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No Reason to be Happy*

Digging Deeper, Family, Gratitude, Healthy Relationships, Parenting, Personal Well-Being, Spirituality/Mindfulness

Last Thursday, I gave myself permission to take a hot bath.
In the middle of the day. With piles of laundry yet to be washed, a dog that desperately
wanted a walk, and a dinner plan yet to be determined. I ran a deep, hot bath, added a few
drops of lavender essential oil, lit a candle, and stepped in.

The tub is set in the corner of the room with large windows
framing two sides, frosted below for privacy, and open to the sky on top. Lying back, I could see a triangle of
roof with the downspout attached, a few bare tree branches, and grey sky. We have enjoyed a lot of sunshine in
the last week and temperatures in the upper 50s, but today was grey with
spitting rain and that soft light that makes it impossible to tell what time of
day it is without consulting a clock.

As I let my thoughts drift away a smile appeared on the
right side of my lips. My nostrils
flared slightly and the left side of my mouth followed until I was positively
grinning. For no reason. I hadn’t
just remembered something funny or sweet or thought about something exciting in
the near future. I just
smiled.

As I pondered this strange, unprompted grin, I recalled
something my nine-year-old said to me once. And I finally understood what she
meant.

When she said it, we were leaving the hospital after having
just paid a visit to her favorite teacher. Mrs. H had suffered a severe bout of pain and dizziness the
night before and was rushed to the ER and evaluated for a stroke. She was disoriented and confused and,
at the time of our visit, still in some measure of discomfort. And the doctors had no real answers. Despite that, she was delighted to see
Lola and I walk in to her room and she immediately squeezed us both tightly and
began talking in her rushed, irreverent way. The three of us were laughing within minutes and Lola
perched on the side of the hospital bed with Mrs. H’s arm draped over her. We bounced from topic to topic, dipping
our toes in the waters of concern, but mostly skipping lightly around school,
pets, and things we were looking forward to. When Mrs. H began to get tired, Lola and I left, promising
to check back later in the day.

As we walked down the hospital corridor, I began to feel a
bit melancholy. I caught glimpses
of other patients, lying in bed asleep with mouths agape, struggling to get out
of bed, pushing IV poles down the hallway as they steadied themselves against a
nurse or a loved-one. I thought
about Mrs. H and all she has meant to us and our family over the years and
found myself sending an urgent wish out to the Universe that she heal quickly
and completely. I was lost in my
own thoughts until I felt Lola’s bouncing gait next to me and looked at her.

She was half-walking, half-skipping down the hall, bopping
her head from shoulder to shoulder and singing a little song under her
breath. Her eyes twinkled with
mischief and she wore a huge grin.

“What are you so happy about, little one?” I asked, relieved.
I had originally resisted bringing her, worried that it might upset her to see
her beloved teacher sick or in pain.

Lola stopped mid-stride, cocked her head up at me in
confusion and let out a laugh.

“Mom. You don’t need any reason at all to be happy. You need
a reason to be sad or upset or angry, but you can be happy just because you’re
happy.”

I laughed, too, thinking that it was such a “Lola” thing to
say. She truly believes it. She lives it.

It wasn’t until today in the bathtub that it sank in for
me. As the smile crept across my
face, the first thought I had was, ‘what
are you smiling about?’ The
answer that came to me first was, ‘Nothing.

And everything.

I don’t need a reason
to be happy.’

*This essay is one of several that originally appeared in BuddhaChick Life Magazine. As the magazine is no longer available, I am reposting it here so readers can find it.

February 26, 2016/2 Comments/by kariodriscollwriter_fan60j

The Challenge of the Shoulds*

Digging Deeper, Family, Parenting, Personal Well-Being, Spirituality/Mindfulness, The Mind / Brain Development

An active mind and time alone are not a good
combination for me. Ironic, considering how much of my time I spend
alone, writing from home during the day (or not) and alone in the evenings as
often as not with my husband’s travel schedule.

I have known for a long time that going for
stretches without social interaction does something to me. It pushes me somehow
in ways that are uncomfortable. And while I know that this discomfort is
a sign of something I need to examine more closely, my methods of examination
push me in to a darker place from time to time.

I am very good at telling myself what I Should Be
Doing. Years of being directed by my parents, a Marine Corps father and a
mother who was desperate to be in control of her own destiny, to go here and do this and prioritize that
taught me that inactivity was to be avoided. It also taught me that
service to others and their priorities was of paramount importance. So I
often find myself struggling to prioritize tasks in such a way that it becomes
eminently clear which things deserve doing first, second, and on down the line.
Struggling because there is no way to do that. There is no universally
accepted rubric that says this book review is more important than that load of
laundry or taking the dog for a walk as he whines and follows me from room to
room.

