A Case for Mindfulness: Leaving for Work Forever

Josh — Mon, 23 Mar 2015 19:42:52 +0000

This is not me, just how I felt.

Headed out of the backdoor, on my way to work after a rushed morning with much on my mind, I decide to take a moment to discard an old bag of dog food and go ahead and feed the dog while I’m at it. I place my jacket and bag on the dryer and proceed to do accomplish a task I believe will take one minute, after which I will feel good about my choice to be a doer and not a procrastinator.

After feeding the dog, however, I do not see my keys on the key hooks. I search my pants pockets and double check the hooks. I survey all the counters in the kitchen. I wander back to the office, trying to remember if I had the keys out when I picked up my bag and computer. I search my pants pockets. Then I stop for a moment to rethink my morning. I had taken the dog for a walk, which means I should have had the keys then. I check the pants I had on while walking. I check the bathroom counter.

While I am wandering almost aimlessly about the house, I think about how absentminded I am, how much smoother my morning would be if I had a routine. I think about how I will probably need to take the toll road into work so I can shave a few minutes off the commute. I search my pants pockets. I realize this is not actually helping me find my keys, so I pause again and reflect. I remember taking the keys off the hook because I was thinking about how a different set was missing. I must have had them when I was about to leave because I wouldn’t have gone into the utility room to see the dog food bags without my keys.

On the dryer I find my jacket and keys and feel a sense of relief and frustration. Then I notice that the door is open, not just ajar but halfway open. Has Rory run off? She is prone to take advantage of such an opportunity, and I likely left the intermediary door open while looking for my keys. I step through the doorway and whistle, prepared to chase her down. I stop, and realize I should probably get her leash first. I step back inside and grab the leash, turn and start to head back out. I pause. Maybe I should check the house first before creeping around the cul-de-sac in search of a dog who might not be there. I am not quite paralyzed, but I can’t decide what is the best use of my time.

As I turn again, this time to head back in the house, I see Rory standing in the doorway, likely in response to my whistling for her. I curse myself, audibly maybe, or maybe just in my head. I laugh a little and put the leash back. Gathering up all my work things, I head out again, thinking that I should definitely take the toll road.

I consider all the moments I could have taken a breath and collected my thoughts, to actually work through the situation I was in and where I might have left the keys. I think about how often I waste time in this kind of foggy, not quite present state. I replay the whole charade over in my mind. And I realize, as a cross the freeway on the overpass, that I forgot to take the turn for the toll road.

This is too often my life. Unmindful. Disorganized. Frayed.

Create or consume: Choose wisely

Josh — Sun, 01 Mar 2015 14:03:52 +0000

While I like to think of myself as a creator, most of my life, I have just been a consumer. I read a lot but wrote very little. I watched television and movies but never made one (not counting several home video experiments from junior high that I might want to disavow at this point). I listened to lots of people talk about their interesting lives or ideas without putting any effort into making my own. I was a thinker, not a doer. Or sometimes, not even a thinker really, not in any useful sense of the word.

I’ve spent much of my time dreaming about, and occasionally planning for, big things for me and for my family. But I have taken little action in all that time. I have plenty of excuses for that, but I have come to realize the chief reason for this deflection is fear. Fear of judgement; fear of failure; fear of success. I am often afraid that I won’t be able to make anything. Or if I do, it won’t be anything of value. I run from the unknown to the known, from the unfamiliar to the familiar. This feels natural, of course, but the sad part is that the unknown in this case is me. It is my thoughts, my writing, my creation that I am unfamiliar with. I run from myself.

Even this morning I felt the impulse to hide. I had just finished getting up and getting ready and was considering what I should do with the first minutes of my day. Instinctively, I unlocked my phone and began to look for something to occupy my thoughts. I wasn’t even considering games or videos or something else that would have been a real waste of time. But I was looking for someone else’s content. I thought about listening to a podcast or reading a blog post from someone I respect. This content would be my shelter, the words of someone else that I could hide behind instead of exploring my own. I was running.

Luckily, I realized that was what I was doing. Instead of giving into the impulse to consume, I climbed out of the couch, poured a cup of coffee, and wrote this little post. It isn’t much, but it is mine. I like it because it is bitter, and because it is my heart.

The hope is that the creating becomes familiar, that the act of doing, and the product of doing, become something to run to. Through habit and practice, the writing forms the shelter. The fear doesn’t go away, but we embrace it as a part of the process.

What strategies do you use to make yourself make something?

Write Your Bliss » » morning routine

A Case for Mindfulness: Leaving for Work Forever

Create or consume: Choose wisely