Is paying attention the key?

I find myself questioning a lot. Too much, maybe. I question the root of my battle with anxiety and depressive episodes. I question how I can balance my longing to be free against the notion of what freedom really is. I question my writing and what I want to achieve from it.

I question everything. I guess that’s what this blog is, really.

And I think that constant hunting out of the answer to all these questions is precisely that… a need to find that bigger answer. The one lingering in the corner of the room, tapping you on the shoulder and following your every movement.

How do I live my life to its fullest?

A dear friend and I talk about these questions almost every day. We share reflections on the week gone, help one another work our way through the existential topics that frame our very being.

Recently, with reference to a recent blog post where I spoke about throwing myself headfirst and giving it my all, she said:

“I wonder if your natural tendency, what comes easiest to you, is to be active, pushing, striving it’s quite a fierce approach… so what about the wildness in softening, letting go, grounding, getting present?”

It’s something I’d never considered. Not on a deep level, anyway. Whilst I strive for a mindful life I’d be lying if I said it was a path that came easily. If at all.

I’m fiery by character. A textbook Sagittarius, my passions are intense and my life tends to run on impulses. I follow my gut, always, and fly through every experience as if on hot coals. A moment wasted is a moment lost.

And mostly, it’s a trait that has served me well. That desire compelled me to leave my comfort zone and take on many of the life changing experiences I pride myself on. It helped me get the jobs I have done and grab hold of my achievements.

But it also made me slip through them at full speed; a conveyor belt continuously taking me to the next destination.

Because when I look back, I can’t help but wonder… how different would things have been had I found the space inside me to press down on the brakes and ground myself?

To be in that moment, to pay attention to it, rather than tying up my laces ready for the next step?

I’ve always told myself that my inability to stop is simply a manifestation of my urge to live every second out of life. The thought of reaching the end of my life and feeling any regret for the opportunities missed fills me with a debilitating terror. I want to be able to tell of my adventure, to hold it close to my chest and know that I made every moment count.

And yet… am I really feeling those moments?

Mary Oliver puts it beautifully:

“Attention without feeling, I began to learn, is only a report. An openness – an empathy – was necessary if the attention was to matter.”

Is this, then, the answer?

Perhaps the key is to surrender to a gentler way of life. To stop comparing this place I find myself in to the past and let go of my expectations for the future. To let the water carry me. Let it quench my thirst.

As if on cue, I stumbled across this quote today from the global spiritual leader Thich Nhat Hanh:

“To dwell in the here and now does not mean you never think about the past or responsibly plan for the future. The idea is simply not to allow yourself to get lost in regrets about the past or worries about the future. If you are firmly grounded in the present moment, the past can be an object of inquiry, the object of your mindfulness and concentration. You can attain many insights by looking into the past. But you are still grounded in the present moment.”

It seems so obvious. But I’ve got 25 years of behaviour to unthread to make it a reality.

Because to truly live in the moment… to appreciate being and to show up to it in an open way… it means letting go of the control.

And that is my ultimate challenge.

But recognising that? Acknowledging it?

At least that journey has finally begun.

Are you truly awake?

I received a text from a friend today who I travelled with across Australia and South East Asia. He’d watched a programme about a South Korean Buddhist monk and messaged to tell me it reminded him of a conversation we had shared in Cairns.

I remembered it so clearly. Remembered all the conversations so very clearly. Everything from the in depth talks about life and its many intricacies over a tall pint of beer right through to the nights spent under the stars delving into spiritual teachings.

We were so in tune with our own thoughts and innermost questions. Our hearts open, gapingly even, to drink in with a wild desire every new piece of information and inspiration.

Our world was a puzzle, and we felt so very blessed to find those pieces and figure out quite how they slotted together.

My kindle was heavy with readings from Deepak Chopra, Baron Baptiste and Thich Nhat Hanh. Their words gave me the strength to forgive my Mother. And even now, after an attempt to rebuild those bridges and coming to realise they are too broken to repair, their teachings have provided me with the love to accept this truth and live with it.

At that time, I felt full and… I guess, awake?

Awake. That’s it.

So why is it that since returning to “ordinary” life, it has has it been so hard for me to open my eyes?

It took me a long time to understand that I could not (and should not) rest my happiness and self worth on a location. I felt guilty for returning to my home town after so many years away. As if I had taken a step back into a past I wanted to forget and was foolishly leaving behind a life I had only ever dreamt of.

Regret walked with me like a shadow, anxiety my second heart beat. “Itchy feet” didn’t even hint at the intense emotions running from my head to my toes pushing me to pick up that passport once again.

Everything was boring. Everything was dull.

Where was the beauty? Where was the discovery?

I blamed this lack of stimulation and overwhelming sense of monotony on my own inability to connect with that girl I had become those few months ago.

Or, rather, the girl I had allowed myself to be.

I no longer felt full and in a state of mindfulness. Far from it, really.

The only time I stepped back into that beautiful state of being was when I placed myself on the mat. My practice would be transcendent, my mind at peace and hungry for my teachers simple but deeply affecting words.

Until recently. Until I gave myself the permission to take my teachers words away from the mat and into my life.

It sounds silly, doesn’t it? An obvious concept.

And yet something had been stopping me from taking them out of my safe haven into my “real world.”

