Monday, April 30, 2018

Talking to myself

 
When I was little, maybe six or seven, I got so wrapped up in a conversation with myself that I decided to sit down on the floor of the shower and continue my discussion, while hot water sprayed down around me, keeping my personal steam room nice and humid.
 
At least I think I sat down. In any case I was in no rush to finish with my shower and the privacy it provided me to catch up with myself and her many thoughts and feelings, so sitting would not have been out of the question.
 
Eventually I heard giggling and realized some of my family members had quietly planted themselves in the bathroom, eavesdropping on me myself and I. I was horrified and outraged and very embarrassed.
 
I have since gotten over this incident, but truth be told, I have never stopped talking to myself.
 
I talk to myself all the time, especially in my car. But no. Really, everywhere, all the time, anytime. While I'm walking, cleaning, sitting, typing. Talk talk talk, these lips are flapping to sort things out.
 
***
 
Some friends recently requested that I write a post about self talk and self care. Now I know that talking to one's self and practicing self talk may in many ways be considered different actions, but for me they go hand in hand. Or, as it were, lip on lip.
 
So without further ado, I will now dump all my random thoughts about self care and self talk below. Basically talking to myself, but taking dictation of what I say, then having an audience if any of you bother to read this.
 
So here we go, let's get on with it:
 
***
 
I'd say in the last year I've really started to get fully on the self-care train, and I think in that time my self talk has become much more positive, gentle, and forgiving than it ever was before.
 
I've also gotten on a nearly-every-day meditation schedule in the past year and that has changed my life significantly.
 
I am prone to be hyper, depressed, moody, passive, joke-cracking, and, at times, simply content. The moments of calm come always unannounced, but when they do those are times that I seem to be the most at peace among my friend group. That said, by and large over the last 10 years especially, I have often felt like the most crazed and unsettled of my cohort, which has affected my opinion of myself, my ability to function, and my outlook for the long term.
 
***
 
My life today involves a lot of little bitty action steps, a lot of checking in with myself, and a lot of scribbling or typing things out.
 
At some point almost every day, I am compelled to write or type things that I can do before the day is over to bring me some joy and peace. I'll write an example list of what this looks like right now so you can get an idea:
  • Try not to spend any money after work
  • Go home and eat what you have in the pantry/fridge/freezer
  • Sweep the floor in your bedroom
  • Smooch and squish the cat. Lay your head on his belly and enjoy the soft buzz.
  • Take an afternoon meditation break if you're up for it. Just three minutes, maybe more.
  • Maybe walk around the office building once or twice
  • Maybe go for a short walk. No need to even put athletic clothes on, even wearing your Chucks is fine. 10 minutes is great.
  • Write in a journal
  • Read Calvin & Hobbes
  • Text some friends
  • Chat with Molly on the phone
  • Wash your hair
  • Get some good rest
 
I could go on -- and usually would -- but I'll stop for your sake so you don't get my entire Monday play-by-play.
 
There is more than one purpose to making this list, and there are guidelines that I give myself.
 
Number One: As you make the list, simply list things that would bring you peace and joy if you were to complete them. It doesn't mean that you have to do them today or at all, ever. KEY: Things that are written on the list are not meant to be a task you are now bound to. The point of this list is not to get all the things done, in fact "done" doesn't even apply here. The point is to create options to improve your day, to become more aware of how many options there really are in each day.
 
Number Two: The list acts as a meditative device in its own way. I often close my eyes as I think of things to write down, and feel very still just in thinking up teeny weeny things I can do. I also sometimes write out each little step to break down an already little step. It's amazing how much it can relax you to just picture yourself doing the thing without even doing it. Truly. I find this is a helpful exercise simply in writing the things down.
 
I honestly don't care if I put this list in my tote bag and don't come back across it until weeks later, when I toss it. It is not a To Do list. It is a Possibility list. In a way, in knowing that something soothing like "put lotion on your feet" is written down somewhere, it almost becomes an accomplishment rather than just a spontaneous idea or action. And we Americans, even the type B among us, love accomplishments, am I right?
 
***
 
Checking in with myself:
 
I was telling Jill recently that I talk to myself like I might talk to a toddler. I'm very gentle, very encouraging, very basic.
 
For example: I was cleaning my room this weekend and I picked up an autograph book. This autograph book has been with me since the third grade, and it holds signatures and notes from classmates I remember and some I don't. It has a silly drawing inside, scribbled by my silly dad. In one corner of a yellow page are my late grandfather's initials: RFB.
 
I am not a packrat, but I am also not sure yet what to do with that precious RFB.
 
So how did I handle this situation?
 
I took a breath, let it out so I could hear it.
 
I held the book in both hands, and I said, out loud, "Bailey, what can you do with this book?"
 
