This morning, I was doing Nenju; which meant that I was walking around in a circle, bent at a ninety degree ankle, in my socks, on tatami mats, in front of a statue of Budhha- ha!
About two thirds of my way around the circle, I pictured one of my friends walking up the steps of the zen center, peering in the door of the Budhha hall, and seeing me do this. I also pictured myself, as I was doing this, and I thought to myself: "This is weird."
And I kept walking around the circle, and could feel the stiffness in my back as I maintained a "bowed" position and I thought to myself: "You're right. This is weird. This is completely foreign to you. This is not something you grew up doing. This is not something you have done for most of your life. This is not something you see others doing. It is, honestly, weird to you, as in: foreign, as in: different, as in: unfamiliar. "
And that's when I realized that "weird" was just a description. "Weird" was just a term for foreign or unfamiliar or different and that I was being accurate when I called it weird. And this accuracy was the truth of the matter- this practice actually is weird to me, but "weird" isn't bad or good.
See, in the past when I noticed how "weird" this practice was to me, I had judgment attached to weird. I had fears of rejection, of association with something foreign, of evaluation of less than because it was different from the mainstream. And so "weird" was scary for me, off putting for me, unsettling for me. Every time I would look at myself doing the "weird" parts of this practice, I would freak out and start to think there was something wrong or scary about what I was doing. Fortunately, it wasn't enough to make me stop but it definitely sent me in a tailspin many a time and lead me to hide certain parts of my practice or omit them when I talked about what I do at the zen center.
But this morning, I just saw it for what it was: foreign, unfamiliar, different. That's all.
And for some reason, that helped. It made me see it for what it was: me, bowing, as I walked around in a circle. Me, bowing, as I came to a statue of Buddha. Me, bowing to the feet and socks of others, in gratitude, for their existence.
This is not familiar, this is not "normal," but this is what I'm doing.
Saturday, October 12, 2013
Sunday, October 6, 2013
It's the thoughts that make you lonely
It turns out that thoughts, can make you lonely. I was surprised by this. See, in my experience, my thoughts keep me company. For a long time now, it's been my thoughts, the voices inside my head, the rationalizations that have made me feel better. If I were upset or confused or feeling bad, I could soothe myself with my thoughts- tell myself I had learned something from the situation, think about how I could make it better, tell myself it wasn't as bad as it seemed. But recently, as I was sitting in zazen during a one-day sit, I realized that my thoughts were separating me from the people right there in the room. You know when you find yourself feeling lonely in a room full of people? That's what was happening to me.
It was the last part of the sit, the marathon zazen in the afternoon: zazen, kinhin, zazen, knhin, zazen, kinhin.... it's the worst! And it's right after tea so you're all sleepy and there's nothing to distract you from all this sitting... Anyway, I found myself imagining what treat I would have when I got home from my one day sit and I knew that meant that I was getting lonely. I thought it was pretty weird that I was getting lonely when I had spent the day in a one day sit, surrounded by people. So then I thought it was because I was thinking about going home and so that was making me lonely. But that didn't feel right either, it felt like I was lonely, right there and then.
So then I did what was suggested in the dharma talk that morning: focus on right now, right here, and all of a sudden, I could feel the person sitting next to me. And then I started to feel all the people in the room, and I realized I was in a room with all these people, and that we all were sitting together, and I actually felt connected, not so alone anymore. I didn't exactly feel better, I still had to sit there with all the stuff that I was afraid of coming up, but I definitely didn't feel alone anymore.
And then, during service, when we were bowing, I noticed how I was labeling people- how I was noticing who was and wasn't doing full prostrations, who was bowing from their spot, who needed a chant card, who didn't, and then I paused myself, stopped the thoughts and suddenly all of us were chanting together, all of us were bowing together, I was suddenly part of a group of people, doing this together.