I tend to give precedence to those things that
serve others – laundry, cooking, shopping for household necessities,
straightening up – and push off others that seem more nebulous. I have,
over the years, figured out that the dog only really needs to be
walked every other day (please don’t tell Cesar Milan), that if I make it to
yoga or the gym twice a week I am really doing well, and that I can crank out a
good book review in an hour.

I know that the best thing I can do is banish
“Shoulds” from my vocabulary. And I’ve come a long way in that
regard. But I became aware today that I do it in so many other ways, I’m
not sure I’ve really come as far as I thought. Every time I catch that
inner voice berating myself for wanting to do something more than
another thing that is probably more productive or helpful, I am
“shoulding” myself. If I have the urge to lie down on the couch
and take a cozy nap with the cat instead of folding that load of laundry or
going to get Bubba’s contact lens solution, the nap is vetoed even before it
was fully realized as an option in my mind. If, instead of reorganizing
that closet of Lola’s that disgorges random items every time you open the door,
I would rather sit down and read for an hour (who wouldn’t?), I hear this
sweet, condescending voice in my head that says, “You can read on your own
time, dear. That closet isn’t getting any cleaner while you sit there, and
you’ll feel guilty the whole time you’re on the couch, so you won’t focus on
the story, anyway.”

I have even become so sophisticated at this
little game that the notion of spending an entire day rewriting a chapter of
the book I’m currently working on becomes physically repugnant. Not
because I don’t want to write, but because I have so thoroughly convinced
myself that my writing serves nobody but myself (at least until I sell
something), that every word I type is a piece of laundry left unfolded or six
steps fewer with the dog this afternoon. I have associated things that
give me joy with guilt and feelings of laziness in an effort to convince myself
to be more productive in the service of others.

The truth is, I spend more time performing mental
calculations in an effort to decide how to structure my day than I do actually
performing the acts themselves. It is as though I envision some stern
judge and jury I will face at the end of the day as I justify the things I
decided to spend time on. And for what? There is no gold star that goes
on my permanent record. There is no jail time for dishes left undone.
From time to time there is an extremely hyper retriever in my face if I
neglected to walk him, and almost always there is remorse that I didn’t write more
(or at all) today.

So the question remains, what am I avoiding by
continuing to deny myself the freedom to choose things that please me each and
every day? What would happen if, for some portion of every day I sat down
and did something that speaks to my soul? Something whose only purpose is to
make me happy? As I write this and envision myself doing it, the
grounded, heavy feeling in my core is enough to convince me that I’ve been
looking at this the wrong way. The simple act of imagining that I have
given myself permission to indulge my desires regardless of what anyone else
may think warms me from the inside out. Calms me. Settles me.

That is not to say that the notion of
implementing it doesn’t frighten me a bit. It is counter to everything I
was taught and every example set for me by adults in my life. But if I
close the door on that chatter and sit in the space and stillness of the other
imagining it feels possible.

*This essay is one of several that originally appeared in BuddhaChick Life Magazine. As the magazine is no longer available, I have reposted it here so that readers can find it.

February 26, 2016/0 Comments/by kariodriscollwriter_fan60j

Replacing Fear*

Digging Deeper, Gratitude, Healthy Relationships, Personal Well-Being, Spirituality/Mindfulness, The Mind / Brain Development, Toxic Masculinity

I love yoga. Not only for the sweating, quiet
determination, sore muscles and peace I gain from it, but because it is where I
hear that strong, inner voice most clearly. Without fail, as soon as I let my
guard down and begin my physical practice, words come to my head. Simple words
that don’t necessarily strike me as being important at the time, but they
resonate for days afterward. Last week’s epiphany was no exception. It didn’t
knock me over with a shout inside my head or jolt me into instant clarity. It
fell like a raindrop in a deep pool. It was quiet, melted into my brain without
a trace, and rippled. And rippled. And rippled.

What would this look like if it didn’t come from
a place of fear?

Throughout the week I continued to examine that
thought. Throughout the week I found myself amazed at how often my reactions
originate in fear and how fear is responsible for outlining the space in which
I act. When I recognize the source for what it is and consciously move from
fear to acceptance or love, everything changes. I can feel a shift in my body
as I relax into groundedness and space. My mind becomes open and possibilities
expand forward. The walls around begin to dissolve.

When I operate from a place of fear, my options
are restricted and I begin to make connections that aren’t necessarily related.
If this happens, next comes this and then it swells into that and…Oh, No!
Spiraling anxiety as the fear feeds on the tightly coiled energy inside my body
and brain and I’m locked inside with it.

