friday meditation: i get up in the morning. i do my best. nothing else matters.

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Friday Meditation, Life, Oman, South Korea, Spirituality, United States of America, WPLongform

Friday, June 28:  In the British movie, The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel, Judi Dench plays Evelyn Greenslade, a newly widowed housewife whose house must be sold to pay off her husband’s debts.  She goes to India with a group of elderly British characters, whose motives for coming to India are as varied as their eccentric personalities.  They choose to spend their retirement years at Sonny’s Best Exotic Marigold Hotel, a home for the “elderly and beautiful,” based on pictures on the hotel’s website.  Upon arrival, they find the hotel to be quite dilapidated and mismanaged.  Some of the characters embrace the experience, while others seem determined to be miserable.

While staying at the hotel, Evelyn keeps a blog of her activities. She narrates throughout, to her Day 51 moral at the end:

The only real failure is the failure to try.
The measure of success is how we cope with disappointment, as we always must.
We came here and we tried, all of us in our different ways.
Can we be blamed for feeling that we’re too old to change?
Too scared of disappointment to start it all again?
We get up in the morning.  We do our best.  Nothing else matters.
But it’s also true that the person who risks nothing does nothing.  Has nothing.
All we know about the future is that it will be different.  Perhaps what we fear is that it will be the same, so we must celebrate the changes.

Because as someone once said, “Everything will be all right in the end, and if it’s not all right, then trust me, it’s not yet the end.”

I know what Evelyn means about fearing that things will always be the same. I remember, as vividly as if it was yesterday, the last five years of my humdrum existence as a suburban housewife in northern Virginia.  I remember driving around in the traffic of Virginia, running the same errands I always ran, going through the same old routines and feeling increasingly depressed and restless.  I sat at stop lights in my car, listening to foreign music, thinking about my longtime dream of being a writer, and thinking that i would never have anything to write about.  My life was so boring, so mundane.  What would I ever have to say?  And I would think, over and over during those last five years: Is this all there is?  This is IT, for the rest of my life?

Something HAD to change, but at the time I didn’t know what.  And it did change. I CAN’T say about myself that my only real failure is a failure to try.  For I HAVE tried.  I have tried, and for better or worse, my life has changed.

I am now coming to the end of my third year living and teaching abroad.  Starting in March 2010, I spent one year in Korea, which I believed to be quite a hardship. I had a horrible 1 1/2 hour to 2 hour commute to work each way, in freezing cold or steamy hot weather, on dilapidated buses that seemed to have no discernible schedule. I shivered in my classroom during winter, huddled over a space heater in my winter coat, when the school refused to turn on the heat.  Or alternately, I sweated profusely when they refused to turn on the air conditioning.  I endured Korean food, which I never liked because of the grisly chunks of meat Koreans favor and the strong vinegar taste of kimchi that accompanied every meal.  I was older than almost every other teacher there, and the oldest of all my friends and acquaintances. I had no attraction for Korean men, and they none for me.  And I lived in what amounted to a college dormitory, a small room in which I could barely fit, much less entertain anyone.

me in Gyeongju, South Korea, April 2010

Yet, while in Korea, I set out to explore a country that is quite isolated and not known for tourism.  I looked through my trusty Moon Handbook and plotted travels through the country several times a month. I set out to discover new places and new experiences, if not outside of Daegu, then within the city.  I enjoyed my friends Anna, Seth and Myrna, our small group of expats in a foreign land, as we spent evenings together either playing Ticket to Ride, watching movies, or eating dinner and singing in a Korean singing room called noraebang.

me in Gyeongju, May 2010

I learned not only to be alone, but to relish it. And I learned to be self-sufficient, independent, and adventurous.  I also learned that I don’t generally enjoy events with random large groups of people, and that certain things about a culture, which one may find endearing on a short holiday trip, can become annoying with constant exposure.  I found myself irritated by the Korean group mentality, and the inability of Koreans to accept individual differences in what is a truly conformist society.  I found everyone’s black hair annoying, because it was often dyed even into old age.  I remember being thrilled when I visited China and found old people with white hair. I found it frustrating that Koreans refused to try to speak English, even though they had been studying it for years, for fear of losing face.  I was put off by their criticisms of my appearance, such as the fact that I didn’t dye my hair or that I had fat arms or a big nose, and their constant offering of unsolicited advice.  I also found them extremely generous and giving of their time and their friendship.  I found them to be hard-working and diligent and well-organized. And many of them knew how to enjoy life, with their love of partying, drinking and singing.

