A constant buzzing of self-blame

A friend called yesterday and left me a voice message.

It was a pretty straight-forward, not-at-all-detailed "Could you call me? I need to talk to you about something" message.

My brain did what I'm realizing it always does. It thought:

What did I do wrong?

Did I say something wrong?

Is she upset with me?

My instinct was to avoid calling her.

Stuff my fingers in my ears and sing, "Lalalalalalala."

If I don't call her, I won't ever have to find out (or deal with) what my brain says I did wrong. Because, you know, obviously I'm to blame for something.

But for the first time, I heard my brain as if it were separate from me. I observed this talk happening as if my brain were another "friend" berating me. And I thought,

Well, isn't that interesting?

Are you familiar with this pattern of self-doubt? Of self-questioning? Of negative self-talk?

I'm rather familiar with it. And I'm pretty sure it fuels and feeds bigger issues — such as my perfectionistic needs, and therefore my tendency to procrastinate. If I don't start something, I can't do it wrong. Of course, if I wait to start something (because inevitably at some point I do have to begin) and attack it close to deadline, then I drive myself batty because I know I can't produce "perfection."

So my brain turns that frustration inward.

Working last-minute again?

Now you'll never get it right.

Stupid.

I'm really tired of this pattern my brain and I have got going. We need a new relationship.

While I could spend hours (in or out of therapy) bantering about the reason why my brain does this, I'm not sure that's actually helpful here. No matter the "why," in the end, I have to make a choice to react differently. To relate differently.

As Sharon Salzberg wrote in her recent On Being blog post, "The Proliferation of All That Will Ever Be," it's easy to blame ourselves "for things we cannot control, rather than being empowered by what we can control, and how we relate to those thoughts that have arisen in our minds."

She adds:

While we might have some control of our lifestyle choices, relationships, jobs, and more, we can’t actually create or stop certain feelings from coming up. The real sense of freedom and empowerment in our lives is not from the fact that we can think or feel whatever we want, but that we can relate differently to the things we do think or feel.

It's not an easy task. But for right here, right now, I think I'll start by calling my friend.

Awakening connections

I try to pay attention to signs.

Not just stop signs, and yield signs, and "Ice Cream Cones Available Here" signs, but the less-overt signs of our lives.

The kind of signs that tap you on the shoulder repeatedly in what feels like 1) somewhat magical ways or 2) "why the hell does this keep showing up?" ways.

For years after my grandmother — a collector of bird figurines and funny little decorative plates and the like — died, I saw feathered creatures everywhere. Bluebird paperweights, and Tweety stickers, and woodpeckers knocking on the side of my house. I journeyed with a shaman and my spirit guide was an owl. I'd dream often of flying, soaring, diving. I'm sure it was her way of staying present in my life.

Over the past few months, I've found myself in situations saying out loud:

I love making connections.

Usually the phrase comes out of my mouth after I introduce two individuals in a social situation. (Side note: I absolutely adore this piece in Storyline on a better way to introduce your friends at parties. Give it a read, and try it out?) Sometimes it's simply e-connecting two folks who I think might benefit from knowing one another for personal or professional reasons.

Most recently, this happened in Denver at a 10 Letters Project event run by the amazing Jen Lee, which I attended with up-until-then-online-only-friend Jill of A Thousand Shades of Gray. (Meeting peeps who you've communicated with only online for months or years in person still blows my mind a little.)

I was giddy with the opportunity at Jen's event to introduce two friends I'd nudged into coming: photographer and designer Rebecca (who took the photos of me on this site) and film director Zach. They're creatives who do stunning work, both of whom I'd met originally in my hometown of Colorado Springs, but whose lives had never intersected (and who had both moved to Denver in recent years).

I introduced them. We all chatted. There were laughs. And smiles. I said out loud:

I love making connections.

And this time I felt something in my skin. An electricity. An embodied giddiness.

A physical sign, of something that, if I'm honest with myself, I've been dancing with for years.

