The Gift of Being Present
I've slowed down a bit writing and posting since my fortieth birthday...actually, that's not true...I've not typed a word since then. It's funny what goal-setting, and achieving said goals can do to a person like me. I anticipated it--the letdown--the slow fizzle after all the commotion and buildup. It was inevitable, and since then, things have seemed to be moving too quickly. The day of my birthday was a microcosm of this same experience. Friends hiked up to the summit to be with me, and I took a half day off of work to complete my hike to my 48th New Hampshire 4000-foot peak with them. My one regret is wishing that I could have been more present during my time with them. I wanted to soak up every moment; I've written in previous posts how meaningful this experience was. But I didn't--I couldn't. Because I was literally returning to work after the hike, I found it impossible to settle in and fully experience my time off celebrating. I was playing too many roles simultaneously--employee, hostess, trip leader, and finally birthday girl, and I was trying to play each of these perfectly. By the end of the day every one of those roles felt a little short-changed.
So which of these was it for me...on my birthday? I can definitely check the control and perfectionism boxes. This was fueled by a concern that my friends' efforts to come all the way up the mountain, spending time and money, were worth it. That I am worth it. I didn't want anything to jeopardize their experience; I went so far as to conceal a low blood sugar episode while descending so as to not disrupt the flow of the hike by making everyone stop while I ate a snack and waited for my sugar to rebound. I do that a lot when I hike with others; I shouldn't, but I do. I'd rather power through the fatigue, lightheaded-ness, and mental scramble than inconvenience someone or appear weak, and even when alone, I often get impatient with the nuisance that is my diabetes. Maybe I don't want or frankly can't afford to take a 15-minute time out from life to wait for my blood sugar to rise. In this case, I was concerned that my friends have a good time, that their experience go smoothly, that they not be put out by anything happening that day. I realize my ability or inability to relinquish hypervigilance over a situation is directly correlated with whether or not I believe that I'm worthy of others' time and attention. If I had an unwavering belief that I were enough, just as I am, I would understand that my being present and allowing a situation to unfold organically would be enough. My friends wouldn't require any pomp and circumstance, any exceptional good time, because just my being there, our spending time together, would be enough. Looking back, I also realize I projected my own perfectionism not only onto the situation but onto my friends as well, thinking their expectations of the experience were identical to my own. While it is human nature to forget that those around you are not necessarily viewing life through the same filter, this assumption never seems to serve me well.
So what did I take away from my 40th birthday?
One: I made it. There were times in my life that I was taking such poor care of myself and my diabetes that I predicted I'd be taken out by diabetes complications by now and would never see this age. That was a fallacy. Thank god.
Two: Not only did I 'make it', I can take on and succeed at activities that are challenging both physically and mentally, despite diabetes, and I can do so in the presence of others. Although I still hide some of the more inconvenient, vulnerable aspects of my disease, at least I'm showing up. Every time I do so, I take a step in the right direction on my journey to fully integrate my disease.
Three: There are special people in my life who care for me and think I'm worthy of their time and effort, even when I can't always see that.
Four: There are still things to learn. The fact that I'm writing about this day, having insights into my motivations and struggles, means that there is work to be done yet. Will I ever get there? Likely not, because what is 'there', anyhow? Perfection? Utopia? Do these things even exist? I say no, because my experience with perfection is that it's a trap that only leaves you wanting more. This is because it's external, and until you shore up your ability to feel whole as just you are right now--as an imperfect work-in-progress--the most perfect of perfect situations will never feel good enough. The only way you're going to get anywhere close to the contentment you think a perfect situation will bring you is if you let your guard down and stop striving for such false ideals--if you give yourself the gift of being present, no matter what the circumstances. Luckily, I have a lot more birthdays--and regular days--ahead to practice.
