Writing Fling #8: Changes in appearance

Part 8 in 2015's writing experiment.

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It was usually the eyes that got him first. Shining in the dark. From the eyes he could start to make out the rest of the face. The distinguishing marks. The creases. The signs that a life had been lived. That experiences had been felt, and feelings timely felt.

He made judgements based on these observations, and they were not always right. Were they useful? Only as a starting point. A stake in the ground to start the negotiations. Starting and stating was as important an act as any, even if he got it wrong. He knew his thought process well enough to be aware and flexible in his judgements and quickly formed conclusions.

He would then make his second move, towards the face, the person actually. Sometimes physical movement. Sometimes through words. Always with compassion and gentleness. And humility.

As his words were slowly received by the recipient they would gently become receptive, disarmed even. The shape of their face would change; tension would be removed. They may even start to speak. To reveal a little of their truth. The fact was the journey was usually long; the journey to trust. And it was never fully arrived at. But bit by bit they would open up. Reveal. Expose.

A remarkable thing would start to happen during this process. People's faces would drastically change. It was not a physical change. Or perhaps it was. Sometimes people started twitching less. Allowed their smiles to appear with less constraint, less consideration. Tension would lift from their eyebrows and forehead. It was an actual physical change.

The change he noticed most was more about how he understood their face. The grooves, twitches, bumps. As people talked, the story of their faces made sense and became rich and deep. He developed affection for them. Their faces became beautiful as they revealed themselves. They may have been attractive or unattractive, it did not matter. As much as they were willing to reveal themselves, and connect with him, was the level to which their beauty came forth. 

Heard

Last night I had the privilege of attending a men's group in Melbourne. There is something happening with men that I think is important and special. It has been going on for quite some time thanks to conversations encouraged by people like Robert Bly, Joseph Campbell, Steve Biddulph, and Brene Brown. Men are tapping into different parts of themselves, the full range of their experience, from vulnerability to wildness, and learning how to express this.

Over the past few days I have been in listening mode. I have interviewed some people for my podcast. I have caught up with friends. And each interaction has somehow led to me doing more listening than talking.

I am okay with this. I like listening and think I am reasonably skilled at it. However sometimes I know I need to talk. And last night, after listening to some of the other men, I knew I needed to talk.

So I talked. About grief and pain and what I had been feeling over the past week and the past 18 months.

And to my joy and soothing, they held space for me. They listened. Allowed me to cry and curse and splutter my torrent of emotions. They did not try to offer suggestions. They did not try to take the pain away. They did not try to fix anything.

Sometimes that is all that is needed. To give somebody the gift of talking themselves out. Talking without logic or coherence or request. I like offering that to others. I like receiving that for myself.

When in doubt, for a moment stop.

I was not good at woodwork at school. I have no idea why this was the case - I am pretty good with my hands, and have even managed to make my own dining room table (still standing after 6 years of hard use). For some reason though, I was always trying to make the thing I was suppose to make, rather than the thing I wanted to make.

Anyway, for all my anguish in woodwork class my teacher did leave me with one pearl of wisdom. He told us students that if, while we were cutting a piece of wood with a saw or plane or chisel, we got a hunch or were worried that we were going off course, that we should tell our hand to stop straight away, and if it failed to listen to us, to take our other hand and force it to stop.

With woodwork, once the wood is cut away it is very difficult to get back into place. Taking a moment to assess the situation before proceeding is the best way to minimise damage.

I am a big fan of the lean way of working - test and learn, progress in small steps with a tight feedback loop, experiment. I am not writing to counter this wisdom.

I am writing to say that sometimes the best course of action is to stop experimenting, to stop testing and progressing, and to pause. Remove as much sound as possible from our environment. Remove all distractions. Make a cup of tea. Sit down. And allow ourselves a moment to come back to earth and remember what it is we actually care about.

Today is one of those days for me. There are so many things I think I need to be doing, and I seem to be doing none of them. Time to stop trying to do any of them. Time to sit and allow myself to calm down.

Laundry List Item 13: You really don't control anything

I struggle with the 'anything' part of this laundry list. It appears there are things I do have control over. Like my movement, my thoughts, my words.

Perhaps what it means is that although there are things I can control in my own sphere, in the context of my relationships with other people, in the context of my country, my planet and the universe, there isn't anything I really control.

My take-away from this is that I do my best to be aware, to consider, to make good decisions, to act. And then if things don't really go my way, there is no use getting upset or tied up about it. I have done all I can - there are so many massive movements outside of my control that it is of great benefit to me to be more like water flowing around a rock, and less like the rock.

Wanting to run, but managing to stay

There comes a moment at an event or gathering with a group of people whom I do not know that well where I want to leave. I start to feel some social fatigue, I feel like I am starting to be boring and have nothing to say, and I want to run and get out of there as fast as I can. 

Yesterday and last night I had a number of those moments. I am participating at Purpose conference with a bunch of people who are my tribe, and whom I am still getting to know. After spending the day with them, and eating with them, I began to get that quickening that I wanted out, and I wanted out now. 

Somehow I managed to sit in that feeling instead of running from it, and what unfolded was pretty amazing. I met my brother from another mother in Sydney, a man who could also be the grown up version of my son, and potentially somebody I could work with this year. Sitting in the social unrest for a short period of time led to an fantastic social moment.  

I don't think that every time I get the sense I want to leave that I need to stay. Sometimes my being needs rest, and sometimes the place is not right for me. I am starting to pick up on my own subtleties and nuanced feelings about when it is time to leave, and when it is time to lean in.  

My process of grief

A friend of mine who is also experiencing grief described the process of grieving like this to me:

"...(grief) is a beast and how long it lasts, is a mystery. You can't force yourself out of it, that doesn't work. And you can't hide from it, as it will catch up with you and bite you on the bum in years to come."

I probably looks pretty strange to somebody observing from the outside, but sometimes I am a teary mess unable to do anything, and then the very next day I will feel like I have all the energy of an exploring toddler. 

My approach is to trust my body, that it knows what I need and how best I will heal. When I am sad, I allow myself to be sad. When I am energised, I allow myself to flow with that energy.

I am grateful for those who sit with me in my dichotomy of states, allowing me to be.

I get worried that I am going to feel like this forever

In those moments when I am low on energy, feeling sad, and not sure what to do next, the worst thing is thinking that I am never going to have energy again, feel happy again, but sure of my next move again.

Of course, this is rubbish. I have been unhappy before, and moved through it. I have been low on energy before, and then regained energy.

The word 'Anicha' comes to mind. This too will pass. Impermanence. 

Therefore I will allow my body to feel and process what it needs to process in this moment. Without turning my attention away from it. Without wishing I was already through it. Rolling with the low energy and sadness and uncertainty. Compassion and gentleness with myself. Believing that there is a higher intelligence in my being that knows what it needs, and is ensuring it gets it.