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Mindfulness, Sickness & Health

Never surrender?

Earlier this week I had my 5th follow-up diagnostic mammogram and breast ultrasound in under 3 years. The first time I found out I needed these scans was a few weeks into starting chemo for ovarian cancer. I had tested negative from the BRCA mutation, so I was very much in a What, are you fucking kidding me? place.

The scans were negative then, as they are now, but the thing that is different has been my admitting fear beforehand. My brand, for as long as I can remember, has been “quietly brave, strong, and independent”. I don’t know if that’s how others would describe me, but inwardly, a part has regularly incanted, It’s not a big deal. Don’t cry over nothing. You’re not going to cry until we know there’s something to cry about.

But this time, on the day before the imaging, I told my mom, “I’m nervous about this.”

And that “quietly brave” part of me was like, Nooooooooooooooooooooooo! Never admit weakness! Under any circumstances!

It’s okay, Sweetie, I told it. We’ve tried stoicism for a while now, let’s give honesty a go, just for a bit.

As I lay on the cot, my arm above my head, warm goo being chased around my breast by an insistent probe, I breathed and thought about how, in the past, I had focused on looking calm, breathing deeply, smiling and joking to put the technician at ease—all to show how “quietly brave, strong, and independent” I am.

The truth is, I am all those things. Sometimes. AND, at that moment, I was also scared of how “bad news” might impact my life. AND, I was tired of having these scans done. AND, whether I liked it or not, I was dependent on both the health professionals conducting the appointment and my family at home wishing me well.

Abandoning my former actions, I melted into one word: surrender—to the mattress beneath my body, to the breath that has never once abandoned me, to the kind woman pressing deep into my flesh to get the best picture possible.

I allowed the fearful thoughts, the what-ifs, to trot around my brain, unbridled. I caressed each one with tenderness, and before too long, the hoofbeats quieted.

Funnily enough, I didn’t feel less brave or strong. If anything, I felt a deeper sense of trust in myself and in the willingness of Life to hold me—no matter the circumstances. It seems that in softening, I am starting to realize how durable I truly am.

Mindfulness, Sickness & Health

Let yourself be

Mindfulness was not the first form of meditation I tried. Starting before the age of 10, I experimented with visualizations, self-hypnosis, breathing practices, and more.

I pictured myself walking through forests. I imagined orbs of light permeating my being. I repeated “I am still,” over and over again, all in the hopes of being able to heal, to change myself into something I liked better. Most of the practices left me feeling incompetent and more tired than I had been before I’d started. I thought of myself as a spiritual person, but I was not getting this meditation thing—at all.

I had just about written it off entirely, when a few of my friends recommended Jack Kornfield’s teaching on mindfulness. I put on the CD, aware of equal parts hope and fatalism thrumming in my chest—maybe it could help? But it probably won’t.

The beginning was what I’d expected—about adopting the appropriate posture and taking some deep breaths. Grudgingly, I complied.

I don’t remember exactly what words came next, but at some point, he told me to just let things be as they are, without judging them and without trying to change them.

A wash of relief flooded my body. You mean I don’t have to make myself somehow feel better than I do? You mean I can just sit here and let my body and heart hurt, and not try to do a damn thing about it? I don’t know if I cried, but I was achingly grateful. I hadn’t realized that the reason I wasn’t “getting” meditation was that I had always been attempting to make something happen. I had been all effort and no flow.

I can just imagine whatever angels that may have been looking out for me wrinkling their foreheads in compassion. “Honey, could you just loosen your grip . . . like just the teeniest, little bit? No? Well, that’s okay, too.”

It may sound counterintuitive, but allowing my body, my mind, my heart to all be okay—even though they decidedly didn’t feel okay was lifechanging for me.

Even so, after more than a decade of practicing mindfulness and two years of studying (in a program co-led by Jack Kornfield, as it happens) to become a meditation teacher, it’s easy to forget that I am not meditating to make myself better, more successful, or more acceptable to the world.

I am meditating to remember—that though I may not be healthy, I am whole. Though I’m not super-productive, I am enough. And though I might not fit in with my culture, I am absolutely loveable.

All I need to do, is let myself be.

Mindfulness, Sickness & Health

Making peace with reality

I am in the middle of what I have just decided to call “the October grunts”. It’s that time when the weather changing from summer to autumn wreaks havoc on my body. The fibromyalgia pain activates, allergies intensify, fatigue wraps around like a suffocating blanket, and I often just feel like lying around moaning.

