Tag Archives: Kara Loewentheil

What’s your plan for Election Night?

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"I voted" stickers

Do you have a plan for Election Night?

There’s been a lot of talk about having a plan to vote. But do you have a plan for AFTER the vote?

My husband asked me this morning how I wanted to handle Tuesday night. My thoughts went immediately to alcohol. Tequila if things don’t look so good, and champagne if things go well. Maybe both.

But that’s not really functional, is it? It’s human to buffer our emotions occasionally, of course. It’s best not to make a habit of it.

It turns out that what worries me about Tuesday night is that I won’t be able to handle my feelings if Trump wins. I suspect if you dig down under your thoughts, you’ll find the same thing. Worrying about and anticipating my fear ahead of time just means that I’m feeling fearful of my fear ahead of time, before the event I’m anticipating has even happened. It’s a little nuts, and completely understandable if you have a human brain, like I do.

I know it’s my thoughts causing my feelings.
But what do I do about my thoughts – thoughts that seem so reasonable, given the state of our nation and my beliefs about Donald Trump’s four years in the White House?

This is what I was mulling over as I listened to Kara Loewentheil’s Unf*ck Your Brain podcast, devoted this week to Election Emotions.

Kara confirmed for me that what I was actually afraid of was feeling overwhelmed by aching despair, hopelessness, and anger if Trump wins. You can read here and listen here.

What will actually help me these next few days, before and after November 3rd, is to have a plan. Kara suggests four components:

1. Decide, intentionally, what thoughts you want to think. Choose your thoughts and feelings on purpose.

2. Schedule twenty to sixty minutes each day, blocking out news and social media, to accomplish one or two important tasks. Commit to what’s important to you, and take action.

3. Give yourself at least ten minutes of pleasure each day.

4. Write one sentence of gratitude every night.

After you read or listen, follow the prompts to download Kara’s “Survive This Election” pdf. You’ll be glad you did, I think.

I can’t stress highly enough how much I want you to listen to this episode. It will be 23 minutes well-spent, I promise you.

I’m taking Kara’s advice one step further. In the spirit of NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month), I’m declaring November PeArMaMo, my own Personal Art-Making Month. I commit to making some art each day and posting it on Instagram. I also plan to write daily, focusing on the sequel to Lost and Found, my Camino novel. I may post snippets of that, as well. PeArMaMo doesn’t please the ear like NaNoWriMo, but it will have to do. Perfectionism sucks the life out of life.

Our brains hate uncertainty. We are currently swimming in uncertainty. What a perfect time to flex our grown-up muscles and take some control of our minds and our feelings, right? {Insert smiley face here.}

Make a plan. Choose your thoughts on purpose, and your feelings will follow. Commit to making the world a better place, no matter what happens on November 3rd.

I don’t want to be racist, but I am. Here’s what I’m doing about it.

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Like many of us in the aftermath of George Floyd’s murder, I’m having conversations about American racism. This morning, in a group of White women, several said they were taught by their families not to be racist. I didn’t have that advantage. Not only was I raised in a family with overt white supremacist attitudes and beliefs, I grew up and currently live in a racist society. I am racist, whether I want to be or not. I don’t want to be racist, so I’m examining my internalized racism because I want to become more and more anti-racist.

Most of you are further along this journey than I am. I feel very uncomfortable talking about racism. Writing this post, telling you that my parents and grandparents had white supremacist beliefs, is extremely uncomfortable. So what? That’s as it should be. This is uncomfortable work. Because guilt, shame, and all the other self-flagellating feelings don’t help me or anyone else, I’ll leave it at this: I want to root out, as much as possible, my own racist attitudes and beliefs. And I want to work for the dismantling of systemic racism in America.

In listening to Black, Indigenous, People of Color (BIPOC) speakers, reading books and articles by BIPOC writers, and in talking with other White people, I’ve found these two resources especially helpful. I humbly offer them to you. More to follow as I continue my self-education.

