It's Love!

For most of my life, my attitude towards cars has been: "they are tools." I have picked my cars for 1. reliability, 2. ability to get me around in conditions like snow & bad roads, 3. ability to haul stuff, and 4. gas mileage.

For the most part, my cars have delivered on this. With one exception, I've bought them used and then driven them for at least 10 years. My current Subaru (the second I've owned) is now 19 years old and going strong.

So you can see, I buy cars with my head. I've never bought a car with my heart.

It's all different now. On a recent trip to California, I needed to rent a car. Of course I chose the "economy" option. But when I arrived at the rental desk, they were out of those cars. We then held this conversation:
Clerk: "Would you drive a van?"
Me: "What? No! I don't want to drive a van!"
Clerk: "How about an SUV?"
Me: "I really wanted a car that gets good gas mileage."
Clerk, after hesitating a bit: "Well . . . um . . . we do have a Mini Cooper."
Me: "YES!"

So I got to drive a Mini Cooper for five days.

And I fell. in. love. Hard.

Is it a reliable car? I have no idea. Can it drive in snow? I doubt it. Can you haul things in it? (Laughs).

It does go really far on one tank of gas. I don't even know how far. In five days of driving, including one day where I went from Burbank up to Ojai and then to Santa Barbara, I used a quarter tank.

But who cares? Because what this car is, is FUN.

Once you get off the freeways, most of the roads along the coast in California are narrow and winding. The Mini took to those roads like it was born for no other purpose. It was sheer joy to drive it up and down those narrow, twisty roads. I laughed out loud a lot.

And it's CUTE. I mean, it is ADORABLE. People on the side of the road broke out into big smiles when they saw it, and waved at me. Other Mini drivers get even more excited when they see you. It's like they want to get out and hug you and say "you know! You know what it's like! Isn't it FUN?"

I seriously thought about cancelling my flight home and driving back so I could have two more days with the Mini. I hated to say good-bye.

Guess what my next car will be.

Lots of News!

Been a while since I got on here! Let's see, what's gone on:

The hardbound copy of my dissertation arrived, which was a big thrill.

I've been working steadily since the end of February (major reason that I haven't blogged). I'm enjoying the work and the opportunity to work with someone I used to work with at my last full-time job, a lady I thoroughly like. We work very well together and so far it's going beautifully. Thank goodness for Skype - she's on the East Coast, but with Skype we can share desktops and work through stuff together in real time.

I've also been going forward on the book. I went to a writer's conference at my school last weekend which energized me tremendously but also made me realize I basically need to rewrite it in a new way - including a new chapter to deal with an insight that came up during the conference which is HUGE and I think will be a very exciting part of the book for all the folks who are interested in the Heroine's Journey. But of course it means a lot more work for me. I have a date with one of the professors who was on my committee to go to Orcas Island where she lives and spend an afternoon debating/discussing the issue I'll cover in the chapter.

I also came down wrong on my left foot after missing a step on my way to the bathroom at 5 am at the conference and broke a bone. It's called a "Jones fracture" and is notorious for taking a lot longer to heal unless you absolutely do NOT put any weight on it whatsoever. This was NOT the advice I was given at the urgent care clinic (by a PA who appeared to be about 15), so I walked around on it for several days before I got in at Virginia Mason where Dr. Reeves was horrified to hear how I'd been treated. Fortunately new X-rays showed the bone was still nicely in place, so I just lost a week of healing time. I'm now in a knee-high stiff boot for protection and getting around on a kneeling scooter (great invention) and crutches in places where the scooter can't go. My older brother and his wife have taken me in for the duration, as I really can't be all on my own. It's upsetting, but I'm coping.

Mandu the cat is very happy that I'm here. And I have plenty of time to write!

Please send good vibes that Dr. Reeves will be so happy with my healing when I see him in 3 weeks that I'll get a walking boot/cast. We head back to California Memorial day weekend for my graduation, and I really don't want to do that on crutches!

