I’ve often been a hold-on-er. A white-knuckle-r afraid to let go of things and people that leave. But it’s no fun to live that way. Not for me, and I’m sure not for them either.
Underneath my grip is a fear of not having enough. Of not being taken care of. Of being alone. When I believe these thoughts, my creative mind, otherwise so adept at creating all manner of joy and humor, goes nuts painting me pictures of me dying alone. It ain’t pretty and it pretty much sucks.
I’m a slow learner when it comes to big life things, but I am starting to see through this whole shenanigans.
So today I was noticing the pervasiveness of that belief that there is not enough. I was noticing how I live my life with that thought. I noticed how greedy I get. How stingy. It makes me hold on really tightly. It makes me suspicious. It makes me cynical and sarcastic. I don’t much like my own company when I’m believing that, which is not so good a thing since regardless of who else may or may not be in my life, my own company is the one I am guaranteed to be keeping every day of my livelong days, so help me god, in sickness and in health, till death do me part, thank you very much.
So I went for a run, or my Heidi-version thereof. Somehow the repetitive motion combined with fresh air have the effect of sifting through my mind in the best of ways. I often see through the lies & fibs I might be believing while I’m circling the track. And somehow the thoughts I’m left with afterwards are pretty much always better for it. Sifting out what’s not true leaves much more room for things like joy. Creativity.
Sometimes, after running, I cry, especially if lots has been happening and I’ve been afraid and hanging on really tightly. And somehow, crying like that, when it’s not a temper-tantrum-y cry, always softens me up in the best of possible ways.
Byron Katie, says it so well: Happiness isn’t getting what you want but wanting what you have.
Without the thought I don’t have enough, I get to notice how much I have. Friends come to mind. And more. I notice how much they’ve given me and how freely they’ve given. I appreciate them. I notice the earth. I notice how generous the air is, always giving me another breath. I notice how strong the ground is, never once having told me I’m too much for it. I go to the store and my legs carry me. I can be grateful for not having a car. I’d weigh at least another 15 pounds if I didn’t walk to the store. I go to pay for my food—so many things I love: a banana, a pomegranate, some cilantro, some rice, some milk, even some ice cream—and I notice I have enough. And that’s plenty.