of Virginia Slims in the freezer with booze and a little bit of ice. Two liberated young women, beating the odds in a man’s world — Baby, we’d come a long way! Sexy, right?

Meh…now I keep coffee in my freezer. And an unopened bottle of Vodka. And a non-GMO corn crust pizza.
That’s almost-sixty-sexy.
I know. Meh…anyway…

Gossip was served in that shitty little kitchen most mornings and evenings and nothing goes better with gossip than a cigarette. They are the Batman and Robin of vices. In my opinion, you cannot have one without the other. Even now, when I smell cigarette smoke I want to divulge something dishy.

I want to speculate on Tom Cruises’ sexuality or get the dirt on Melania Trump. Is she really a fembot?

I suppose I should also designate gossiping as a bad habit. I thought I did that several decades ago but this talk of cigarettes and vices has opened Pandora’s Box—or a time machine—and inside is a Star Magazine and a pack of Virginia Slims.

This all changed for me the minute a guy told me I smelled like an ashtray. I’m lying. No man ever said that to me. They weren’t stupid, they wanted to get laid.

In my twenties, at parties, and in clubs the smoke was so thick that everybody smelled like an ashtray. Looking back I’m convinced most ashtrays actually smelled better than my thick, curly hair which absorbed all the bad breath, BO, eighties music, and smoke within a ten block radius. That transferred to my clothes, then my car and finally to my pillow. After awhile (several years), when I’d wake up and all of those smells would hit my nose in the first few seconds of consciousness—I’d want to ask—are Angelina Jolie’s lips real?— no, seriously, I’d want to puke.

There comes a time, (thirty) when you ask yourself: Is this the woman I thought I’d become? At least I did that. And I came up short.

I was letting a man emotionally get the better of me. How was that okay?
I was dabbling. I wasn’t serious about much of anything.
I was jaywalking, talking with my mouth full, and smoking, gossiping and apparently lying.
I was having protected sex. So, one point for Janet.

All of that seemed like a good idea at the time. Because I was completely unconscious. I had no idea who I was or who I wanted to become.

When, on the five-millionth smelly pillow morning, it finally dawned on me. I need to get my shit together. I need to figure out where I’m headed, who I want to be, and how that person behaves. And good lord, I need a shower.

I’d love to say it all happened overnight, easy-peasy-Parchesi, but I’d be lying (and that’s prohibited), it was progressive. And messy. It took focus, intention, and tons of introspection. In other words, it took decades to craft the ADULT woman I wanted to be and for starters, she wasn’t a smoker.

A Small Confession: I still miss smoking.

The reason this came up for me was the fact that now, at almost sixty, I’ve begun to craft what kind of “older” woman I want to portray. Do I continue to eat whatever I want and put elastic in all of my pants? Do I forgo red lipstick because it spreads all over my face like Heath Ledger’s Joker? Do I succumb to sensible shoes?

Luckily, because I’ve done this before I know the work that lies ahead of me—and I’m exhausted already!

I’ll let you know how it goes.

Carry on,
xox

“Slow down. Stay in one place for a while. Stop searching for what’s next. Give life a chance to show up for you.”
~Cheryl Richardson

I love this blog post of Cheryl’s. I’ve had the privilege of seeing her speak oh, I don’t know, half a million times over the years, and I love her message of self-care.
This is a little different for her, it feels mystical and magical, yet wrapped in an ordinary evening at home
In these waning days of summer—let’s all just slow down,listen, and let life show up. (There’s that surrender again!)
xox

~*~ If I hadn’t listened, I would have missed this.

It was 10:30 when the oppressive summer heat finally gave way to cool night air that kept the mosquitoes at bay. I plopped down on a zero gravity chair in the middle of our deck, pushed back on the arms, and came face-to-face with a stunning, cloudless sky.

I can’t remember when I’ve seen stars so bright.

My plan was to catch the end of the Perseid meteor shower that started a few days earlier. So I settled into the chair, adjusted the pillow underneath my head, and made myself comfortable.
As I gazed up at the stars, I shifted my eyes this way and that, doing my best to take in the full sky before me. I didn’t want to miss anything.
Ten minutes passed.

I focused more intently, widening my vision so I could see everything possible without having to move my head.
Five more minutes. Nada.
There’s nothing like waiting for a shooting star to remember what “attached to results” feels like smile emoticon.
Be patient, I told myself (about a hundred and fifty times). Just let go of any expectations and enjoy the beauty of the night.
I took a few deep breaths as my mind began to wander…

I wonder what’s happening out there in the wide-open spaces between the stars? Is there anyone looking back at me? Where did this all begin anyway?

Come back, I ordered my wandering mind, be present for this experience.
But my existential angst continued…
How small of a speck am I on this revolving ball? Why are we here, really? Are the souls of deceased loved ones out there somewhere looking back at us?

Ten more minutes passed and still no sign of a shooting star. Disappointed, I figured I missed the finale, so I thought about going back in the house.
But something told me to stay.
A little voice invited me to appreciate the solitude, to soak up the silence, and just be with the immense beauty of it all.
So I listened to that voice and I stayed.

Over the next ten minutes or so, I melted into the Oneness before me. No agenda. No expectation. No need to see anything.
Just me and Presence hanging out under the stars.

And that’s when astonishment arrived.

For the next hour I stared in amazement as the meteor shower above my head turned stardust into the most extraordinary entertainment. One shooting star after another filled the night sky, some with long streams of light trailing behind.

Mystery. Awe. Wonder. Magic. An experience to remember.

All because I surrendered to the wise little voice inside.

Later that night, as I crawled into bed feeling wrapped in the love of the Great Universe, I thought about that voice and how I need to pay more attention to her invitations.

Slow down, she tells me. Stay in one place for a while. Stop searching for what’s next. Give Life a chance to show up for you.

Wise indeed.
xo Cheryl

http://www.cherylrichardson.com/about/