I have been stressed lately - too stressed. I am a firm believer that there is such a thing as a healthy amount of stress, you know, just enough to keep you motivated, but not so much that it wears at your heart? That little push that comes from knowing a deadline is upcoming, but which ebbs and flows with period of higher stress (the few days before that paper is due, or that big meeting will happen), and period of lower stress (when you can, without any guilt whatsover, devote an entire day to lounging about and reading some fiction.) The problem for me is that I've been having far too much of the former and never enough of the latter. It shows too. My nails have been bitten to the quick (after growing so long and lovely!), I'm getting snappy, and when I did end up (unintentionally) taking most of a day to myself, well, I felt terrible as soon as I had realised how much time had passed.
Part of the problem is that I'm terribly guilty of what Alison May has called Lifestyle Accumulation Disorder. I have gathered so many things and ideas about what I should be doing, and intend on doing, and never enough time actually doing it. There are those hobbies that sounded like a terrific idea but never seem to last, or the books that I know I will never read. These are the intentions about how I should live, complete with books and methods with thirty days to transform myself into something else, make myself happier, be a better knitter, learn astronomy, or somehow or another make myself just a little closer to "perfect".
While I can always get rid of things around my house, and find paring down far easier than most, these are the things I struggle to let go of. They are not material objects, though they may be exhibited in the form of material objects such as paint pots and electronic files; instead, they are dreams. They are dreams of how life could be better, would be better, if only I managed to master this or that, or made myself into some strange combination of perfect housekeeper, erudite parish minister and theologian, have read all the great books of the Western Canon and then some (after all i am a lady-scholar), an artist of unknowable talent and depth, and all those things that Jane Austen says are required for a truly accomplished lady. In between all of this, of course, I am also a sexy wife for my husband, take care of my body with perfect nutrition and exercise, a terrific friend, and a treasure to all of my family. Oh, and somehow manage to turn myself into the most perfect, and selfless Christian, who turns all her influence over to the terrible injustices of the world. Of course, I cannot be all of these things at once, and there are things I know I will never be that terrific at.
Right now, I am trying to pare down though. I am trying to make concessions and acknowledge the things I will never be, and the talents and skills that I will not have any time in the near future. My expectations for myself are high, and only rise, and I am fine with that, after all I do believe that I should expect more from myself than I do from anyone else, after all, this body and mind are the only ones in my own control. My expectations though need to be just a bit more reasonable. The truth is, I am not just plain old getting rid of things that I am not currently using. I am; however, letting go of the expectation that I'll do them all at once. I can keep my piano (which I have only about a grade one education in), and my piano books, knowing that after grad school this is something I genuinely want to study again. I can keep the craft supplies, but admit that while I knit all the time, sewing is less frequent. I can accept that I like to paint, but am frustrated at my lack of skill, and just go for it when I feel like it. And I absolutely can accept that while I do enjoy these things, I do not have to feel guilty about my lack of training or practice, and that's just fine. I can give away the books I know I will never get around to reading, and keep the ones I cherish, and actually want to read at some point.
Friday, October 12, 2012
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
Too much, too soon
I have a cold. I have the kind of cold that dwells like a worry at the back of my throat and is working its way up into my sinuses causing me havoc in more ways than I can count. It's not just a "common cold" as if that exists, but a clearly definable bacterial infection causing head-cold like symptoms. If I am lucky, the judicious use of a neti pot will keep it from turning into a full blown, and very painful, sinus infection.
See I haven't really had a cold since learning I have Coeliac's Disease. I had a couple days of flue which were really rather nasty, but never "just" a cold. My immune system was no longer so busy fighting off the invading gluten that ti could actually concentrate on the other invaders. My digestive system was actually providing me the nourishment my body needed from the foods that I ate. I had actually forgotten what it was like to just get a cold even though it has been less than a year since my diagnosis. I had forgotten just how fragile a human bdy can be.