In this episode of Unf*ck Your Brain, Kara Loewentheil discusses why we’re all racists if we grew up in a racist society, why we need to understand that our thoughts don’t make us good or bad, how perfectionism can derail our efforts to become more anti-racist, and how discomfort doesn’t mean we’re doing this wrong. And so much more. This podcast gave me the courage to admit my own racism.

And, following Ijeoma Oluo’s suggestion in So You Want to Talk about Race, I’m inventorying my privilege. Here are a few items from my list.

  • I’m white.
  • I’m heterosexual.
  • I’m cisgendered.
  • I grew up in a middle class family.
  • I usually felt safe from physical harm.
  • My parents were married for the first twelve years of my life.
  • I’ve never been worried about having enough food or a place to live.  
  • I had an excellent public education.
  • I graduated from high school.
  • My teachers almost always looked like me.
  • My parents expected good grades from me.
  • My parents assumed I would go to college.
  • My parents paid for most of my undergraduate degree.
  • My family traveled.
  • My mom read aloud to her kids.
  • My mom was involved in school and girl scouts.
  • I had grandparents who cared about me.
  • I had plenty of friends who cared about me.
  • I am neurotypical.
  • I am able-bodied.
  • I do not have a debilitating or chronic illness.

The list goes on. This is only the start. I’m confident there’s more that I don’t even see yet, because that’s how privilege works.

Of course, the biggest privilege I have is my choice about whether to do this work or not. I choose to do this work. Most of you are further along this journey than I am. Tell me what’s helped you. Show me what I’m missing. I know I’ve only just begun.

Breathing like a toddler through COVID-19

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1962, San Diego Zoo
Three-year-old me at the San Diego Zoo

How are your toddler disciplines going? Are you doing things that help you stay here and now?

My own life hasn’t changed all that much, yet waves of fear and grief wash over me unpredictably and I sometimes feel out of control. There’s a lot of that going around.

Panic comes from trying to resist and control what’s uncontrollable: the virus, the future, other people, those waves of grief and anxiety. Remember, this present moment is the only refuge from what we can’t control or predict.

Anchoring into your breath will help you stay present. You always have your breath, as long as you’re alive. And it’s the perfect metaphor for what we need to be about these days: accepting the reality of this present moment and surrendering attempts to control what isn’t ours to control.

Martha Beck, as well as many other mostly Buddhist teachers, teaches this “accept and surrender” meditation. Doing it once will help. Doing it for five minutes will help even more. Doing it for twenty minutes in the morning and again in the evening is ideal. But doing it is the helpful thing. Try not to let the perfect be the enemy of the done.

Ready? Here it is. Sit quietly. With every inhalation, say to yourself, “Accept.” With every exhale, say to yourself, “Surrender.” That’s it. That’s all you need to do. When your mind wanders, as it inevitably will, just gently return to your breath and these two words. This is all you do.

You can embellish if you choose. You can substitute other words. (I find “Let go” fits my brain better than “surrender.”) You can expand the words, maybe saying “I accept this world as it is” on the inbreath and “I surrender control of this world” on the outbreath. Whatever. Just, please, do it. It will help.

Every breath is a little resurrection. You drew your first inbreath when you were born, and your last exhale will be at the moment of your death. Every breath in between birth and death can be an acceptance of this life just as it is, followed by letting go of any attempt to control this amazing gift.

Another suggestion, lifted from Kara Loewentheil, is to write a manifesto or mission statement for yourself. I suggest following the “thoughts create feelings which lead to actions which create results” model. Here’s mine that I just wrote:

I believe that I’m strong enough and flexible enough to handle what comes my way, and I feel courageous in my vulnerability to this present miraculous moment. I will show up compassionately as my true self, rooted in Source, loving and free and available for my family, friends, community, and the world.