me at Gatbawi near Daegu, South Korea, April 2010

In Korea, I tried, in my way.  It wasn’t everyone else’s way, as most other teachers were young and into partying and drinking into all hours of the night.  I had to cope with disappointment, and I was able to do it.  Things didn’t work out for me in relationships the way I would have liked.  I got up in the morning and slogged my way through my horrible commute.  I taught my students to sing “California Dreamin'” and Justin Bieber’s “Baby.” I made goofy faces to keep them laughing.  I organized team competitions of Jeopardy.   I did my best.  I didn’t know what the future would hold, but whatever it held I knew would be different than the life I had before.  It was most certainly different.

me with Korean ajuma at Boseong in October 2010

While in Korea, the only thing I could really think about was my desire to come to work in the Middle East.  It’s a long story, but after September 11, 2001 I became intrigued, almost obsessed, by Islam and the Arab world.  I wanted to understand this culture and I read every book I could get my hands on.  Since Korea was my first time teaching ESL, I looked at it as putting in my time, adding to my resume, just so I could come to the Middle East.

I completed my Master’s degree in International Commerce and Policy in May of 2008.  Most of my research was centered in analysis of economic and political issues in the broader Middle East, Afghanistan and Pakistan. One paper was titled Social Ramifications of U.S. Foreign Policy in Egypt. This was a collaborative effort with colleagues which also dealt with the political, economic, and the political-military consequences of U.S. policy in that country. My other research projects included Macroeconomic Prospects for Jordan and Free Trade in the Middle East: A Tool to Achieve Peace and Stability.  I wrote about Women’s Empowerment as a Key to Economic Development in Afghanistan. I also wrote papers focused in other areas of the world, including Mexican Judicial Reform and its Effect on the Political and Business Climate. I studied Arabic from 2005-2007 (and not again since, despite living in an Arab country for nearly two years now!). And after going to Egypt, which I adored, for the month of July in 2007, I was determined to work in the Middle East.

Nizwa souq

At Nizwa souq

the rifle club (??) at Nizwa souq for their Friday morning meeting (??)

I came to Oman in September, 2011, ten years after the horrible terrorist attacks on the World Trade Centers & the Pentagon.  It seemed my dream to come to the Middle East had come true.  But I found that the energy and chaos and liveliness I discovered, and loved, in Egypt is lacking in Oman.  The Sultan has done a great job of bringing Oman into the modern world, but somehow the country is missing vitality. It seems to lack a sense of humor and, as the French say, a joie de vivre (joy of living), a cheerful enjoyment of life; an exultation of spirit. It wasn’t long before I became bored with the culture and irritated by its lack of respect for women, its acceptance of cheating and its lack of work ethic.  I found Omani citizens’ sense of entitlement annoying, along with its dependence on wasta to get ahead, and its attitude that things will get done, insha’allah, whenever they get done.  And then of course, there’s the weather.  I love four distinct seasons in Virginia, particularly the fall, winter and spring.  I’ve never been a fan of summer.  Of course, Oman has year-round summer, and heat like I’ve never experienced.  I hope I never experience it again.

me with my favorite student Habiba, Level 2 English, Fall semester 2011

I figured if I was going to be happy here, I would have to create happiness myself, and so I resorted to the thing I loved best in Korea, traveling with a camera in hand, and sharing my adventures on my blog.  When I met Mario, it seemed I had found a like-minded friend who would do these things with me; his companionship increased my enjoyment exponentially.  Again, as in Korea, my travels and explorations kept me sane, and less lonely.  Besides my travels within the country, I spent my free time reading novels, watching movies, and plotting other travels through the region.  While here in Oman, I have ventured to Jordan, Greece, Ethiopia, and Nepal.  Before I return home, I will spend a month in Spain and Portugal.

