I can’t find the journal that I should be writing in right now. Looked everywhere. I remember holding it in my hands coming out of the studio. I feel almost sure I was carrying when I got out of the car at home. But I’m not sure. So now maybe I left it inside the studio. Or outside, leaning against the door. Why can’t I find it anywhere inside this house?
This distraction is insidious. Every couple minutes or so, I get taken away again; and the Where-Is-It drives my muscles before I know it, and suddenly I’m wandering around in a state of searching, searching, scanning, looking, trying to find. Wandering.
It’s a snapshot of what happens all the time anyway. It could be why I’m forever signing up for seminars, workshops, master classes online. Oh, what would it be like if I were to stop looking for and just be with myself? No better take on my business life, no knowledge about webinars or convertkit, no accumulating skill with anatomy. No journal, no phone, no apps. Nothing.
Careful, here. I have a tendency to paint everything with a This Is Not What You Should Be Doing brush. So, before we go any further, let’s recalibrate.
Obsession and distraction are not the same as curiosity and a love of learning. The fact that I love learning about muscles and money and meditation does not mean I’m a hopeless workaholic who can’t relax. And on the flip side, having something to do every single minute of every day doesn’t necessarily mean I’m living life fully.
Where am I right now? Right now, I’m writing to you. I’m not looking for my journal (the other one); I’m not online doing a webinar; I’m not listening to podcasts or reading. I’m just spilling the contents of my mind into my laptop. I am a smooth pebble at the bottom of a lively, bubbling creek, lying here peacefully, looking up. Sandy riverbed at my back, the white water of all these thoughts about lost journals and master classes rushing over me. I don’t have to understand anything. I don’t have to connect any dots. My only job is to notice, to see without judgment, and bow to impermanence.
May we all start pausing more often to look at our thoughts before trying to make them mean something and swallowing them whole as truth. May we push back on everything we think we “know,” lie back on the riverbed, comfortable and clear. May we look up at the constant stream of thinking (lists, regrets, fears, fantasies, realizations, commitments, intentions, resentments, etc.), and just see how beautiful it all is. Nothing personal. Nothing solid. Nothing gained, nothing lost. Only water, rushing to the sea.