Square Peg

Recently I shared in a game of "10 random things about me," and one of the things that I wrote was that I love how middle age gives me greater permission to be myself.

That got me wondering about self-improvement.

Here's the crux of the problem for me, and I'm hoping that I am not unique in this: I keep trying to use self-improvement as a way to change my fundamental self. And it doesn't work. It just leaves me feeling crappy about myself and resentful (or, worse, hopeless).

I mean, there are plenty of things I'd like to improve. Among them are:

• talking less and listening more
• judging less and relating more
• working with greater discipline and focus
• letting go of ego
• being kinder & more patient
• developing a more rigorous exercise routine
• eating less junk (and/or eating less emotionally)
• joining a writing group or taking a creative writing class

And so on.  These are all worthy aspirations. (If I am being truthful, and apparently I am, I also have some inherently unhealthy aspirations, like to lose weight or earn others' approval. I try to refocus myself when those desires hit me, which is often.) Anyway: the point is that there is nothing wrong with my list above.

Except...that I have an uncanny ability to take these perfectly healthy aspirations and make them unhealthy. One favorite method that I use is the old standby of comparison: I should talk less and listen more like my colleague X does, or do the kind of workout that friend Y does.  I fall short, and therefore am not good enough, less worthy than these other people who, I imagine, have "it" all together. Or at least more together than I do. I don't have it together at all. Another way that I twist these aspirations is through magical thinking. For example, I believe that if I work with greater discipline and focus, I will suddenly do better work and publish a lot. This, of course, completely changes the point. It started as a life-affirming objective relating to process and morphed into dangerous focus on outcomes.  Similarly, I convince myself that if I let go of ego I will become a zen master without character flaws. 

Instead, I remain stubbornly myself and make little progress towards goals that might allow me to live with greater balance and closer to my values. 

Then the obvious occurred to me: I need to embrace these aspirations within the bounds of remaining myself. With the full intention of still being me. So I might listen more and talk less--but still talk loudly and be socially awkward. I might be kinder and more patient, but still miss cues about how someone I care about feels. I might work with more focus and discipline, but still make only a modest contribution to my field. I could take a creative writing class and still end up stalled or uncertain of how to grow creatively (not to mention afraid to share my work.)

Why is it that the answers that have been sitting right in front of me the whole time feel like the most profound revelations? I need to carry this realization with me. I also need to whittle down my list of aspirations--the above is only partial, and it's already too much at once. 

Small steps that let me be myself, that's what I need. And that's what I wish for those around me.

Direction

I was tempted to take yesterday off from work. I already knew that I was likely to spend part of the afternoon cleaning the house rather than working--I wanted to create some not busy space during the weekend. Why not do what I'd done on many Fridays, and take the whole day for domestic tasks, adding menu planning and grocery shopping to round out the day?  Or what if I spent part of my day culling my clothes down to a more basic wardrobe, as Krista inspired me to think about doing with her "Living with Purpose" month? Or maybe I could settle down with a novel, or knitting, or write...Aren't I justified in slowing down and doing some internal work?

And then it hit me: the answer depends on the direction I am moving in. Of course it's valid to time off from "productivity" for things that feed my soul, or that simply give me a greater sense of breathing room and sanity. The question was (and always is): am I taking time off in order to move forward and grow creatively, to take stock in things that really matter to me? Or....am I running away from my work, because I lack confidence or focus? Am I letting lack of momentum win over? Yesterday, I decided that taking the day off would be running away rather than moving forward.  And then I realized that I have allowed myself to do a decent amount of running away from work in the past few months.

Sabbatical is a funny thing. On the one hand, it offers the breathing room and lack of pressure that allows me to mull things over, follow a few dead ends, and let things unfold organically. And yes, one of the purposes of sabbatical is also to replenish myself. I was very close to burnout when last July rolled around and my sabbatical began. I needed--need--to use this year to center myself and heal. On the other hand, unstructured time can be overwhelming. When I am teaching (and sitting on committees and going to meetings and holding office hours), there never seems to be enough time to get anything done. I always know what to do next, because there is something demanding my immediate attention. It is exhausting, but also oddly reassuring because every next step is clear. Sabbatical is the opposite: I have to do all of my prioritizing and pacing for myself. It's easy to get distracted, or to want to give up when I hit an obstacle.

So I worked. I finished a book I was reading, took some notes, and jotted down ideas on how I might use this information in my own work. I did not work quickly, nor did I try to do so. I trusted in and enjoyed the process. I moved toward work, rather than just forcing myself to do it.

