Looking for stillness within scarcity

Rarely do we see scarcity on the wide scale basis we are today. Beyond day to day niceties, eating out, shopping in a physical store, getting my nails done (that struggle is real), the sense of ‘lack’ is a shared reality.

We lack human interaction, spending time with friends or family, we lack connection…shared experiences. We lack physical touch from another human person. Social distancing put an end, at least for the moment, to human to human life. For our own, and others, safety, we stay at home. I live alone at the moment and other than talking to people at the grocery store or drive through at Starbucks from six feet away, I have no in person connection. But lack is not limited to me because I’m single. It’s pervasive. Across socio-economic boundaries, regions, personal circumstances. We’re spending abundant amounts of time alone, or with one or two other people.

Scarcity becoming stillness

When I was 35, I was newly divorced and living in a new city – alone. My children were with their father and I unexpectedly found myself grappling with an empty house. I can recall being profoundly miserable. Lonely. Sad. Unable to sit in that house alone and simply be. I created background noise 100% of the time. The television became my roommate. I didn’t know what to do with myself, how to be with myself. The lack I felt was guttural. Deep waves of melancholy would wash over me on any given day. Scarcity in terms of connection was palpable.

35 was a long time ago. I’ve lived half that much life since then and look back on the time as transformative. Because within the lack, within that space of darkness, I instead found stillness. I was forced to get to know myself. To become comfortable with me and learn more about my own thoughts and desires. It wasn’t the path I dreamed of as a little girl, but it was the path I was on. And I survived. I found different ways to have connection, mainly within the stillness of my mind. It was a time of discovery. Of letting go of what was and deciding who I wanted to be. Somewhere in the middle of the alone time, I got comfortable with me. With being alone and making friends with myself.

It’s something I’ve done cyclically since that time. Peeling off outer layers to see what’s underneath. What I wanted to shed, and what I wanted to explore.

Stillness leads to transformation

Periods of stillness provide space for transformation. I’m writing this on Easter and my mind goes to Jesus, in the tomb, and His transformation. The love and hope He promised to the world.  Our stillness can be our time of transformation. It’s our choice. Isolation doesn’t have to be lonely. While we lack connection with others, we can find inner clarity and connection. Use this time to examine our hearts and explore what brings us joy, what we’re grateful for, where we have love and hope. Those elements that cannot be taken from us. We can look within ourselves and ask if there’s an area that feels like a splinter. Festering, needing to be removed, leaving us relieved that it’s gone. Maybe you need to consider what you thought was essential but that you are finding stillness without and see the joy in that new space opened inside you.

Yes, we’re experiencing scarcity, but that mere fact can bring us joy and gratitude because we have room to breathe. Slowly, intentionally. Time to ponder, to consider, to dream. We’ve slowed down, not by choice, but here we are. What we choose to do with the abundance of time, yes, abundance, not lack, is personal. But it’s a choice we’re all making. Make a brave one. I’m on the journey with you.

What do you want to say?

the road that led hereIf you’ve had children, you likely recall the phrase, “use your words.” During that stage when they’ve begun talking, but are not yet English fluent, a child will revert to the behaviors that got them what they want. They’ll use the primal techniques that they instinctively knew as infants to communicate their needs, crying being at the top of the list. They’ll point, cry…anything but speak…in an effort to get what they want. In the moment, they cannot find the words to communicate what they want or what they’re feeling.

I can relate. There are times when I find it difficult to express what I’m feeling, what I’m thinking. I’ve researched the brain/body connection enough to know that in stress, our bodies are flooded with Cortisol and our Amygdala, the reptilian brain, takes over. Our Prefrontal Cortex, the rational part of our brain, doesn’t stand a chance. Our Amygdala causes the fight or flight response. It’s what saved us from the tigers. When I’m in a stress situation, I can observe losing my words, I can’t articulate what I’m thinking and if pressed, it only becomes worse.

I’ve started thinking about transformational periods of my life, certain ages where the events shifted how I saw the world, how I saw myself. The one that comes to mind easily is when I was in the hospital for my foot amputation. Overall, I recall that as a benign experience. My adult self recalls wheelchair races and playing with the babies in the ward next to mine. But part of my mind also thinks about the solitude. Being in the hospital with no family around. I don’t remember talking to anyone except the nurses, an occasional doctor and, of course, my parents when they visited. Feelings that arose within me during that time had nowhere to go. You have to be a good girl, behave, follow the rules. Yet, four is an age where your mind is still developing who you are, laying down the track of your foundational memories, thoughts about the world and behaviors.

As an adult, I want to ask that little girl what she would tell me today. The insights she would share, given the time to articulate in words what she was feeling. Through research and wisdom from a teacher, I’m learning that we can go back and ask. The memories are stored within our mind. Neuroscience studies have show that when presented with a narrative of a stressful time, our minds react as if the event were happening in the moment. It stands to reason that our minds can also recall formational memories. The value of understanding what shapes us is using it to create a new narrative. If there were times that told us we had to behave, believe, respond certain ways, there was a reason, but that reason doesn’t necessarily exist today.

Our experiences shape who we are and prepare us for the life we’re living. But we’re not passive participants. We can look back, listen to our inner wisdom, the voice of ourselves at those critical moments in life, and understand that what was true then may not be true now. We’re not required to stay on a fixed road, we can shift.

With the understanding of what our younger self learned, what it has to tell us, we can make different choices. We can calm our reptilian brain and remind it that we’re not escaping from a tiger. We’re no longer in that moment, trapped by flooding emotions. It’s a matter of understanding that experience is in the past and not the truth today. We can articulate what we have to say about the trajectory of our life. And we must. It’s our journey to live, and we’re in it together. Live it boldly, aware of who you are and how you got here. I’m on the path with you.