Making Lists For Life
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It’s late. My spirit is raw. Meditation is supposed to anchor you, right? I don’t know shit about meditation for real. I don’t know how I got here, with my legs crossed, hands clasp before my lips as if praying, but chanting… And crying.
Emotions are coming up I thought I… I knew I wasn’t healed, but I thought I was further along on the journey of healing. “Embrace your suffering,” I recall being told. But I want to be numb.
I text an elder, “Have you ever cried while chanting?”
She doesn’t immediately respond. I didn’t expect her to. It’s the first thing I think to do when I break my meditation to get away from my feelings. I want to know how not to hurt. I want to know how to be something other than disappointed, afraid, cynical… bitter. I want to be a robot. I want some kind of peace. Some kind of feeling of security.
Later, my elder responds, “Those tears and pain are like the rust out of the hose before the water runs clear. Joy is on the other side of those tears.”
Then she instructs me to read the information she gave me at our last sit. I think about the idea of chanting through the pain. I leave the room where I meditate and go in my studio. I clean up. After crafting I go back in the room where I meditate. I look at the space on the floor where I sit.
Once I’ve walked around the space and sat on the edge of the ocean, I find the nerve to dive back in. This time when my pain surfaces, I chant through tears. I take deep breaths and allow the pain to be wholly. I consider stopping but refuse to abandon myself. I’m seeking the joy on the other side of these tears.
When the alarm sounds, I haven’t gotten to joy. I wonder if I should keep chanting. At the same time, I feel accomplished I didn’t give in and I’m ready to move on emotionally. So I close out my meditation. I must admit, the hurt isn’t so agonizing. Still, I’m left aware of unhealed hurt. For some reason this makes me angry.
I think about my last group meditation session. Where an elder of 92, who turned 93 this past Friday, encouraged me to dream big and write my dreams down. Then she cautioned me, “Don’t be afraid of yourself. Don’t be afraid of your power.” That last part, the warning, was a weird. Until I went to write down my dreams.
It’s been over a week and I still don’t have a list of what I want or think I need. You can’t write down people’s names, can you? I sift through dreams, goals, college options, career paths and I try to imagine myself in ten years. I see myself walking through a seated crowd, well-dressed, bald, slim, confident, nervous and grateful… but why and for what? How did I get there? Is this where I’m going? I didn’t create this visualization… I wonder if it isn’t just grandiose thinking.
What career or job encompasses all of my skills, passions and natural disposition? I love people. I’m good with people. I love serving people. I love giving people the tools to find their power and change their lives. I’m adaptable and a creative problem solver. I love living a life that feels like I have a purpose. I’m a bit of a workaholic. I do my best work under pressure. I don’t believe anything is impossible, but this list right now.
On another note, I love art. I love writing. I love collecting things. I love the connections I make through my collections. I love working with my hands.
I know it’s time to find a direction. Everywhere I look someone is encouraging me to write a list of tasks, dreams or imagine myself in the future. Even in therapy, we discuss how the homework I was given is going. I was supposed to describe the place I wanted to live in detail. I imagine my art studio, but no place to eat or sleep. So I didn’t do this exercise, either. After my session, I accept just thinking about all the things I need to do makes me afraid to show up to the page.
So my efforts seem aimless. I keep pushing, knocking things off an internal list. At the same time, I’m constantly putting out fires because I don’t plan. I’m exhausted at the end of the day, but I feel like I haven’t really accomplished anything.
My therapist offers, “If you wrote down a list you wouldn’t feel like you were wasting days.” So, tonight I’m playing with the idea of writing down what I’ve done in lieu of writing what I need to do. While the idea of writing a massive list of all the things I need to tackle is terrifying, maybe acknowledging that I’m accomplishing things might help me get to a place where I finally make a master list.
So I guess, I’m chanting to make a list. I’m chanting to get beyond the hurt that makes me lose my rhythm and anchors me in suffering. I’m chanting to dream when it feels like I need to be here, eyes open and present. That’s a little bit of a list, right?
