Since summer, I’ve been overwhelmed. Moving through life as a single mother, stabilizing my financial landscape after a treacherous decade leading my family through nine moves, a divorce and brain surgery, all the while feeling brilliant ideas stream through me like a waterfall during a storm… Intensity, to put it mildly. Too many things to do. Too much, too much, too much. Overwhelm. I ask, How can I escape this battle happening inside of me… Sound familiar? I wonder where simplicity lives. My body reminds me that days are better when we start off with a hike. Morning comes. I hike up steep hills, letting my thighs revel in the blood that moves through them, letting my eyes be massaged by the grace of morning light on rolling hills. I feel relieved, then the storm comes again. I empathize with suicide. It’s not for me in this life, yet I feel like I get it. This human thing is literally insane. And it’s not just the war in Israel and Palestine-- It’s the war inside each one of us, including me and you. So again, I hike. I watch the fog lay God’s breath along the curves of Mama’s body. I see serenity. I keep climbing. My heart rate stabilizes. I feel calmer. I see other people walking up the hills and I imagine they are doing the same work. Feeling overwhelmed, wondering where peace really lives. A flock of small birds lands to rest atop an untrimmed oak tree. They seem to have answers. They rest. They choose peace. Not tomorrow, not overseas, but here in this moment. The only one there is. Oops. It hits me for the 10,000th time. I forgot that Now is the only moment. I forgot that the only place I can be is here, and I can only do one thing at a time. I remember the sticker on my bicycle that I’ve had for 20 years: Begin within. I remember wise ones saying, “Peace begins within.” This morning, a friend called from Vermont and shared about how her meditation practice is reminding her that the way she does anything is the way she does everything — that every single choice she makes has a ripple effect into the vastness of everything. And so as I climb this hill, admiring fog, I remind myself that peace begins with me. If I don’t want war overseas, I need to calm the war within. May these words invite you to join me. P. S. I’m taking a leap! After all, we live in an economy.
“Great writing is valuable and deserves to be rewarded with money,” wrote Substack. Not everyone enjoys my writing; all art is for some, not for all. Many of you have shared gorgeous words about how my writing serves you. Thank you. Last week, I turned up the volume in response to the passion streaming through me. Every single day, I get pierced as a “channel for Love” with writing titles and topics that want to be shared as gestures of Love for humanity. To support myself, I am now inviting readers to become paid subscribers — $8/month, $80/year or, you can join as a Founding Member of this “launch” moment, and pitch in more to help me leap from solid ground. I’ll continue to share all my writing every month with all subscribers. Being a paid subscriber helps to encourage me and support me, my children and my vision for a Love-based world. For today, that’s a wrap — in a fog-kissed, gluten free tortilla, of course.
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Last week after school, my 9-year-old daughter sat in the passenger seat and asked, “Mama, is it true that the future isn’t real?” My heart thumped with intensity as she left me feeling speechless for the 10,000th time. Where does she hear these things? I often wonder. “Yes, my sweet girl, it’s true,” I answered. Then I went on to say the words my heart offered, trusting it would all somehow make sense to her. You choose.Either call in severe pain and rigor like I did — horrific monthly migraines that lasted from five to 32 days long for five years + a massive brain tumor and a 9-hour anesthetized brain surgery + 92 days of severe sciatica that ripped my body with an atrocious Level 10 (plus!?) pain — to wake up to the fact that Now is ALL WE HAVE, or...