When my responses originate from love or
acceptance or groundedness there are no boundaries. In fact, once I make that
subtle course change, I no longer feel the need to drive any agenda. Whereas
with fear, I’m compelled to either stick to the course my anxiety has laid out
or fight to alter it in some way, when I let go of fear, I am more likely to
sit back and see where things go next. I don’t need to act within any
particular moment to make something happen or prevent it from happening. I am
able to temper my responses and, very often, the next step reveals itself or
negates any action on my part at all.

In the last several days I have been able to
watch myself and come to realize just how often angry or frustrated or anxious
feelings arise from my fears. When Eve and Lola begin bickering, it is my fear
that leads me to snap at them to “knock it off!” When I send out yet
another email to a prospective agent or publisher, it is fear that drives me to
downplay my own writing abilities or the importance of this book project to me.
When I get annoyed at being interrupted while I’m mentally planning my day, it
is because I am afraid that I’ll lose the thread of thought and somehow
“fail” to do all of the things I’ve convinced myself I ought to do in
order to be the best mother/writer/wife/friend.

When I sit back and ask myself the question,
“What would this look like if it weren’t coming from a place of
fear?” I am astonished at the possibilities. What if I trust my own
abilities as a mother/writer/wife/friend and simply act out of love and the
understanding that I have enough. I am good enough. There is an abundance of
love/compassion/intelligence/patience/money/whatever I need. When I source my
feelings and thoughts and actions from that well, life looks pretty damned
amazing.

*This essay is one of several that originally appeared in BuddhaChick Life Magazine. As the magazine is no longer available, I have reposted it here so that readers can find it.

February 26, 2016/0 Comments/by kariodriscollwriter_fan60j

Now is the Only Reality*

Digging Deeper, Personal Well-Being, Spirituality/Mindfulness, The Mind / Brain Development

I arrived at yoga 15 minutes before class was scheduled to begin and set
up my mat in the front row. I
wasn’t sure how many people would arrive for class and, while I don’t
necessarily like being in the front, I know the instructor and she would tease
me if she came in and saw that I intentionally chose to be further back.

The
room was warm and there was one other woman at the far end of the front
row. I settled in, cross-legged,
to close my eyes and clear my mind.
I didn’t expect it to be an easy job. We were just coming off of a long
Thanksgiving weekend and I felt catapulted in to the holiday season. With only six days to go before my
daughter’s birthday, I had yet to purchase her gift. Once her special day was over, I anticipated a mad dash of
shopping, decorating, cooking and traveling until January 2^nd. In the meantime, we were looking
forward to a move in the late Spring which meant fixing up our house to put it
on the market. Add to that all of
the “normal” things on my weekly schedule and my mind resembled a plasma static
electricity ball when I closed my eyes.
You know, the ones that make your hair stand on end when you put your
palms to the glass?

I
sat for a minute, warring with myself about whether or not I ought to even be
attempting this. Maybe the best thing to do would be to get up and go get some
of the things crossed off of my list instead of indulging in a 90-minute yoga
class. No, I would look silly
walking out now and the instructor would surely catch me leaving. Perhaps I should sit and address some
of the items in my head right now – devise the menu for my daughter’s birthday
party or make a mental list of which things I can likely get done today. I felt my anxiety level ratchet up a
notch. What I needed to do
was to sit with my anxiety. Just experience without judgment. Acknowledge my discomfort and not try
to solve anything.

The
teacher entered the room and welcomed us all. I steeled myself for the beginning of class, knowing that
once I started it was like strapping in to an amusement park ride – I was here
for the duration. Especially in the front row. She asked us to close our eyes and do our best to stay
within the confines of our mats. No, stay
here, yelled my mind. This is what is
really real. These things need to be done. This is real life.

“That
means not looking at your neighbor’s practice or thinking about what is for
lunch. Just truly arrive on your own mat and be here. Simply here,” Mary gently
reminded us.

At
that moment I realized that being here in this moment, anxieties and all, was
what was truly Real. Those expectations either existed in the past or the
future, which really means not at all.
The only place to be was here, on my mat, in my body and my mind. I know that yoga and meditation offer
me peace and solace as well as strength and a sense of achievement. Despite that, I often trick myself into
thinking that activity and busyness are more valuable. More “real.” Because I can get instant gratification
when I cross something off of my list, it feels like an accomplishment. The
benefits I get from stopping, slowing down, and being deliberate and planful
about my actions and thoughts are much less tangible. But if I think about it, I can always add more tasks to my
list. That conveyor belt is never-ending.
The act of coming back to myself, grounding my actions and thoughts in
this moment right now, wherever I am, feels solid and constant. It may not be
“progress” in that sense, but without a stable base from which to act, that
conveyor belt will drop into the abyss.