I am wrestling with reality. A part of me insists that “this shouldn’t be happening.” Another chastises me for being lazy. And another devises ingenious plans for how to surmount my obstacles—often through the meticulous employment of a planner, countless colored pens, and a compassionless iron will to keep soldiering on no matter what.

The wisest part of me knows that this is just the way it is right now. It invites me to inquiry. “How can these limitations serve me?”

They can instruct me in the wisdom of kindness—which is always a good idea, even when I’m not struggling.

They can remind me to, as Thich Nhat Hanh’s said, “Go slowly, breathe, and smile.”

They can help me implement the advice of Martha Beck (from whom I learned life coaching) to take turtle steps toward my goals because, right now, I don’t have the ability to take any other sized steps.

They can bring me back to the moment, back into my body to discover the places where the pain is caused by the way I’m holding my body rather than by something over which I have no control.

They can encourage me to not overthink things and, for heaven’s sake, stop pretending that perfection actually exists!

I would much rather not have them, but these “limitations” can serve me in any number of ways . . . if I let them.

How, if at all, are limitations serving you?

Art & Crafts, Making, Mindfulness, Writing

My word for the year

For a few years now, like many creatives, I have chosen a word for the year—a touchstone that helps me remember how I want to be and where I want to place my attention. In past years, I have picked words like “joy” and “open”. At the start of 2020, when I was recovering from a substantial surgery to remove ovarian cysts and what turned out to be cancer, the words I lived by were “tenderness” and “kindness”. I had not planned to pick a word for 2021, but a few days ago, one picked me.

I have long struggled with perfectionism and have come to realize what a large obstacle it has been to my being fully present in the world. I have written less (as evidenced by the lack of posts on this blog). I have shared less. I have made less art. I have been less of myself, because I was afraid of being judged and found lacking. And of course, I will be judged, and some will find me lacking. That’s not the point. The point is that the expression of life that comes through me—through each of us—is unique and as Martha Graham put it “If you block it, it will never exist through any other medium and be lost.”

Since perfecting my output has been the biggest block to sharing, I have decided to make the lusciously flawed nonword “imperfect-ing” my guide this year. There is a practice in Persian rug making in which an error is always included in the final masterpiece. This is to acknowledge that only Allah is capable of perfection. I am not talking about this kind of intentional imperfect-ing. I mean acknowledging the bounds of my energy, time, and abilities, not wishing them different, and, from within those strictures, making something with great love and dedication—and then sharing it, so that if it’s meant to, it can touch someone else in just the right way, in just the right time.

Mixed media stitched collage

There’s so much more to say about this, and about my hopes and plans for this blog and this year, about how I’ve been and what I’ve been learning . . . but this is all there is right now . . . And, with a little luck, and a lot of imperfect-ing, there will be more here soon.

Until then, what are you working on? What words are guiding you?

Art & Crafts, Mindfulness, Travel

My First Foray into Art Abandonment

I’m starting an eleven-day trip today. In anticipation of this I made little art cards from an old pack of playing cards (an idea from Nichole Rae’s book Art Journal, Art Journey), with the intention of letting them go along the way. “Art abandonment” was developed by Michael deMeng. The idea is that you make some art, attach a note to it explaining that it is up for grabs, and leave it in a public place for someone else to find. I wanted to try it because I liked the idea of scattering a little art during my travels and maybe, just maybe, adding a tiny bright spot to another person’s day.

Here’s a little sampling:

If you happen to find one of these guys or have any questions about them, please feel free to comment below.

Thanks for reading! 🙂

Nature & Spirituality

The Call of the Tree Frog

2017-06-02 The Call of the Tree FrogWe’ve had a lot of rain over the past few days, and the tree frogs are keen to mate. I love their calls in the night.  I don’t know why.  The sound reminds me of those battery-operated toy puppies that used to hop and chirp outside the Kay Bee toy store at the mall.  It should be annoying, but somehow, the optimism of life calling out to life heartens me—especially when I think of their small, glossy bodies, as perfect and fragile as if molded and glazed in porcelain.  I think of that vulnerability, that imperative to raise their voices in the dark, to be heard, no matter the risk, and I realize that what I am hearing, what is resonating in my heart, is the sound of hope.

Nature & Spirituality, Sickness & Health, Writing & Reading

The Last Week of March

2017-03-31 Embrace the magic that lives within you dianaklein.com

I am thinking that I will change my posting style on this blog a bit—to write smaller pieces, largely thoughts and vignettes from my daily life, share peaks into my art journal like the one above, and, perhaps, to post more frequently. This week, I’d like to share with you a collection of these.