While I was thinking I took a picture of a funny message in the book, posted it to Instagram and tagged the person who wrote it.
 
And then, after some moments, I decided: I can put the book on that other stack of books in the window ledge. It may be an unconventional place to put it, and you may eventually do something else with the book, but today you'd really like to get your room looking much more in order -- SO YOU CAN FEEL RESTFUL IN YOUR SPACE -- and so if you set it on that orderly stack, then your room will look nicer and you don't have to make a decision about the RFB just yet.
 
Annnnnd, scene.
 
See? Easy peasy.
 
This process might sound completely ridiculous and juvenile, like I'm a teenager who's too old for a nanny plus I am my nanny all rolled into one, still holding my hand to cross the street even though I know to look both ways and make the proper decision about when it's safe to step off the curb.
 
Here's my answer to such thoughts (and yes, these critical thoughts have run through my very own head):
 
Sure it's a bit strange, but it works.
 
In talking to myself in a positive, calm, you-can-do-it, you're-OK manner, on a continual basis, I feel so much better than I did during basically all of my twenties. And yes, there has been much life experience, much survival, much therapy, much support from friends that have helped me fill a tool belt with coping skills during and since my twenties.
 
But the self talk has been a new and huge addition.
 
***
 
I suppose I will stop my sharing here, so that you can finish reading and move on with your day, maybe even to some self talk.
 
I'd love to hear your thoughts on talking to yourself, talking to yourself in a purposeful way, speaking to yourself (and writing notes in your planner) with language that supports you, and anything else you might have to contribute to this topic. Feel free to reach out to me if you'd like.
 
And finally, if you're feeling overwhelmed, down on yourself, tired, bored, or even straight-up calm and self-actualized, maybe write a list. Think of what you would do right now if you could -- get a cocktail, vacuum the rug, snuggle your baby -- and write it down. Don't worry about whether it might actually happen today or tomorrow or this decade.
 
See how you feel when you're done writing the list. Then, later, if you get stuck in depression, anger, boredom -- pull out the list. Lost track of it? No worries. Just write a new one. Then pick one thing on the list; it does not have to be the thing at the top of the list. And go ahead and start it. (P.S. If a task seems too big, such as "clean the bathroom," start with "wipe down the sink").
 
If you get overwhelmed as you go, check in with yourself.
 
"What can I do next?"
 
"Are you hungry? What can we eat?"
 
"Are you tired? When should we start winding down for bed?"
 
"You're doing great. That shelf was so cluttered before and now it's linear and you're actually breathing easier looking at it."
 
Write things down. Check in. Be the child and the nanny at once, speaking only in gentle tones. Treat yourself as if you are a three-year-old having a meltdown. Get that kiddo goldfish crackers. Tell that kiddo to breathe. Sit with that kiddo and breathe beside him, until both your hearts come to steady.
 
Then throw away the goldfish wrapper, get some water, and decide only what to do the very next.
 
Gentle, calming love coming your way,
Bailey

Wednesday, April 25, 2018

A precious evening

 
Guacamole sustained us.
 
The Moulin Rouge soundtrack lifted us.
 
Fuzzy socks and a loud scarf comforted us.
 
Jill and I were self care queens last night, discussing at great length how we were going to make it through our marathon trek to Santa Barbara on a school night, how we were going to treat ourselves the next day, Tired Today. We quoted aloud our Queen Anne, who taught us both about practicing "radical self care."
 
Anne beckoned us in with her miracle writer's beam. Up the coast we snaked, alien fog gracefully misting and settling into our open pores, open to the night and its treats.
 
***
 
I ordered mole, as a nod to Kimmy Schmidt, and gawked at the guac, so creamy.
 
We walked quickly up a hill back to the car, re-parked, and walked quickly to the theater, bellies full of beans and rice and big writer hearts ready for the Queen.
 
The Queen talked about mercy and hope. She told us, unfortunately, that we must cease our practice of not writing. She said we have a choice to do the hard work of telling our story or live with the regret that we didn't.
 
She told us that birds and birdsong are proof enough to her of something Greater Than Us. She said that pelicans are her favorite. She left us with the benediction to take off and land, take off and land. As she exited the stage she readjusted her knit purple shawl, and for a moment she had wings. Our Queen, our angel, our bird. Our bird who had flown into hundreds of lives in that room, teaching us that it's OK to be a person of faith with fear, it's OK to tell the truth, it's OK to cry or laugh in any moment, any moment at all.
 
***
 
I bought a copy of "Hallelujah Anyway," and I wanted to tell her as she signed the title page that a year ago I read it to a man in a coma, a man who soon later died, that his blood pressure mellowed as her words filled the ICU at 3 a.m. I wanted to tell her Thank You, but she was tired and so instead I gifted her with the grace of moving out of the line so she could rest.
 