How to Close Your Own Mind

I've talked before about the friendly arguments I have with those who are convinced that science is the only valid way to look at the world. I prefer these to the arguments I have with those who are convinced that their religion is the only truth, or those who are convinced that their particular cause in life is the only important one. Scientists at least tend to recognize that a theory is just that, and are (usually) open to the idea that a new theory could come along that includes those things they can't explain using the old theory.

Probably it comes down to how invested a person is in being "right" or "wrong." I'm not. I've always had the kind of mind that enjoys different opinions. I'm more interested in why people differ than in picking a side. I've been called names for this: fence-sitter, wishy-washy, too easily swayed, etc. But I think the opposite is true. There seem to be a lot of folks out there who think that to even listen to a different opinion is too dangerous to contemplate, but I have no trouble listening to it or talking about it without buying into it. I know what I think. More importantly, I know why I think it. My upbringing and life experiences have conditioned me to think in certain ways. I try to be aware of my own biases when encountering new ideas - to be aware that I'm not going to agree with a viewpoint that doesn't fit with mine, but not let that stop me from trying to understand that different viewpoint.

In grad school we had to read a lot of different opinions. I think this was good for my brain. In the first year, I actually felt like it was stretching. There were days when I felt like my brain no longer fit in my skull. (Very weird feeling.) But after a while, it became much easier.

What was really going on was that I was making new synapses. There's a relatively new concept out there called "neuroplasticity." The idea is that the way our brains work depends in part on how we use them. We can actually rewire our brains just as we can train our muscles, by practice. That's why it's so good for people to play games. If you do the crossword puzzle every day, your ability to use and remember words gets practiced; if you play Tetris, your ability to recognize shapes and react quickly to them is enhanced.

This also means that if you only practice one thing, you'll become single-minded. This happened to Charles Darwin, who wrote:
“I have said that in one respect my mind has changed dur­ing the last twenty or thirty years. Up to the age of thirty, or beyond it, poetry of many kinds, such as the works of Mil­ton, Gray, Byron, Wordsworth, Coleridge, and Shel­ley, gave me great plea­sure, and even as a school­boy I took intense delight in Shake­speare, espe­cially in the his­tor­i­cal plays. I have also said that for­merly pic­tures gave me con­sid­er­able, and music very great delight. But now for many years I can­not endure to read a line of poetry: I have tried lately to read Shake­speare, and found it so intol­er­a­bly dull that it nau­se­ated me. I have also almost lost my taste for pic­tures or music. Music gen­er­ally sets me think­ing too ener­get­i­cally on what I have been at work on, instead of giv­ing me plea­sure. I retain some taste for fine scenery, but it does not cause me the exquis­ite delight which it for­merly did. . . . My mind seems to have become a kind of machine for grind­ing gen­eral laws out of large col­lec­tions of facts, but why this should have caused the atro­phy of that part of the brain alone, on which the higher tastes depend, I can­not con­ceive. A man with a mind more highly organ­ised or bet­ter con­sti­tuted than mine, would not, I sup­pose, have thus suf­fered; and if I had to live my life again, I would have made a rule to read some poetry and lis­ten to some music at least once every week; for per­haps the parts of my brain now atro­phied would thus have been kept active through use. The loss of these tastes is a loss of hap­pi­ness, and may pos­si­bly be inju­ri­ous to the intel­lect, and more prob­a­bly to the moral char­ac­ter, by enfee­bling the emo­tional part of our nature.”

I'm watching the same thing happen to a friend who used to delight in the "intangible" aspects of life. But in recent years he has got hold of a theory that he thinks explains everything about the world. Those things it doesn't explain are "bullshit." He reads only works that confirm his theory and vehemently argues with anyone who puts forward a different idea until the person gives up and goes away.

That seems to be the fate when someone gets a fixed idea. As Darwin noted, the other parts of their brain atrophy to the point that they really cannot understand a different idea. They don't have the muscles for it.

I hope that my friend re-learns how to use those parts of his brain, and soon, because I miss playing with him.