I've struggled with the ability to be fully present for many years. The reasons why are varied, but they tend to be rooted in the themes that keep coming up in my writing and in the work I'm doing personally. Perfectionism, control, risk, vulnerability...yes--those themes. When you grow up a perfectionist, it's often too difficult or too painful to be in the present moment. You are constantly painting a picture in your head of what something should be like, never mind the personal berating you are dishing yourself in failing to fulfill this Utopian image. All that static running through your brain is pretty darn distracting. The need for control derails the ability to be present. It is an essential ingredient in the recipe for perfection, as your attention is diverted away from the actual experience in favor of attending to procedural details--because as a perfectionist, you don't risk leaving anything to chance, lest that image of what should be in your head not come to pass. Everything must be buttoned up, thought out, and carefully executed. The organic unfolding of events seems dangerous, threatening. When you are preoccupied with making a situation just so, it's incredibly easy to not actually experience the situation, even when you are an integral part of it. Fueled by the attempt to not appear vulnerable, risk aversion keeps you from fully experiencing a situation, and at its worst, your life. Appearing bullet-proof takes effort, attention, and tons of energy. No one is bullet-proof. No one. So trying to act so is inauthentic, and you cannot fully engage when being inauthentic.
So which of these was it for me...on my birthday? I can definitely check the control and perfectionism boxes. This was fueled by a concern that my friends' efforts to come all the way up the mountain, spending time and money, were worth it. That I am worth it. I didn't want anything to jeopardize their experience; I went so far as to conceal a low blood sugar episode while descending so as to not disrupt the flow of the hike by making everyone stop while I ate a snack and waited for my sugar to rebound. I do that a lot when I hike with others; I shouldn't, but I do. I'd rather power through the fatigue, lightheaded-ness, and mental scramble than inconvenience someone or appear weak, and even when alone, I often get impatient with the nuisance that is my diabetes. Maybe I don't want or frankly can't afford to take a 15-minute time out from life to wait for my blood sugar to rise. In this case, I was concerned that my friends have a good time, that their experience go smoothly, that they not be put out by anything happening that day. I realize my ability or inability to relinquish hypervigilance over a situation is directly correlated with whether or not I believe that I'm worthy of others' time and attention. If I had an unwavering belief that I were enough, just as I am, I would understand that my being present and allowing a situation to unfold organically would be enough. My friends wouldn't require any pomp and circumstance, any exceptional good time, because just my being there, our spending time together, would be enough. Looking back, I also realize I projected my own perfectionism not only onto the situation but onto my friends as well, thinking their expectations of the experience were identical to my own. While it is human nature to forget that those around you are not necessarily viewing life through the same filter, this assumption never seems to serve me well.
So what did I take away from my 40th birthday?
One: I made it. There were times in my life that I was taking such poor care of myself and my diabetes that I predicted I'd be taken out by diabetes complications by now and would never see this age. That was a fallacy. Thank god.
Two: Not only did I 'make it', I can take on and succeed at activities that are challenging both physically and mentally, despite diabetes, and I can do so in the presence of others. Although I still hide some of the more inconvenient, vulnerable aspects of my disease, at least I'm showing up. Every time I do so, I take a step in the right direction on my journey to fully integrate my disease.
Three: There are special people in my life who care for me and think I'm worthy of their time and effort, even when I can't always see that.
Four: There are still things to learn. The fact that I'm writing about this day, having insights into my motivations and struggles, means that there is work to be done yet. Will I ever get there? Likely not, because what is 'there', anyhow? Perfection? Utopia? Do these things even exist? I say no, because my experience with perfection is that it's a trap that only leaves you wanting more. This is because it's external, and until you shore up your ability to feel whole as just you are right now--as an imperfect work-in-progress--the most perfect of perfect situations will never feel good enough. The only way you're going to get anywhere close to the contentment you think a perfect situation will bring you is if you let your guard down and stop striving for such false ideals--if you give yourself the gift of being present, no matter what the circumstances. Luckily, I have a lot more birthdays--and regular days--ahead to practice.
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| Sunsets are so fleeting; the only way to enjoy them is to be present for the short amount of time they exist...If I don't succeed, I try not to beat myself up...I'll have another chance tomorrow to try again... Sunset from Mt. Washington; September 12, 2019 |
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| Here I am on Mt. Monroe; My 48th on my 40th! August 17, 2019 |
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| The Gang and Me, on the summit of Monroe, my 48th 4000-footer, August 17, 2019, my 40th birthday. |
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