Tomb in Salalah – January 2012

Alex, Adam and me in Salalah, Oman ~ January 2012

I have tried to get the most out of my experiences while living abroad these three years.  I discovered things about myself:  I love to travel, to go out into far-flung corners of a place and explore it, on my own, with a camera in hand, and a willingness to share my experience with words.  Like Evelyn from the Marigold Hotel, I thrive on the experience as much as possible, even though at times it can be a lonely existence and a physical and emotional struggle. I have found, disappointingly, that I can be quite intolerant of certain aspects of a culture, but then I guess I have always known that to some degree.  I think I hoped by coming to live in a different culture, I would become more tolerant, more accepting, but I’m afraid the opposite has happened.  I can’t understand why people set up restrictions in their society that hold them hostage, and under which they are bound to fail.  I really dislike hypocrisy, which I find runs rampant in this country. That being said, as in Korea, I have met some wonderful Omanis, especially my students, who haven’t hesitated to show their love for me.

me on Jebel Akhdar, my favorite place in Oman, Valentine’s Day 2013

me with the Jebel Akhdar roses

Jebel Akhdar roses

ruins at Wadi Bani Habib on Jebel Akhdar

As far as work, I’ve realized certain requirements are of utmost importance.  Needless to say, I haven’t found these things here:  I want to be respected as a professional; I want autonomy to do my job using the experience I have accumulated.  I don’t want to be treated as a robot doing someone else’s bidding, especially when I don’t agree with it theoretically.  I want to be commended when I do a good job and appreciated for being dependable.  I want to be free to speak on any subject in the classroom or any other job environment.  I want to be able to use technology, which should be a given in this modern world.  And most of all, I want to work with managers who will listen and respect their workers’ complaints and pay attention when a mass exodus of employees occurs.

Once I decide I am through with a job, or a person, or a place, that’s it for me.  There is no turning back.  Just like I said I would never again return to Korea, I can now say with utmost certainty that I will never return to Oman.

the beautiful village of Balad Sayt

I’m NOT one of those people who is unrealistically optimistic, seeing the world always as a rosy, fragrant and heady place.  I am realistic.  I see things as they are, and sometimes I don’t like what I see.  But often, I see a world full of beauty and kindness and adventure.  I strive to see things that way; it’s just that I don’t always succeed.  I can weigh both sides and put them on the scales so that they’re evenly balanced, the bad and the good. And I can take away an experience that changes me, even if it’s in an unexpected way.

me at New Year’s Eve, December 31, 2011

Finally, after living abroad, I think I’ve come full circle.  Now that fear I had that nothing would ever change has vanished in the haze. I know that I don’t have to feel stuck; I can change my life whenever I want.  That old familiar life has some appeal to me now and I find myself yearning for those familiar routines, those familiar faces.

Now, I feel like one of my favorite characters, Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz.  Standing in Oman with my eyes closed, clicking my heels together, saying: “There’s no place like home.  There’s no place like home.”

me with my three children at Christmas, two months before leaving for Korea. In front, Alex, Sarah and Adam

me with my Dorothy doll in my grandmother’s backyard

Once I return home to the USA, I will post some random thoughts periodically about my experience in Oman, but for the most part, this blog will be a closed book.  I will post about my trip to Spain and Portugal in in search of a thousand cafés.  When I return to America on July 25, you can find me at nomad, interrupted.  I hope you’ll join me there, because I plan to be there for a long, long time. 🙂

friday meditation: on choosing one memory to relive for all eternity

Tags

Life, Spirituality, WPLongform

Friday, May 17: A couple of weeks ago, I watched an intriguing Japanese movie called After Life, known in Japan as Wonderful Life (ワンダフルライフ).  This is a 1998 film by Japanese director Hirokazu Koreeda starring Arata, Oda Erika and Terajima Susumu.

Koreeda’s After Life is set in a way station where the souls of the recently deceased are processed before entering heaven. “Heaven,” in the film, is a single happy memory from one’s life, re-experienced for eternity.

The movie is set in a building resembling a decrepit travel lodge or social services institution. Every Monday, a new group of recently deceased people check in, and the “social workers” in the lodge explain to each guest their situation. The newly-dead have until Wednesday to identify the single happiest memory. For the rest of the week, the workers at the institution work to design and replicate each person’s chosen memory, thereby replicating the single happiest moment of that person’s life, and it is filmed.

At the end of the week, the recently deceased watch the films of their recreated happiest memories in a screening room. As soon as each person sees his or her own memory, he or she vanishes to whatever unknown state of existence lies beyond and takes only that single memory with them, to live and relive for eternity (Wikipedia: After Life (film)).

I found this movie fascinating and, over the last several weeks, I have pondered this question: If I had to choose ONE happy memory from my life to relive over and over for all eternity, what would it be?