When I read this, I feel much more relaxed, present, and creative. Is this a manifesto a toddler would write? I think so! Maybe let your inner toddler help you write yours.

I invite you to share your manifesto in the comments, if you’re feeling brave. And let me know how those toddler disciplines are going!

There are so many generous creators offering resources to help us get through these COVID-19 times. Martha Beck is offering a newly-created course for a special corona rate. Registration is closing April 14th, so check it out if you’re interested. (I don’t get a commission. I just find her work insightful, useful, and fun!)

Let your messy light shine.

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Woman holding light: Our cracks and broken places are where our light shines into the dark.

Last week I wrote an intensely personal note to you which included two pieces of information I rarely share: my dad’s skiing death and my stepfather’s abuse.  I put them out there for all the world to see. Why?

Mostly, it’s because I’m tired of keeping these secrets. I’m seeing more and more clearly that I’ve been making both events mean that I’m bad, broken, and unlovable. If you know them about me, you won’t like me. Or you’ll feel sorry for me. I don’t want to believe that anymore. That belief has caused me to lead a diminished life, and I’m tired of it.

Here’s what’s truly true: bad things happen to everyone. As do good things. It’s all part of the human experience. What hurts us is the story we tell ourselves about the bad things. And the good things, too. What hurts us is our thoughts about ourselves, others, and the nature of the universe. What hurts us is thinking we deserve these events, bad or good.

The brilliant Kara Loewentheil’s Unf*ck Your Brain podcast on December 17th was about vulnerability. Kara dropped this bombshell that exploded in my brain: “The only person we’re vulnerable to as adults is ourselves.” Kara elaborated that when we’re afraid of someone else’s negative judgment when we tell them something personal, it’s because we secretly believe they’re right. If we’re okay with the information, we’re okay with their reaction, positive or negative. So I dug into why I resist telling people about my dad’s deadly accident and my stepfather’s sexual abuse. I thought it was because hearing about these events makes others uncomfortable, so I was just being considerate. And they do make others uncomfortable, but that’s only part of the story. Mostly they make me uncomfortable.

It turns out I’ve spent fifty years believing bad things happen to bad people, and I thought I needed to keep my badness a secret. But of course the truth is I didn’t cause either event. My dad hit a tree so hard he died. My mom’s need to have this man take care of her was stronger than her desire to protect me. That’s all. I didn’t cause my parents’ divorce, my family’s disintegration, or my dad’s alcoholism and three remarriages, either. I was a just child trying to make sense of bad situations created by the adults in my life who were dealing with their own shit as well as they could. Sometimes they dealt very badly. And gravity happens, even to the best of skiers.

I’m learning to think of the decade that undid me as a testament to my strength and resilience, and the mysterious power of grace. As I’ve come to see myself differently – as a tender, strong woman who deserves joy – I’ve also come to see my parents differently. This is forgiveness. As I open myself to deeper and deeper healing, I’m letting my parents off the hook. I’m forgiving my dad for dying young and my mom for inviting someone into our lives who hurt me. I’m pretty sure, as I continue to heal, I’ll find that I’ve forgiven my stepfather, too.

Those events broke me, and it’s okay. I’m okay. I think Leonard Cohen was right: the broken places are where the light gets in.  

“Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack, a crack in everything
That’s how the light gets in.”

And light doesn’t only come into us. Light goes out, too. Our cracks and broken places are where our light shines through most brightly in the dark. Our imperfections can be channels of grace and healing for our world. We can flow with this light.

Sharing my broken places with you, dear reader, has been healing for me. Thank you for allowing space for them.  

An invitation: If the time is right, gently and with immense kindness, ask yourself what about yourself you keep sequestered from other people. What secrets do you carry? Why are you choosing to carry them? What are these secrets costing you in energy and intimacy?

Answering these questions will help you discover if you, like me, believe untruths that are causing you to suffer. Contact me here if you’d like to investigate together.

Photo by Josh Boot on Unsplash