Red Light, Green Light
I had a ghost writing client who was a highly successful motivational speaker. Her life seemed enviable. She had a recurring infomercial about transforming panic that constantly lured a huge audiences of followers and she had all the accouterments that came along with earning the big bucks: a house in Malibu, an ocean view, luxurious
Italian bedding, a closetful of designer clothes. Her kids went to the best schools and a staff of people ran her estate. There was always a buzz in the air.
She’d hired me to write her book about calming anxiety but she always felt anxious to me. Whenever I arrived at her home, it felt like I was dropping into an active volcano that was about to erupt. She said that she hardly slept. I wasn’t surprised since she was revved up so much of the time. She told me she could absolutely make
the time to work with me, she put aside two hours a week in her calendar, but the phone rang non-stop and she answered every call. She was a kind and compassionate person and she wanted to be present but she didn’t know how.
She reminded me of a bobble head, popping up and down, always on the move. When her daughter was diagnosed with Asperger’s, her son was failing in school and her husband left her, I suggested she stop and take in the feelings but she refused to sit still. She stuffed her grief, she continued to chase her proverbial tail and it
was next to impossible for her to let go and grieve.
One afternoon when the sun was setting over the ocean and lighting up her stained glass windows, she hung up the phone and looked at me, breathless. “What are your goals?” she wanted to know. “Where do you see yourself five years from now? Why don’t you look for a husband? What do you really want?”
She was asking me the questions she was asking herself. I thought about it. I loved my work, I had a beautiful home, I had a great group of supportive friends, I wasn’t actively looking for a relationship, I was able to take downtime and my personal issues were not
plastered all over the Internet. I didn’t need a staff and I could lie around in my sweats and read a book, do a crossword puzzle, watch TV or just stare at the walls and think. I’d been all over the world with the ballet, I’eaten at the finest restaurants in France and Italy, but I preferred simple meals and staying close to home. I ate cleanly and I slept. “I have everything I need and I don’t know what’s coming next,” I told her. “All I want is peace.”
A look of disappointment shadowed her face. “Is that all?” she said.
I nodded. That kind of “all” was hard to come by.
This is still a potent topic for me. Sometimes I look at friends whose calendars are always full and I wonder if mine should be the same. But that isn’t what I want. Someone said to me, “Doing less would probably give me a better quality of life, but I have to keep the wheels turning or I’ll lose my social media followers.”
I was reminded of a lyric from Joni Mitchell’s song, “Free Man in Paris.”
“I’d go back there tomorrow but for the work I’ve taken on,Stoking the star making machinery behind the popular song.”
Last night, I was sitting on my bed with my cat beside me and I became aware of her breath. Her furry body was subtly moving up and down and up and down and she was content. She wasn’t
doing anything special. She was simply doing what we all do from the day we’re born until the day we leave. Breathing in and breathing out. And when we take a pause and become aware of our breathing, our minds stop racing and our hearts open.
In order for me to
get through life without going crazy, pausing and conscious breathing are crucial. Learning to be with myself no matter what is going on, is my life’s work. When I was younger, I thought that when I got older, it would all be handled, but the older I get, the more I realize that nothing in life is handled for good. It all keeps changing. Things fall apart and they come together. They fall apart again and they come together. The best I can do is make a commitment to slow down and be present with myself. Sometimes that’s
difficult but the old adage, “The only way out is in,” rings true.
What if a red light on the road meant “pause and breathe?” instead of, “There’s so much f***ing traffic, I’m going to be late.” Vietnamese Buddhist monk, Thich Nhat Hanh, said that when he was in a car and he had to stop at a red light, instead of getting impatient, he used the time to slow down his thoughts and become conscious of his breathing. When the light turned green, he felt calmer instead of more anxious.
If you become aware that you are out of breath and grasping for something out of your reach, try deepening your breath. If you want something different to happen than what’s happening right now, take a pause. This offers the opportunity to see where you are, how you feel, to observe the world around you and reset the mechanisms
that influence your mind.
Our breath is always there. Becoming aware of it is a gift we can give ourselves, a reminder that we’re not living in a constant emergency. We don’t have to fix our lives or trade them in for a newer version. We don’t have to do anything about it. It keeps us alive, it’s designed that way, but when we become conscious of it, it
does more than keep us alive. It reminds us to become present in our lives, to appreciate the love and beauty around us, to grieve what needs grieving and helps us feel connected to the world around us. Disconnection is painful. Connection is a balm that will lessen our pain.
Taking a pause to breathe has become my coping mechanism. What’s yours?
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