Accept this now, without needing pain like that to wake you up. You are a gorgeous, exquisitely creative, completely loved and lovable Child of God. Being of Light, experiencing the limitations of time and space in a human body. Revel in the gift of being in a body. Enjoy the things you love to do — dance, sing, give more hugs. Jump off boulders on the beach or if your body doesn't like that idea, cuddle up against one and feel it holding you. Earth is, after all, holding you. Ask for help — don't rob other people of the joy of giving. Forgive that guy who was mean to you; he doesn't see his wholeness yet. Forgive yourself for that poor choice you made when you were drunk. Spend a day doing nothing on your To Do list... simply bask in being. Wear that dress you feel so fine in; let Life adorn you. Pick up the phone and tell someone you love them. Listen to an elder; their stories want to be heard. None of these ideas resonate? Then what does? You are the one whose best friend you were brought here to be. My daughter and your own inner child are asking -- How will you honor the only moment there is? Hug yourself. Repeat. Repeat. Life is now. Honor yours. I love you. Let all the criticisms take a back seat in your inner theater. “You’re vain” or “You're narcissistic” or “You're too focused on yourself” … When you hear or feel those thoughts coming from other people, and you feel triggered, then that’s YOUR inner voice projecting its own self-loathing. Time to turn your attention toward Self and dose UP the Love, affection, sweetness, being, praise. Turn your attention toward acceptance of your choice to love yourself. It's brave in a culture that calls it selfish. Just ask Buddha. Wink wink. And goodness, let's look at the other side of the Self-Loathing and Self-Love spectrum! If you feel at peace — or even enraptured — in your willingness to do the great work of loving yourself, keep SHINING! I'm doing 12 kartwheels beside you. What's your favorite song? The whole world is singing it to you right now. Your courageous inner Light is blazing new paths for a more Love-based humanity. Ode to YOU, bright star. OUCH. All the empathy in the world to you. Sciatica is... so... painful. I'm on Day 50 with it today as I write to express my Love for humanity — that's you — by sharing all the things that have helped me along the way. I gave birth to a child with no medication or interventions, and yes there was some pain involved — but at least I got a child out of that! And labor was seven hours, not 50 days. OK, onward, let me share with you, precious human, and may you be free of pain ASAP. First, now, and in every now that follows: LISTEN. It’s your body. It’s your journey. Your body knows what it needs and it is a pristine communicator. Listen. What is it saying now? Does it need a nap? When you stretch, what feels good and what doesn’t? Listen to your body, and go with what other people tell you works when it resonates with you, not just because it worked for them. A retired General Surgeon who treated many cases of sciatica in his 40 year MD career says the steroid injection many patients receive works for 50% of them. Is it worth it for you to try? Ask within yourself, ask trusted friends and family for their thoughts, ask your body, then decide for yourself.
He also says one thing that’s been very effective for him in relieving the nerve pain associated with sciatica is CBD+THC cream. Plants are powerful. Is this for you? That’s up to you. Listen. Use the power of your relationship with the divine, whether you call it prayer, meditation, inquiry or something else, to help you heal. You are not your story. You are not your pain. Who are you, in your essence? Yep, deep stuff — just like the sting of sciatica. It’s physics. Like attracts like. When we listen, we can find insights that help us heal. Every day since neurosurgery 3 ½ months ago, I have chosen music as meditation. Singing songs based in Love and Spirit, songs based in the power of what we call God, gives me divine chills all over my body. Does it matter that I have no voice training? Nope, nada, zilch-a-zippa. The acoustic vibration within my throat and vocal chords literally zings me into feeling ecstatically high. How? It puts me in touch with Who I Am. It is medicine. To explore this question for yourself, I recommend Eckhart Tolle’s teachings about the power of the present moment. His consciousness is a profusely clear invitation into a higher state of our own. YouTube is full of his wisdom — spiritually potent talks given for free. I also found Michael Singer’s book, The Untethered Soul: The Journey Beyond Yourself, to be very powerful on this topic. We can free ourselves from some of the pain by recognizing it is not who we are. Ultimately, I believe my own experience with sciatica is life’s way of fine-tuning me to be my body’s best friend. Best friends listen well. How well do I listen to my body’s messages — her lower back pain, the pressure my spine feels when I stand too much, the streaks of lightning-like pain down the left thigh? When my body whispers her pain, do I listen? Or does she need to shout thunderously