It wasn’t until this past Monday that I realized I never sent a newsletter the previous Friday, despite having just returned to the promise of regular issues. The days just sort of…squelched under my toes, and I didn’t realize I’d missed a Friday until long after it was gone. Thanks for your patience while I remember how time works.
This week, I’ve been thinking a lot about motion and stillness and, to some lesser extent, time. As humans, we are in near-constant mental and emotional motion, swinging back and forth between what happens to us and how we react to what happens. Humans are a storytelling species — the readers of this publication probably more so than most. Our tendency toward story means that we often turn our reactions to experience into stories about experience.
Let’s say I get caught in traffic on my way to meet a friend for lunch. I’ll probably be late, and my friend (who is always on time) will think I don’t care about our time together, or maybe she’ll feel disrespected. There was that one time a couple years ago when I forgot her birthday, which she probably still thinks about every time we see each other. Being late today will compound her lingering resentment about the birthday debacle, and she might decide our friendship isn’t really worth the effort. And if she decides I’m not worth the effort, she’ll probably mention it to her friends on the PTA, who already don’t like me because I’m forever late on my dues. If I were a better mom, I’d pay my dues on time. I probably wouldn’t have yelled this morning when the bickering reached a fever pitch. I’d be a gentle parent, like the mom on Daniel Tiger’s Neighborhood. My kids would grow up totally well-adjusted and never get into toxic relationships, which I’m all but guaranteeing by being so awful—
And just like that, we’re off to some place and time far from here and now. We’ve completely disengaged from the present moment, because our story about our experience is powerful enough to take us completely out of time. Back and forth we swing, like the pendulum on a grandfather clock: experience, story, experience, story.
But…clocks are made to keep time, just like our minds are made to produce thoughts. It’t a terrible tragedy when a thing is not allowed to be what it is.
How do we allow ourselves to be the storytellers it is our destiny to be, while remaining engaged with our present experiences? That engagement is essential for creatives, whose ability to stay engaged is sister to the ability to reflect meaningfully on experience.
Thankfully, the world is populated with teachers far more qualified than myself to help us all figure out how to do that—how to break free from our deeply-ingrained mental patterns so we can find some lightness and peace. But since none of them delivered a newsletter to your inbox this morning, I’ll give you my best advice for staying in the present, even when our minds are constantly haring off to lord-knows-where.
Take a deep inhale, and as you exhale, make a soft ha sound, like you’re fogging a mirror with your breath.
Do it again. Take your time.
On your next exhale, make the same sound but with your lips closed.
Keep cycling your breath this way, using what the yogis call ujjayi pranayama—roughly translated from the Sanskrit as “victorious breath.” At some point, close your eyes and just listen to the soft, resonant sound of your own breathing. Feel the gentle warmth in your throat and at the tip of your nose. Notice the rise and fall of your chest. After a minute or so, take an extra-deep breath, exhale through your mouth, and let ujjayi pranayama go.
For me, this is it: the key to stilling the pendulum. My brain is in near-constant overdrive (because how else could I obsess about the past and worry about the future at the same time?!), but I find this breathing technique expands the space between my experiences and the stories I tell myself about those experiences. Those beautiful, fleeting pockets of expansiveness are where inspiration hides, and the more we practice abiding inside them, the more access we’ll gain to our strong, creative centers.
I sometimes think about renowned spiritual teacher and yogi Ram Dass’s famous phrase, Be here now. At times it feels like an invitation, at other times a challenge, and always a dare. Can we stay fully present to our experience, and save the storytelling for our novels-in-progress?
We can try.
xRF
First Line Frenzy® Reedsy Live Replay
Real talk? Last week’s FLF Reedsy Live was one of my favorites. We had some laughs, some gold-star content, and a few eye-roll-inducing lines, too. Are there trolls in the comments? Always! But is the FLF community still the best corner of the Internet? Absolutely. Thanks to all who joined live, and to everyone else: Enjoy the show!
Book of the Week
If you read my first newsletter this month, you know the collected works of KJ Charles have had me by the throat since June. The pure serotonin that flooded my system when I saw my audiobook preorder of A Nobleman’s Guide to Seducing a Scoundrel in my inbox on Tuesday morning should qualify as a restricted substance. Can I be honest with you? I had no idea what this book was about when I preordered, and have taken zero steps to find out. In KJ I trust; whatever she has in store for me is exactly what I want/need. But for the skeptics among you, I can almost guarantee this book contains wry humor, lush descriptive language, adventure with a side helping of mystery, and probably a romance that will make your heart weep unicorn tears. Don’t overthink this—just buy the book. Paperback linked above (click on the gorgeous book cover), or snag the audiobook on Libro.fm*.
*affiliate links: I receive a small commission at no additional cost to you. Purchases from Bookshop and Libro.fm support independent bookstores!