Some of the memories chosen by the people who stopped at the way station on this particular week were as follows:

1. A pilot recalls flying through clouds in a small plane with a breeze dancing across his face.
2. A woman recalls performing a dance for her father when she was a little girl and his happiness at watching her dance.
3. One man, Ichiro, thinks of his life as uneventful and can’t think of any moment that he would like to relive for all eternity. It turns out he married counselor Takashi’s former fiancée after Takashi was killed in World War II.  Ichiro thought of his marriage as nothing special.
4. One young man refuses to pick one memory from his past and insists on filming a “memory” that he imagines in the future that, sadly, will never be his.
5. One woman imagines sitting on a bench in a garden with the love of her life.

I found it interesting that the moments were not earth-shattering, but were generally quiet moments of peace and bliss.  I have been reflecting on memories of my life and I wonder what I would choose to relive for all eternity if I had to choose.  These are some of the memories that have come to mind.

1. Lying in bed at my grandmother’s house in Petersburg, Virginia listening to the rain pattering on the tin roof.  I always felt so warm, safe and loved when I was with my grandmother.  To this day, I still dream she has been alive all these years and no one has thought to tell me.
   

   me with my Dorothy doll at my grandmother’s house

2. Waking up and sneaking quietly downstairs to the Christmas tree every Christmas morning when I was a child, BEFORE I learned there was no Santa Claus. 😦  My mother always made Christmas magical.
3. Lying on cots on Martha’s grandmother’s screened-in sleeping porch at Sandy Point on the Potomac River.  It was dark, and fireflies flitted outside, and we talked and talked until we fell asleep.
4. Sitting with my maternal grandfather beside a river in Colorado while he made scrambled eggs with chili powder over a hot fire.  Riding horses in a valley in the midst of the Rockies.
5. Hanging out at Lake Gaston with three of my best friends in the summer, playing cards, swimming in the lake, water-skiing, and sneaking out to go skinny-dipping after dark.
   

   me, Rosie, Louise and Charlene at Lake Gaston

6. Staying up all night on Virginia Beach with my first true love, David.
7. Playing games, mainly Charades or Scrabble, with my brothers and sisters on Thanksgiving Day.
   

   Stephanie, Bill, Robbie, me and Brian playing Scrabble

8. Driving across the country with my first husband Bill, and seeing my first view of the Grand Tetons.
9. Rafting down the Salmon River in Idaho for 7 days with Bill and a group of friends from William & Mary.
   

   Bill & I approach a big hydraulic and we make it!

   

   Bill, captain of our two-man inflatable canoe

   

   rafting down the Salmon River
10. Having my parents come to visit Bill and Sarah and me when we lived in Richmond, Virginia.
    

    Dad, Mom, me, Sarah and Bill at our house in Richmond

11. Holding hands with Mike, my second husband, as we walked through the National Gallery of Art in Washington.  As we walked, he kept gently rubbing the palm of my hand with his fingers.
12. Hiking with Mike on Billy Goat’s trail on the Maryland side of the Potomac River in the fall, and stopping to have a picnic overlooking the river.  He shared with me the grief he felt at losing his first wife to breast cancer.  Or, canoeing with Mike on the Potomac River and reading to each other from Kahlil Gibran’s The Prophet.
    

    canoeing with Mike on the Potomac

13. Being handed each of my three children, Sarah, Alex and Adam, right after they were born.  How would I ever choose one of these memories over another?
14. Walking with Mike through the Cotswolds in England following the Ordnance maps and being amazed that we were allowed to walk through people’s properties.
15. Hiking with Mike along Catbells Ridge in England’s Lake District in the midst of a lovely breeze.
16. Dressing up my sons in fireman and Dalmatian costumes and pulling them in a red wagon through the neighborhood to go trick-or-treating on Halloween.
    

    Alex as fireman & Adam as Dalmatian for Halloween

17. Picking apples at Stribling Orchard with Mike and the boys on a cool October day.
    

    Alex & Adam picking apples on a cool October day at Stribling Orchard

18. Having wine and heart-to-heart conversations with R~ at Mei’s Asian Bistro in Arlington, Virginia.
19. My birthday in 2007 with R~ at a restaurant in Washington, D.C.
20. An evening with my daughter Sarah sharing wine and food in Richmond, Virginia.
    