It's not some panacea or cure all, this notion that thoughts separate us, but it's enough of a noticing to make me not necessarily turn to my thoughts when I'm bummed out or wanting to avoid the situation. It's enough of an awareness that I might want to turn to the moment in front of me, instead of somewhere else.
It was the last part of the sit, the marathon zazen in the afternoon: zazen, kinhin, zazen, knhin, zazen, kinhin.... it's the worst! And it's right after tea so you're all sleepy and there's nothing to distract you from all this sitting... Anyway, I found myself imagining what treat I would have when I got home from my one day sit and I knew that meant that I was getting lonely. I thought it was pretty weird that I was getting lonely when I had spent the day in a one day sit, surrounded by people. So then I thought it was because I was thinking about going home and so that was making me lonely. But that didn't feel right either, it felt like I was lonely, right there and then.
So then I did what was suggested in the dharma talk that morning: focus on right now, right here, and all of a sudden, I could feel the person sitting next to me. And then I started to feel all the people in the room, and I realized I was in a room with all these people, and that we all were sitting together, and I actually felt connected, not so alone anymore. I didn't exactly feel better, I still had to sit there with all the stuff that I was afraid of coming up, but I definitely didn't feel alone anymore.
And then, during service, when we were bowing, I noticed how I was labeling people- how I was noticing who was and wasn't doing full prostrations, who was bowing from their spot, who needed a chant card, who didn't, and then I paused myself, stopped the thoughts and suddenly all of us were chanting together, all of us were bowing together, I was suddenly part of a group of people, doing this together.
It's not some panacea or cure all, this notion that thoughts separate us, but it's enough of a noticing to make me not necessarily turn to my thoughts when I'm bummed out or wanting to avoid the situation. It's enough of an awareness that I might want to turn to the moment in front of me, instead of somewhere else.
The trampoline of delusion, the comfy couch of reality
I was noticing how unsettled I was when, shortly after talking to someone, I started having ideas and thoughts about them. I noticed how it kind of put me in a tizzy to think these things about this person, even though they were pleasant ideas: fantasies and idolizations and images of perfect harmony. It kind of amped me up and got me excited but in a precarious way, like being bounced on a trampoline, never being able to settle in one place.
And then, moments later, I reflected on the actual interaction I had had with the person, only 15 minutes prior, and how settled that felt- how calm, safe, and almost nurtured or tender our interaction had been. It had been a minor interaction, a simple asking of how are you and a response of how I was. But in my response, I had been real. I simply answered how I was- not how I could be that might be entertaining to this person, not how I thought they wanted me to be, not how I was that would keep our conversation going or to start a relationship between us; just an honest answer of this is how I am right now. And that, that "mundane" response to a basic question, turned out to be quite sweet, safe, and tender- like a comfy couch or armchair.
And I thought about this- about why the pleasant delusion was unsettling while the actual apparent "boring" reality was calm and settled and it occurred to me that delusions... are never finished and delusions... aren't real. Delusions are made up- they're in your head, they're floating around in this uneven bouncy landscape of whatever you decide to make up or change to suit your fancy. They're kind of all over the place, which is nice when you want to avoid unpleasant things, but at the same time, they are, literally, unsettling. Delusions aren't actually grounded in any reality or firm place- they change on your whim and desire and so they're really unsettled.
An actual interaction, however, has a beginning, a middle, an end (not a beginning, middle, end per se, but they're actual moments in time). They involve another person and kind of have to follow the rules of their reality, of your dynamic together, of who you each are. They're grounded in something, they have to follow the rules of the world we live in because they aren't made up, they're real.
And I find this really interesting. I never thought I would find comfort and security in reality and I never thought I would feel unsettled by delusions. But it's what happened, and I'm grateful for it. Because in the end, I'm finding pleasure in my actual interaction with another- and that's really nice. Because what I've wanted all along was to have an actual interaction, to have a relationship that is grounded, safe, that I could rely on to always be there. And I know that I can never have a relationship that will always be there, that will never change. But I do see now that it's the truth of the interaction- not the content or nature of our interaction- just the experiencing of it, the groundedness of actually being together, truly and honestly, that makes it calm and close and sweet.
