I don’t know about you, but for myself, I must navigate the slippery slope of my own habitual behavior, day after day.  And, ever so slowly, inch by inch, situation after situation, I am eking out a simple strategy that offers me the potential for choice and even possibly comfort.  

Abiding myself as I am, leaning into the direction in which I choose to turn, this is the compass of my daily practice.  

In this moment of Resolution, as the New Year opens to us, as we are lured into unwieldy and unrealistic commitments to ourselves, let’s get real.

How much can we expect of ourselves?

How much can we change?

For me, is it possible to rid myself of self-centered fear, that tiny, 2:15 a.m. voice that whispers, “Sure, it’s all good now, but just you wait…you are so screwed.”?

Is it possible for me to jumpstart my six-month-lethargy and visit the gym (oops, membership has elapsed) daily?

Certainly not.

The way to ridding myself of my self-centered fear is by accepting that voice, honoring it, and choosing to lean toward faith.

The way of bringing more movement into my day is by accepting My Inner Super-Slug, blessing her, and getting to that new trainer for next Thursday’s appointment.

The way out of It, I believe, whatever the IT might be, is through It, coming into relationship with the It, chunking behavior change down to manageable next steps.

Behavior bites.  

Tiny nibbles of change.

My most effective and comforting tool for doing this is repetition.

When the 2:15 a.m. voice gets louder, when she demands my attention with more fervor, more insistence, repeating prayer or mantra tethers me to neutrality.  

It returns me to choice.  It quiets me.

When I feel overwhelmed with my couch-potato-ness, convinced I will never leave the house again, that pre-sunset, 4:00 walk (you know, when the light in the day slants and softens with such magical brilliance), springboards me outside, onto the trail, down to the lake, for just a little movement, just a little air.

Repetition, patterns, consistency.

Oh, that so works for me.

Do you know this poem, by William James Lampton, the American author, who, by the way, was Mark Twain’s cousin?  He says:

After twelve days of stay-cation, filled with cheese, Netflix, holiday cheer, and delightful fuzziness about the day of the week, here I sit, ever so slowly emerging from the cocoon of celebration.  

I am facing my phobia of reentry.  

Reentry into exactly what?

A routine?

Waking up at 5 instead of the radically self-indulgent 6:20?

Talking with people, like, in a work setting?

Teaching?

Writing?

I love these things.

Commuting down the road four minutes?

What’s the problem, Aruni?

I seem unable to remove the remote control from my clutched hand.

I want more stay-cation.  

I want to stay in stay-cation.

And now it is now; 2019, the day of the week reveals herself, the sun shines on the little dusting of snow, the birds are delighted and could give a shit about my reentry process.

I have procrastinated writing this week’s blog.  I want to continue to sit on the couch in my long johns without brushing my hair.  My truest desires emerge; long johns, no hair brushing. (I did, however, brush my teeth before putting my hands on the keyboard, rest assured.)

How are you all doing out there?  

How is your reentry into the post-holiday, anticlimactic January?  

How are you?

I think this is a slippery slope, this early January thing.

My lovely holiday wreath looks a tad wilted.

I feel a tad wilted.

I’m offering myself, you and me and us, a few super-simple suggestions—here they are, for whatever they are worth:

• I choose to resist making massive proclamations for the ENTIRE YEAR.   Example—I choose love and life and health and wealth and will go to the gym twice a day until I die.

I’m pretty sure that would kill me.

• I choose to focus on today—what is it, just for today, that I am choosing? Example—Today?  Put pants on top of said long johns, making the transition into the world ever simpler.  Get in car, drive to post office and gas station.

That would be massively helpful and self-esteem building.

• I choose to resist being massively decisive and scale my decisions down to bite-sized choices. Example—Rather than choosing which super-expensive air purifier I’m buying, I’m deciding to have a chicken soup for lunch.

Sounds delicious.  And easier.

Let’s be gentle on ourselves; we celebrated, we connected, we pulled out of the routine of our habitual days to give ourselves love and light and family and friends and a break from It All.  

Let’s go gently back into it all.

If you are facing 528 still-unread emails, or if sit on your couch, willing yourself forward toward the gas station—

If you are facing a day of back-to-back meetings or waiting till your noon phone call with a friend—

Whatever the form of your reentry into this anticlimactic early January, let’s be gentle.  Let’s accept ourselves exactly where we are, with tender rigor, with the right use to will.

Without pushing, without plodding, without judgment, one step at a time, let’s move forward into the new/old rhythm of more habituated life.

Let’s look to the light in the day, the rising sun, her journey across the heavens, her early resting place in the west—let’s look to the earth in her ultimate wisdom of rhythms, to reconnect.

I choose to reenter the cycle of light.

I choose to reenter softly the work that I love, writing and coaching and teaching.

I choose to put down the remote control with radical acceptance of the little girl who clutches so tightly onto that which has already ended.  

I choose to love that little child—

All the way to the post office.

All the way to the gas station.

All the way to reentry.

All the way into 2019.

One day at a time.

 

Dear Folks, I hope there was something helpful in this reading today.  I’m happy to report that I did make it to the post office and the gas station, although I did forget one vital stop.  LIFE! So life-like.

And how are you?  How is your reentry?  How is your early and anticlimactic January unfolding?  Please do keep me posted. I am aruni@rnetworx.com.

All blessings,
Aruni

As 2018 winds herself down, I sit.  

I sit.

I ponder.  

How do I even begin to assess this passing year?  

How can I look back, clear-eyed enough to notice?

How can I honor the journey of 2018, the shadows and the sunlight?  

How do I do that without judging myself, others, or my Main Dancing Partner, Ms. Life Herself?

The task this morning feels herculean and somewhat pointless.  Yet I believe in the power of self-examination, which, along with meditation and prayer, together form the foundation of my practices of intended balance in the midst of Every Single Thing.

Clearly, today I don’t have answers.  Yet I do remember the practice of gratitude which exists somewhere deep inside my dusty tool bag.  Gratitude reminds me of an amazing prayer I heard at a Twelve Step meeting, which seems appropriate for the mindful ending of this year:

I will do some simple journaling around each of these facets, with the powerful brain-changer, gratitude, as the filter, to help me scan the past year. And if gratitude isn’t accessible, maybe awareness or simple acknowledgment of the headlines of the past year would be enough to track, to trace, to honor the journey of our 2018 trek through life.

We are so worth honoring!  Dear friends, we are.

And looking ahead……..

How do I, how do we attend to 2019, hovering in the shadows, streaming forward in the sunshine of those Berkshire woods, pictured above?  

How do we lean toward the direction we choose, as we welcome the next 525,600 minutes into our lives?

Perhaps we consider writing intentions for the new year?  For me, these need to be broad and delicious riverbanks into which I can spaciously swim.  

Hum.

Okay.

Here are mine, for these upcoming minutes of 2019:

• To walk slowly into each moment, as best I can, with an open heart
• To welcome what I’m given, as best I can, with a connection to faith
• To allow myself to be touched, as best I can, by the grace around me
• To participate fully in my life, as best I can, even and especially in those moments I do not like
• To allow myself to be exactly where I am

To simply be more mindful, by considering the passing of the year and the arrival of the new one—that alone feels significant and mindful and healing enough for me this morning, as the sun shines, as the shadows play on the huge white pines outside my house.

And best of all, here is my New Year’s gift to you—

With ultimate celebration, no matter what occurred, of the 525,600 minutes of 2018 behind us all now—as well as with ultimate welcoming of those upcoming minutes of 2019, check out this wonderful song, Seasons of Love, from Rent: