The Peaceful Co-Existence Of The Destination & The Journey

The mind is quite powerful, isn’t it? It can create things outside of reality yet we still willingly embrace them as real.

I can at times find myself standing at the base of mountains only I can see. Mountains of my own fear-based creation in the form of perceived challenges and obstacles I accept to be real standing before me. There are things to attain and achieve, needed outcomes to set me free, yet somehow I have the ability to complicate my own journey forward by painting images of those emotional mountains in my head.

I’m quite experienced at navigating such ascents. In fact I’ve climbed some of these same mountains several times, usually frustrated by the need to climb them yet again. Frustrated with every step forward. Not understanding why I need to retrace my steps yet again.

The present moment sounds like a wonderful place to be, but I’ve spent very little time living there. I’ve always been more about the destination than the journey, a mindset engrained from an early age that there is always more to do and every moment basking in “what is” is one moment that should have been used marching towards some ever-elusive destination.

A destination driven mindset leaves little room to appreciate the present moments of the journey. There is always somewhere else to be other than the here and the now.

Most of my “inner work” of late has been focused on being at peace with “what is”. And when I find I am once again frustratedly standing at the base of one of those mountains I create in my mind, I am reminded that I still have more work to do. As has been said, “the lessons will continue until the lesson is learned”, which is why, despite my “inner work”, I can still at times find myself with a mountain before me.

A mountain of my own creation.

A mountain which need not exist.

It can be a very uncomfortable space, the present moment. Especially if you’ve spent most of your life running away from “what is”. But in my willingness to stay with it, the discomfort has slowly diminished and I’ve gradually experienced the promised peace attributed to the present moment.

In the clarity of the present moment I can see the mountains for what they actually are.

One thing I’ve learned about mountains is that you don’t have to climb them if they don’t exist. Just because I’ve habitually created them doesn’t mean I need to continue to do so.

There are still goals to achieve and outcomes I desire, but the urgency of their completion has been replaced with the consistency of present action. Of not being fearfully overpowered with the vastness and necessity of what’s in front of me and instead showing up fully one moment at a time, embracing the vision without being overwhelmed by it all.

More trust. More flow.

The destination and the journey now peacefully co-exisiting within me.

Photo by Amanda Sandlin on Unsplash

Moving Forward When We Don’t Want To Move At All

Sometimes the heavy days win. The weight of it all eventually buckling your emotional knees and all you want to do is get through it. Recoil. Ride the storm out.

Sometimes the storms within us rage far longer than we expect them to. Survival becomes the priority and in such a mode we often keep our heads down and playing small. In the face of the waves crashing upon us, it feels like the safest option.

But it’s not the only one.

Sometimes I get tired of being resilient, of pushing the same rock up the same hill, of having to rise above situations I did not create but impact me none the less. Sometimes I get tired of clearing such emotional rubble out of the way blocking my path forward. Sometimes I do catch myself with my head down and playing small.

It shows up in my energy and my actions. I notice the things I don’t want to do, the conversations I don’t want to have, my disinterest and indifference and apathetic efforts to do anything Continue reading “Moving Forward When We Don’t Want To Move At All” →

No One Is Going To Claim Your Peace For You

You’d think with something as important as inner peace would come with instructions as to how to find it. And maybe that’s been the problem. We think we’re supposed to be looking for it as if it’s out there somewhere, elusively eluding our efforts to find it.

Peace isn’t something you find. It’s something you claim.

Peace is a decision gift-wrapped in self awareness and discernment. I don’t have to engage, respond, react, nor participate. I don’t have to defend, deny, explain, nor justify.

I need not allow myself to get sucked up in a vortex of contentious hostility.

Yet I often do until I realize what I have done.

“Is this worth my peace?” I’ve learned to silently ask myself.

It almost never is.

My peace is my decision. It is an intention. It is always an available option, in every moment, always worthy of me prioritizing and protecting it.

When I remember it’s not something you find.

It’s something you claim.

Photo by Nathan Fertig on Unsplash

The Magnetic Pull Of The Mud People

I’m often reminded of the things I need to hear, of the lessons I need to learn again. One such lesson is encapsulated in the phrase “No Mud, No Lotus”, a quote attributed to Vietnamese Buddhist Monk Thich Nhat Hahn. It is a teaching of the necessity of contrast, of how the beautiful Lotus flower is first nurtured and cultivated in the mud and darkness in which it grows. Without the mud, there would be no Lotus. From the human perspective, the mud represents our pain and suffering, the Lotus represents our having grown through it.

