Sunday, 16 September 2007

• A Living, Breathing Possibility - Chapter 1: Responsibility

  RESPONSIBILITY

  "Let everyone sweep in front of his own door, and
  the whole world will be clean." - Johan Wolfgang von Goethe

  The next morning, your eyes seemed to pop open automatically, staring directly at the clock on your nightstand.  It was 6 am. But, odd thing though...  it wasn't actually "you" that looked out from those aching, drowsey orbs.  Whatever it was, it immediately lifted your hands up to your face, and examined them curiously.  Your body slowly sat up, before turning over on the bed and arching its back like a cat, with your head in a pillow.  Again it turned over and stretched your legs and arms as the sheets tossled about your hands, your body's heat escaping them, inviting a tantalizing return to blissfull slumber. 

  That didn't happen, however.  Instead, it returned to a sitting posture, and closed your eyes, folded your legs, and began taking a series of deep breaths.  In... out.  In... out.  Each breath seemed to make you feel more alert by the moment.  Even though you felt that every molecule of you wanted to just return to sawing wood and counting sheep, somewhere now... deep in the core of your being, was a sense of unmistakeable purpose and sublime intention.  You described experiencing something that wasn't quite an out-of-body sensation, but perhaps a distant cousin twice removed. At that moment, you could feel it... this... "possibility" inside of you... staring dispassionately across the landscape of your memories as it meditated, your eyes still closed, and your body continuing its quiet breathing exercise.

  What was it looking for?  You recounted to me how memory is a truly strange thing to experience when something other than you is recalling them.  Kind of like the way a feeling might return to you with the arrival of a familiar smell, or your mind's eye, might spy the face of a past friend everytime you listen to a favorite song you both shared.  For the moment however, there were no smells or sounds to queue the rush of images and feelings you'd begun to see. 

  You remember the first time you opened your own checking account, how your mother handed you the small booklet saying that this was a record of your very own savings, and how your heart swelled with pride.  A thought flashed in your head, contrasting the negative balance on your current account, and the 2 credit card bills on your bureau. A flicker of a frown registered on your face. 

  Next you remember yourself at 10 years old, running along the beach in shorts and a t-shirt.  You had this manic glee on your face that day, and even though you'd been running for 10 minutes, your two best friends couldn't catch you... and it made you feel alive.  This memory was punctuated by visions on your current state of affairs, so many years later.  You can see the empty fast food wrappers on the backseat of your car, and you remember looking over a note from your doctor recommending you change your diet to moderate your already high blood pressure.  With some shame you remember running for the bus, and being out of breath after a dash over no more than a city block. 

  The series of memories marched on unflinchingly, long past the time you'd grown numb to the feelings of depression and angst that had been accompanying them.  As you remembered it, the images started to run together and you started recognizing not just the images, but the context of why certain images matched with others.  They'd represented all the negative, paralyzing conclusions you'd come to about everything that hadn't gone the way you'd wanted them to in life and why it all seemed to happen to you no matter how you tried.  Sometimes you'd blame others, but always you had this twisting feeling that it was all secretly your own fault. No matter what it was, the only common element was that you were there.  Being hit with all of these things at once, somehow, the context changed. It reminded you of an old joke.  It went something like this:

  The woman's husband had been slipping in and out of a coma for several months, yet she had stayed by his bedside every single day. One day, when he came to, he motioned for her to come nearer.

  As she sat by him, he whispered, eyes full of tears, "You know what? You have been with me all through the bad times. When I got fired, you were there to support me. When my business failed, you were there. When I got shot, you were by my side. When we lost the house, you stayed right here. When my health started failing, you were still by my side. You know what?"

  "What dear?" She gently asked, smiling as her heart began to fill with warmth.

  "I think you're bad luck."

  The story made you laugh inside somewhere, and it didn't seem anywhere near as bad anymore.  It was like a cosmic joke, where you couldn't see your best potential cheerleader as anything more than a liability.  When your eyes finally opened, you saw that it was only 6:15 am. Suddenly you could feel your feet touching the cool carpeting of the bedroom.  In moments your hands were too.  You remarked how silly you felt that you didn't immediately realize that your body had begun exercising.  The last time you'd exercised had to be about 4 months prior, before you'd gotten so busy at work, and your morning routine so rushed and manic that you began skipping things.  Here again was the same morning as any other before it, but that sumblime intention just sat there in your spirit, like some spectre of fate saying, "this is what I need to do".  That same feeling carried through as your body ironed your clothes, cooked your breakfast, and prepared your lunch for the day.  You didn't feel a sense of rushing, or panic as your finished each task, but one of clarity and purpose. 