And then, moments later, I reflected on the actual interaction I had had with the person, only 15 minutes prior, and how settled that felt- how calm, safe, and almost nurtured or tender our interaction had been. It had been a minor interaction, a simple asking of how are you and a response of how I was. But in my response, I had been real. I simply answered how I was- not how I could be that might be entertaining to this person, not how I thought they wanted me to be, not how I was that would keep our conversation going or to start a relationship between us; just an honest answer of this is how I am right now. And that, that "mundane" response to a basic question, turned out to be quite sweet, safe, and tender- like a comfy couch or armchair.
And I thought about this- about why the pleasant delusion was unsettling while the actual apparent "boring" reality was calm and settled and it occurred to me that delusions... are never finished and delusions... aren't real. Delusions are made up- they're in your head, they're floating around in this uneven bouncy landscape of whatever you decide to make up or change to suit your fancy. They're kind of all over the place, which is nice when you want to avoid unpleasant things, but at the same time, they are, literally, unsettling. Delusions aren't actually grounded in any reality or firm place- they change on your whim and desire and so they're really unsettled.
An actual interaction, however, has a beginning, a middle, an end (not a beginning, middle, end per se, but they're actual moments in time). They involve another person and kind of have to follow the rules of their reality, of your dynamic together, of who you each are. They're grounded in something, they have to follow the rules of the world we live in because they aren't made up, they're real.
And I find this really interesting. I never thought I would find comfort and security in reality and I never thought I would feel unsettled by delusions. But it's what happened, and I'm grateful for it. Because in the end, I'm finding pleasure in my actual interaction with another- and that's really nice. Because what I've wanted all along was to have an actual interaction, to have a relationship that is grounded, safe, that I could rely on to always be there. And I know that I can never have a relationship that will always be there, that will never change. But I do see now that it's the truth of the interaction- not the content or nature of our interaction- just the experiencing of it, the groundedness of actually being together, truly and honestly, that makes it calm and close and sweet.
Saturday, September 21, 2013
I feel BETTER when I help others, who knew?
About a week ago, I found myself feeling slightly lost, unproductive, a little harried, and (the only part that makes sense) useless.
I felt this way after I had spent an entire afternoon in my own classroom, getting ready for my own class, preparing supplies and filing work so that I would finally feel like I could get into the swing of things and really immerse myself in my kids and what we were learning.
The week prior, I had spent every afternoon helping others. This wasn't an intentional helping of others. I didn't plan to spend every afternoon helping the new teacher. But that's what I ended up doing. At the end of school each day, I would check in with her, give her lessons that she could teach the next day, show her the new curriculum, talk with her about parents, reassure her about kids, and respond to any questions and needs she had.
I did all of this without thinking. I wasn't trying to help her. I just knew that she had been hired on a Friday, and school started on Monday. I knew that 20 third graders were going to show up each day and that the more I could help her, the more likely those third graders would feel safe and happy on their first week of school.
As a result, I ended up leaving school each day that week at around 6PM, much later than I would normally stay. I also left each day spending only about the last half hour or so getting ready for my own class. For some reason, this was okay. I'm sure it had a lot to with the fact that I've been teaching third grade for several years. I'm sure it also had to do with the fact that I'm not so worried about making things perfect anymore, I'm just preparing for what needs to get done. But I also think it was partly because I appeared to have... the perfect class.
I wasn't quite sure why things were going so smoothly in my class, but they were. My class seemed to pick up the routines right away, everyone was getting along, we magically got to recess and lunch on time no matter what time we left...
I started to wonder: is it me or is it them?
And I have to admit that I worried that it was them. See, last year I had had a similar experience of having a perfect class of kids only to have that change completely when I got a new student during the second week of school. But I also knew that this year, that couldn't happen. I had 21 students. The other two classes only had 20. There was no way I was going to get a new kid... unless three new third graders showed up during the second week of school.