Living in the Now vs. Living in the Future

I just listened to a fascinating "TED" talk* about how language affects people's ability to save money. You can listen to it here. Keith Chen, a behavioral economist, found that people who speak a "futured" language, like English in which you can say "it will rain tomorrow" instead of Mandarin or German in which you can only say "rain tomorrow," are less likely to be able to save money. Chen conducted an enormous survey of world cultures and contrasted families that were alike in every way -- even living in the same country -- except one family spoke a futured language and one did not. The ones who spoke the futured language not only did not save as much money, they were more likely to smoke and engage in risky sexual behaviors (futured-language speakers have higher rates of HIV).

Chen's theory is that a futured language causes us to think differently about the future. For English speakers and other speakers of a futured language, the future is a separate thing, cut off from us in time. For those who speak a non-futured language, there's no such separation. We can think in terms like "live for today, for tomorrow never comes," but that idea makes no sense in a non-futured language where tomorrow is part of today.

And so we are worse at delaying gratification. We have trouble saving or exercising or passing up that drink or that chocolate cake today, because in our minds, tomorrow might never come; we might never get another chance! But a person for whom the future is part of the now doesn't have that fear.

This explains why AA works; they tell people NOT to think about the future, but "live one day at a time." Each day, a sober alcoholic says "I won't have a drink today," and doesn't think about tomorrow. They live in the now; they live in a non-futured world. My Weight Watchers leader, who is a 12-stepper too, also encourages us to simply choose to stay on program today. Yes, it's a goal-oriented program, but for myself, I've found that it works better for me if I don't set a goal; if I stay focused only on what I'm doing today. Every time I set a goal or tell myself "I'm going to lose 10 more pounds by such-and-such a date" I  go backwards. I become resentful of having to "deprive" myself today for some future event. But it was only after listening to Chen's talk that I realized what I really resent is having to deprive myself forever. That is not true, but it's how my language makes me think: if I can't have it today, I may never have it, because the future never comes.

But I'm also aware of a kind of counter-movement that has been active for over one hundred years in this country, despite the fact that most would label it "New Age." Quite a few folks, including Joseph Campbell the famous mythologist, the entire "New Thought" religious movement, and most recently the people who brought you "The Secret," have tried to get people past this problem of seeing the future as something we're cut off from. Basically, they teach people how to use their imagination to overcome the mindset our language has forced us to adopt, so we can see the future as something we do have control over and can shape to our wishes depending on what we do right now.

Joseph Campbell's version of this is a German term, as alb. It means "as if." Campbell found there is huge power in living "as if" something you want in the future is true now. I was taught this by a counselor years ago; when I told him that I wished something was true that wasn't, he invited me to close my eyes and imagine that it was true, and just feel what that felt like. I protested for a bit but eventually he got me to try it. I still remember the amazing sense of vitality and power that coursed through my body. My counselor advised me to hold onto that feeling and to live my life as if the thing I desired were true. And it came true very quickly.

I learned a similar lesson in my singing. Once I could capture, even for a second, the way my body felt when I shaped a note correctly, I could do it again and again until it became habit. What I desired in the future became the reality of now.

Alas, you can do this in a negative way as well. I know someone who dreads the future, who is sure it will be very bad. His mind is always there instead of in the now, and it colors his life. And guess what? His fears have become his reality in several ways: he's recently been fired, and his marriage is in big trouble - all because of his negative attitude.

This is the challenge for us futured-language speakers: to somehow feel our way into a positive idea of the future so that we can make it our now. Since our language doesn't allow us to think that way, we have to make a leap of faith, an act of the imagination, to get ourselves there.



* All "TED" talks are fascinating. I highly recommend signing up for them.

Bravery

This last week I went to visit some good friends. At dinner one night the husband said he needed to "call" me on something. I braced myself, like you do, but it turned out that what he took issue with was that on more than one occasion I have said to him or his wife that "I am not as brave as you think I am."

