Free of Ego, Free of Regret

I have had it in my mind's eye over the past week something that was a supplemental resolution of mine for 2008. I wrote it in my journal almost a year ago. Somehow, over the months, I let it drift back into the recesses of my brain to sit unused. But I have revisited it recently, and somehow my understanding of it has changed. Something has "clicked" for me.
It is three simple words:

Free of Ego

I do not say "Free from Ego" because our egos are intrinsically a part of us. I don't wish to be free from my id, as if separated from my it. But "Free of Ego" implies a freedom from the constraints of the Ego as aggressor, competitor, and negative entity that guides us through our daily actions.

Free of Regret is something I have added to this mantra more recently as I have come to terms with the fact that I am a "Ruminator." I allow negative events and associations to drift into my psyche in the present moment, where they continue to fester like a boil on my memory. Even reminiscing and talking about these events with other people is, I have learned, no more constructive than dwelling on them internally. I wish to free myself of the Regret that at any moment can surface and change the course of my thought patterns and my day.

When I was in grad school, one of my fellow classmates accused me of cheating. I knew in my heart that I had not cheated, but he was a good friend and someone I had come to trust and confide in over the years. Realizing that he did not fully trust me in return for some reason (and I believe this was more about his personality than mine) was very hard to deal with or forgive. We made our amends, but to this day I know there is a tiny part of the situation that I have not exonerated. I may never completely forgive him for something I truly thought was poorly handled and downright wrong.

Being Free of Ego, Free of Regret means that in this moment, here and now, I will not allow myself to ruminate on this experience. I count to 3 and vow that after 3 seconds I move onto more positive, constructive thought patterns.

Other negative reminiscences such as this come up from time to time in my daily thoughts: disagreements I've had with a family member whose core beliefs are much different than mine, or things left unsaid that I wish I had said to win my case (there it is, the big EGO!). I'm sure we all have experienced similar things. When I am under the influence of Ego the Aggressor, I am allowing myself to think that I need to prove this person wrong, as if I am most definitely right and she is definitely wrong. With all the subjectivities in our great world that make it so multidimensional and fascinating, why would I make something so paltry as being "right" my main goal?

When I am Free of Ego, I speak with my own forthrightness and character, but I do not allow the aggressive ego to turn the situation into something negative: a competition or a bad experience. There is something to be learned in every circumstance. Only if the ego is quiet and calm can we see what is to be learned.

What is present in the space made available by being Free of Ego, Free of Regret?
Gratitude, Peace, Poised Self-Confidence, Joy, and Love.
This Thanksgiving, I will ruminate on these things, not the others.

This photo I took of our beloved Highland Lake this fall brings me much solace and gratitude.

How do you free yourself from Ego and Regret?

Allston Revisited

We as humans are always moving forward, on a linear path toward the "bigger and better." We look to the past on occasion for nostalgia and comfort, but we also use the past as a reference for how much we've developed as individuals. We look back and thank the heavens that we no longer live that life, or with that person, or in that place.

Have you ever returned to a place that represents a darker time in your life?
I did just this past weekend.

When I was a sophomore attending Berklee College of Music in Boston, MA, I moved from my inner-city dorm on Massachusetts Ave to the community of Allston, just West of downtown. I moved with my roommate from freshman year, along with a friend of hers, into the third-story apartment of a house on Harvard Terrace, just off of Harvard Avenue. I only lasted a semester there before I reached an all-time low, which resulted in my taking a semester off from school that Spring.

Even during my freshman year, I never felt that I was nurturing any permanent or long-lasting friendships, and that I was almost falling into groups of people by default, just happy to be hanging out instead of searching for people I truly connected with. Though my friends were fun, they didn't embody the kind of lifestyle that suited me (and they weren't always kind); I partied more than I created or exercised, and rarely found occasions to escape the "pit" of my apartment and Allston (being car-less and without much expendable income). I was busy with my cool city life, socializing, singing, and trying to ignore my increasing unhappiness.

A very urban district, Allston seemed, and still seems today, like a pothole of sorts. I am sure my impression of it has much to do with my associations and memories of my life back then: being so young, vulnerable, and naive. To its merit, Allston is a very ethnically diverse, young neighborhood, with a plethora of good eateries and interesting shops. It teems with activity, a throughway for the "T" light-rail line, and a major intersection between Boston and points West. Until this past weekend, I had not returned to this neighborhood, or Boston for that matter, since 2001.

