I can't believe I've almost kicked the caffeine beast. I thought this would be harder than smoking, really. I don't feel lethargic, at least no more than normal. I don't feel brain-dead. I can't say I feel markedly better, but I trust in the long run that this is better for me.

I had a conversation with someone recently whereby they expressed feeling overwhelmed by the many things they had on their plate.

Here's what works for me:

1. Make a list of everything I can think of that has to be dealt with in the next 2 weeks.
2. To prioritize, consider the consequences of not doing each task. Put the task with the direst consequences on top, and the ones with no consequences at the bottom.
3. Break each task into smaller parts. If the task is "get new car insurance," it can be broken down into "call companies X, Y, and Z for rates," "choose company," "get copy of title," etc.
4. Start on the smallest task you can handle. Set your microwave timer for 15 minutes, and just do it. Let the phone ring. Don't turn on the TV. Don't check your e-mail. You'll almost definitely build up enough momentum to keep going once the timer goes off.
5. Accept that some things towards the bottom of the list just won't get done. Failure to dust the lampshades does not have dire consequences. Forgive yourself. The focus is on getting the important, nasty, stressful things out of the way first. The lampshades are merely a distraction keeping you from facing what you need to do.

I guess it's true. The more things change, the more things stay the same. I haven't written here since June, and as I reread my past posts, it's disturbing how little I've grown. It's only been 4 months, I suppose, but still, I should know better -- shouldn't I? Then again, nothing changes unless I change, and I really haven't. Insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.

My whole problem - The Whole Problem - centers on control. I can't get enough of it. Certainty. Security. Gotta have it. Everything in my life is tailored to minimize risk and manage uncertainty. WHEN are you picking me up for dinner? WHERE are we going? WHAT should I wear so I don't look out of place?

WHY can't I just let go of all that? What the fuck does it matter, anyway?

Yeah, I'm angry. Angry at my inability to let go. Better anger than fear, or so they say.

I suppose it's like this: I have a tendency to keep saying "I'd like to start painting again." But I never buy any paint. Or take any classes. Or set up a studio. It's this idea that I have, this fantasy that I'm a painter. But maybe I suck. It's better not to paint then to paint and know you suck, right? Removes the uncertainty of will-I-suck-or-not. It's a foregone conclusion, based on the truth I tell myself that I must suck as a painter. Because if I didn't suck, I'd be doing it, right? Somebody would have dropped down out of the sky and said Hey, You Should Paint.

There is no somebody that drops out of the sky. There is no suckiness. There is no painting, unless I choose to make it so. There is no letting go, unless I choose to make it so. And really, I might suck at it. But there's only one way to know.

I've come to realize that I have immense difficulty expressing how I feel in a direct fashion, because I often think that what I'm feeling is unjustified. I push away these feelings, and sometimes Buddhism provides a convenient language in which to do this. "Oh, that anger is anatta, not-self. There really is no 'me.' I shouldn't react to it. I should abide in upekkha, equanimity. Anger is a klesha, defilement, and I vow to purify myself of defilements." When really what I want to do is throw something or cry.

So, sometimes that anger does decompose if it's minor enough and buried in swampy enough ground. Usually what happens is that the anger from that specific situation fades, until I encounter that specific situation again. Which I nearly always do, in some form. I suppose that's what they mean when they say you'll keep encountering the same problem until you resolve it.

Back to my point... I like to think that I'm a generous, compassionate, easygoing person. And frequently I am. But these are not fixed qualities, and their opposites (selfishness, coldness, anger) also exist within me. This is what I have trouble accepting, and loving unconditionally. I am not being who I am when I'm trying to be that "good" person.

One thing I have difficulty understanding in Buddhism is its emphasis on solitude. Meditation, while often done in groups, does not require interaction with others. Many of the great "heroes" of Buddhism experienced long periods of solitude. I do think it's important to become comfortable with oneself, and I do think that solitude is one means to that end.