People tell me a lot that they think I'm amazingly brave to have lived the life I do, which I suppose does look like I'm constantly launching myself into one new adventure after another, alone and with almost no resources besides myself. If I were wealthy (or better yet, had a doting husband bankrolling things) it wouldn't be that impressive, I suspect, but neither of those things are true. I just haven't let that lack stop me.

It doesn't feel like bravery to me, though, because I'm very well aware of the doubts and fears that have accompanied every new adventure. I'm terrified these days, in fact, because this great job that would have solved all my money problems has not materialized yet, and I'm watching my savings evaporate. Nothing scares a Capricorn more than not having money or a job, and I have neither. I've even started making a mental list of the people who are likely to offer me shelter if I can no longer afford rent, and thinking about what things I still own that I could sell.

But there's one thing I am pretty sure of, and that is that something will turn up. Because it always has. About every 15 years I seem to get into a really bad place financially, which is then followed by an entirely new career for me, and yes, it's because I've made changes to bring that new career about. I'm doing the same thing now, and so I accept that this rough patch is just part of that process.

What I tried to tell this friend is that when I say I'm not as brave as people think, I'm not saying that I don't think I'm brave. Lack of money scares me more than anything, as I said above--and it occurs to me that not only am I a Capricorn, but I was raised by parents who went through the Depression and in my mom's case lost everything, and both of them can only feel comfy if they have a huge cushion of savings, an attitude which I have absorbed as well. And yet it doesn't stop me, so yeah, when it comes to facing your biggest fears, I'm an ace warrior.

What is hardest for me is doing it all alone. Oh yes, plenty of people "support" me, in terms of encouragement and applause for what I achieve. But I do wish, quite often, that I had the doting  husband with a fat bankroll. That someone else would be my champion and fight that fear for me. But so far that's been my fate. Even when I was married, I was on my own (a major reason why I'm no longer married, because I think marriage partners really ought to be champions for each other, and mine wasn't). So it's not that I fear to do this stuff, I told my friend; it's that I'm really, really tired of having to do it by myself. He took his wife's hand and said "I don't know how people do that." Then he asked me how I bear the hard times without giving in to depression. I told him I have my moments, but over the years I've learned how to stay positive and stop the negative thoughts.

That includes accepting that there will be tough times. I like to say that "transitions suck" and I know that a difficult patch occurs whenever I make a transition in what I do for a living. It seems I really do have to lose my old living each time. I've been trying to hang on to my old editor persona while creating a new writer/teacher one, and it seems I can't. I've been feeling stuck and unable to move forward, and I'm starting to wonder if this seemingly wonderful job offer was just the universe's way of testing my resolve. The universe is a used-car salesman that likes to see if it can sucker you into buying your same old car back (with a new coat of paint perhaps) first. You have to stay firm and say "no" until the universe gives up and magically "remembers" the cherry new car out back that is not only perfect but has a much lower sticker price.

I've learned this lesson many times, so now it doesn't feel at all brave to say "no, that's not good enough," it just feels . . . wise.

Mindfulness

My new thing (apart from turning my dissertation into a book, which is chugging along slowly) is mindfulness. I've been reading about how this simple practice is not only a nice form of meditation for everyone, it's been proven to actually rewire the brain in a good way. Which means it can help people recover from trauma or addiction. It's even been shown to help with attention deficit and hyperactivity. So for those of us who are just normally neurotic--about 80 percent of the population--it's an awesome thing!

I always had this idea that the goal of meditation was to go into a trance and stay there long enough for something amazing to happen--a glimpse of the glorious and perfect unity of all that various disciplines label enlightenment or satori or what-have-you. Or perhaps, allow one to have a moment of clarity that makes life much easier. Or at the very least, get into a state where you get a break from the constant gerbil-on-a-wheel circling of your own thoughts.

So I was surprised when I studied Buddhism to find that mindfulness is something much more basic than that, and actually the opposite of what I thought. Instead of putting yourself into a deep trance below the level of conscious thought, the goal is to become hyperaware of your own thoughts and feelings, and then just watch them at work.