A friend of mine recently moved to Allston. His first time living in Boston, he arrived in the neighborhood with no prior associations. I made a point not to talk too much about my negative ones with him before he moved. Ironically, he happens to live a few short blocks from my old apartment. Since I was in the Worchester area for a wedding this past weekend, I made the trip into Boston with my husband and sister.

As we drove into my old neighborhood and found a place to park, I reflected on the adult version of myself that stepped out of the car and onto the sidewalk that I had so often walked almost 10 years ago. I am almost 29 now; I was 19 then. Everything I have done since then was stamped onto my identity in that moment, and I viewed my old neighborhood, and house, with a strange sense of awe, coupled with insouciance. Living there seems to me now like it did then - some sort of "boot camp for life." Live unhappily in a trench for several months and you'll come out wiser for the wear. The bruises will fade, but the lessons never will. To this day, I'm not sure if it was worth it.

Ryan, Brechyn, and I walked the streets on our way to meet up with our friend, Fred, as I recounted various stories about businesses along the way that I frequented during my séjour there. "This is the building where I took Ninjutsu;" or, "This is the bar where I sang with the reggae band every week." It was amusing to see that it was all still there. When we entered Fred's apartment, I was struck by the similarities between his Allston abode and others in that area that I recalled frequenting, including my own. The worn, hardwood floors; trim painted twenty times over with white paint; old, tall windows wafting in the musty Allston air - the thick smell of city life almost knocked me over as I stared out the window into the alley below. My feet were glue for a moment as waves of heady nostalgia hit me. An old familiar knot formed in my stomach, and I carried it with me to lunch.

(Aside: We had a delightful time with Fred. I don't mean to imply that the day was all gloom and doom. We ate at a wonderful organic sushi restaurant in Coolidge Corner, just next to Allston. One of many great eateries in the district, these are the opportunities I miss out on by living in the country. I will admit that.)

The sooty memories from that era still haunt me. I have not completely made amends; perhaps I never will. Boot camp left scars, not bruises.

I wonder now if these "dark times" are naturally imbricated in the experience of transitioning from teen-hood to adulthood. Must we all go through the boot camp of life in order to be truly happy as adults? How can we squelch the residual negativity from those bygone eras that continues to ring in our ears?

What was your darkest time? Or, are you in it now? Do tell!

Me, in front of my old apartment building, trying to make amends as a young adult in Allston

Animal Instincts

I saw my dog shake a groundhog to death yesterday evening. This seemingly gentle dog, the one who when inside with her toys merely prods them tenderly with her nose as they squeak joyfully; the one who can pick up a fly with her lips, barely wetting its wings as she lifts it in the air and then drops it back onto the rug.

But this is also the animal who knows how to go right for the jugular, shaking a squirrel or groundhog until its neck breaks, and slinking back to me (as I scold her) panting, a drop or two of vermin blood on the bridge of her normally innocent black nose.

If only I could understand her instincts – what it might be like to feel my muscles spring into action upon the scent of a moving creature in the brush, eyes locked in a missile launch, wanting so badly to sink my teeth into helpless flesh and fur. Perhaps I would then understand other mysteries, too, such as why humans can become so absorbed in petty things when a universe that continues to grow exponentially surrounds us. Or, why we seem to have so many resources available to solve the foreign oil crisis or "find a cure," but politics, greed and money (the most intangible tangible thing) thwart our progress.

I write this as I sit in my backyard, admiring the earth transformed by spring. That these plants boldly come forth year after year reminds me that there is method and melody to our cacophonous lives. I hear nothing but birds, a rumbling tractor, and the hum of a far-off roadway. I see nothing but green (that lovely, virgin green), fearlessly greeting the world we have preserved for it during the winter. This is how I greet each day, or at least try to. Sometimes I deal with the unpredictability of daily life by going for the jugular. Sometimes it requires a little more finesse, like picking up flies with your lips. We learn from instincts we will never truly comprehend.

Addicted to Non-Fiction

I am a non-fiction junkie. While in my youth I may have curled up with a good book, these days I curl up with a good dose of information, via magazines mostly, and the occasional email newsletter. I devour page after page, always coming back for more, poring through magazines from cover to cover (I’m not much of a skimmer). You may wonder why this could be construed as a negative thing – why, in fact, I am using the word “junkie” to describe something that I essentially enjoy doing. Simply put, I wish to offer a narrative concerning the vast amount of information that is available to us on a daily basis, particularly to women via the magazine industry. Is it possible that we’ve become non-fiction addicts? How do we mediate the vast amount of information available to us?