The thing is, I needed reminding. I have been pushing myself, body and mind, harder these last two weeks than I have in quite some time. Between the long hours at school and associated stress of September, the work at church and nervousness that comes with new responsibilities, a steady stream of stress due to my volunteer work, and then long nights spent chatting at parties, socialising, and generally chilling with good people (I know better than to drink too much on nights like these), I have simply been expecting my body to do too much. I thought an evening off for exercise, and then brunch the next morning would be enough to recharge and then get right back into it. Not true. There was a birthday party and not enough sleep in between. There was the reality that, though I am confident that parkour classes will ultimately be excellent stress relief, and a life-enhancing practice (somersaults! squee!) I pushed too hard that first class. I tried to keep up with people in far better shape than I am. And I felt it for three days afterwards. I ached in muscles I had long forgotten existed, and even more in ones I knew about. It hurt to stand up or sit down, and I dreaded such basic activities as climbing a set of stairs. Note to self: When starting a new exercise regime, start slow, and not on a week when you are already too busy.
What I need now is radical self-care. I need to refocus my attention on realistic priorities and what is important here and now: Get healthy. Stay up to date in readings and assignments. If not, nothing else will get done at all. This means sleep, water, restricting caffeine, eating well, and doing light exercise. It means taking time out for spiritual practice, and family. It means making a list, dchoosing priorities, and then taking apart the extras. I means saying "no."
I hate saying no.
See I haven't really had a cold since learning I have Coeliac's Disease. I had a couple days of flue which were really rather nasty, but never "just" a cold. My immune system was no longer so busy fighting off the invading gluten that ti could actually concentrate on the other invaders. My digestive system was actually providing me the nourishment my body needed from the foods that I ate. I had actually forgotten what it was like to just get a cold even though it has been less than a year since my diagnosis. I had forgotten just how fragile a human bdy can be.
The thing is, I needed reminding. I have been pushing myself, body and mind, harder these last two weeks than I have in quite some time. Between the long hours at school and associated stress of September, the work at church and nervousness that comes with new responsibilities, a steady stream of stress due to my volunteer work, and then long nights spent chatting at parties, socialising, and generally chilling with good people (I know better than to drink too much on nights like these), I have simply been expecting my body to do too much. I thought an evening off for exercise, and then brunch the next morning would be enough to recharge and then get right back into it. Not true. There was a birthday party and not enough sleep in between. There was the reality that, though I am confident that parkour classes will ultimately be excellent stress relief, and a life-enhancing practice (somersaults! squee!) I pushed too hard that first class. I tried to keep up with people in far better shape than I am. And I felt it for three days afterwards. I ached in muscles I had long forgotten existed, and even more in ones I knew about. It hurt to stand up or sit down, and I dreaded such basic activities as climbing a set of stairs. Note to self: When starting a new exercise regime, start slow, and not on a week when you are already too busy.
What I need now is radical self-care. I need to refocus my attention on realistic priorities and what is important here and now: Get healthy. Stay up to date in readings and assignments. If not, nothing else will get done at all. This means sleep, water, restricting caffeine, eating well, and doing light exercise. It means taking time out for spiritual practice, and family. It means making a list, dchoosing priorities, and then taking apart the extras. I means saying "no."
I hate saying no.
Saturday, May 19, 2012
An Open Letter To Parliament
I have just returned from 5 delightful days in Ottawa. I was
surprised by just how much I enjoyed the city itself, which proved friendly, beautiful, and very walkable (at least in the area I was staying.) The conference itself was everything that a student conference should be: busy, stimulating, social, and memorable.
There is one thing that is sticking in my mind. I sat in on Question Period at Parliament on Tuesday, May 15th, and was simply appalled by the behaviour of the MPs that I saw there. I was prepared for the rhetorical antics, but not for the basic disrespect of parliamentary etiquette, and the flagrant disregard for the seriousness of the task of governance. I watched as MPs ignored the ruling of the Speaker of the House when he stood for silence, or even the basic rule of not continuing to yell across the floor as one exited, over the ongoing business after the hour had ended. I think what surprised me most though was that, while I saw poor behaviour from parliamentarians on both sides of the floor, the most egregious offences against the office of the Speaker of the House came from the sitting government who elected him to the post. This showed a disrespect of both the individual and the office.