Which raises the question that the Buddha also raised: who is it, exactly, who is watching me think? He realized that we all have the ability to step away from ourselves, as it were, and become objective, "non-attached" to all the things our thoughts insist are so important. (That's what he means by non-attachment, by the way--it's not that you don't want things, you're just aware of the fact that you want them, and you can choose whether or not to indulge that want.) So there must be a part of us that is beyond ego, that can rise above the urges of the ego and the body. He called that the Self.

What you do is just sit and observe. You notice your feelings, but you don't tell yourself a story about them. This is hugely important. The stronger our feelings, the more we want to explain them to ourselves. That's what feelings do for us, they urge us to action. We feel sad, we seek comfort; we feel angry, we want to punish someone, etc. But in mindfulness practice, you stop right there. All you do is say to yourselves "I'm sad right now." No story. Because the other thing a story does is perpetuate the feeling. We all know people who tell the same story over and over and whip themselves into the same feelings each time. Including ourselves.

But you can choose not to do this. And that's what rewires the brain. Every time you consciously stop at the point of noticing your feelings and not thinking out the same story, the brain gets reconditioned. Eventually the story loses its power. And since it's a two-way street (the feeling triggers the story, the story triggers the feeling), the feeling loses its power too. Any feeling we have will naturally pass in about 90 seconds if we don't consciously try to perpetuate it by telling ourselves a story about it.

Buddhist monks actually get to the point where they can stop the process in its tracks before there's a bodily feeling at all. That takes a lot of practice. Most of us, though, can get to  the point where we can stop things from spiraling in just a few moments.

There's a huge payoff for doing this. I woke up at 2 am--like you do--last night because I had a lot on my mind. I tossed & turned for a bit before turning on the light to read as a way of getting my mind to stop circling endlessly over the same thoughts. Fortunately, the book by my bed was neuropsychologist Marsha Lucas's Rewire Your Brain for Love, a fluffy title disguising a well-written discussion of the science of mindfulness. I opened it right to an exercise, and thought, what better time to try it? So I turned out the light, lay back down, and followed the exercise.

The first thing she teaches you is just how to calm down and sit quietly so that you can notice your thoughts and feelings. In the exercise I turned to, you do that and then simply name all the feelings you are having without telling yourself any story about them. I noticed that I was anxious. I noticed that I was angry and hurt (hard not to go into the story on that one, but I managed to back away from focusing on the person who had triggered those feelings and get back to just concentrating on the feelings. I noticed I was also sad, and I got a little into that story too and started to cry. But I managed to back away from that again.

Instead, I started noticing where these feelings were in my body and how they felt. The anger was clenched in my neck and shoulders, while the hurt and sadness made my heart feel heavy. (There are physiological reasons for this--emotional pain can in fact make your heart swell!) So then I concentrated on releasing those feelings. I did the standard practice of breathing into the feeling and then breathing them out of my body with each exhalation.

And in about two minutes my body was clear of all feeling. I hadn't replaced the bad feelings with good ones, as we try to do when we seek the thing that we think will comfort us when we're in distress. I don't know a feeling word that explains it. The best word I can come up with is clear. Clear like a sky where the clouds have all moved off, or better yet, clear like water after it's been filtered to remove contaminants.

I also had a sense of energy. Which makes sense, thinking about it this morning. Instead of tying all my energy up in feelings and stories, I had freed it to be used any way I chose. I lay there for some time just enjoying this sensation of clearness and potential, because I wanted to lock in that sensation in my body, to make it easier for me to get back to it whenever I want. I also had the sense that this free energy is a healing energy, and I wanted to bathe in that for a while.

(No doubt I'd just managed to release a bunch of endorphins.)

This is where mindfulness can take you: a place where you can heal and make a new start. From there it's all up to you. If you're so inclined, you can, I suppose, just stay in that place of "no-thing" (no feeling, no stories) until, like the Buddha, you do start to see further into the workings of the universe. But I'm guessing this is also the place where you can "set intentions" and focus energy in positive directions.