I arrived at school Monday morning feeling fine. I was prepared for the kids to be a little off because the novelty of the first week of school was over and the academic load would be increasing. But I didn't try to control them the way I had in the past. I just kind of decided to take their behaviors with a grain of salt- understanding that it wasn't them, it was just the nature of the second week of school. As I unlocked the door to my classroom, I started to relock it like I always do but then decided against it, realizing that I didn't need to block people from coming in to my room.
I started to put my things away and prepare for the day when the door opened. It was a parent, coming in to turn in the forms I had sent home last week. I introduced myself to her, let her son show her his desk, talked with her about how things were going, and tried my best to be welcoming. After about 10 minutes, I realized that I really did need to get ready for the day so I gently suggested that she and her son pick a book to read together in the lobby and they left.
About five minutes later, the new teacher walked in. She wanted to talk about the lessons we were doing that day, she shared that she was nervous, she seemed to need reassurance in a way that she hadn't before. I shared that I was feeling nervous this week too- that I was feeling more pressure to teach curriculum and manage the kids. I listened to her, went over the lessons with her, and did my best to keep answering every question she had until she felt okay.
At the same time, I was watching the clock. I knew I had to get ready, knew I wasn't ready, and was starting to get worried about how to tell her I had to go without rejecting her or making her feel like she was taking my time. I ended up listening to her a bit more while also starting to prepare for the day. I think she picked up on this because she finished the conversation and headed back to her room.
I went into survival mode- preparing only for the lessons until recess, knowing that I would have time at recess to get ready for the rest of the day.
And then the phone rang.
I laughed out loud. Really, I did.
The phone only rings in the morning when something urgent comes up. It is often a parent calling about something or someone from the office calling to report that a teacher is out so we won't be having PE or Library. It is rare that the phone rings in the morning to bring good news. So I thought it was really fitting that just when I didn't have time to deal with something urgent, the phone was ringing to bring me something urgent.
It turned out to be the principal.
It turned out that I was getting a new student.
It turned out that it was a student who was new, to school- not our school, not third grade- school. Today was going to be their first day of school, ever.
I found this out after I agreed to take the new student. I found this out five minutes before school started. I was pissed.
I started school anyway and we made it through the day. But at the end of that day, I was done. No more helping others. No more doing what needed to be done. It was time for me to start taking care of me. It was time for me to make sure that my needs were met first and that if I had time, I could help others.
I closed my door right after our staff meeting that day. I didn't go to yoga because I didn't feel like it. And I stayed late, getting everything ready for my kids, no one else's.
I did the same thing the next day- planned for the whole week, made photocopies, got everything done, even earlier than my normal time. But instead of checking in with the other teacher, I decided to file and clean, and do stuff in my room that I had been wanting to do last week but couldn't.
I should have left that night feeling great. I was prepared, my room was clean, but I didn't feel great at all. I felt lost- like I hadn't gotten anything done. I just kept doing little things around the room, looking for a sense of completion or ease but nothing seemed to bring me any sense of satisfaction. I ended up leaving simply because it was five o'clock.
The next morning, I felt unprepared even though I had spent the afternoon getting ready for the lessons that day. When the new teacher stopped by, I half- talked to her, continuing to set up my class instead of actually listening to her. I considered telling her that I wasn't really a talker in the morning, that I needed that time to prepare, but then I thought she would never come back in again and I wanted her to feel like she could come in.
That afternoon, I decided that the reason I wasn't feeling prepared was because I didn't have time to really think about the lessons. I felt like what I really needed to do was look through the standards, reread my lessons, write them up, make them interesting, etc. I felt like it would help me and the kids (we were starting to fall apart a little bit- some of us were bored, others were freaking out by the new challenges, others had just found friends and things to talk about) if I could just immerse myself in the lesson plans.