I couldn’t help but leave feeling let down. I take government seriously, and though I may not always agree with the choices made by those who govern, and though I may have little personal respect for the individuals in office, I still revere the office itself. Do note that when I speak of the seriousness of governance, I do not mean sombreness, or sobriety, but importance, - of weight. That’s a funny word, isn’t it – revere? Reverence for government and the weight of leadership is sadly lost, and it is no more clearly made visible than in the lack of respect for the etiquette, and rituals of parliament. It is, unfortunately, a cycle that claws away at what is left of reverence on Parliament Hill, as these little rituals, like bowing to the Speaker in acknowledgement when entering or exiting, or waiting to be called to speak, serve to reinforce the seriousness of these offices, and these debates, in the minds and hearts of those who perform them, and the ignorance or mockery of them, results in minds and hearts that believe quite the opposite.
Our personal and professional rituals shape our ability to work and live in those spaces. We feel more professional in a pair of slacks, or a business suit than we do in our housecoats, and are, as a result, generally more productive after getting dressed. We sleep more easily in our beds if we have a pre-sleep ritual we observe daily that tells our minds and bodies that now is the time to rest. Equally, we are on our best behaviour before dignitaries, superiors, and respected family members because we take them seriously, and want to show ourselves at our best as an act of respect. By obeying the rules of engagement and order set out for Parliament, and respecting the offices held within, a sense of seriousness is upheld, and each individual therein is reminded of that weight.
So, this being said, how can we have faith that our governors are doing their best for Canada, when they cannot even behave with respect for one another’s office in our most public of arenas? How can we believe that we, as a people, are held important, and respected, when there is no respect on any side of Parliament? This is not to say they should agree, or that the opposition should acquiesce, but that all must respect the importance of the role of the other, and the voice granted them by the people of Canada. The sitting government must respect that though they have a majority, they were not elected by a majority in the popular vote. They must temper themselves accordingly, and leave room to listen to the content of the other voices rather than responding with conscious attention to it, rather than trying to return only to their own agenda. Sometimes the best answer for all involved, the most honest honest answer, is, "I don't know. I will have to get back to you." The opposing parties must respect the voices they represent, which means respecting both the content of their message, and how their behaviour reflects on their respective parties. They have the grave duty of ensuring minority voices are not unheard, while maintaining the dignity of those voices.
Finally, if those who are charged with the task of governance do not choose to take it seriously, then how can we, as those governed, ever take them seriously?
There is one thing that is sticking in my mind. I sat in on Question Period at Parliament on Tuesday, May 15th, and was simply appalled by the behaviour of the MPs that I saw there. I was prepared for the rhetorical antics, but not for the basic disrespect of parliamentary etiquette, and the flagrant disregard for the seriousness of the task of governance. I watched as MPs ignored the ruling of the Speaker of the House when he stood for silence, or even the basic rule of not continuing to yell across the floor as one exited, over the ongoing business after the hour had ended. I think what surprised me most though was that, while I saw poor behaviour from parliamentarians on both sides of the floor, the most egregious offences against the office of the Speaker of the House came from the sitting government who elected him to the post. This showed a disrespect of both the individual and the office.
I couldn’t help but leave feeling let down. I take government seriously, and though I may not always agree with the choices made by those who govern, and though I may have little personal respect for the individuals in office, I still revere the office itself. Do note that when I speak of the seriousness of governance, I do not mean sombreness, or sobriety, but importance, - of weight. That’s a funny word, isn’t it – revere? Reverence for government and the weight of leadership is sadly lost, and it is no more clearly made visible than in the lack of respect for the etiquette, and rituals of parliament. It is, unfortunately, a cycle that claws away at what is left of reverence on Parliament Hill, as these little rituals, like bowing to the Speaker in acknowledgement when entering or exiting, or waiting to be called to speak, serve to reinforce the seriousness of these offices, and these debates, in the minds and hearts of those who perform them, and the ignorance or mockery of them, results in minds and hearts that believe quite the opposite.