I did that this morning as soon as I got up. Here's the other cool thing about mindfulness practice: you can do it any time, for only a few minutes at a time. But I can tell already that I'll be wanting regular doses of that experience of clearness, and that I'll try to stay in that place for a while each time I get there.

But now I have to get on with my day, because I have a new sense of purpose about all the things I'm trying to accomplish in my life, and I want to ride that wave!

A Few of My Favorite Things

I love the December holiday season. I love the lights, I love the music, I love the smells, I love the food . . . I even enjoy the crowds in the stores. Admittedly, I'm one of those folks who does her shopping early, which goes a long way towards making the holidays less stressful. I'll travel to Seattle a couple of days early and won't head home until traffic has settled down again.

Here's a few of the things I particularly love about this time of year:

- the fact that most people have lights on their houses. Up north where I live, daylight hours are few in winter. I'd like to see the lights go up after Halloween and stay up until Valentine's Day, myself - they're so cheerful!

- Christmas trees. They're just magical. When I was a kid, I used to sneak into the living room after everyone had gone to bed, turn on the tree lights, and lie on the floor looking at it and drinking in the wonderful smell. I buy a Noble fir every year from a local tree farm and have a collection of crystal ornaments, each one of which I love, to hang on it. I feel sad every year when it's time to take the tree down and haul it to the local facility that chops them up and puts them in their compost.

- Christmas baking. Every year I make Suzanne Q's buttermilk cranberry bread. It's the yummiest sweet bread I've ever tasted. Suzanne was a cook at the Antarctica station for a year; I think she made this recipe up. I make two big loaves - one for the family Christmas breakfast - and a whole bunch of little ones to give away as gifts. It also makes the house smell heavenly.

- Watching "The Nutcracker" and "A Christmas Carol." Usually we go out to one or the other in the theater. This year they've been showing a whole series of different performances of "The Nutcracker" on TV - the Bolshoi, the Royal Ballet of London, etc. - and I've watched them all. They should have included the Seattle version with the Maurice Sendak sets and costumes! My favorite bit is when the tree grows; I get a thrill every single time. As for "A Christmas Carol," I can almost recite it word for word.

- Christmas movies. The best is "It's a Wonderful Life," because Jimmy Stewart is so amazing as George Bailey. I love the scene where his brother comes home with a new wife and Jimmy, in about 30 seconds, convey's George's realization that his brother is NOT going to take over and let George leave Bedford Falls, his despair, and then his determination not to let his disappointment show to his family. Fantastic acting. I laugh every time George yells "Zuzu's petals! Zuzu's petals!" and runs gleefully off into the snowstorm, and I always cry at the end. I also like to watch "Love Actually," "The Family Stone," and "The Polar Express." This year I have DirectTV, and I've been watching silly Christmas movies on the Lifetime and Hallmark channels. They all pretty much have the same plot - two people who are lonely/with the wrong people find each other, usually with help from Santa or an elf or some other form of "Christmas magic." I watched one the other day that shamelessly used the plot from "Pride and Prejudice," but since they replaced Darcy, Bingley, and the officers with hunky search & rescue guys in Montana, I did not care one bit.

- Christmas concerts. Every five years we perform "The Messiah," and I never get tired of it. This was an off year so we did the Vivaldi "Gloria" instead, and I never get tired of that one either. I also participated in an annual concert where our local a capella jazz group, Wild Rose Chorale, sings several songs themselves, then brings in children's choirs and finally a bunch of folks from the community to sing some rousing finales. The audience gets to sing along on a couple of songs, which people always love. This year they added a bell choir. The venue is a beautiful old church decorated to the nines. If I'm not in the Christmas mood by the time of this concert, it always gets me there.

- and finally, I love Christmas at my family's home. The house is in the "chalet" style with 14-foot windows in the living room that look out over Lake Washington, the Seattle skyline, and the Olympics beyond. There's a huge river rock fireplace we built ourselves out of rock we hauled home in the old Rambler station wagon from the Tolt River. It's the perfect place for Christmas.