I love the thought process behind thinking.
Thought courses through the veins of blogging. Between the blogs and NPR and my kids’ questions and my work, my mind collects a little of everything.
It’s like when your taco is overstuffed and maybe cracks up when you eat it, and there’s all this random goodness left on your plate. My synapses get the equivalent of the P90X workout, 24/7.
The ruminations of the mind can wreak all kinds of havoc on the process, though. To filter the light from the dark is like extracting the hickory smoke out of a slice of bacon. Not that you’d ever want to.
A diet of purely positive thoughts sounds idyllic and solid as my hate for the dodgers. It’s also impossible and not very good for the soul.
At least not for me. I’ll leave that clean living to those who can manage it, and vegans. I love good; I understand bad is good for target practice.
You might know my friend Les. She writes a blog called Timeout for Mom. If you’ve been there lately, you might feel compelled to kick off your sneakers. Your hands might involuntarily morph into Anjali mudra pose.
There’s a whole lot of Namaste and Zen going on over there.
Namaste and Zen are personal, like anyone’s butter-to-syrup ratio on waffles.
(Are you an every-square-must-contain-syrup waffler? Not only do I not account for every square, sometimes, I don’t even line up the waffle grid on the top one with the bottom one.)
And Namaste and Zen never stop moving, so they’re never locked in and they’re never conquered.
We adjust. We adapt. We create a new blog banner because the old one remains too stuck in the past. We choose a new blog theme, if anything, to demonstrate that something else can work.
We pull things that bring us peace and energy closer. We replace those that simply ring in our ears.
I’ve had enough of Dylan Roof and nuclear negotiations. So much so that I turned off NPR and plugged my phone and Pandora into my car stereo.
Give me the words of George Harrison, not John Kerry.
(I’ll miss you, Sally Herships. Adieu, Alissa Block. Godspeed, Alice Fordham. I just can’t, right now.)
Those elements in the world I can’t fix detract from my own mindfulness. It’s a mindfulness I choose and I know it won’t soften the heart of the next Dylan Roof and it won’t flood foreign policy with reason and sobriety. But it will make a difference. To me.
It already has. Although I do have a way to go.
When you’re mindful, something changes. You might not notice it on Day 1 or Day 31. It changes so much, though, that when you’re faced with a rumination that would dominate in the past for you, it just doesn’t fit any more.
And then you see the progress.
The day I turned off my beloved NPR, I wasn’t looking for a sign. But I got one anyway. Maybe.
Something to think about, at least.