I started to do this- I closed my door and looked over the lessons in reading that would fit with the book- when the new teacher walked in. She wanted to clarify what lessons I was teaching in reading that week and I had to tell her that I didn't know- that I was working on it right then. So we talked a bit about the lessons and I saw how overwhelmed she was by the curriculum and I remembered how confused I had been when they had given us the new curriculum last fall.
I paused. I knew that what I really wanted to do was be by myself- have a quiet time to think deeply and understand these lessons. But I also knew that I knew this curriculum from teaching it the year before and I knew that I could show it to her- explain its organization so that she'd at least have a foothold.
And so that's what I did. I showed her how it was organized, pulled out a few of the additional books that I used for homework and enrichment, and stayed with her until it seemed like she understood how it worked. She thanked me, and I could see from the look on her face that she felt much less overwhelmed, like maybe she could navigate these lessons and actually teach tomorrow.
After she left I looked at the clock. It was time to go, but I wasn't upset. I didn't feel like I had been taken advantage of or that my needs hadn't been met. I actually felt fine even though I wasn't prepared for the next day.
"Notice this," I said to myself. "Notice that you feel better when you help others and that you feel lost when you take care of yourself. I know it doesn't make sense, I know it's not what you want to do, but it's the truth of your experience. You just feel better when you feel like her needs are met. And all of the time you spend planning for what's going to happen tomorrow doesn't seem to make you feel more prepared when you show up the next day. Just notice that."
And so I did.
I felt this way after I had spent an entire afternoon in my own classroom, getting ready for my own class, preparing supplies and filing work so that I would finally feel like I could get into the swing of things and really immerse myself in my kids and what we were learning.
The week prior, I had spent every afternoon helping others. This wasn't an intentional helping of others. I didn't plan to spend every afternoon helping the new teacher. But that's what I ended up doing. At the end of school each day, I would check in with her, give her lessons that she could teach the next day, show her the new curriculum, talk with her about parents, reassure her about kids, and respond to any questions and needs she had.
I did all of this without thinking. I wasn't trying to help her. I just knew that she had been hired on a Friday, and school started on Monday. I knew that 20 third graders were going to show up each day and that the more I could help her, the more likely those third graders would feel safe and happy on their first week of school.
As a result, I ended up leaving school each day that week at around 6PM, much later than I would normally stay. I also left each day spending only about the last half hour or so getting ready for my own class. For some reason, this was okay. I'm sure it had a lot to with the fact that I've been teaching third grade for several years. I'm sure it also had to do with the fact that I'm not so worried about making things perfect anymore, I'm just preparing for what needs to get done. But I also think it was partly because I appeared to have... the perfect class.
I wasn't quite sure why things were going so smoothly in my class, but they were. My class seemed to pick up the routines right away, everyone was getting along, we magically got to recess and lunch on time no matter what time we left...
I started to wonder: is it me or is it them?
And I have to admit that I worried that it was them. See, last year I had had a similar experience of having a perfect class of kids only to have that change completely when I got a new student during the second week of school. But I also knew that this year, that couldn't happen. I had 21 students. The other two classes only had 20. There was no way I was going to get a new kid... unless three new third graders showed up during the second week of school.
I arrived at school Monday morning feeling fine. I was prepared for the kids to be a little off because the novelty of the first week of school was over and the academic load would be increasing. But I didn't try to control them the way I had in the past. I just kind of decided to take their behaviors with a grain of salt- understanding that it wasn't them, it was just the nature of the second week of school. As I unlocked the door to my classroom, I started to relock it like I always do but then decided against it, realizing that I didn't need to block people from coming in to my room.
I started to put my things away and prepare for the day when the door opened. It was a parent, coming in to turn in the forms I had sent home last week. I introduced myself to her, let her son show her his desk, talked with her about how things were going, and tried my best to be welcoming. After about 10 minutes, I realized that I really did need to get ready for the day so I gently suggested that she and her son pick a book to read together in the lobby and they left.