How many times has she let me rest; I could only return the favor.
 
I do not say it lightly that Anne changed my life. I may not have chosen to speak openly about my hurts, I may not have believed that I could write them down, were it not for Anne.
 
Anne first let me rest when I was 18, showing me that I could have questions about God but still want Him in my life.
 
She offered respite from crippling worry and heartache, an ache I feared I could not escape, when I was navigating life after college. Her essay titled "Junctions" in "Grace (Eventually)" is one my heart returns to, years later. It is a beautiful piece about being in a stark, dusty place of life, going on a dusty hike, and finding some sort of peace. Whenever I call it to mind I am back on my tummy in my twin bed, my only reading lamp the afternoon Kansas sun.
 
"Some Assembly Required" held me safe in an office basement in Missouri.
 
"Stitches" rocked me to sleep in a pool house in LA, a la the Fresh Prince(ss).
 
"Help Thanks Wow" gave me wings on a plane headed west.
 
***
 
An audience member last night asked our Queen about her Christian faith, likely poking at how it plays into her life, given the current world climate.
 
Anne answered without mention of mules or pachyderms. She told the story so many of us know well: joining the Jesus Freaks was never something she wanted to do, and a group of singing voices in a dilapidated Northern California church soothed her hungover, hungry heart.
 
She told us of the children she teaches on Sundays, the children whom she calls upon one at a time and assures them they are loved and chosen.
 
She said of her church and fellow Christian family, "It's my precious community, and I show up."
 
***
 
Brave and emboldened by our Queen, Jill and I went deeper into the night that had already grown late, deciding to wait in line to get autographs, then veering off course for dairy products.
 
Chocolate glue and rainbow sprinkle glitter hid my vanilla ice cream from sight, and I spooned childhood into my mouth as Jill dined on what can only be described as a hefty smear of Nutella atop her churro-flavored froyo.
 
We talked and talked in the Toyota, our faithful sand worm zig-zagging us back to La La Land (this is not a review of Jill's driving, the road is just windy along the ocean, Friends).
 
***
 
My church, too, is my precious community. Fellow believers I meet in bars and airports and Walgreens parking lots are my precious community. Brothers and sisters who don't know what they believe are my precious community.
 
My family is my precious community.
 
Honest writers are my precious community.
 
Jill is my precious community.
 
I can't imagine life without any of them, and I can't imagine life without Anne. It is truly a miracle that I have been gifted with all of the above, not to mention so many more heroic people who show up in my space and make me better, make me OK, make me safe.
 
Full nights in the middle of the workweek are not for the anxious of heart, which is why Jill and I began texting days before last night's event to make sure we would be properly fed and mentally prepared for our evening excursion.
 
Yesterday, in a town so much quieter and cleaner than our city of residence, we communed with our precious community. For Anne, we showed up.
 
***
 
We could not see the sea as we drove home in the dark, but I knew she was there. Lapping at the shore, waving hello before dipping her head in a somersault back out to herself, where she could gather greetings from the orcas and the kelp, translating their message and carrying it back to the people.
 
Take off and land. Take off and land.

Tuesday, April 10, 2018

Help yourself

 
This is just your daily reminder that air is free. Breathe. Help yourself.
 
Also, going to sleep when you're tired is not against the law. Rest. Help yourself.
 
Choosing not to read the current bestseller won't subtract from your substance. Refrain. Help yourself.
 
Drinking a fourth cup of coffee when you're exhausted and the calendar won't hold a nap is totes allowed. Caffeinate. Help yourself.
 
Requesting a hug from someone is strongly advised. Ask. Help yourself.
 
Feeding yourself queso for dinner is welcomed. As is listening to your body's need for vitamins and eating a green. Nourish. Help yourself.
 
Petting something fuzzy and telling him over and over how cute he is is considered reasonable behavior. Repeat. Help yourself.
 
Surprising someone with flowers will almost positively give you a lift. Gift. Help yourself.
 
Buying lilies for your own home is an equally good move -- some of the best perfume available. Inhale. Help yourself.
 
Closing your eyes for even a three-minute meditation gives your heart space to move freely. Exhale. Help yourself.
 
Writing a note to a friend may take the thoughts that are ricocheting off the walls of your brain and pass them to a listener (who will be pleased as punch to see your return address). Correspond. Help yourself.
 
Walking for 10 minutes outside might remind you that you are not a caged animal. Emerge. Help yourself.
 
Packing a gym bag doesn't have to be a promise; but it does provide opportunity. Trust. Help yourself.
 
Seeking, recording, and sharing the good you see, feel, hear, taste, and smell is always possible. Hope. Help yourself.
 
Saying out loud that you deserve light, laughter, and love -- even especially when you don't believe it -- will open the door for that trio to enter your life. Speak. Help yourself.
 
xox,
Bailey and Max