As
always, by the time Mary had led the class through our second set of sun
salutations, my mind and body were firmly on my mat. Halfway through class, I realized the static electricity had
completely dissipated and the realization that now is enough carried me through
the rest of the 90 minutes.

Whether
or not I actually cross everything off of my to-do list doesn’t seem to matter
anymore. For now, I am reminded that Now is Reality and everything else will
follow.

*This is one of several essays that originally appeared in BuddhaChick Life Magazine. As the magazine is no longer available, I’ve reposted them here so that readers can find them.

February 26, 2016/0 Comments/by kariodriscollwriter_fan60j

A New Kind of Evolution*

Digging Deeper, Gratitude, Grief and Trauma, Memory, Personal Well-Being, Spirituality/Mindfulness, The Mind / Brain Development, Toxic Masculinity

“What do you do?”
Such a standard question, whether we meet someone on an airplane or find
ourselves at a child’s Back-to-School Night or at a dinner party for our
partner. Such a simple question
and so loaded.

“I’m a writer and a mother of two.” That is my standard
answer, but it feels so inadequate.
I am a product of my upbringing, a survivor of sexual abuse, a child of
divorce. For years I looked
forward to becoming an adult so that I could free myself from my parents and
become less defined by them and their hold on me. I looked forward to exploring the world and looking at
things in a new light and making decisions that would shape my future. I wanted to fully blossom into the
person I was meant to be.

What I neglected to realize was that all of the ingrained
identity stories would come with me, packed snugly in whatever vessel I chose
to carry as I made my way in the world.
Any decision I made hearkened back to the lessons I had learned, the
overarching messages I had heard over and over again, and the things I told
myself in an effort to make sense of the way my life was as a child. No matter how “free” I thought I was,
making decisions I knew my parents would disapprove of or choosing things because
they were so vastly different from the choices they would have made, the fact
is that I was still shaped by my experiences with them.

Never did this realization hit me harder than the day I
found out I was going to have a baby.
I was going to be a mother. And I vowed to make good, healthy choices. I
vowed to make decisions with more self-awareness than my parents had. I vowed to be different. And still, those notions of who I was
and wanted to be stemmed from the stories I told myself about where I came
from.

Several years ago, I bumped up against these stories in a
hard way. For most of my life,
they had been the levees on either side of my life path. Always present,
bounding my idea of who I was and leading me in a certain direction. I moved forward, unquestioning,
frustrated by the limitations, but never truly understanding that these
boundaries were of my own making.

Today, as I meditated, a voice came to me that reminded me
of my own evolution. And I began to count the years that I have been things
other than what I grew up with.
Eighteen years married to a loving, supportive man. Twelve years as the
mother of an energetic, open-hearted daughter. Thirty years a writer.
Three years a yoga practitioner.
And for most of this time, I have been padding the scales on the other
side. Thirty-two years a survivor
of sexual abuse. Thirty years a child of divorce. Yes. But those
things are no more indicative of who I am than the things toward which I am moving
and striving. And their hold is
beginning to expire. The statute of limitations is running out.

I have heard that for every traumatic or negative thing that
happens to us as humans, it takes five positive experiences to counteract it.
Evolutionarily, that was important so that we would remember the harmful,
frightening things and not repeat them or put ourselves in danger. When I think about it that way, I
realize that I have had so many more positive moments in my life that I chose
to live out within the boundaries of the “Who I Am” levee than it took to
actually construct those walls in the first place. I am allowed to evolve. I am allowed to grow and add to the
list of “who I am.” I am allowed to strive for more and let those unhappy
definitions fall to the bottom where they belong. There is no forgetting or negating the impact they had on
the person I am becoming, but there is also no reason to let them limit who I
can become. Or who I am
today.

Lao Tzu said, “When I let go of who I am, I become what I
might be.” In giving myself
permission to expand the definition of who I am, I can begin to move past the
things that I have limited myself to for so many years. When the levee walls fall away, the
possibilities are endless.

*This is one of several essays that appeared in the magazine BuddhaChick Life. As the magazine is no longer available, I’ve posted these here for readers to find.

February 26, 2016/0 Comments/by kariodriscollwriter_fan60j

The Fun Part

Blog Archive

…is having your work shared. Follow the link and find my most recent essay for BuddhaChick Magazine. This is the third one I’ve had the pleasure of seeing “published” online and I hope for many more. When you’re done with this, look through the entire issue. There are some pretty amazing writers and women’s voices contained within.

Namaste.

August 30, 2011/8 Comments/by kariodriscollwriter_fan60j