I've been thinking a lot lately about what I want this blog to evolve into. Who I want to evolve into. What I will enjoy doing and what will benefit you, my readers, the most.

I know at its core, it has to be about making connections. Awakening connections. Even though I don't know exactly what that means yet. Or how to build a business/career/life out of that, if it's even possible.

I do know, however, that it's not just a person to person thing for me. When I think about connections more broadly, I know that I also love helping people connect to a greater sense of self — whether through teaching restorative yoga or recommending books, or through posts like Sunday sadhana. I also thrive on helping people connect to the larger world around them, through storytelling here on the blog and in other venues, in particular about my travels or social issues.

In the weeks to come, I'm planning for some new blog series. I'm also dropping a number of the affiliate programs I've been a part of over the past year or so that I don't feel are a fit anymore.

I'm still working out the details, but I'm excited to see what unfolds. I hope you'll join me for the journey, and let me know not only what you think, but tell me: What signs have you been noticing in your life? And have you made any shifts as a result?

For you, from me, with love - 4/16

[dropcap custom_class="normal"] E[/dropcap]ye candy: Do you love the skin you're in?

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I'm really digging Nobel laureate Herta Muller's speech on The Space Between Languages.

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And also these words from Bernadette Jiwa: "The artist’s mission is to communicate beauty and also to help people connect with that beauty —and through doing so they connect with themselves. People don’t buy into your platform. They buy into the difference that you make."

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This story about a 13-year-old eagle huntress in Mongolia (with freakin' amazing photos) has been all over the Interwebs today. And for good reason.

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Oh, hey. When the French clock off at 6 p.m., they mean it. (Why again am I not living in France?)

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Fascinating NYT article on how digital media is changing the fashion industry.

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Some macro-photographed snails. Yes, really.

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A beautiful short film about bubbles and life and death. And more bubbles.

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And last but in no way least ...

For my friend Amber who is a rock-star runner heading to Boston this weekend, and all the other marathoners, this video. It'll probably make you tear up. That's OK. Crying is a good thing.

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Thought for a Thursday: Shine

[dropcap custom_class="normal"] "O [/dropcap]ur deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us.

We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?

Actually, who are you not to be? ... There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do.

... And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same.

As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”

From A Return to Love, by Marianne Williamson

Beating myself up

[dropcap custom_class="normal"] T [/dropcap]his morning at my usual coffee shop a guy asked if he could share my table. It was a wide four-top, and while I tend to spread out, I certainly didn’t need all the space, so I said sure. I kept working on my laptop. Until the table began to shake lightly.

I glanced up. My tablemate had his cup of joe in one hand, his cell phone in the other. He was listening to music through some (really big) headphones – and tapping to the beats on the table.

I was annoyed.

I mumbled in my head.

I felt myself getting worked up.

I complained on Facebook about it. (I do love social media. Instant support!)

After about fifteen minutes, I packed up and left. (He was still there, apparently oblivious.)

And now, I’m kinda pissed at myself. It had been my table. My space he entered. (As much as a table at a coffee shop can be, at least.) And rather than say something to him, I retreated. What is it in some of us that keeps us from speaking up? That keeps us from standing our ground? Really, I should have been able to look up, catch his eye, and ask him (politely, of course) to (please) stop tapping the table. How hard would that have been?

But I couldn’t. I. Just. Couldn’t. I didn’t want to be seen as rude. Or bitchy. Or imposing on his activities. It was easier (at the time) to be all cranky about it, and ultimately, change not only my mood, but my plans.

I don’t want to be that person.

I want to be the person who has enough respect for herself that she can choose to be as important as those around her, and who can ask for what she needs in any situation.

I want to be the person who others respect, and who are willing to honor my needs, and consider my wants.

I want to be the person who can look conflict in the eye, no matter how big or how small, and come nose to nose with it.

I want to show up in my life. Every day. Every hour. Every minute. Every single moment.

Seems I have some work to do.