from my glut down my thigh, for me to listen? Sciatica is a symptom of something else. If I had listened fully when my lower back began communicating it needed attention, would I have prevented the sciatic nerve from yelling 10 days later? My sense — probably. Guilt and shame? No. Lesson for a dedicated student? Yes. Bring your attention back from the future when it goes there, to now. Now is actually all we've got. Going into worry and fear about the future can sting, and we don't want more of that! How attentively do you respond, giving your body what it needs rather than denying it the Love it’s meant to receive from you? What does your body need right now? Listen. A wise friend once said, “Life is sad and beautiful.” Her simple words were eloquent and profound. It’s true, I thought, this is the range of human experience, so wide. It’s not fun living on the sad end of the range, yet no one gets to escape this part. It’s part of the human experience. Eight years ago I gave birth at home to a baby girl two weeks and three days prematurely. Two hours after she emerged from my body, our midwife calmly told us she wasn’t breathing well and that I needed to get dressed and go to the hospital. I went into shock. Raw and unmedicated, my entirety felt ripped apart by desperate, frozen thunder. Inside the ambulance, the paramedic flicked the bottom of our baby girl’s feet to keep her lungs stimulated. Her father and I spent day and night after day and night in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU) as her lungs received support to grow healthy. On her 10th day of life outside my body, we took her home. In the weeks that followed, I fed our precious baby my breast milk and was supported by a well respected Lactation Consultant. When she told me that my milk supply was low because my breasts’ milk ducts were arranged differently than most mothers’, my being felt ruptured again. What? My body could not feed my baby? A silver lining appeared. I was introduced to a woman named Mary who had an oversupply of healthy breastmilk. Her milk was just right for our daughter as she had given birth just five weeks before I had which meant our babies’ nutritional needs were similar. Mary and I shared a fierce bond. Our daughter was fed largely by Mama Mary, someone with whom I share core values and whose milk I trusted. I’d pick up small, tall glass jars of her milk and stock our refrigerator weekly. My soul’s Village values shone bright and a new human life became fully nutritionally nourished. Still, the shock and trauma I had experienced after giving birth struck me on deep levels. I entered 13 months of postpartum depression, even in the presence of the greatest Love I’d ever known: our child. Even in the presence of her highly devoted father. Even in the presence of world class friends and an attentive, loving family. Thirteen months was a long time to feel down. Our daughter received a lot of love and affection, she was held by our arms and in her carrier, I sang to her and we read to her, and her lungs worked great. Still, something had lodged itself within my consciousness that kept my inner skies gray. Then one day, I decided I wanted to exit. I wanted to rise up. I wanted to find a land where joy was daily, where the songs I’d sing to her filled our home with bright smiles and silliness. This can’t be difficult, I thought. It was springtime. My little lady, with her toddling new steps, stepped out of our front yard onto the sidewalk with me. Renowned spiritual teacher Eckhart Tolle came to mind as his distinct capacity to be present seemed to slip into the fresh April air. The essence of Ram Dass’ book, Be Here Now, planted itself in my mind. This moment, now... I thought. What do I want? I took one step forward and stopped in that position, one foot in front of the other. Ahh, the sun feels so good on my face. Another step, and pause. Goodness, we have a healthy daughter! WOW, wow, wow! How fortunate we are. Step, pause. Her voice makes my heart do kartwheels. She is a dream come true! As my daughter toddled along the sidewalk giggling and plucking flower petals off the ground, it struck me that all of a sudden, I felt lighter than I had when we walked out the door. God this felt good. I continued. I have legs to walk. We have hills in our neighborhood. I love walking up hills! Another step forward, another pause. Where we live, the air is clean and feels so good to breathe in… I love this fresh air! Step, pause. I could kiss her cheeks and belly 1,000 times a day. As we walked past neighbors’ homes admiring trees, I realized I felt noticeably better. My heart was light, right now. And in the next right now. I was not depressed. Not right now. Another step forward and pause. We have fresh food to eat, grown organically. Love for our bodies, Love for the Earth. It was that simple. When I could have chosen antidepressants or coping with overeating (which I had chosen in the past), I chose a simple exit into a place of feeling good. Whichever option is chosen does not change whether that person is lovable; I am simply glad that in this situation, I chose a way out that didn’t hurt.
