Where in the World is Joy?

Tomorrow, Mark and I leave for 5 weeks away, completely unplugged. We travel to Nevis, West Indies and stay in a small cottage by the sea. We're "off grid": no Internet, television, email, social media, news, or screens. And we're also deeply plugged in: to ourselves, each other, and nature. Our days are filled with books, yoga, music, writing, meditation, cooking, long walks, ocean swims, and just being. This fills our spirits in inexpressible ways. We spend copious time cultivating our “doing” selves. It’s nice to nourish the being.

If you landed on my website looking for mindfulness opportunities—classes, presentations, or something else—you came to the right place. Please contact me now, while your question is percolating, and I'll respond to you on May 1.

Time is a "thing" in our culture: not having enough time. But in this moment—when we pause—there's enough time. There's space. It's all okay. If you need a gentle reminder, listen to this short guided meditation:



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Wisdom from the Woods

Mark and I spent three nights in a rustic cabin in Hiawatha National Forest, just after a fresh snowfall. Our tiny cabin had no running water or heat. We relied on a trusty wood-burning stove and camping equipment. Getting to the cabin entailed a 1-mile snowshoe, carrying everything on our backs and a sled. Carry in, carry out. The forest was calm, quiet, and welcoming, both in sun and moonlight.

Daily, I try to live a mindful life, paying attention to what's most important. Yet at the cabin I realized busyness still fills my days. In the woods, I slowly made coffee, savored a cup, watched the fire, and eventually cleaned dishes. No rush. No calling to do anything except what's right in front of me. I brought books to read, but they were unnecessary. I didn't need distraction. Hours went by without boredom. (Such a contrast to my typical day filled with doing.)

We snowshoed each afternoon. It felt good to move our bodies yet have no goal or expected result. When snow fell from the trees or birds flew overhead, we paused. We walked in silence; we walked in deep conversation. We returned to the cabin whenever it felt right. And our return was met not with email, phone, or text messages, but with quiet and simplicity. Being unplugged brought freedom.

On the third morning, I awoke with craving mind: I want to go home, sleep in my own bed, and be warm. But there are important lessons in being uncomfortable. Being uncomfortable allows me to see new parts of myself. It lets me see I'm capable of far more than I realize. So I got out of bed, made coffee, and let go into rustic-ness. That day—one day past my comfort zone—was our most satisfying. I want to remember this as regular practice: become more comfortable with being uncomfortable.

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I Survived

Last fall I committed to one year of unplugged Saturdays. Fifty-two Saturdays, no computer, no Internet, no exceptions. At first this seemed radical. Now it's normal. Not only did I survive the year, I thrived. Saturdays free of search engines, email, and social media are a relief not a burden.

One year ago, these were my thoughts: "I can't be unplugged every Saturday. I'll miss opportunities. I'll limit myself." These thoughts felt real, but they weren't true. The truth: I can unplug every Saturday; I missed nothing; I'm not limited, I'm free.

It's easy to believe the stories in our heads. They seem real. They are real, because that's our experience. But they're not always true. I see this regularly in meditation. Thoughts arise, I come back to the breath, thoughts arise with more fervor, I come back to the breath, different thoughts arise (wait, what happened to the previous storyline?), I come back to the breath, fear arises, I come back to the breath, different thoughts arise (wait, what happened to the fear?), I come back to the breath, thoughts arise, I come back to the breath.

Mindfulness provides a clearer lens. I don't believe all my thoughts. I try not to know for sure. Instead, I stay open to people and ideas. I surprise myself. And I savor my unplugged Saturdays.

Unplugged Saturdays

My relationship with cyberspace is complicated: intentional action feeds me; mindless activity drains me. I have useful practices, but it's time for radical intervention. In a previous post, I described a rigid internal voice: I couldn't possibly [fill in the blank]. For example: I couldn't possibly unplug every Saturday for an entire year. What if I glimpse a great idea for an essay? (Write by hand in a notebook.) What if my new, as-yet-unknown profession requires Saturday emails? (Make a different choice.) What if I need driving directions at the last minute? (Consult an old-school map.) What if I've taken amazing photographs? (Wait a day; let them simmer.) I can't possibly stay away from the computer all day every Saturday for a year. 

Yes, yes I can. It's a radical act of kindness for my soul.

My last three Saturdays included no Internet, no computer. It's a mere 24 hours. Yet I felt the tug. Downtime at home brought the habituated pull--glance at email, look at photographs. I noticed the craving and let it pass (poof, it's gone). One day a week of restoration, re-wiring habits, and connecting in person, not online. It's my simple yet radical commitment to presence. 

From Unplugged to Plugged

While on Nevis I was unplugged--no email, Internet, TV. I was also away from the daily to-dos of living (e.g., errands, appointments, bills). The magic of this: my days were expansive. So much space to read, write, cook, run, swim, meditate, photograph, take long walks, watch the birds, nap, have silly and philosophical conversations with Mark, gain new insights, and connect deeply with nature.