  You couldn't help feeling bored and distracted through all of this however, but your body moved on in spite of your aimless thoughts, until you found yourself sitting down with a small notepad in front of you.  Carefully... meticulously, you saw your hand record every important worry and concern that had been bothering you all morning.  With each stroke of the pen, every late promise and outstanding issue was jotted down, and resting the pencil over the list, you took a deep breath, rose to your feet, and walked away.

  AT WORK

  At work, you arrived 15 minutes before you were supposed to be there.  With the extra time, your hands worked quickly, cleaning much of the junk out of your car, and tossing it into the garbage receptacle outside the building. You found yourself arriving at your desk five minutes early.  Part of you felt a strange confusion that you could somehow make use of that time somewhere else, but on sitting down, you realized that nothing else really needed your attention more than this... not that you had any choice about it.  That day, you felt tickled with how productive you were.  Not only did your body feel well rested, despite not having had much sleep of late, but that list you'd written.... waiting for you on your clean kitchen table at home, almost felt like an extracted poison that usually sat in you all day long putting a shadow over everything you did.  The whole time at work however, that... possibility... was watching, remembering, and from time to time, wrote more things down on a scrap of paper you'd torn from the original list.

  There were a few times where you got more than a bit nervous.  There was that new executive that got on your nerves so much.  He'd strolled by your office, coffee cup in hand, and began chatting it up, while your hands typed away, trying to complete a task your mind seemed to want completed by noon.  Usually, you felt you had two options: a.) to give him your undivided attention, or b.) ignore him, pretending to listen, while you continued working.  This time however, within 30 seconds of him beginning to talk about his new backyard pool, you heard your voice saying, "Ed, I'm sorry, I need to get this report out by noon.  If you like we can catch up over lunch?"  Your face tossed him an easy smile, while Ed shot back, "Hey, sure thing, tiger."  Later, at lunch, Ed arrived late, so your ears only listened to part of his story, before politely, you heard your voice signal your exit.  You admitted to me that, even though you had the lowest opinion of the man... that on this particular day... for some reason, everything that usually irritated you to no end, just rolled off like beading water.  It was like you'd found your internal pressure valve and knew how to use it very well.

  BEDTIME

  On arriving home, the small list created during the day was joined with the list on your kitchen table.  Even though you'd just gotten home, your hands grabbed your coat again, and you found yourself walking down the street, and around the block.  Your legs walked for about 30 minutes before returning home so that your hands could prepare a warm dinner after your round of light cardio.  After dinner, your hands pulled the list close to you, and checking off a couple of items, you found yourself handling them as best you could so that they were no longer on the list.  Using a magnet, your hands fastened the list to the refrigerator. 

  Your body was back, resting in your bed long before usual that night.  Your lips sipped hot chai tea you'd picked up from the store on your way home, and your eyes read a book from your library of many, many unread books. 

  Somewhere along the line, you began getting sleepy.  Your body forced itself back to the kitchen sink, where your hands washed the cup, before returning your legs to the warmth of the comforter on the bed.  Your head nuzzled the pillow, as the lights were turned out by your outstretched hand.

  "This was a good day," you thought into the darkness... "thank you."  Ordinarily, you admitted to me, such an approach to your day seemed like it would be boring, or annoying, but simply "riding along" with how this unfolded, you felt much more complete.  Like you were the master of your own fate, and that no one else could tell you otherwise.  Your mind wasn't filled with anxiety that night, and even though your thoughts of what tomorrow might bring were the source of much bustle inside of your brain, it wasn't really a "worry"...

  Given the satisfaction you felt from today, tomorrow was something you were very much looking forward to.

  To Be Continued...
  Originally posted: January 10th, 2007
  

  "You must take personal responsibility. You cannot
  change the circumstances, the seasons, or the wind,
  but you can change yourself. That is something you
  have charge of." - Jim Rohn

   

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