We are all doing our best. Depression is something many people experience and we all make the choices we need to, to cope, process and heal. Seven years later, I find myself applying this same simple practice as I move through recovery from neurosurgery. Is there pain? Yep. Is there fear? More than I ever thought I’d face. Are the answers complicated and difficult? No, they are not. One step after another, one day at a time, I can choose — as can you — to live in the only moment there is: Now. In this moment right now, I can choose to notice beauty, joy, and all the things I’m grateful for. In this moment right now, I can give thanks for how my body communicates with me so precisely. As does yours, with you. Alternatively, we can choose to place blame, we can choose to focus on negativity in our physical body or in the world, we can choose to feel bad. Regardless of the circumstances, we are free to choose. To anyone experiencing depression, fear or anxiety, I share up this simple tool to bring yourself to a brighter state of mind. Your choice. You choose. Step outside and one step at a time, one moment at a time, focus on what feels good. You are the creator of your state of mind, and by the way, you are radically beautiful. Notice that. It’s all up to you. It's been a long winter in California. While grateful for rain, it seems everyone was out hiking or otherwise soaking up the sun this weekend. Finally, spring came. Spring has a way of inviting humans to open up like flowers: our smiles, our sidewalk hellos, our eagerness to create and connect. Spring says, "Come, try something new, let me see your petals too." One way I show my color, my petals, the life inside of me -- is through letter writing. This spring I'll begin a yearlong workshop guiding participants to create or deepen intimacy with key areas of life: your body, food, family, friends, money, ancestry, home. We'll write letters to all these areas, these places where we are in relationship. Life is relationship. Just as we can share human experience and deepen connection with a close friend or spouse, we can do this with non-human relations. Truthfully relating with anything or anyone -- in this case, through letter writing -- brings enhanced mindfulness, communication, and personal power. Participants can join in person north of San Francisco in Sonoma County at Literic Petaluma, where I will lead the workshop. Those unable to attend in person can join the separate (but similar in content) online version, which I will post the week after. Oh, letters... I've written thousands of cards and letters in my life. Some delivered, some not. Some graceful, some clumsy. Some potent with love and wisdom, some flapping in a sea of insecurity. Each letter has given me greater clarity about who I am and what I want. Each piece of hand written correspondence has conveyed to its recipient, however short of long, that I value them and want them in my life. Some friends have hundreds of letters and cards from me tucked away in a box. Not emails, as those can't be touched. Letters please the senses. Letters say spring. If you want to deepen intimacy with key areas of your life, infusing your world with truth telling power and vision in ink, on paper, for the senses, for the fullness of life... Join us! If you're in Petaluma, call or email Literic at [email protected] / (707) 658-1751 to sign up. Cost per workshop is $30. Ever since high school, I have been into this thing called leadership. Holding various leading positions, starting non-profits and businesses, following the recipe: 1) Listen for the fire in your soul, 2) Clarify your vision, 3) Make it happen with your voice, hands and heart. Always holding a vision for what the world would look like if your big dream came true. That vision of what is possible can help you rise out of bed every day. It can put a spark in your step. It can motivate you to put in that extra hour of work, believing in something you cannot see with your eyes. Yet until recently, there was something missing for me. It had to do with being too focused on my vision, too caught up in making it happen, not relaxed enough to feel a true sense of enjoyment about it all. At times I got so caught up in trying to make something happen, that it gave me severely painful multi-day migraine headaches. Too much pressure. What was missing was a simple practice, a new way of being with leadership. This new way kept tugging at the back of my neck, gently, a little more every day… One day at a time. That is all I can do. One day at a time. That is all I am being asked. It’s a whisper in society’s sea of noise... One day at a time. The first time I remember practicing this was to try and get out of a 13 month postpartum depression. I had gone through trauma starting two hours after my daughter was born, and in the days that followed, some of the things I noticed about our world felt really, really sad. It was a heavy load to carry on my mind, and I didn’t really know how to get out. One day it struck me that I was the only one who could break this cycle for myself, creating peace of mind and a sense of contentedness. I decided I would engage in a simple process of asking myself questions, one moment after the next. Springtime sent the scent of lilac across our front patio, through our front door. Following the heavenly lure, I stepped out for a walk. I took one step forward, my daughter in her flower-picking state of toddling glee, and paused to silently ask myself, “In this moment, am I depressed?” “No!” I responded, again quietly, “In this moment I am walking on a sunny day, with my healthy child. I feel grateful.” With my next step, I paused again to ask. My response was, “In this