On Monday, my mother and I were at Hobby Lobby and saw a sign that read:2017-03-31 Wild and Free dianaklein.com

I said, “That’s what I want to be right now.”                                                                                         She replied, “I was just thinking the same thing.”

On Tuesday, I was going through a journal I wrote when I was in Ireland and Scotland for two weeks back in 2010. I love the funny little things it reminded me of, like the Irish tour guide saying to us in regard to seatbelt wearing “It’s compulsory, but it’s your choice.”  Also, that the Australians on the tour started to call me DD, short for Deadly Diana (which, if you know how mild mannered I usually am, is pretty funny).

It got me thinking about the different nicknames I have acquired over the years.  In my childhood, Dizzy Diana (all too true, I experienced a lot of vertigo) and Doctor Diana (you had to be there), compliments of my sisters.  Sneaky Pete from a teacher in the fourth grade (I think because she thought I was cute?  Still curious about that one).  Princess D from my friends in college (they had fun imploring me to “let down my hair”).  Other than my given name, I am now most often called Nana (a mash-up of Aunt Diana)—this by my nieces and nephew and to the utter confusion of people who think of Nana as another term for Grandma.

I recently started the free daily yoga challenge on doyogawithme.com and am really enjoying the beginners’ practices even though I’ve been doing yoga on and off for some 15 years. They are slow and gentle classes that don’t cause me any muscle ache from exertion the next day, so they are perfect for me right now as I am on a self-nurturing-take-things-slow kick right now.  During one of the classes, the teacher encouraged us to feel a sense of ahimsa (a Sanskrit-derived word meaning non-violence) toward ourselves, to demur from self-criticism and negative self-talk.

I was amazed to discover that, after years of attempting to practice self-compassion, in that moment, I still felt an aversion to such a thing.  I felt, on some level, I didn’t really deserve my kindness.  I was astounded, though I probably shouldn’t have been.  But, I will keep trying.  It seems to be the only way forward.  I have recommitted myself to quelling the battles beneath this skin, amid the walls of this skull.  No doubt, I will fall off the wagon yet again and find reason to take up arms against myself, but I will keep trying, keep doing, because it is the only way to heal myself and the only way to help save the world.

So that was some of my week. What are you thinking about?  Do you want to be wild and free, too?  What nicknames have you had?  How is your struggle with self-violence going?  I’d also love to hear what you think about my new format.  Have a lovely day and thanks for reading! 🙂

 

Writing & Reading

A St. Patrick’s Day Feast of Tasty Irish Writing

2017-03-17 Christ Church Cathedral St. Patrick's Window (Dublin) | A St. Patrick's Day Feast of Tasty Irish Writing | dianaklein.com

The Gluten Free Irish Soda Bread Muffins are in the oven, so while I wait to please my gustatory senses, I thought I’d use the time to share a few yummy bits of writing—passages that feed my reader’s soul—I have found whilst reading Irish authors.  And boy, is there a plethora of delectable stuff from which to choose.

Especially from Oscar Wilde, who was nothing if not quotable. I opted for this one because it’s probably one the first from him I ever heard, and I like to think about making my diary much as this character’s is!

I never travel without my diary. One should always have something sensational to read in the train.  – Oscar Wilde, The Importance of Being Earnest

This one is from A Week in Winter by Maeve Binchy—a prolific author, famous for weaving together the stories of disparate characters.  I like this one because, it’s just so true to life—and just for the sake of clarity let me tell you that Gloria is a cat and Chicky is a human.

Within seconds, Gloria appeared, looking hopeful, wound herself around Chicky’s legs, then sat down for some urgent leg-washing. – Maeve Binchy, A Week in Winter

I’ll admit that I haven’t yet had the guts to tackle James Joyce’s Ulysses, but I have enjoyed some of his short stories, including those in the collection called Dubliners.  My favorite is “The Dead” which ends with this gorgeous and haunting passage:

It had begun to snow again. He watched sleepily the flakes, silver and dark, falling obliquely against the lamplight . . . It lay thickly drifted on the crooked crosses and headstones, on the spears of the little gate, on the barren thorns. His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead.