About five minutes later, the new teacher walked in. She wanted to talk about the lessons we were doing that day, she shared that she was nervous, she seemed to need reassurance in a way that she hadn't before. I shared that I was feeling nervous this week too- that I was feeling more pressure to teach curriculum and manage the kids. I listened to her, went over the lessons with her, and did my best to keep answering every question she had until she felt okay.
At the same time, I was watching the clock. I knew I had to get ready, knew I wasn't ready, and was starting to get worried about how to tell her I had to go without rejecting her or making her feel like she was taking my time. I ended up listening to her a bit more while also starting to prepare for the day. I think she picked up on this because she finished the conversation and headed back to her room.
I went into survival mode- preparing only for the lessons until recess, knowing that I would have time at recess to get ready for the rest of the day.
And then the phone rang.
I laughed out loud. Really, I did.
The phone only rings in the morning when something urgent comes up. It is often a parent calling about something or someone from the office calling to report that a teacher is out so we won't be having PE or Library. It is rare that the phone rings in the morning to bring good news. So I thought it was really fitting that just when I didn't have time to deal with something urgent, the phone was ringing to bring me something urgent.
It turned out to be the principal.
It turned out that I was getting a new student.
It turned out that it was a student who was new, to school- not our school, not third grade- school. Today was going to be their first day of school, ever.
I found this out after I agreed to take the new student. I found this out five minutes before school started. I was pissed.
I started school anyway and we made it through the day. But at the end of that day, I was done. No more helping others. No more doing what needed to be done. It was time for me to start taking care of me. It was time for me to make sure that my needs were met first and that if I had time, I could help others.
I closed my door right after our staff meeting that day. I didn't go to yoga because I didn't feel like it. And I stayed late, getting everything ready for my kids, no one else's.
I did the same thing the next day- planned for the whole week, made photocopies, got everything done, even earlier than my normal time. But instead of checking in with the other teacher, I decided to file and clean, and do stuff in my room that I had been wanting to do last week but couldn't.
I should have left that night feeling great. I was prepared, my room was clean, but I didn't feel great at all. I felt lost- like I hadn't gotten anything done. I just kept doing little things around the room, looking for a sense of completion or ease but nothing seemed to bring me any sense of satisfaction. I ended up leaving simply because it was five o'clock.
The next morning, I felt unprepared even though I had spent the afternoon getting ready for the lessons that day. When the new teacher stopped by, I half- talked to her, continuing to set up my class instead of actually listening to her. I considered telling her that I wasn't really a talker in the morning, that I needed that time to prepare, but then I thought she would never come back in again and I wanted her to feel like she could come in.
That afternoon, I decided that the reason I wasn't feeling prepared was because I didn't have time to really think about the lessons. I felt like what I really needed to do was look through the standards, reread my lessons, write them up, make them interesting, etc. I felt like it would help me and the kids (we were starting to fall apart a little bit- some of us were bored, others were freaking out by the new challenges, others had just found friends and things to talk about) if I could just immerse myself in the lesson plans.
I started to do this- I closed my door and looked over the lessons in reading that would fit with the book- when the new teacher walked in. She wanted to clarify what lessons I was teaching in reading that week and I had to tell her that I didn't know- that I was working on it right then. So we talked a bit about the lessons and I saw how overwhelmed she was by the curriculum and I remembered how confused I had been when they had given us the new curriculum last fall.
I paused. I knew that what I really wanted to do was be by myself- have a quiet time to think deeply and understand these lessons. But I also knew that I knew this curriculum from teaching it the year before and I knew that I could show it to her- explain its organization so that she'd at least have a foothold.
And so that's what I did. I showed her how it was organized, pulled out a few of the additional books that I used for homework and enrichment, and stayed with her until it seemed like she understood how it worked. She thanked me, and I could see from the look on her face that she felt much less overwhelmed, like maybe she could navigate these lessons and actually teach tomorrow.