moment I am admiring a cheerful, crisp purple paint job on my neighbor’s house, my daughter is laughing, I feel good.” Within moments I realized I had taken the power back from my own cyclical sad thoughts. I could decide with each step, how to feel. And within a few days the dense fog that sat with me for 13 months was lifted. That was four years ago. Since then, I’ve experienced dozens of highly challenging situations and adventures. What seems to be rising to the surface is this simple way of living taught by many living and ascended masters. Take life one day at a time. Take life one moment at a time. One step, pause… Here we are now. It doesn’t interest me to dive into the question of why we get so caught up in the future, or in the past. What interests me is sharing with you how much freedom greets me when I take life one day at a time. How much freedom is available to you, through your own choice about where you put your attention. All it takes is the awareness that when you feel tense or strained, unpleasant or frustrated, you can check in and bring yourself back to this day. Feel what you’re feeling now, even if it hurts. But don’t feel what you might be feeling tomorrow, because you’ll never be there. You can only be here, today, now. And I suppose that’s the truth behind it all. Tomorrow never comes, it is only a dream that tries to take us away from this precious present. May you remember in this moment -- as you read these words -- how loved you are, how brightly the earth shone on the day you were born. May you look around you and focus on what you appreciate, knowing your appreciation and attention will help it grow. Listen within for your leadership vision, clarify it, give yourself to it, and let it go so you can enjoy this one precious day you’re living in. Turn off the TV, put your cell phone away for the weekend. Screens aren’t so helpful in magnifying the beauty of the now. Stare at the sunlight bouncing off your Marigolds in the garden. Listen to the soft texture of the wind. Somewhere, an elder is being served warm tea, her wrinkled hands shaking in thanks as somebody values and cares for her. Somewhere, somebody is opening a handwritten letter they got in the mail today. One day at a time, may the light within us rise. It's late morning on day three at Findhorn, 450 miles north of London on the Scottish coast. I'm sitting cross legged on a maroon love seat while a blooming lilac bush outside darts back and forth in a dance orchestrated by a cool breeze and a drizzle of rain. With each day that passes, I feel more here. More me. More in the now. For three nights I've slept more deeply than I have in five years. I first heard of Findhorn through Tom Carpenter, my spiritual mentor of 21 years, who has given talks here before. It's been a distant trickle in my mind since then, and now with five years of devoted mothering behind me, I walk on its soil. I am here in celebration of all I have given to and learned from my precious daughter — I am here on retreat to write, rest and refuel a bit. Every few steps I take on this land, I am stopped. My chest feels throttled by the outright and subtle beauty, and my jaw drops in awe, invoking silence or some sort of, "Whaaaat? Are you kidding me?" This place is outrageously charming, tended to over the years for hundreds of thousands of hours by many, many people who love to create beauty in the outer world and within their own being. It's what Findhorn Foundation's all about. Listening for the divine within, doing our inner work as we tend to this miraculously rich and generous planet we call home. It's striking. It's remarkable. What they've done all these years since the three founders began on a flat patch of relatively barren ground — a magical community now exists for over 100 people who live here and thousands of visitors who come for retreats every year. Yet as I am floored by the beauty, tears of admiration swelling from my eyes, I notice something else too — I feel hurt. Like my heart is broken. So I listen for what's there. What I notice is that the beauty I see and feel at Findhorn is a huge contrast to the environment I've been living in the past 10 months. We have been living in a city of 400,000 people, and for me that's a harsh amount of exposure to human noise, machines and concrete. The contrast between here and there hurts. Here, it's like I'm falling back into the arms of the beauty I want to hold me. Back into the pleasure and yes-ness I feel when immersed in a place where Earth is respected and people actively engage in their spiritual practice, whatever it is. Back to... a place that feels like Home. So I fall, and the hurt comes and goes for a day, and then it's gone. As soon as I let myself feel all the "ouch" of contrast, as soon as I remember I can bring elements of this place back with me when I leave, the hurt melts away. I hug a majestic, wide-canopied tree in bloom and carry on. Writing this post is part self-therapy and life processing, and part share and invitation — especially for those of you who have really wanted to visit Findhorn and have yet to come. At least a few people have told me with a song of longing in your hearts, "Ohhhh I have wanted to go to Findhorn for years." If you've wanted to visit, how about: Book your trip! Not ready for that yet? Write a date on your calendar to book a ticket. You're perfectly lovable no matter where you go in life, and... if you really want something, why not open up and let it in? Since I'm not on social media for a year or so, this is where I'll share my Findhorn photos. Below are several brief slideshows to give you a peek into this place. Whoever and wherever you are, I hope you enjoy this little