I’ve been hiding for a long time.
I had to go with that opening line because I’d promised someone I would. I’m glad, though, because this friend suggested it as we talked about how things are going for me now, and it perfectly tells the story.
No, I’m not coming out of the closet.
Not that there’s anything wrong with that. You might have noticed more of a mindful bent on Mondays around here. I can’t help it. Between meditation on Wednesday, yoga on Friday (something old and new), and prayers for world peace on Sundays …
Plus conversations with people I love, including myself …
Well, things are different. I’ve undergone a shift in mind and the messages I hear. In the weight, I place on kind words and unkind. It’s not just the meditation or the yoga, the disc golf and soccer training and incredible blogs I’ve read lately.
Mindful isn’t enough
I’m trying to add more of the good to my life.
That doesn’t mean more rum and Coke Zero, and more tacos, although it could. It means mindful isn’t enough. Mindful in itself isn’t as good as meaningful. What good is mindfulness if I become a snob about my newfound peace?
Instead, it’s asking, what else can I do to show up?
It’s not just how I can show up for you, my friends, and help others, who want to feel more in control of life, or at least gain some peace of mind knowing where their next post will come from. It’s also how I can show up for myself.
I had to ask myself, what is leading your life?
The answer was sad. A transcript so toxic played on a constant loop, speaking up rudely even on the best of my days, even when I felt I’d turn that corner. Imagine for yourself those self-doubting, self-deprecating words you heap upon yourself.
Imagine hearing someone read them out loud, not to you, but to someone you love. A mate, a child, a parent. Wouldn’t you want to punch a f*cker in the mouth if you heard that out loud? Wouldn’t you stand up for a stranger if you heard it said to them?
How can you share it?
Monday posts need to be more than a loop of being kind to others … be kind to yourself … bloom where you’re planted … stay in the moment …
These things bring about an inner peace you can’t find otherwise. But it’s like a home-cooked meal set out at the table – with no one to share it with. How can you help more? What do you want in this life? A meaningful life is kind, but you know what it’s not?
It’s not enough. It’s not enough to keep it to yourself and head to the clubhouse.
I want optimum health. I want to keep commitments to myself and in intimate relationships. I don’t want to hang on to fringe connections that manipulate me. That releases those people to more meaningful connections elsewhere.
I want deep connections and light days.
It’s huge. It’s cosmic. It’s as simple as writing every commitment I have on note cards to index them, freeing my mind for greater ideas, more meaningful interaction with those I love, even deeper peace in moments I’m not thinking about what I’m not doing.
Or who I am not.
Tacos and … tacos?
As I said, I don’t want Monday to become Buddha’s corner. Let Elephant Journal and other blogs take care of that. My world is of tacos and writing and reading, of soccer teams and fatherhood and tacos (wait, did I say tacos twice?)
I’m seeing, though, peace extend way beyond love speak and meditative thoughts.
I’m finding it on disc golf courses and between games of a summer-league baseball doubleheader, in conversation about nostalgic ballparks, in the cool summer air with a cheeseburger in my hand, this time. I’m finding it by not looking, for John Lennon’s sake.
I’m finding it in your posts and sometimes not seeing it in your posts. That’s okay.
I’m still finding it as I fall in love with women in movies, and I’ll write about them, too. (Hey, Lake Bell!) I’m looking at old quotes and finding something new in them. Smartphone photos, too. And in #GirlsRock interviews and the questions my kids ask.
Me, though, that’s what’s different, y’all.
I’m sick of handing others a Louisville slugger and essentially letting them – practically begging them – to take swings at me, big, home run swings. Then, instead of picking up my teeth, I pick up the bat and take a few swings myself. I’m done with that shit.
I’m done hiding, done backstepping into my jester shoes. It’s me, in Hawaiian shirts on a Tuesday (hey, I got compliments on it!), engaged and irreverent as ever and for the first time, really for the first time, I’m doing it while I love who I am.