After she left I looked at the clock. It was time to go, but I wasn't upset. I didn't feel like I had been taken advantage of or that my needs hadn't been met. I actually felt fine even though I wasn't prepared for the next day.
"Notice this," I said to myself. "Notice that you feel better when you help others and that you feel lost when you take care of yourself. I know it doesn't make sense, I know it's not what you want to do, but it's the truth of your experience. You just feel better when you feel like her needs are met. And all of the time you spend planning for what's going to happen tomorrow doesn't seem to make you feel more prepared when you show up the next day. Just notice that."
And so I did.
OK Cupid: It's just pictures and words
I was talking with my therapist about my experiences on OKCupid- how disappointed I was at not getting a message back, how it seemed like there weren't a lot of matches out there, but also that, if I want to be in a relationship, this is kind of what I have to do. I said that it felt like work to do all this, to send messages, to message back, to set up a meeting. I talked too about my fears about making my profile represent who I was and finding a balance between wanting to put my whole self out there but being afraid of the rejection I would face if I did.
"It's just pictures and words," she said. "That's all it is."
And it is.
All this is, is pictures of me and words. It's not who I am. No one is going to know me by seeing me on OKCupid. They won't know me or experience me until we meet in person. But I guess until that happens, I have to put up pictures of me, kind of advertising that this is who I am and that I'm hoping someone is interested in me. It's a weird thing to say. It's a weird thing to advertise. But it's also the truth: I want to be in a relationship. I don't want to advertise that or put myself out there in pictures and words but I'm trying this anyway.
The other thing we talked about is how I'm kind of protecting myself from this process by saying that I'm only doing it to keep my deal with my friend of having a date every other Saturday night. It may be true that that's what I used to originally get myself on OKCupid but it isn't really what I'm doing on there. I actually am wanting to connect with someone, I actually am hoping that someone will like me, that I'll be interested in them too, that we'll have a connection. That really is what I'm looking for- and that makes it harder for me. I'm looking seriously at people and feeling disappointed that I'm not finding someone to connect with. Or I am finding people and feeling afraid that if I do want to connect with them, and they don't want to connect with me, that I've lost my chance at relationship. But then I have to remember again: all this is, is pictures and words, all this is, is me reaching out, putting myself out there, and being willing to receive nothing in return- Ha! I can't truthfully say I'm willing to do that yet!
"It's just pictures and words," she said. "That's all it is."
And it is.
All this is, is pictures of me and words. It's not who I am. No one is going to know me by seeing me on OKCupid. They won't know me or experience me until we meet in person. But I guess until that happens, I have to put up pictures of me, kind of advertising that this is who I am and that I'm hoping someone is interested in me. It's a weird thing to say. It's a weird thing to advertise. But it's also the truth: I want to be in a relationship. I don't want to advertise that or put myself out there in pictures and words but I'm trying this anyway.
The other thing we talked about is how I'm kind of protecting myself from this process by saying that I'm only doing it to keep my deal with my friend of having a date every other Saturday night. It may be true that that's what I used to originally get myself on OKCupid but it isn't really what I'm doing on there. I actually am wanting to connect with someone, I actually am hoping that someone will like me, that I'll be interested in them too, that we'll have a connection. That really is what I'm looking for- and that makes it harder for me. I'm looking seriously at people and feeling disappointed that I'm not finding someone to connect with. Or I am finding people and feeling afraid that if I do want to connect with them, and they don't want to connect with me, that I've lost my chance at relationship. But then I have to remember again: all this is, is pictures and words, all this is, is me reaching out, putting myself out there, and being willing to receive nothing in return- Ha! I can't truthfully say I'm willing to do that yet!
OKCupid: getting a message
So, I got a message from someone today and I didn't know what to do. The first thing I saw on their profile was their: You should message me if.... you like tattoos and long hair.