tour through one of the most enchanted spots on Earth. slideshow one: en route from airport & arrivingslideshow two: the awe keeps on awe-ingslideshow three: compassion & more gardensslideshow four: kissing flowers & suchslide show five: more beautyslideshow six: epic stonework & a nearby villageslideshow seven: come closerslideshow eight: death, gnomes and unicornsslideshow nine: laughter & stained glassThat's a wrap. With love for the beauty inside of YOU~ Jessica It's usually when I walk around in my underwear. On occasion my daughter, who just turned five, chases me squealing, "Mama your legs are so biiiiiiig!" She giggles and wants to touch me and play with me. The first time she said it was about six months ago and it caught me off guard. Did she really just say that? It was one of those semi-shocking moments, when a child blurts something you just wouldn't say as an adult. Women don't want to hear that. But plain truth be told, my legs are bigger than hers. She has a slender build and I am almost twice as tall as her. Plus her body is lean and I spent my early childhood snacking on Oreo cookies and ice cream. Mine's not so lean. So once I got over the reaction I would have had 20 years ago: Whaaaaaat? Ohhhh this hurts, ouch, she's right, I really need to get more exercise or stop eating sugar or... which took about three seconds to move through me, I simply said what seemed true and loving: "My legs are just the right size for me." Frankly I almost couldn't believe what I'd said. Was that really me talking, saying words of self-acceptance about my body? Who was this matter-of-fact-I'm-fine woman that I'd become? Let me answer that question. This woman is a woman who has experienced so much culturally and self-inflicted criticism, yes mostly self inflicted, about my body that I refused to ever, no I have not ever, said one negative word about my body around my daughter. I don't talk about women's bodies as if they are to be criticized. Spending 30-something years in the pain of that world was enough. This is a woman who birthed a girl child, for whom I want as little of that kind of pain as humanly possible. Magazine ads and peer chatter will be enough for her to pick up on society's sick perspectives about the female body. I will not be contributing to that. We all get to choose our parenting style. We all get to choose what we say to our children. So many of us want our children to be free of the wounds we lived through in our own childhood. Will we teach our daughters to focus on their bodies' strength, on how they feel? Will we teach our sons to respect girls' bodies, by respecting our own in front of them? As for me, the best I can do is let the outrageously big love I feel for my daughter escalate my own process of accepting that I am fine. I am just fine, just the way I am, whether it's summertime and my skin is glowing, or a long dark winter where I'm pale as a pigeon plucking snow from the curb. At age 14 I had magazine covers plastered on my walls because I thought supermodels were it, and I wanted to be like them. Now, things are different. Age has freed me up. Something like that. Yes I know full self acceptance is a tall order. Yet I know it is worth wanting. Thank you, child, for calling forth my wiser self. May you always know your legs are just the right size for you, too. May you have no idea how many thousands of hours I've spent criticizing my own body, and especially my legs, until someday by the fire while we're camping, it feels like time to tell you that story. Dear child, may your life show you a way that is glorious galaxies beyond the wisdom of mine. Two weeks ago an article appeared in my Facebook feed with these words: You don’t realize it, but you are being programmed. It was written by a former Facebook executive, and my response was simply to shrug because, frankly, I know that. Look around you. On buses and trains, at dinner tables in people’s home or out at restaurants, everywhere you look, people have married their screen devices. Computer phones. Whatever you want to call them, these devices are “smart” in that they’re very much designed with the intention to grab your attention, and keep it. That’s it, I thought. I’m out. It’s time. And in that moment, after skimming the article which was basically an affirmation of my own years of discomfort with humanity's screen device habits, I decided I’d take two weeks and deactivate my accounts on Facebook and Instagram. It wasn’t the article that tipped me over. Other people’s thoughts don’t have that much power over me, or so I think. I brought that discovery into my life to help me make the tip, the lunge, the leap. What about the joy? Oh, there is indeed joy. My top intent while spending time scrolling social media scenes is to share joy, to share love, to illuminate the beauty in being human. Openly I share my huge heart’s love for humanity, one person at a time. Openly I offer kind words to anyone who seems to need them in one post. Or another. On it goes, joy being shared, big questions asked, some useful information gathered, yet overall… Wellness is only a slice of the feeling I get from participating in social media. For every bit of my precious life that I enjoy interacting there, in the background there’s a tension, sometimes hard to notice, often hard to name. What could be bothering me? Could it be that I stopped watching TV in 1993 and suddenly I feel like I got snatched from behind, tugged into a TV-like landscape that I didn’t really know I’d get so tugged into? It’s awfully cunning, the waterfall of tricks and drips of happy, hooking hormones showered upon us as we use social media. Did someone else tug me into it or did I willingly dive? As