However, I think it's relationships that teach you who you are and offer possibilities for improvement. Relationships hold up a mirror to our souls and ask "is THIS who you wanted to be?" Alone, we can forget the 5 trunkloads of emotional baggage we cart around with us. When it affects another person, it slaps us in the face.

I have been slapped in the face with my own selfishness. Sometimes I want what I want, when I want it, regardless of what the other feels. I didn't honestly realize I was doing this. I figured since I think so much about the other person, I can't be selfish. But as I watch my thoughts, they're mostly about what he can do for me, what he hasn't been doing for me, etc. Not how he feels, not what he wants, not what I can do for him.

This is a devastating shock to me. I did not think I was this type of person. What further disturbs me is that it seems so deep-rooted that while I can mouth compassionate words, I do not feel them. I know what I'm supposed to say. I know what I'm supposed to feel. I think the reason I don't feel it is fear. I'm terrified of not getting what I want, and to give to the other person without anything in return feels like giving something up. As if love is a zero-sum game, which it's not.

Somewhere in an essay about Buddhism and marriage (which I can't find, or I'd link it), the author says that if we cannot treat our loved ones with respect and compassion, how can we save all sentient beings? Which is, of course, the Bodhisattva vow. Why do we sometimes feel more compassion for strangers we see on the news than our own families?

I digress... anyway... this has been a disheartening few days for me as I come face to face with my own mental defilements. Now to set on the task of removing them.

Okay, so it's been awhile. I slipped off into the suffering slumber of samsara, and now I'm shaking myself awake. Sometimes I need a reminder of why I chose this path, and I certainly have had that in the past month. All my suffering - every tiny little bit - has been created by me and me alone. My expectations dictate the level of my suffering. The less willing I am to accept things as they are, the more suffering I must endure. Simple cause and effect.

Sometimes I am angry or resentful and can't pinpoint a source, which is where mindfulness comes in. There are one hundred little things that upset me on a daily basis, but what is really going on? Am I really that childish and selfish that I will throw a mini-tantrum if I don't get my way? I keep thinking I should be more mature, but the fact is that I'm not. I haven't yet learned how to drive the cart; the horse is still leading me. (And he's easily spooked.)\

There seem to be two schools of thought - the one that seeks to get to the root of the problem so it can be effectively resolved; and the one that seeks to pull out the arrow without needing to know who shot it or why. I waver between these two. I know it's a myth that there is some grand "solution," but I keep looking for it anyway.

I am still heavily invested in and attached to "what happens next." I want to know, with some degree of certainty, that I'm not going to lose my job, my boyfriend, my health. All 3 of those things are by nature impermanent. At some point I will "lose" them or willingly give them up. Yet I feel better when my boss seems to see me as indispensable, when my boyfriend says he loves me, because those things shore up that sand castle of security I've built in my mind.

"He says he loves me... that MEANS something... that's something I can hold onto, that no one can take away from me..." I struggle with this so much I'm sick of struggling. I make myself vomit. It's this attachment that pushes away the very thing I want, because when he fails to end a phone call with "I love you," the alarm bells start ringing. The castle walls have been breached! It's that panic that makes me cling more tightly. The more tightly I cling, the more he wants to let go.

My fallacy is that it's HIS fault: if he only gave me more security, I wouldn't feel so panicked. I struggle with balancing my need for security with the pain it causes me. Of course, it doesn't cause me any pain when my needs are met - only when they're not.

What, exactly, am I afraid of? What am I trying to protect? Who is this scared little unloved child lashing out at anyone who dares IGNORE her?

Sometimes life seems to ask me for too much. It finds the one thing I feel I can't bear to be without, and rips it away from me. I suppose this is some sort of karmic lesson in non-attachment, and I suppose this is finally my opportunity to learn it. It's definitely been a long time coming.

"Letting go" sounds so peaceful, like dropping a leaf into a placid pool, but in reality it's as if someone were tearing your limbs from you. You may have no choice, but that doesn't make it pleasant.