From time to time I find myself cursing the mud I have once again gotten stuck in, frustrated and impatiently waiting for my desired Lotus to finally bloom. It’s only when I remember that being frustrated and impatient only gives me more to be frustrated and impatient about. When I release my tight grip on what I don’t want I am then able to make space to grasp what I do want.

When I release the mud, only then am I ready to receive the Lotus.

I’ve come to see that there are two types of people we tend to surround ourselves with. Mud people and Lotus people. The Mud people are more common, much more prevalent. Their familiar presence almost feels comfortable to some. The Mud people are the ones who keep us stuck. Intentionally or not, their proximity stirs up the murky waters of our lives, thickening the viscosity of the emotional mud we claim we want to escape but on some level have come to Continue reading “The Magnetic Pull Of The Mud People” →

The Homes I Can Never Go Home To Again

Ruben’s Atomic Chicken Fingers!

I unexpectedly found myself back in an area I briefly lived in about 30 years ago. A break in the meeting schedule and I was free to roam around for a few hours and I spontaneously decided to retrace some footsteps I had left three decades earlier.

Driving around brought me back mentally and emotionally. I even found a Spotify playlist of 1990’s alt-rock and grunge to bring me back even further. Salem to Nashua via Rte 111. Much was the same. Much was different. I knew I was different, much different than who I was back when I first traveled these roads those many years ago.

And then I remembered Ruben’s Atomic Chicken Fingers.

The more youthful me would find himself many a night belly to the bar at Shorty’s Mexican Roadhouse, never a need to review their rather extensive menu. I knew what I was there for, and the only question was for how many.

Lightly breaded, deep fried chicken fingers served with a sweet-yet-hot thick and sticky dipping sauce, the sweetness lowering your guard making it easy for the heat to find its way down the back of your throat. A cold beer at the ready and at that moment everything was perfect with the world.

I found my way into Shorty’s once again and at the same bar I excitedly ordered the same Atomic Chicken Fingers and I was ready to pick up where I had left off. But one bite in and I realized something had changed.

And it wasn’t the chicken fingers.

I’d always heard you can’t go home again. I understood that to mean time inevitably changes what home had always been. What was simply no longer existed as it was. But at the bar, I realized the only thing that had changed was me. I couldn’t go back to what was because I was no longer who I was. It wasn’t the food. It wasn’t the bar.

It was me.

I outgrew the memories.

I was the reason why I couldn’t go “home” again.

There is a perceived comfort of going home again, even if home wasn’t a very comfortable place to be. But it’s familiar, predictable, and known which tempts us to want to relive and cling to and even slightly revise the narrative to accommodate what we may have wished home actually was.

But you can’t really go back because you’re no longer who you were when you were originally there.

I appreciate all the homes I can never go home to again. The physical and the emotional. They were important parts of who I was, foundational building blocks of who I am. But who I will become? That needs me to allow myself to outgrow myself, to not let the lure of the certainty of the past prevent me from moving forward into the uncertainty of the future.

The past had its place, but it’s no place to live. It served its purpose, it was an important teacher, but holding on to our yesterdays weakens our grip on our tomorrows.

When we create an emotionally clear space to grow, it’s likely we will do so.

Photo by Victor Bouton on Unsplash

Things Don’t Last Forever On Their Own

I guess it was inevitable. But it didn’t have to be.

All of my life that barn was there. Until it wasn’t. A recent heavy wet snow proved too much for its weakened structure, slowly and consistently compromised by years of neglect to a point where it probably wasn’t worth the time and effort to save it.

Its demise seemed subtly unintentional. It was built to last, a solid foundation of granite supporting its timber frame posts and beams. It should have lasted forever.

But things usually don’t last forever on their own.

The rubble of the now-fallen barn offered me a stark reminder that the majestic things we’ve built in our own lives need the consistency of regular maintenance and pro-active care if we want them to last. Friendships, relationships, our health, and our emotional well being may all be built upon solid foundations, but indifference and complacency will surely weaken their structure, rendering them vulnerable and exposed to the inevitable storms life brings upon us.

If it’s worth saving, know it’s not going to save itself.

Photo by Chris Riggs on Unsplash

The Only Place I Am Is There

“One time, one meeting.”

It was mesmerizing. The color. The lines. The contrast. It was one of those photos I wish I had taken myself. But I didn’t need to own it to be able to fully enjoy it.

I just needed to see it.

Quite often I find myself alone in nature. A short hike though the woods, a long walk on a winter’s beach. The isolation is restorative and at some point I will inevitably attempt to capture the beauty of the natural world surrounding me in a photograph.

Looking through the view finder takes me to a place I’ve spent much of my life trying to find. The present moment. In the view finder a moment is frozen. I scan everything before pressing the button. The lines, the light, the color, the texture, the noise. Every detail in front of me is seen and assessed. I can adjust or decide to capture it exactly as it is. But in that moment, the only place I am is there.