one wise friend pointed out, we cannot be programmed unless we allow ourselves to. She’s so right, on an essential level. Yet very few people I know have actually mastered the art of having full command of their attention, very few people I know find a deeply balanced relationship with screen device use. Quite frankly, almost everyone I know -- myself included -- has become more habitually enslaved to their devices, than not. Who’s doing the programming? This is where I give both parties credit. It’s a relationship. And a very intimate one. We take our phones to bed. They live against our skin, in pockets and bags. They sit on our dinner tables, always ready to serve. We’ve basically married them, but never written vows, and never consciously acknowledged we were entering an intimate partnership. We tend to our phones more closely than we do to most -- all? -- people in our lives. Including ourselves. This is the itch. Something is tugging at me, itching my skin, and it’s stronger than the tug of sharing life with friends and family on computer screens. One thing I’ve learned that I’m downright thrilled to know, is that feelings aren’t usually easy to name, especially when they’re edgy, and yet they must be honored. Feelings don't just go away because we deny them and try to pretend they're not there. Just because I can’t articulate my reasons for leaving social media with highly sophisticated eloquence, I know for sure it’s the right thing to do. For me. I know for sure that I will find pleasure in re-routing the ways I share life and joy with people. I know for sure it feels good to be honoring this feeling, and that life outside social media will satisfy me in at least these three ways: It’s less noisy. It’s less shallow. It’s less cluttered. When I choose quiet over noise in life outside the screen, why would I choose the noise of social media as part of my everyday life? When my deep-feeling heart extends itself to feel big things in the collective human experience, needing close relations to listen, to witness, to really see me with their eyes, presence and words, why would I spend so much time in a landscape I find so shallow? When I don’t allow clutter in my home space, it simply doesn’t get to live with me, why would I allow my eyes, ears and attention to lay in a landscape filled with clutter? Questions, for me. For you they may have no ring, no resonance. For you social media might be a wonderful place where you love to play, where you feel your time is well spent, with no tug to do otherwise. You might even be one of the rare ones who’s found gorgeous balance in your own engagement with screen time. To you, I bow in respect! I seek that balance. I haven't found it yet. Even with minimal engagement on social media, implementing my own mindfulness practices including focusing on those who are dearest to me, keeping comments brief yet packed with Love’s punch, and rarely scrolling my own "Home" wall or anyone else's, I’ve found it to be too much. Even with limited engagement, the tug of irritation has persisted. That’s when I knew it was time, and that’s when the article appeared. Ha! Don’t you love the swift-winged synchronicity of this universe? So here I sit, with one day left before I deactivate my accounts and begin the rerouting process. One day after deciding, I already felt weight lifted off my shoulders. In my bones, I know this is right for me.
Still, leaving social media when I’ve been engaged with it intimately for nine years is no small thing. It’s 2018. Come on. Social media is, like, life. Right? Riiiight? How will I reroute regular contact with my teenage nieces and nephews? Will it be arduous, like that one time I tried to dump my new computer-phone for an old phone, and realized it just made life more difficult? Will it feel effortful to engage in causes I care about -- like Raffi’s Centre for Child Honouring, the Free Range Learning Community, Wild + Free, or simply hearing about fabulous things my friends are doing, parties they’re having, prayers they’re calling for? I am left with trust that all will find its way, as I know I’m the one person alive tasked with taking great care of me. And as I age, I take this job more seriously and find it more and more delicious. When my daughter looks around and sees people plugged into their screen device most of the time, I want her to have another example. I want her mother to be one of the people who offers a way that’s more real-touch, real-time. More based in pleasure, the sand, the light of the sun not the screen. Ultimately I’d like to offer her and me, a way of using screen devices that is balanced, moderate, engaged, while not being tethered. I haven’t found that yet, and stepping out feels like the best way to rewire my own brain’s engagement, while rewriting the story I tell about sharing life and joy with those I love. You’ll find me most easily via email, through the articles I soulfully write for a number of international publications, all of which are posted on my blog, and through my newsletter (sign up!) which will contain all the goodies I produce including news of my first book, coming out in the fall of 2018, and the podcasts I’m about to bust out. With love, I salute you and your choices. With love, I salute me and mine. See you ‘round the way! |
AuthorJessica Rios, Founder of Leaning into Light, was born with a divine pen in her pelvis. Her heart writes for her; Love is her 'religion'. A lifelong letter writer and a thought leader in Love, her blog is devoted to her greatest passion: illuminating the beauty of the human spirit so we all move closer to remembering that Love is Who We Are. Categories
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