a lenten exercise in awareness.

I'm sitting at my desk at work feeling slightly nauseous and as though my eyes and mind can't focus on anything. It may be from the combination of yogurt and salsa I had for lunch, but I think the root of this feeling comes from over-stimulation and an inability to focus. (I suppose "inability" isn't the correct word. I have the ability. It's more of a problem with self-discipline and control.) I write about this feeling often, and I love to read and write and talk about the phenomenon of distractedness that occurs within our over-saturated society. But for all I have read about this and for all I think about my own use of social media, my actions more often reflect societal norms rather than the ideals to which I want to make myself adhere.

I realize this many times a day--my thoughts are flying everywhere and my attention is scattered amongst five, six, seven different things. And when I realize this, I decide that what I need to do is take a moment to re-center. More than that, though (and I touched on this in my previous post), I'm interested in making lifestyle changes to bolster my decision to not multi-task to the point of overwhelming my mind and spirit.

I decided that for lent (which begins next Wednesday) I'm going to practice the spiritual discipline in simplicity as it pertains to time. Specifically, I'm going to try and live my life through the lens of single-mindedness. Rather than allowing myself to be swept away by the waves of information that are constantly approaching me, I am going to choose to live slowly, purposefully. I think there are benefits of different sorts that can come from such a practice. One thing in which I am specifically interested, though, is thinking about time and my placement within time. Learning to exist within time as the original agent of movement rather than being an object upon which time is subjected interests me. Rather than feeling as if my life and actions are dictates or confined by time, I am interested to see how my views of time can be altered. Rather than trying to manipulate my time so as to achieve more of what I believe I should be attaining, I will try and live simply within the time I am given. This quote by Kathleen Norris, author of several books on Benedictine Monasticism and living purposefully, expresses an alternate view of time, one which I would like to learn to embody:

"In our culture, time can seem like an enemy; it chews us up
and spits us out with appalling ease. But the monastic perspective welcomes
times as a gift from God, and seeks to put it to good use rather than allowing
us to be used up by it. The Benedictines, more than any other people I know,
insist that there is time in each day for prayer, for work, for study, and for
play. Liturgical time is essentially poetic time, oriented toward process rather
than productivity, willing to wait attentively in stillness rather than always
pushing to 'get the job done.'"

The key, I believe, is this orientation toward process rather than holding an obsession with productivity. In a deeper sense, I am interested in examining why it is that I am prone to allow myself to be distracted constantly. When I look at society as a whole, I wonder what it is that we are searching for, what is it that is being fulfilled (or what is it we're hoping will be fulfilled) by all this information and activity? Are we distracting ourselves? Is that a bad thing? Are we filling silences?

But before I can continue thinking about these questions on a large-scale, I think I need to examine myself. It's easy to look at those surrounding me, and of course, I need to understand my socialization and the trends of society that have played a large part in shaping my habits. But examining my own motives is the key to awareness and change. So let me ask the above questions of myself: what am I hoping to fulfill through my effort to always be active? What am I training my brain to do and to expect? I've read enough research that I understand a bit of the science behind stimulation, gratification, and the interplay between the mind and the internet. And I can understand that I am not above that whole shebang. But beyond the obvious gratifications, what are the deeper catalysts that are propelling me toward busyness and distraction?

Thus begins my preparation for this lenten exercise.

i don't have a time machine.

I tend to play out scenarios. To be more specific, I tend to obsessively play out scenarios to an unnecessary, unhelpful, and ridiculous degree. All of a sudden, in my mind, I’m ten years older with two young children trying to explain death to them. It’s not that I think these things shouldn’t be thought about—I tend to be self-defeating when I do it, that’s all. For example, my words about death turn my seven-year-old daughter into a gothic little person while my nine year old son starts smoking cigarettes. My act of projecting into the future often does not include anything of redemptive value. And this act, this tendency, worst of all, makes me worry. It makes me anxious. So I end up bringing stress onto myself that is completely unnecessary. I mean, come on, I have real-life stress, and I shouldn’t be such a masochist that I pile fake stress unto myself, too. (Plus, my fake/real stress adds strain to my relationships—unnecessary strain. That seems to be the word to describe my worries—unnecessary.)

So I’ve instituted some new practices. Or, to be more specific, I’m trying to implement some new practices in my day-to-day life, though I’m well aware that change does not come quickly or easily. I’m trying to move more slowly. I’m trying to express more thankfulness. I’m trying to practice mindfulness. And, because I love examples, I’m going to give you some:

Trying to move more slowly: I think, generally, our culture moves too quickly. I think we’re over stimulated. I think we rush and hurry and live shallowly. And I don’t think it could hurt me at all, in fact, I think it could greatly help me, to slow down. One thing that adds to my anxiety is the swirling mind syndrome. My head is full of different thoughts, and they tend to jumble together until it’s a mash of life. This is worst in the mornings, usually. I will wake up and immediately feel nauseous because of how quick my mind is running through what is going to happen that day and what happened last night and what might happen this coming weekend. So now, when I wake up, I open the blinds that cover the window above my bed, and I stare at the trees and their branches. I watch the light. I focus on breathing and on letting my eyes adjust to the scene. I don’t jump out of bed immediately, and I remind myself to be present in the moment. I am in bed, which is where I am—not in the office, not at the gym, not with any other person. I am alone. It is silent. And I take a few minutes to enjoy being.
And throughout the day I try to not rush or multitask. I try to not speed, even if I’m running late. I try to take more time when eating my meals. I’ll sit on my futon for a few minutes after getting back from somewhere to refocus my mind and become aware of myself and my thoughts once again.

Expressing thankfulness: This is a simple concept—to be thankful. Throughout the day, I will try to make mental lists of things that have gone right, things I am grateful for, things to which I am looking forward, etc. Like for today, a short list of things I’ve experienced so far:

· I made it to work safely
· I got into the office early, which meant about half an hour of quiet before most everyone else arrived
· The coffee at the office was decent today
· I’m looking forward to working out after work
· I’m looking forward to reading more of Anna Karenina
· I have part of a burrito for my lunch today
· I enjoyed pleasant conversation with my coworkers
· I enjoyed watching the tree out of my window this morning
· I got the see the sunrise
· The sun is shining

And there you go—it’s a simple list. But I’ve found that over the past year I’ve become much more pessimistic that I used to be, and I’ve decided that I need to and want to learn to practice thankfulness once again, and that involves focusing on the good rather than dwelling on the bad. It also helps to anchor me in the present.

Practicing mindfulness: both moving slowly and being thankful can fall under the category of mindfulness. More specifically, I’m trying to be aware of my body and my thoughts. Physically, what is my body telling me? Where am I? How am I? Concerning my thoughts, I think being aware of what I’m thinking and where my thoughts are headed is essential in learning to not play out unhelpful scenarios. If my mind is racing, I will bring my attention to my body and practice deep breathing for a few minutes. I will then attempt to engage whatever is at hand with intentionality and purpose. If I’m playing out those scenarios, I try to go back to the things I am thankful for in the here and now. I try to remind myself to be present in the moment and to allow myself to move into the future gracefully, rather than pushing myself into it with anxiety and dread.

It’s not that I think I shouldn’t think about or plan for the future to some degree. I mean, thinking about how to explain death is an interesting and important subject. But at this point in my life, I think it’s better to learn to be mindful and aware, and I think it’s important to learn habits that will enable me to have a better perspective about those future things and that will enable me to appreciate now.