    Spending time with Sarah in Richmond sampling food and wine at various establishments 🙂

21. Listening to the music of Omar Khairat on a beautiful fall day in Virginia, accompanied by a breeze from the open window, while chatting online with my Egyptian friend Ahmed.
22. Walking through the wetlands of Suncheon Bay in South Korea on a breezy day.
    

    a happy memory at Suncheon Bay in South Korea

23. Playing Ticket to Ride with my friends in Korea, Seth and Anna.
    

    Playing Ticket to Ride

24. Spending a day walking through the cave churches of Cappadocia in Turkey with a fun and lively group of fellow travelers from Brazil and Italy.
    

    a happy day in Cappadocia, Turkey

25. Eating fresh mushrooms with dill, accompanied by a glass of red wine, at the Dimrit Restaurant in Cappadocia, and flirting with the head waiter.
    

    a night at the Dimrit Restaurant in Cappadocia

26. Floating in a hot air balloon over Cappadocia in Turkey.
    

    hot air ballooning in Cappadocia

27. Floating on a junk on Halong Bay in Vietnam and having dinner and wine with a fascinating group of fellow nomads.
    

    floating on a junk on Halong Bay: the happiness cruise

28. Swimming into the beautiful cave at Wadi Shab in Oman with my sons in January 2012.
    

    the entrance to the pools at Wadi Shab. We have to swim back through a number of pools to get to the cave.

29. Waking up in Rethymno, Crete at Barbara Studios to a lovely breeze coming through some sheer curtains and anticipating the day ahead exploring Rethymno.
    

    a breeze through the curtains at Barbara Studio in Crete

30. Drinking a glass of red wine on the rooftop of the Acropolis View Hotel in Athens, Greece and enjoying the view of the Acropolis.
    

    me sitting on the roof of the Acropolis View Hotel

Of course, these are only a few of the multitudes of happy memories I have in my life.  I think I will add to this post as I think of more.  Maybe someday, at some way station on the way to heaven, I will need to choose.  Just possibly, this list will help me narrow it down. 🙂

Next week, I will try to post about my happiest memories in Oman over the last 20 months. 🙂

How would I ever choose just one memory to relive for all eternity?

What memory would you choose if you could choose just one?

friday meditation: flow

Tags

Life, Spirituality, WPLongform

Friday, May 3:  In the book Happiness: A Guide to Developing Life’s Most Important Skill, Matthieu Ricard talks about what he calls the state of “flow,” in which “the fact of being immersed in what we are doing counts for more than the end result.”

“The river is everywhere.” ~ Herman Hesse, Siddhartha

This flow depends on the amount of attention given to the lived experience.  One is completely involved in an activity for its own sake and there’s a sense of transcending the ego and time.

Just a couple of weeks ago, Mario and I were having one of our rambling conversations and he noted that all of us spend our lives trying to fend off boredom.  We all want to have something that truly absorbs us.  Something challenging and enjoyable.  We are afraid of being bored, of feeling like we have nothing that engages us for the long hours we spend in solitude.

“Enjoyment appears at the boundary between boredom and anxiety, when the challenges are just balanced with the person’s capacity to act.”
― Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi

I’ve been searching my whole life for something that could fully engage me. When I was in middle school, I spent all my free time reading novels about horses, writing stories about horses, leaping over jumps on imaginary horses through an obstacle course set up in the back yard, playing with marbles named after famous horses on a marble racetrack.  It seems silly when I look back on it now, but at the time, I was happy and I loved every minute I spent engaged in these activities.

When it started feeling that these activities were too babyish and not “cool” enough for a teenage girl, I gave them up.  Simultaneously, it became clear that my ultimate dream of actually owning a horse was certainly NOT going to come true.

In my teenage years, I didn’t have much to absorb me.  I spent all my time hanging out with my friends, going to the beach, shopping, going to parties.  I had a great time doing these things, but when I was alone I felt lost.  I didn’t have anything to do with myself that fully engaged me except reading novels, which luckily has always provided me moments of pure enjoyment.

“Faith does not need to push the river because faith is able to trust that there is a river. The river is flowing. We are in it.” ~ Richard Rohr

Later, in my married life, I had the luxury of staying home with my children for 15 years.  Yet.  Somehow, I lacked those maternal instincts that enabled me to enjoy spending countless hours sitting on the floor playing make-believe with them.  I enjoyed limited activities: taking them outdoors to play on a  playground with other children, or taking them for walks in a stroller, or swinging while holding them in my lap and reciting Robert Lewis Stevenson’s “The Swing.”

How do you like to go up in a swing,
Up in the air so blue?
Oh, I do think it the pleasantest thing
Ever a child can do!