One of the things that I have known about myself for a long time is that I am happiest and most productive when I am not trying to "get anywhere" or prove anything. Now I have added to this insight, understanding that it matters what direction I'm heading in. If I am moving toward something, I can let go and trust in the process. If I am running away, I won't find contentment no matter what I do.

Now it's just a matter of remembering to ask "What do I want to move toward today?"

2018: Open

When I make resolutions or set goals at the start of the new year (which is not all the time, but more often than never), they don’t typically go…anywhere (I was going to say “go well,” but the truth is that they just kind of go nowhere most of the time). I realize that I am not unique in this. Even when I do not choose a “resolution” per se, my intentions or focuses seem to go astray somehow. Last year, I decided to join the trend and chose “Compassion” as my word for the year. I thought a lot about it in January, but sometime in February or March I lost track of it. 

I think that the problem is that I usually choose goals and mantras that are all about improving myself in a way that would fundamentally change me. Compassion, for example, was an aspirational goal about becoming this zen person who could and would rise above the pettiness into which I too often find myself descending. (I could give other examples, but what’s the point, really? They are all variations on a theme.)

And so as 2018 approached, I wasn’t particularly thinking about either a resolution or a word, though “Acceptance” had briefly crossed my mind. Then on December 28 I decided to take some time to free-write about what I need and want from 2018. And by the end of the writing session, I had this line:

Open to life as it unfolds.

Or, perhaps even more simply: open.

Why open? Because it seems that all the hard and frustrating places in my life, and all the ways I fall short of living my values, have to do with tightness and closing off. When I have a problem or a fear, or when I am just plain annoyed by something or someone, my knee-jerk reaction is to identify a solution based on control. And what is control but closing something or someone off, forcing it/them into a box that is not necessarily the right shape or size? Control limits experience and puts a damper on relationships. It is restrictive rather than expansive.  

I treat my body similarly, talking the talk of acceptance but walking the walk of judgment. My youth taught me that fat is danger and ridicule and rejection. The society around me dislikes a woman who takes up space. And so no matter what I say, I yearn to reduce myself to the “right” clothing size. I aspire to the size I once was, not the size I am now. (I think I must also imagine that achieving this smaller size will magically erase wrinkles and gray hairs, too.)

I am in the middle of a sabbatical year, which at the outset (and from the outside) looks expansive. But in practice and internally, I struggle to find traction and momentum with this project. I lack confidence. I wonder if completing it matters, or if I am even interested in it. I think to myself that I made all the wrong choices in getting to the specific field of study that I am in.  I feel constricted.

It’s not all bad or gloomy, of course. I am not having an unhappy year in general. Some days I can focus and enjoy the process with my work, regardless of how much I accomplish.  Or I focus on how I feel in my body rather than what it looks like. Consistently during this sabbatical year, I have made time for talking with my seventh-grader when she gets home from school. She sits on the chair in my office and tells me whatever is on her mind about her day—she calls it the “therapy chair.” Sometimes I set aside time to write either creatively or personally—scratching an itch, feeding a yearning that has been growing stronger over the past couple of years. Or I pull out the yoga mat and listen to how my body wants and needs me to move, rather than trying to do a set routine.

In these moments, I open. I release expectations about how things will turn out or how others might see me. I breathe more deeply and laugh more easily. I see the love that surrounds me rather than fear judgment lurking around every corner.

I want more of that. I need more of that.

And so, without planning, I find myself with a word (and phrase) for 2018. I will attempt to open myself to life as it unfolds rather than clinging to the past or worrying over the future. I will try to remember, as often as I can, to breathe deeply and open my chest and diaphragm rather than tightening my shoulders and taking shallow breaths.  I will check in with how my body feels.  I will try to focus on the next step, not the big picture.  I hope to be more open to others: listening more and talking less, giving rather than hoarding, and identifying with rather than comparing myself to others.

This of course runs the risk of becoming a new set of lofty ideals that simply mask the desire to change myself in a fundamental way. I’ve been thinking a lot about how to avoid that.

And then I realize that open is not about perfect, nor is it about becoming like someone else. It’s about being present with everything that I feel and experience. That includes judgment (of myself and others), pain, indecision, procrastination, and fear. Recognizing and welcoming them without letting them rule me. Open is curious instead of judgmental, even when I don't live up to my ideals. It accepts the need to go through something rather than escape or avoid it. Open is okay with failure and imperfection. Open does not have an agenda.

Open means living my life as it is rather than as I think it ought to be.