Our personal and professional rituals shape our ability to work and live in those spaces. We feel more professional in a pair of slacks, or a business suit than we do in our housecoats, and are, as a result, generally more productive after getting dressed. We sleep more easily in our beds if we have a pre-sleep ritual we observe daily that tells our minds and bodies that now is the time to rest. Equally, we are on our best behaviour before dignitaries, superiors, and respected family members because we take them seriously, and want to show ourselves at our best as an act of respect. By obeying the rules of engagement and order set out for Parliament, and respecting the offices held within, a sense of seriousness is upheld, and each individual therein is reminded of that weight.
So, this being said, how can we have faith that our governors are doing their best for Canada, when they cannot even behave with respect for one another’s office in our most public of arenas? How can we believe that we, as a people, are held important, and respected, when there is no respect on any side of Parliament? This is not to say they should agree, or that the opposition should acquiesce, but that all must respect the importance of the role of the other, and the voice granted them by the people of Canada. The sitting government must respect that though they have a majority, they were not elected by a majority in the popular vote. They must temper themselves accordingly, and leave room to listen to the content of the other voices rather than responding with conscious attention to it, rather than trying to return only to their own agenda. Sometimes the best answer for all involved, the most honest honest answer, is, "I don't know. I will have to get back to you." The opposing parties must respect the voices they represent, which means respecting both the content of their message, and how their behaviour reflects on their respective parties. They have the grave duty of ensuring minority voices are not unheard, while maintaining the dignity of those voices.
Finally, if those who are charged with the task of governance do not choose to take it seriously, then how can we, as those governed, ever take them seriously?
Friday, May 11, 2012
Moving into the Sun
I have a longstanding fascination
with very womanly things – homemaking, etiquette, crafts. I don’t say ‘girly’ because then I think of a
six year old me with blonde hair in curls tied up with ribbons, having tea
parties with her dolls. This fascination
though is anything but imaginary, but rather deals with very tangible things –
the peace of a clean, uncluttered house, with the lingering scent of the lavender
oil I add to my homemade cleaners, the way we behave in public to make the
experience so much more comfortable and enjoyable for all, or the feel of hand-knit
socks as I slip them onto my feet. Don’t
be mistaken, I am still an ardent feminist, but one who delights in traditional
feminine roles (for myself – I see no reason to force them on anyone who doesn’t
get the same joy I do from them.)
One of the nice things about
summer is it means I get to indulge all of these things guiltlessly. Well ok, mostly guiltlessly – I am working a
tech support job with early hours. I
work 6 AM to 2:30 PM. Mornings have
never been my strong suit, but at least they are consistent and I get to enjoy
long afternoons while the sunshine lasts.
No late nights though. I am
falling over by 10 PM. So I get to laze in
the warm afternoons, go to the market and sit knitting with my cats. I cleaned the house top-to-bottom before
starting work too, so everything is fresh and organised, and old things have
been donated/disposed of as appropriate.
I can simply relax in my uncluttered home, enjoy housekeeping and
baking, and do those things I love best – reading and making things!
I take great pleasure from very
simple pleasures in life, and in particular things I consider lovely like
teacups, and beautifully patterned broadcloth, or when someone leans an old
fashioned cruiser bike on a kickstand in front of a flowering bush. I have discovered Instagram, and have been
posting plenty of images of these kinds of moments. Chances are, I will end up writing about some
of them too. I would also like to change
my blog layout over the summer, and learn to program in Wordpress so I can
customise everything. Maybe if I feel it
is lovelier I will write more. Who
knows?
Sunday, February 5, 2012
(Re-)Learning to Pray
I have long hated prayer. I grew up in a home where prayer was taught in one of two ways. You could close your eyes, and speak in words to God, often following a prayer book, or keeping a journal to make sure you hit all the important points and people. In groups, you could pray, or more precisely worship, by speaking in tongues. You didn't know what you were saying, and what you were actually praying for which seemed to take out the portion of prayer which is intentional (considered in the wordy prayer I was taught to be very important). It seemed to be a sweeping, not of God, but of camp - of theatre. In the case of sitting down to pray, in words, on a schedule, well, to be honest, I just feel silly. I don't know how else to explain it.