A hard truth: fear still accompanied me. Daily I worked with the inner-voice that said I was unworthy; that I should be doing and accomplishing more. (If only unplugging from that voice was as easy as shutting down a computer.) But fear will always walk beside me. And the more I understand it, see beneath it, and tend to my needs the less power fear has (and the more strongly I grow into myself). Being away from distractions meant I had regular space to work with fear and shame. It didn't overwhelm me; it's just part of being human. As are joy, contentment, wonder, gratitude, and connection--all of which I experienced daily on Nevis.

Upon my return from unplugged land, I've tried to stay curious--mindful to the multitude of ways in which I get swept back into the busyness. It feels groundless. How do I reconcile my life on Nevis with my life in Appleton? Yesterday I got hooked--completely hooked. I felt such a strong pull to process ALL my photos; to cross that off my to-do list; to receive external strokes for my work. (This is the unchecked fear of unworthiness.)  The good news: I noticed. And I smiled. Because this is how life works--we have periods of mindfulness and periods lost in trance; some moments we're completely present and others we're completely distracted. As I walk my path, I have more moments spent fully present with my experience--yay for that.

It's good to be back. Being plugged in allows for distraction, but more importantly it allows for connection. I look forward to reconnecting with people (while staying connected to myself).

Unplugged Sabbatical

I'm a space filler. Coming off the long hours of an academic term, it's hard for my doing-self to slow. My ego (doing-self) is uncomfortable when idle. If I'm not mindful, then my day is crammed with new things (e.g., errands, new--not necessarily well thought out--projects, list making, plans, extra correspondence). These are all efforts to prove my worth--who am I if I'm not doing or achieving? I'm always curious about the new tasks in which I place my self-worth. When I'm mindful, when I make space to just be, then I know my self-worth is inherent. It exists, always. I am always worthy, just by being me; there's no doing that changes my self-worth. But ego is wily and often circumvents my true intentions, though I'm onto ego: I recognize its machinations more quickly and when I do, I immediately pause, breathe, or meditate.

Lucky for me, I will be soon be away from all external pressures and duties. On Saturday, Mark and I leave for 5 weeks in Nevis, West Indies. While there, we rent an 800-square-foot cottage on a beautiful property--filled with gorgeous gardens and just a short walk to the beach. And we're completely unplugged: no Internet, email, television, newspaper, computer, or cell phone. It's interesting to notice my reactions when first there--I'm trained to look at the answering machine or check email. I have that reaction in Nevis and then I smile. And soon I have no expectations. That's when I'm really unplugged. And I feel so very free. So available to experience life with all my senses.

While on Nevis we don't check email, watch TV, read news, travel in a car, dine at restaurants, or surf the Internet. What do we do? Read books, cook food, take long walks, commune with the ocean, sit in silence, have deep conversation, experience the moment, do yoga, run along the beach, play scrabble, take photographs, play music, ride bikes to the market, listen to the wind, watch the hummingbirds, write, take naps, look at the stars, create, and just be. We experience life through all our senses, no distractions. Does ego still add commentary? Of course, daily commentary. But it's much easier to turn the volume dial to low or mute.

So, friends, I'll be away from this blog for a while. (Although, in some sense, I'll take you all to Nevis with me--in my heart and my experiences.)  Check back later in the week--I have some ideas for you to ponder and experiment with while I'm gone.

Downtime

In March I wrote about craving--particularly the message I receive from Amazon boxes that appear at my door. The subject matter of the selected books lets me know what I crave. But it's not the books themselves I desire--it's the self-nurture. In March, I craved time to cook food and work on creative projects. This summer I purposefully made space for cooking, gardening, photography, and a little poetry. I've pushed my creative boundaries in exciting ways.

But ego snuck in when I wasn't looking. Ego took on the creative projects in a must-do, this-is-your-self-worth, stay-hooked-to-the-computer way. (This was a gradual process; ego is quite wily.) So what arrived on my doorstep recently? Pleasure reads. Books in which I can lose myself. Books for fun. Do I actually crave these specific books? No. I crave downtime. I crave a day where I have no plans; a day where I can start a book and perhaps finish it before bed. It's summer and my schedule is very flexible--this is precisely the time to leisurely enjoy an unstructured day. Yet I haven't. Interesting how ego works.

The good news: 1) I've made exciting creative leaps this summer, and 2) I spied ego early-ish in the process. Really, what more can I ask? This is the pathway of life. And sometimes, I receive a gift at just the right moment: yesterday I lolled at the Kohler Water Spa with two of my best friends. Any moment is an opportunity to change habits. Yesterday was a lovely reminder.