I have three magazine subscriptions (my guilty-pleasure, “isn’t-it-great-to-be-a-woman” reading): Self, Domino, and Real Simple…oh, and Vegetarian Times, but I consider this magazine to be in a different category than the others since it is not as much of an “indulgence” for me reading-wise (though it does offer indulgent recipes). I also read our local newspaper daily, and with the remainder of time I have in my day for reading (which isn’t much) I peruse the web for political and environmental issues, news headlines, petitions, and blogs. If I find I am slacking in any of these areas, I begin to fear I might be missing out on key pieces of information, without which my journey “through the goalposts of life” will be miscalculated somehow, drop-kicking me into vast, unknown regions of ignorance and despair. If April comes and my March magazine issues have not been read, I resolve to read more vigilantly until I get caught up. I get frustrated when I don’t have enough time to read interesting articles on the web or sign petitions. I want to be able to read my friend’s blog, know what’s going on in Africa, and save the world all at the same time! This addiction to information is fueled, of course, by the fact that it is in endless supply. I often picture the world wide web as that ever-expanding universe we call home (how can something that defies time and space be expanding?!?!). I will never be able to read everything there is to read. So why do I care so much? Why does it matter that I read every gosh-darned magazine each month?

I am particularly drawn to the topics of exercise and nutrition. I have done enough research on these subjects to warrant a degree in them, at least that is how it feels. Thanks to the information I have gleaned over the years, I am proud to say that I have never succumbed to diet or workout fads and have managed to maintain healthy habits overall. A caveat, however, arises when I am out for a run and start to wonder if I am pushing myself above my “heart rate threshold” and therefore burning muscle instead of fat (oh, no!). Or I will happen upon an article stating that running compacts muscles, and thus the thighs that I have been known to obsess about will not, after all, get thinner because of this form of exercise (oh, my god). My head wants to explode at this point. But I love to run! And darn it, I'd rather be strong than skinny any day! But what do I do with all this information? Then I look at my husband, who just runs for the fun of it and doesn’t give a moment’s thought to whether or not he is burning fat or muscle. When I run with him, I sometimes think to myself, “That’s not fair! Why do women have to worry so much about such stupid things?” I will save pushing the gender argument for now, but the fact is, having so much information at one’s disposal can be more menace than help.

So, will I stop reading these magazines and try to wean myself off my non-fiction addiction? Well, no, at least not for now. What I need is to find a way to enjoy reading about these topics while moderating how the information affects me. I appreciate that I am interested in many different things and perform daily activities like reading and learning whole-heartedly. As always, it’s about balance; knowing when you are “reading” into things so much that you have trouble getting out and recreating for the joy of it (like riding a horse!). How do you moderate the information in your life?

Ode to a Husband

I write this entry not to brag, but to encourage readers to write an ode to someone special in their lives (or several people). In addition, I encourage you all to pat yourselves on the back for having had the insight to make these people part of your lives! Go ahead, gloat! I hereby give myself permission to do so as well:

I have married an amazing man! I have only known him for seven years of my life, but have learned so much about myself during that time through his eyes and his outlook. Everyday I see examples of how my natural instinct to choose a mate has proven successful. Allow me to gloat a bit…to “count the ways,” so to speak:

1. He is handsome (see below).
2. He bears a wonderful blend of each of his parent’s personalities in his ability to be extremely levelheaded (his Father) and sensitive (his Mother) at the same time, which leads me to...
3. He has given me the two best in-laws I could ask for .
4. He achieves balance every day by working hard but allowing himself time to play and enjoy life.
5. He is flexible and open to the world, always ready to learn and try new things.
6. His capacity to make me laugh in stressful or tense situations is uncanny.
7. He writes the most poetic love letters.

Gosh, somebody stop me…I could go on, but I’ll do you all a favor and keep some of this gushing between husband and wife.

Owning a business has given my husband and me even more opportunities to learn about each other and develop our relationship. I have remarked many times in the past several months since we have started our venture how well my husband deals with frustration. While I tend to bubble over easily, Ryan’s unwavering, even-tempered perspective allows him to handle each trying situation with grace and to move on quickly, not wasting time dwelling on negativity. This has been an important life lesson for me. I have learned great things from this man!

So here’s to Ryan! And may all of you take some time today to gloat about your loved ones.