As an adult I would be asked about my prayer life, and because, although I have always been deeply spiritual, I have felt so very remiss in my prayer life because these two forms were not useful to me. What I have learned is that I am not a kapothatic pray-er - I don't pray in word form - and that my experience with praying in tongues (usual in revival style meetings) is not uncommon. It can be theatrical. It can be, God forbid, competitive. This isn't to say it has to be, only that it can.
I am, as it turns out, an apothatic pray-er. I pray in quiet, and in feeling, and in images. On my own, I have been learning how different traditions include both forms of prayer, though some focus more on one than on the other. In Christianity, I have been blessed to learn of the great history of Christian mysticism centred on apothatic experiences of communion with God. Though it is useful to many "Our Father, Who art in Heaven..." is not a be all and end all, a perfect prescription for how every person will pray. It is just as prayerful to "Be still and know that I am God," to empty and open ourselves to the extraordinary fullness of our Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer.
My Lead Pastor is on sabbatical, and the Minister in his place, one of our Ministers for Adult Faith Formation, has been bringing into our services the more Wesleyan, Reformed liturgy of her native Methodism. I've been struggling with this because we are including more spoken prayers, the service structured around our confession, and vocalised communion, and for me, this ritual is... taxing. Today though, during the sermon, she spoke of something else, of being lost in a moment during which Grace happens. That makes sense to me. I am learning though, that when I close my eyes, when I hear the prayers spoken by the congregation, but don't stop to read and speak, concentrating on the act of speaking, I can gain some comfort from the spoken liturgy as well. I can open a space, a moment, in which Grace can work, even though the prayers take the form of specific words.
I am no learning to relabel other spiritual disciplines as "prayer." Meditation, centering prayer, chant, walking and simply being in Creation, anything where I am open to the wonder of God, is prayer. Prayer is simply knowingly, being with God, and being in the same room as someone else, is being with them nonetheless. And now I wonder, if I know that my most intimate moments with my husband do not involve words, but merely being held by him, in love, why would I think that there could be no intimacy with God, without words either? Why did I think that wordless communion was somehow less? Because I hadn't been taught otherwise, so now, I'm learning.
As an adult I would be asked about my prayer life, and because, although I have always been deeply spiritual, I have felt so very remiss in my prayer life because these two forms were not useful to me. What I have learned is that I am not a kapothatic pray-er - I don't pray in word form - and that my experience with praying in tongues (usual in revival style meetings) is not uncommon. It can be theatrical. It can be, God forbid, competitive. This isn't to say it has to be, only that it can.
I am, as it turns out, an apothatic pray-er. I pray in quiet, and in feeling, and in images. On my own, I have been learning how different traditions include both forms of prayer, though some focus more on one than on the other. In Christianity, I have been blessed to learn of the great history of Christian mysticism centred on apothatic experiences of communion with God. Though it is useful to many "Our Father, Who art in Heaven..." is not a be all and end all, a perfect prescription for how every person will pray. It is just as prayerful to "Be still and know that I am God," to empty and open ourselves to the extraordinary fullness of our Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer.
My Lead Pastor is on sabbatical, and the Minister in his place, one of our Ministers for Adult Faith Formation, has been bringing into our services the more Wesleyan, Reformed liturgy of her native Methodism. I've been struggling with this because we are including more spoken prayers, the service structured around our confession, and vocalised communion, and for me, this ritual is... taxing. Today though, during the sermon, she spoke of something else, of being lost in a moment during which Grace happens. That makes sense to me. I am learning though, that when I close my eyes, when I hear the prayers spoken by the congregation, but don't stop to read and speak, concentrating on the act of speaking, I can gain some comfort from the spoken liturgy as well. I can open a space, a moment, in which Grace can work, even though the prayers take the form of specific words.
I am no learning to relabel other spiritual disciplines as "prayer." Meditation, centering prayer, chant, walking and simply being in Creation, anything where I am open to the wonder of God, is prayer. Prayer is simply knowingly, being with God, and being in the same room as someone else, is being with them nonetheless. And now I wonder, if I know that my most intimate moments with my husband do not involve words, but merely being held by him, in love, why would I think that there could be no intimacy with God, without words either? Why did I think that wordless communion was somehow less? Because I hadn't been taught otherwise, so now, I'm learning.
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