Stuff Running Around in My Head

 I’m wearied by all the stuff running around in my head. I wish it would stop, and my thoughts given a chance to focus on one or two things at a time, in hopes of reaching any kind of conclusion about those subjects. 

    DUH! And I’d like to find a previously unknown rich uncle who was about to lay a lottery-sized inheritance on me.

There are just too many things that demand my attention - especially the negative stuff.  At least I feel they are demanding and I can’t seem to do anything to clear my mind. I’m wondering if this is a side-effect of aging that the older you get, the more stuff you have to think about. Especially if, like me, you include a great deal of time and attention to reminiscing (ruminating) about the past in addition to all the isn’t-it-awfuls- that assault us everyday. 

There is a lesson in this somewhere, well, staring me in the face actually. I should be able to let some of this go and actually focus on something in a relaxed and reasonable sort of way. Meditation, I believe it’s called; that and letting go.

I don’t know if I have ADD, but I have always found it difficult to quiet my mind: the lofty goal of meditation is always out of my reach. As Pema Chodron said, “You start counting breaths to 10 to focus better, and then you find yourself sometime later wondering whatever happened to numbers five-ten.”

I started thinking about this in the yoga class I just finished this morning. (See what I mean?) The place I should be most likely to quieten my mind and relax. It’s the whole purpose of yoga, but here’s my Svanasana (the hopefully blissful rest at the end of class when you let everything go.)

 Sandi: “Thank goodness that’s over. God, it was hard today. I couldn’t follow the directions. I have so much to do. I need to look at my calendar. Someone is coming for coffee, Friday morning. I need to bake something. Wonder if I should get bagels. But when? I need to look at my schedule. Oh, dear, this weekend it’s Father’s Day. I don’t have a thing for Gerry. Where could I go to get something? Breathe, Sandi, breathe. Wonder how much time  we have before it is time to get up? Etc. Etc. Etc.”

Will you please just shut the hell up for five minutes??!!!

That’s what I say when I wake up in the middle of the night wondering what I can do to control the outcome of the next election. I’m afraid I’m still pondering that one.

I did have one crystal clear thought at the end of Svanasana. I’m tired, and I think it is because I am trying too hard. We all are. 

There is such a big, boiling eruption of things happening, information overload, demands made, responsibilities, perfectionist expectations, worries, and our plain old wishes and desires, that there just isn’t any room left in our brains. I don’t know, but I feel like I get up everyday trying to wrestle some kind of control over all this stuff, or at least figure out why my I-Phone does such weird things. I can’t do anything about most of it, but so far that realization hasn’t translated into any increased inner peace and quiet.

I feel responsible - a serious case of the I-Shoulds. One of which is I should try harder and always do my very best. Thank you Puritans. 

I’m beginning to think that I “should” stop trying so hard. It’s like a yoga teacher once told me, “You can’t effort into the pose. You have to relax, and let your body find its way.” In other words, don’t try so hard.

I get it. I know I need to let go of some expectations that I mostly impose on myself. Like when a friend is coming over for coffee, it isn’t necessary to scrub the bathroom floor with a toothbrush. Relax, she’ll probably never notice. Another friend recently said to me, “Sometimes adequate is enough.” That phrase is profound enough to make me want to have it tattooed across my forehead.

I agree. I’m going to let go of needless expectations. I’m going to work on doing that. I’ll add that to the list of things I have to think about.

Little Kids in PJs

 About 7:30 this morning, while on my morning walk, I witnessed the sweetest family scene. A family was out in the yard seeing the dad off to work. Dad sat behind the wheel of the station wagon with his window rolled down. Before rolling down into the street, he stopped a moment and leaned out to say good-bye. Two little boys, still in their pjs, straddled their scooters beside the driveway, and the mom stood beside the boys and held a big mug of presumably coffee. 

     As Dad eased down the driveway, he waved and said, “Good-bye, I love you. I love you.” 

     The boys cried out over and over, “Bye Daddy, Bye Daddy, love you too, love you.”

      Mom watched her boys and waved goodbye to her husband. 

    The Dad started down the street, still calling “I love you. I love you.”

    I felt this scene of a young family’s love, so openly expressed, to be very moving. It seemed such a beautiful contrast to the constant barrage of negativity with which I begin most days. And it lifted my heart and my spirits.

    Granted, this scene stirred my memories of the 50s when my brother and I wore the pjs, and our dad was the one going off to work. Not that we ever stood out in the yard and sang out our love to the neighborhood. 

    I almost didn’t write about this. I am aware that this picture is one that is unfamiliar to many people - many family experiences are radically different. 

A white man and a woman and two kids, is not the only kind of family who loves each other. And there are many other reasons that others may not want to idealize the scene as I witnessed it. And, yes, this could have been one moment of peace in a troubled family, but I don’t think so.

    The point is not how the family looked or who was or wasn’t in the family. The point is that these people so obviously loved each other and began their day sending one member off to work knowing that he is loved, and joyously so, by the people who are his beloved.

    Any family, of any content or structure, could fit into this picture, where love is the theme. Love that is so beautifully and wholeheartedly expressed that it is a treasured moment to witness it. 

   Sometimes I forget that such people exist. Sometimes I think that there is precious little good in the world. I’m glad to know that I am wrong. Despite that other stuff, I am now reminded that love still lives in us human beings, and it is strong.

    I walked on by and said good morning - you have a beautiful family. The mom said, “thank you so much!” I didn’t stop to tell her how much I loved seeing them, too intrusive. But the clear, unsullied, reality of this is that there was enough love to spill over into my life, and I’m grateful I was there to receive it.

   

 Night full of Rain

Crawled into bed last night, aching from spring gardening tasks, and settled in with what began as the soothing sound of rain sprinkling on the trees and my neighbor’s metal shed roof.

My window was open to cool spring air, just right for covers. All in all, one of my favorite sleeping arrangements on a tired night.

Not to be. Not this night.

I first woke up at 2:10 a.m. to a torrent of rain that beat on the leaves and hammered on that metal roof. I got up, wandered around, looked out at the rain, and returned to bed, first tripping over a stool.

Worry as much as rain, woke me up at 3:46 a.m., “Oh, no, all that rain. It’s too much potassium, too much potassium. What is the chemical symbol for potassium anyway. Is it “K”? These matters weighed heavily on my mind, as the rain steadily continued. I needed to know that darn symbol.

G.’s potassium levels are too high, and that has been the matter of much concern and discussion in our house recently.

I tossed and turned for a while, obsessing about potassium-rich rain and the letter “K”, and finally dozed off. The heavy rain continued through the night.

I woke up at 5:30, to the very pleasant sound of birds singing and soft, dripping rain falling all around. Snuggled up under my covers,  my night-long struggle with rain seemed very silly. Though the potential for residual potassium might still be a problem.

What is it about our brains than turns perfectly ordinary events into worrisome nighttime situations that plague our dreams?

But as sung by CCR, who’ll stop the rain?

(For the record, K is the chemical symbol for potassium, and the internet did not reveal any particular relationship between potassium and rain.)