When my teacher returned from a retreat in India back to Shirley, we were of course all bursting with questions for him. His answers were full of joy but very calm, collected.

“Whether you are somewhere exotic and beautiful like India or back in quiet Shirley, it doesn’t matter really, does it? Those things, they’re just external. They’re temporary. The only constant is yourself. And that is the only place you can truly gain fulfilment.”

*the penny drops*

Isn’t it the oddest thing when someone puts into words exactly what you have been searching for all along?

And now I feel as if I have accepted and welcomed that… now I once again want to commit to living in a mindful existence.

There are many ways I hope to do this. My daily yoga practice. Exploring Buddhist groups in the community. Going back to my readings.

Living, loving, learning.

Maybe this blog can help me chronicle them. Give me a space to be and reflect.

I want to allow myself to be that girl who held herself as a blank canvas and lived every moment as it was supposed to be lived.

Fully.

Consciously.

Awake.

It doesn’t matter whether I am doing that amidst a Balinese sacred site, a remote island or the comfort of my humble flat in Southampton.

None of those things define who I am or what I want to be.

That? That can only come from myself.

On Forgiveness.

“The weak can never forgive. Forgiveness is the attribute of the soul.” – Mahatma Gandhi

I always felt it was the other way round. That to forgive, to give in, made you weak. That strength was keeping the barriers firmly in place, pushing away those who had brought you the misery because that was the only way to block it from your mind.

And maybe it is. Maybe that really does work for some people.

I thought it worked for me.

The Importance of Travelling Alone.

It was going to be an apology. A desperate plea to make them understand, make them see where I was coming from. Why I gave everything up just to “keep on moving.”

Of course there was guilt. How could there not be? When you make a promise to commit the next six months of your life to share with another person, an important person, how can you not doubt your decision? The impact it has. The repercussions.

Lost in Lucca.

It’s funny how leaving your comfort zone changes everything.  Since leaving England to come to Italy, I can feel myself changing on a daily basis.  The same things just don’t matter to me anymore.  It’s becoming so clear to me what is truly important and what isn’t.

Yesterday, we went to Lucca for the day.  It was grey, it was rainy, but alas – off we went.  And leaving my new comfort zone (because apparently that’s what Firenze is now… although it continues to surprise and challenge me non stop!) was exactly what I needed to give me a little bit of perspective.  Clarity on what was needed to lift the cloud hanging over me.

As we strolled along the city walls, drinking in the rich history, I turned to my friend and asked her whether she thought moving abroad had changed her at all.  I was so surprised when she responded by saying she didn’t really feel like it had.  Of course, you can never really change entirely.  I’m still the same in so many ways; I’m a big kid at heart, I’m still socially inept and I never stop dreaming.

But away from that, I feel so different.  Leaving the corporate world (albeit, the arts and culture branch of it) and my pretty big network, leaving the life where the most important part of my week was buying a new dress for a weekend of indulgence or laying in bed all day surrounded by Dominos and shame (okay, maybe I’m exaggerating… or maybe not)… how can it not change you?

The biggest pleasures in my life now?  Exploring a new city and interacting with a new culture.  Sitting at my desk and letting the words spill onto the page.  Receiving a hand-drawn picture in the post from a cousin or a nephew.  Sitting and watching the sunset whilst talking about your wildest dreams with friends, never letting any dream be too big.

This is what matters.

So exploring the charismatically quaint city of Lucca – even in the rain – with my dear girl?  It did it.  It helped suck out the sadness and fill me instead with joy.

The city of 100 churches they call it.  And they weren’t kidding.  On every corner you’ll find another towering piece of architectural brilliance, where the deep spirtuality inside just runs through your veins and sucks you in.  Glittering golden mosaics juxtaposed with hauntingly solemn interiors.  It was beautiful – but on such a different level to the exuberant buildings of Firenze and Roma.

We climbed to the top to the Torre Delle Ore (NP: if you’re scared of heights, claustrophobic or at all inclined to feelings of vertigo, give this one a miss) and absorbed the city from its highest point.  There’s something about seeing a city in all its glory, a 360 degree showing of it in its finest form.  It makes you feel so small… yet so big, somehow, like the world really is your oyster.

We walked, we explored and we lost ourselves in its charm.  As we meandered across the city, music followed us at every turn.  Finally arriving at Puccini’s birthplace (no phone data + no map = two very confused Brits) I was overcome with happiness as his sweet music filled my soul.  Being reunited with those intoxicating sounds was so blissful; it inspired me to keep pushing towards my creative goals.

We ended the day by hopping on a train to Viareggio (Tuscany’s seaside town), and took to the beach as the sun set.  Listening to the fierce waves as they lapped up to our feet and just being there was so calming.  If I needed anything else to help clear my head, well, that was it.

Maybe it’s the trip, maybe it’s finally getting over a stinking illness or maybe it’s dedicating a whole day to just being by myself.  Boh; all I know is I feel good.  I want to keep exploring and expanding this pool of inspiration.  I want to kick-start my freelance writing and develop my idea for a novel.  I want to meet even more people and continue to throw myself into achieving my dream.

And I’m going to do it.

“Either you decide to stay in the shallow end of the pool or you go out into the ocean.”

Ciao!

BB x