When you discover the present moment you also discover how fleeting it is.

“Ichigo ichie” is a Japanese expression often translated to mean “one time, one meeting”. This and every moment is a singular moment in time. It cannot be relived exactly as it was. Therein lies its Continue reading “The Only Place I Am Is There” →

Redirecting The Momentum Of Thought

The crew aimed their cannon at the top of the mountain. After a few minor adjustments, the trigger was pulled and the artillery shell landed in the deep snow.

Avalanche.

It started slowly, the initial subtle movement gaining velocity and momentum as the snow intensified its descent as it violently crashed down the mountain.

Reminds me of how my thoughts can work at times. Especially when the thoughts turn negative.

Sometimes one initial impact of negativity creates a downward spiral of more negativity cascading through my mind. A mental avalanche of sorts, gaining velocity and momentum as those unwanted thoughts crash down relentlessly through my head.

I’m no expert in physics, but I do understand the power of momentum. How life tends to create more of what you’re experiencing and expecting, even if you don’t want it.

I’ve gotten good at noticing where my emotional momentum is taking me. I can feel when I’m caught up in my own avalanche of negativity, anxiety, and doubt. Left unabated, the momentum of my thoughts intensifies. But noticing when I’m stuck in an avalanche is my first step of getting out of it.

Awareness is a super power. Knowing where I am allows me to create a plan to get me where I want to be. My thoughts will go where they will go, but I get to decide if a will allow them to keep me there. At times I need to give myself some time to process the negativity, anxiety, and doubt. Just give it a safe non-judgmental space to be seen and heard. To slow the momentum.

Then decide where I want to go from there.

We have the freedom to think what we want to think. We have the freedom to be empowered by our thoughts. We have the power to reframe any situation we find ourselves in.

We have the power to redirect our emotional momentum.

Just because I’m stuck doesn’t mean I have to stay stuck.

During an avalanche of negativity, anxiety, and doubt, we are the only one who can pull us to safety.

Photo by Nicolas Cool on Unsplash

Moving Beyond The Easy, The Convenient, And The Good Enough

I didn’t like the process, but I loved the results.

The prep for a routine medical procedure included the elimination of some of my favorite foods for a week ahead of my appointment. It wasn’t quite fasting, but it might as well have been given what was on the list of foods I could eat.

A week later, I was surprised to feel so much better.

Many of those favorite foods were nothing more than habitually consumed foods, favorites by default based upon the frequency of indulgence. Easy, convenient, and good enough, three attributes you’d never use to describe a healthy relationship.

With food or with people.

My mini cleanse was an opportunity to reset what I was consuming, a chance to take a break from and to re-evaluate what I was willing to put into my body. An opportunity to make decisions more intentionally aligned with the healthier vision I have for myself and less out of habit.

I’ve been cleansing other parts of my life as well. My energy. My tribe. What I am willing to tolerate. What I’m no longer willing to accept.

Stepping back we may find we’ve become consumers of a great deal of toxicity in the world we’ve built around us, a world built more out of habit and less out of intention. We can see where we’ve habitually chosen the easy, the convenient, and the good enough relationships, opportunities, and situations which have left us feeling sluggish and diminished, emotionally winded and lethargic.

Life has repeatedly shown me that in every moment we get to decide if we are willing to perpetuate what is or willing to forge a different, more authentic path forward. We can either feed the habits which leave us vibrationally hungry or cleanse ourselves of the toxins which poison the path on our way to becoming who it is we are willing to become.

The moment is awaiting your decision.

Photo by Jametlene Reskp on Unsplash

Finding Time For Nothing

I used to feel kind of guilty.

I mean, I’ve got a long list of things I am responsible for, obligations to keep, commitments to live up to. Yet, almost defiantly, I’d sneak off into a secret space and engage in one of my favorite non-activities.

Nothing.

Sometimes I just need nothing.

To do nothing.

To be nothing.

To feel nothing.

Even if for a few brief moments.

There’s a peace to be found in nothing, where I allow myself to be momentarily detached from my responsibilities, obligations, and commitments. It’s a space with no rules nor expectations. It’s a quiet, timeless space where I just breathe.

Most of my visits to nothing are often measure in seconds, seconds I intentionally create for myself when I know I need to pause and reset my emotional footing.

Nothing never happens by itself. I need to find the time for it. I need to be aware of when I need a break and then willing to actually do so.

Even if it’s just for a few re-centering moments.

Self care comes in many forms.

Sometimes in the form of nothing.

Peter Mis LivingHalfFull.com

Lessons From A Life Unfolding

Category: awareness