I have tried over the past several weeks to expand my mind to accept any possibility, any outcome, and I thought I was somewhat prepared, but I wasn't. The inevitable still comes as a shock. I'm cold and dead inside, like someone forgot to turn on the lights this morning.

I suppose I am looking to "what's next," looking for an answer as to what I should do or say. Looking for the piece of tape that will patch together the situation, however temporarily.

I started reading Thich Nhat Hanh's book Anger: Wisdom for Cooling the Flames awhile ago and put it down in lieu of another book (Pema Chodron's When Things Fall Apart, which is excellent). I suppose I was looking for an "answer" in either book to calm my raging psyche. I haven't found one. I have learned that it's okay to feel anger, and that trying not to feel it is just like a double dose of punishment. I've never been much of a yeller/screamer, so I didn't have to learn how to avoid hurting others with it, thankfully. My specialty seems to be hurting myself. Emotional masochism.

What I find difficult in the Buddhist approach is that sometimes it seems like we're supposed to be doormats. We are supposed to look at WHY a particular behavior upsets us, and work with that. We are supposed to let other people do what they want, and only look at our own perceptions and faults. It seems sometimes that if I stand up for myself, and the other person takes offense, then I feel selfish. I realize that we cannot control other people, only ourselves, but I don't know where to draw the line between selfishness and assertiveness. I'm not at the point of letting go of desires, and sometimes I just want what I want from people.

At the moment I'm full of righteous anger and fury. I have not had an opportunity to confront the person yet, and I've spent way too much time plotting what I will say, what he'll say back, how I'll respond, etc. I have these imaginary arguments in my head. I perceive the ultimate uselessness and unreality of it, and I see how it causes me more suffering, but letting go of the feeling that I'm right, he's wrong, and he's going to have to do it my way or else, seems less likely than cutting off my arm. Him, he is not suffering due to my anger. He's probably sleeping. So all this angst on my part is wasted energy. And yet, I feel it so intensely.

The focus of my practice right now is being honest with myself (and therefore with others). I never understood how difficult this is to do, or that I wasn't doing it, until I tried it. Much of the time I have hidden motives behind what I do and say, often motives that are hidden even to me. Mindfulness is about teasing these out, discovering WHY I do and say what I do, and stopping myself from just acting habitually.

Really looking at myself in the mirror has been a painful and eye-opening experience. There are a lot of aspects of myself that I don't like. Anatta is a matter of not grasping these aspects and calling them my "self." For example, many times I act in a selfish or impatient way - but to say "I am a selfish (or impatient) person" really doesn't do me any good, because then I feel I have to overcome WHO I AM, not just the negative behaviors I'm doing. There is no "self" that is selfish or impatient. There is only this aggregate of conditions that is acting in a selfish way.

What selfishness boils down to is fear. I am afraid I am going to lose something, some possibility, so I feel I must grasp at it, claim it as mine, before it slips away. It's a problem of narrowness of vision, because if I saw that I am part of everything and everyone, there would be no fear of "losing" anything. Where would it go? I can't gain anything either, at least nothing that I can keep. All my possessions, all my qualities, all my relationships, will someday fade into nothingness, and there is nothing I can do about it. Grasping at them only creates suffering.

I am giving up hope that there is an "answer" somewhere out there that if I just found out, would provide a "solution." There are dozens, hundreds, thousands of answers. Everything is an answer - the cloud in the sky, the piece of gum on the sidewalk, the tightness in my chest. Everything is an answer that leads to another question, and hoping this will at some point come to a resting place is just fallacy. There is nothing to search for... it's like digging through your desk drawers, looking for your glasses, when they are already on your head. Or perhaps you don't need glasses at all - you're desperately searching for something that has no REAL function.

Life is just this, the struggle, the suffering, the pain, the moments of joy and contentedness. There is nothing else out there, and to search in vain is to suffer.
Link