– James Joyce, “The Dead”

Okay, so these last two—both from Eoin Colfer—best known for the Artemis Fowl series—are a bit on the course side, but I think they’re still worth reading, even if you’re not into that sort of thing. The first is from Half Moon Investigations, a delightful middle grade version of a noir detective story.  The second is from Screwed, which is, I suppose also a noir detective story, just of the adult variety.  Anyway, I absolutely love the grossly accurate description in the first one and the funny imagery in the second.  Oh, and they’re that much better if you imagine them in an Irish accent:

Unfortunately, when I say Doobie was snot-nosed, it’s not just a turn of phrase. Doobie never went anywhere without a couple of green yo-yo’s hanging from his nostrils, which he then snorted back up so hard that they wrapped around his brain.

– Eoin Colfer, Half Moon Investigations

This room has no windows and only one door, which is blocked by two buttery cops, so I’m gonna have to go through the wall.

Go through the wall?

Even thinking it sounds ridiculous. Nevertheless it’s either that or the aforementioned ball slicing. I crab roll onto the bed with just enough momentum to come to my feet.

“Hey,” burbles Fortz through the blood. “Stop! Police!”

In the words of the sweatband-wearing fuzzy legend J. McEnroe: “You cannot be serious!”

I bet McEnroe said “fucking” all the time off camera. You can just imagine it coming out of his face. – Eoin Colfer, Screwed

There are so many more wonderful Irish writers to quote (which ones do you like?), but my soda bread muffins are out of the oven and simply begging to be eaten with a steaming cup of Irish Breakfast Tea, so I’ll simply say, Happy St. Patrick’s Day and may there be many yummy books (Irish and not) in your near future!

 

Art & Crafts, Writing

My Creativity Playlist

Are You Ready Little Art Card | My Creativity Playlist | dianaklein.comI was recently going through some old mixed CDs—you know the things we made back in the dark ages before Spotify? Anyway, several of the CDs were titled with particular emotional tones like sad or contemplative, so that I could listen to them when I was in the corresponding mood.  One of the CDs I came across, however had no such label.  I gave it a listen, and remembered that it was my creativity playlist!  It’s a bunch of songs that for one reason or another made me feel encouraged to be artistic—to write, to sing, to make things.  And I realized, giving it another listen, they still do.

There’s a lot of music from the soundtrack of The Lord of Rings: The Return of the King on it which is not surprising because much of my first manuscript was written with Howard Shore’s orchestral brilliance pumping into my ears.

There’s also two songs from Stephen Sondheim’s Sundays in the Park with George—one (Move On) taken from the original cast recording of Bernadette Peters and Mandy Patinkin and the other (Putting It Together) a cover and partial rewrite by Barbra Streisand.  These tunes support me in my creative pursuits because “art isn’t easy” and even though “there’s nothing that’s not been said”, it hasn’t yet been said by me.

It’s interesting to me that there are two songs about vulnerability: BareNaked by Jennifer Love Hewitt and I’m Sensitive by Jewel, but it shouldn’t be surprising, after all, how else can you be when making and showing your stuff, if not open and vulnerable?  I particularly like Jewel’s determination to embrace her delicate senses by saying “Please be careful with me.  I’m sensitive and I’d like to stay that way.”

There’s one actual folk song (Fair and Tender Ladies sung by Rosanne Cash) and another (When Love is New by Dolly Parton and Emmy Rossum) very close to that style which, for me, always seems to get inside an emotion, but often with a sort of matter-of-fact kind of practicality that I like.  I guess some might find lyrics like “Love is pretty when love is new, like a blushing rose in a dazzling dew” and “Come all ye fair and tender ladies, take a warning how you court young men” somewhat cynical, but I find the words and the voices that sing them wonderfully evocative.

The remainder of songs are basically singer-songwriter-y. There’s Dido’s reminder that I need to grab living with both hands in Life for Rent.  And Eva Cassidy’s poignant cover of Sting’s Fields of Gold.  The drums and vocalization at the beginning of Rubén Blades’ Patria are enough to get my creative juices flowing.  And Joan Osborne’s One of Us makes me want to try look at things with God’s eyes and, to be honest, I really just love belting that chorus. That I Would Be Good by Alanis Morissette prompts me to remember my intrinsic value as a person, not for how I look or what I can do (even and especially artistically!)  And the lyric, “That I would be good, if I got and stayed sick” never fails to give me chills.

And of course, no playlist can be complete without a rousing call to action song—in this case, Defying Gravity from the musical Wicked because “Everyone deserves a chance to fly.”

Recently, I added one more song to this list: Emily Maguire’s Start Over Again—because, in most situations in life and almost always in creative ones, I find myself needing this advice “Go Slow.  Be kind.  Be wise.  Start over again.”

What about you? What music makes you feel creative?  Do you have a playlist?