I don’t blog as much as I would like, so when I return to this site, I read the last post I’ve written. I did that today and thought it wasn’t half bad. I remember writing it, I had intended it to mark the beginning of my commitment toward mindfulness. That was April; this is January. I feel like I’ve failed at it miserably. I get anxious and angry. I get dejected and forget to meditate. I don’t follow through well on activities, such as this one, that are good for me and make me happy.
One of the tenets of mindfulness training is that practicing is succeeding. There is no failure, and so you should be gentle with yourself, compassionate to yourself, when you don’t meet your own expectation. That’s a hard one for me. In a weird way, when I’m disappointed in myself, rather than letting negative thoughts go and moving on, I run the script of–whatever it is–an argument, an embarrassing moment, a disappointment of some sort, over and over in my head. I keep myself in my low place, allow myself to return to it when I get busy doing something else. It is as though by punishing myself like this I am taking an action on whatever the matter is. That thinking is dangerously deceptive for me. So I get the importance of mindfulness. Today is a day of self-compassion as I turn back to it.
At Christmas, Sarah gave me mindfulness: a journal (Price, 2016). You don’t write enough, she said. I replied, yeah, I resolve to be more productive this year (Not exactly lying, but not exactly resolved)! That’s not what I meant. You don’t write enough and you like it, she said. I realize it’s true; I like this kind of writing, reflective essays. I do not like sterile, intellectual-overlaid academic writing–and this kind is not that kind. So I think it is a good idea to every so often take a prompt from the journal and write my reflection here. That way I’m writing and practicing mindfulness. The writing is the practice, and I like the thought of that.
Prompt: What is your intention for this journal? Why are you interested in practicing mindfulness? Between this post and the previous one, I’ve shown why I’ve turned to mindfulness, my hope for what I can accomplish. Thich Nhat Hanh teaches the heart of the Buddha: The wave does not have to die to become water. When I consider these two prompts, my mind turns to water, so to speak. The thought of engaging with myself via this journal feels like putting my hands in a running creek and feeling the water run through and past my outstretched fingers. I can’t think of a more peaceful image, and for the moment, I am the water.