I don't.
But then I thought about how this is about giving everything a chance, not letting your preferences limit you, being open to people beyond their appearances.
So then I looked more closely at their profile and they talked about wanting to be present, about meditating, about being open and curious to new things...
And I thought that I should respond, that I should set up a meeting in person, that I should look beyond those things that seemed to turn me off, to consider looking beyond their profile.
But as I read through their profile more, I saw a bunch of spelling mistakes (sorry, they aren't a deal breaker but they're also not a selling point for me) and I saw that none of their books or movie interests matched mine and then I looked at their photos.
They just didn't attract me- I just wasn't attracted to this person and I seemed not all that interested in their interests and the one thing they said I should message them about was something that I didn't really like.
"I think you're trying a little too hard to make this work," I thought to myself. "I know you want to be open but you're not helping anyone by pretending to be interested when you are not. You're not attracted, you're not interested, let it go."
Ad later, I realized, that though he messaged me, he probably wouldn't be all that interested in me either, if I wasn't in to tattoos and long hair. Who wants to go on a date with someone who is willing to "tolerate" you just so they can "see beyond your profile."
So I decided to not respond to his message. I didn't think he needed me to write back and say, "Sorry, I'm not interested," who needs that in their life?
And I guess this helps me to see why that first guy didn't respond to me- he just wasn't interested, that's all. Sometimes it happens, sometimes it doesn't, move on.
I don't.
But then I thought about how this is about giving everything a chance, not letting your preferences limit you, being open to people beyond their appearances.
So then I looked more closely at their profile and they talked about wanting to be present, about meditating, about being open and curious to new things...
And I thought that I should respond, that I should set up a meeting in person, that I should look beyond those things that seemed to turn me off, to consider looking beyond their profile.
But as I read through their profile more, I saw a bunch of spelling mistakes (sorry, they aren't a deal breaker but they're also not a selling point for me) and I saw that none of their books or movie interests matched mine and then I looked at their photos.
They just didn't attract me- I just wasn't attracted to this person and I seemed not all that interested in their interests and the one thing they said I should message them about was something that I didn't really like.
"I think you're trying a little too hard to make this work," I thought to myself. "I know you want to be open but you're not helping anyone by pretending to be interested when you are not. You're not attracted, you're not interested, let it go."
Ad later, I realized, that though he messaged me, he probably wouldn't be all that interested in me either, if I wasn't in to tattoos and long hair. Who wants to go on a date with someone who is willing to "tolerate" you just so they can "see beyond your profile."
So I decided to not respond to his message. I didn't think he needed me to write back and say, "Sorry, I'm not interested," who needs that in their life?
And I guess this helps me to see why that first guy didn't respond to me- he just wasn't interested, that's all. Sometimes it happens, sometimes it doesn't, move on.
Letting go of dokusan
About three hours after dokusan, I was walking down the street, thinking about dokusan, reliving the conversation we had had in my head, saying the things I wish I had said, noticing myself in dokusan and then I said to myself:
"What is it with you and dokusan? What is it that you have dokusan, and then it lingers, and just stays around and keeps hitting you long after dokusan is over? What is it that it keeps coming up and you keep thinking about it....
"Oh," it occurred to me, "You are thinking about it. Like, that's what you're doing right now. You are keeping it around. That is what is up with you and dokusan. You keep letting it come up. You keep thinking about it. You're the one who's letting it linger, you're letting it stay."
"Darnit," I said and took a breath.
"What is it with you and dokusan? What is it that you have dokusan, and then it lingers, and just stays around and keeps hitting you long after dokusan is over? What is it that it keeps coming up and you keep thinking about it....
"Oh," it occurred to me, "You are thinking about it. Like, that's what you're doing right now. You are keeping it around. That is what is up with you and dokusan. You keep letting it come up. You keep thinking about it. You're the one who's letting it linger, you're letting it stay."
"Darnit," I said and took a breath.
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