prose

Try Better, Not Harder

~ crazybuddhaful ~ Leave a comment

I read a post on Seth Godin’s blog a few days ago that’s stayed with me: Try Better. Maybe it’s not always about trying harder. Maybe if something isn’t working, forcing it isn’t the answer. I think the momentum or commitment or whatever it is that had me going has run out, or at least faded. I’ve fallen off exercising and posting everyday, but this doesn’t mean that I don’t want to keep trying these things anymore.

I think “failing” at something can be a seductive trap to just throw in the towel and say, fuck it, I knew I couldn’t do it. What we don’t realize, and maybe this is a willful kind of ignorance, is that one mistake doesn’t erase all the progress we’ve made. But bullying or shaming ourselves into constantly trying harder isn’t going to bring about the desired results either.

So, let’s try better. Truth be told, I’ve felt like a lot of my posts have feel forced because I committed to writing something everyday. If something didn’t come up naturally, I’d badger myself into trying harder. “You said you were gonna write something everyday. There you go foregoing your commitments as usual.” Or the more psychologically pernicious voice would come and try to coax me into writing something by using my fear of failure against me: “Are you so scared of failing that you can’t even put a few mental ramblings down? It’s okay, just get something down. You just need to try…harder.”

Trying better means taking the time to look at what’s going on with sober eyes. Accepting that something may not be working; that this “thing” that we want, may not be what we need. A whole new approach may need to be created…and it may actually end up being harder, but if we try better, it might not feel so tough.

Dead Battery

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I’m driving up to Big Sur this weekend to visit my friend at Esalen. In preparation, I went to get my car checked yesterday to make sure everything was in good condition. Last night when I got home, I went through the glove compartment to make sure my registration and insurance was in there. I turned on the little light in the middle and reminded myself, “You better fuckin’ remember to turn this thing off.” I have a tendency to forget to do that. Also, last week, I left my lights on while at a Dodgers game, and when I tried to start the car to leave, my battery was dead. So in light of this recent occurrence, it was especially important that I not forgot. Also, since the distress from that experience is still pretty fresh, I figured there’s no way I would forgot.

Skip to this morning. We have a one car garage and P’s car was blocking mine, so I moved it out of the way and got into my car. Click, click, click, click, click. What the?! Yes, you guessed it. Immediately:

Oh…my…god…
You forgot to turn off the fuckin’ light!
You’re such a fuckin’ idiot.
What the hell is wrong with you?!
Is this battery done now? I’m going to have to buy a new fuckin’ battery. There goes another couple hundred down the drain.

I want to cry. I cried. I hate myself. I hate my life. I’m supposed to be at my parent’s house right now to take care of my Dad while my mom takes care of an errand. I feel like this is a sick joke. One fucked up situation stacked on top of another, and it won’t stop. A Jenga master has control of my life and they’re just racking it up.

A shit ton of mindful breaths and a call to AAA later…I’m here. It’s okay. It happened. I’m not an idiot. Yes, I did a very stupid, careless thing, but that does not in and of itself make me some incompetent worthless creature. AAA is coming. Shit happens, but that does not mean that I am shit. I’m not shit. I’m human. I still want to cry and I probably will, but there is a tiny part of me inside that knows it’s okay. I need to be open to that part and let it do its thing instead of drowning it out with all the pernicious, negative thoughts that want to rule this world inside of my head.

May I be at ease.
May I know that I am worthy.
May I feel that I am good enough.

Eat, Pray, Shut Up

~ crazybuddhaful ~ 4 Comments

I’m currently reading Eat, Pray, Love. To be completely honest, I’m kind of embarrassed to be reading this book. I even made a book cover out of a market bag (high school styles) so I could read it in public and not feel judged. Here’s the thing – Elizabeth Gilbert started coming out on a lot of podcasts I listen to and from what I’ve heard, I really like her, and what she has to say really resonates with me. But I have this problem with things that gain a certain level of mass appeal and popularity. Basically, I think there must be something wrong with whatever the thing is if that much of the public can appreciate it…because I think the public is generally stupid. I mean let’s just take a look at the current presidential election. Actually, let’s not…when I think about what’s going on, it just melts my mind. And heart.

Back to Eat, Pray, Love. I believe my curiosity was piqued back when the book first gained momentum, but books that get on Oprah’s bookclub or become movies starring Julia Roberts just confirm my decision to stay away. Yes, I can be quite judgmental and haughty at times. But after I heard some interviews with her, I realized that perhaps I had misjudged the situation.  Although I was most interested in reading her latest book (Big Magic – Creative Living Beyond Fear), I happened upon a used copy of you know what at the library for $1. So I got it…and I love it (and admitting that still makes me cringe a little…I guess I still have a lot of that judgmental me I need to purge).

I just read this part where she commits to talking less: “No more scurrying, gossiping, joking. No more spotlight-hogging or conversation-dominating. No more verbal tap-dancing for pennies of affirmation. It’s time to change.” She then promptly and ironically gets her work detail changed (this is the part where she’s staying at an Ashram in India) to “Key Hostess.” This prompts her to realize that “if God wanted me to be a shy girl with thick, dark hair, He would have made me that way, but He didn’t. Useful, then, might be to accept how I was made and embody myself fully therein.”

I, too, suffer from verbal promiscuity. I talk too much and I say more than I know I should, mostly because I think it will get someone to like me a little bit more. I attempt to barter my words for incremental, and rarely ever expressed, increases in affection. I guess deep down inside, or maybe not even that deep, I just want people to like me and I think that if I say something funny or interesting, it’ll win their affection. Sometimes I’ll repeat petty gossip, but other times, against my better judgment, I’ll disclose more substantive material told to me in confidence because I think it’ll show the listener that I think they’re important enough for me to break my pledge of confidence. This in turn will, you guessed it, get them to like me more…but in reality, all it probably does is just show them that I can’t be trusted with a secret.

I’ve often fantasized about being the kind of person that is quiet, yet possesses an undeniable presence. The strong, quiet type who isn’t concerned about what others think of him or her. The first part will most likely never be me. I’m loud and can be opinionated to the brink of obnoxiousness. But I do think it’s possible for me to get to a place where I’m not so concerned about how others perceive me. Basically, I need to accept how I was made and feel secure enough to embody myself fully therein. I don’t need to say that offensive joke to capture the room’s attention. I don’t need to make that nasty remark about someone I know you don’t like to try to build a bond between us. I don’t need to keep spewing words that aren’t even really in line with how I truly feel inside to stand out, to get attention, to get people to like me.

I am good. I am fine. I am perfect(ly imperfect).

From the Archive: House of Cards (2006)

~ crazybuddhaful ~ Leave a comment

It was as if he picked up her house and shook it furiously, uprooting everything from its place. She had never seen so much crap–and she had never seen so clearly. She knew that things could never be put back the way they were.
What do you do when someone comes in and makes a list of your flaws, a list so long it extends further than the length of your being? Just places it apathetically in front of you, in black and white. You slowly go down the list and feel the sharp sting of truth in every item just staring boldly back at you. Things you had carefully hidden. Things you’d gone to such care to hide, even from, or especially from, yourself, so that you were convinced they no longer existed.

How did he find that? I locked it away so deeply I couldn’t even see it anymore.

But he had found it. He found everything. Knew everything, remembered everything. She hated that the most. Sometimes, she couldn’t even remember her last sentences. Sentences that made him so angry but she couldn’t understand why, for she had already forgotten what was said. Therein lied the problem. He remembered everything while she remembered nothing. They were from different worlds really, but they were made of the same soul.