Up in the air and over the wall,
Till I can see so wide,
River and trees and cattle and all
Over the countryside–

Till I look down on the garden green,
Down on the roof so brown–
Up in the air I go flying again,
Up in the air and down!

So many long and tedious hours, being a stay-at-home mom.  You’d think a person would cherish all that time to simply be engaged with her children, but, truth be told, I didn’t.  All I could do was to get through my duties with my children, interact with them as if they were miniature adults, and then wait for their nap time, so I could find a few precious minutes to try to figure out what I would like to do with my life.

“But anyone who has experienced flow knows that the deep enjoyment it provides requires an equal degree of disciplined concentration.”
― Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi

During these long years, I explored many activities that I hoped would engage me.  I made quilts.  I spent hours in quilt stores collecting fabrics and quilt books, designing quilts, cutting the pieces, sewing them together, and then quilting them by hand. Eventually, I found parts of this hobby I didn’t enjoy.  I liked designing and putting the fabrics together, but I didn’t enjoy the sewing part.  I found it tedious and uncomfortable, sitting at a sewing machine for hours on end.  Slowly, my interest dwindled.

Then I tried interior design.  Since I had a knack for putting fabrics and colors together, I figured I could design the interiors of people’s houses.  I took classes in interior design and even spent scores of hours at an architectural drafting board drawing plans, including electricity, plumbing, and lighting, for my dream house.  I still have those blueprints today and am amazed every time I look at them.  While still attending classes, I started a little interior design business.  But, once again, I found there was a part of this business I didn’t like.  I loved putting the fabrics and the whole design of a room together, but I didn’t like the sales part. I’ve never been comfortable with sales; I had discovered this from my years as a stockbroker when I had to make 20-25 cold calls a day.

Oh, all these futile attempts to find “flow” in my life.  When it really hit me that interior design involved such a sales aspect, I moved next to trying to realize my lifelong dream of becoming a writer.

“May what I do flow from me like a river, no forcing and no holding back, the way it is with children.” ~ Rainer Maria Rilke

I have always dreamed of writing, so I started taking creative writing classes, both in poetry and short fiction, at Northern Virginia Community College.  After taking all the creative writing classes I could take there, I took classes at George Mason University.  During this time, I wrote numerous short stories and poems.  I also began writing my novel, the first draft of which took me about 1 1/2 years.  Several things happened during this time to throw me off track; one of these was that my husband lost his job after 25 years, and I had to go back to work at a financial services firm.  I had never wanted to work in a banking-related field again, so I became very depressed.  The first draft of my novel sat unedited on my computer for nearly 10 years.

For awhile I tried making jewelry.  I had no intention to sell this jewelry; I just wanted to do something creative that would engage me.  I did enjoy that for quite a while, until I got too busy working on my Master’s degree in International Commerce and Policy, in 2006.

Being a student has always engaged me.  Whenever I have taken classes, whether in English, business administration, interior design, creative writing, or finally, my Master’s in International Commerce & Policy, I have experienced “flow.”  I always knew that if I could be a student forever, I’d be perpetually happy.

flow: studying puts me in a state of flow

In Happiness, Ricard says that “if we are to enter into flow, the task must monopolize all our attention and present a challenge commensurate with our abilities.  If it’s too difficult, tension sets in, followed by anxiety; too easy, and we relax and are soon bored.”

“So long as the state lasts, there is a loss of reflective self-consciousness.”  The alert subject becomes one with his action and ceases to observe himself.

According to Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi, “one can experience flow when undertaking the most mundane tasks, such as ironing or working on a production line.  It all depends on how one experiences the passage of time.  Conversely, without flow, virtually any activity will be tedious, if not downright unbearable.”

Flow can be both negative or positive, and this value depends on the motivation coloring the mind. For example, a burglar carrying out his plan or a gambler at a roulette table can also lose himself and all sense of time.  Thus flow is only a tool, and “in order to have it make any improvement in the quality of our lives, it must be imbued with human qualities, such as altruism and wisdom.”

Yes, flow can be negative or positive, and I’ve experienced both in my life.  One negative experience of flow in my life was through shopping.  Addictive shopping.  I could get lost for hours wandering through my favorite shops of anthropologie or South Moon Under.  But this activity was not positive because shopping was just a fleeting distraction.  There was no creative aspect to it and I was squandering a lot of time and money.

Flow’s “major contribution to the quality of life consists in endowing every momentary experience with value,” say Jeanne Nakamura and Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi.  Ricard adds that “it can be extremely valuable in helping us to appreciate every moment of existence and putting it to the most constructive use possible.”

“flow:” engrossed in what you’re doing, time flows rapidly past

It has only been in the last three years that I’ve discovered what I believe to be a positive “flow” in my life.  I have had to learn how to be alone for hours and hours and to keep myself entertained.

I am not one to run off with random groups of other expats to go shopping in Muscat, or to gallivant around the country.  I don’t like being thrown together with random people to go anywhere, to be honest.  I like to pick the company I keep very carefully.  So happening upon a few close friends, like Mario and a few others, has been a blessing.  Since Mario and I both enjoy taking walks outside and taking pictures, we have really enjoyed our explorations together.  When we are exploring Oman together, the hours speed by.  We are fully engaged in the activity.

I actually found, once I became brave enough to travel alone, that I feel “flow” all the time when traveling. Talking a walk in a new land with my camera in hand, I feel suspended in time.  While writing about my travel experiences later in my blog, I actually feel so fully engaged that hours pass without me even realizing it.  This is what I believe to be “flow.”  At the end of every evening, I have to force myself to go to bed; I feel there are never enough hours in the day for all the things I want to do.  This, I believe, is one aspect of finding flow.  Working on my novel gives me a similar feeling.  I love this flow because it comes from within, from my own creative impulses.  It satisfies some yearning I have to open myself up to others.

“The quality of the imagination is to flow, and not to freeze.” ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

Ricard suggests that “contemplating the nature of the mind is a deep and fruitful experience combining relaxation and flow.”

This is where meditation comes in.  I have been doing a meditation practice for several months now, but I admit in the last week, somehow I have let my practice slip by the wayside.  I know when I practice time in silence, I do experience “flow.”  This is the most valuable thing I can do for myself and I want to keep it as a priority in my life.

“A good life is one that is characterized by complete absorption in what one does.” ~ Jeanne Nakamura and Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi

friday meditation: “addicted to a certain kind of sadness” ~ a playlist of bittersweet memories

Tags

Life, Spirituality, WPLongform

Friday, April 26: There’s a playlist of songs that I keep on my iPod Nano;  I listen to them when I walk or when I’m driving in my car, at times when my mind could otherwise be at peace or be present to the moment.  Lately I’ve been wondering why these songs continue to draw me to them.  I’ve decided that each of them transports me to a memory, not necessarily the actual moment of the memory, but the feeling I had at the time of the memory.  Slowly, I have come to realize that I’m “addicted to a certain kind of sadness,” brought on by these songs.

little musical notes (& memories) stuck into my brain

Since I’ve been meditating lately, I’ve noticed that certain thoughts keep recurring in my mind.  I can see these relentless thoughts capturing my attention, and I find when they appear like uninvited strangers that I continue to grasp them as if they’re essential to my survival.  In meditation I try to let go of these thoughts, to look at them as if they’re just artfully designed clouds floating by.  But too often, when the thoughts arrive, my mind grabs them and runs around them in circles like a dog chasing after its tail.

Of course, many of the thoughts are worries about the future.  For the last month, I’ve been so occupied and worried about selling my car that I could hardly concentrate on anything else.  I know I’m also worried about the upheaval of returning to the USA, although I’m also very excited.  So yes, future thoughts and worries run rampant through my mind.  I don’t like the discomfort and mental anguish of worries, nor do I like the stomach upset, headaches or other physical manifestations of anxiety.

The playlist on my iPod allows me to escape from these worries about the future by taking me to another place: back to the past.

my playlist takes me back to fleeting bittersweet memories

Since I’m trying to pay attention to my own destructive thoughts, I noticed that I tend to gravitate to the same playlist of songs over and over. I realized these songs take me back to some strange moments that don’t seem connected.  Most of them take me to a time when some big change was happening in my life, when I was feeling deep yearning for something, or when I was in the company of a certain person who I thought was the love of my life.

For some reason I am drawn to this song by Gotye, and I find myself listening to it repeatedly.  Here it is: Gotye – Somebody That I Used To Know (featuring Kimbra):

This song makes me think about the endings of my relationships and how people who I once loved have now become “somebody that I used to know.”  But the line that really speaks to me is this: “You can get addicted to a certain kind of sadness.”  I recognize that I am most certainly addicted to a kind of sadness. I feel comfortable in this sadness for some reason and I just can’t seem to make the choice to abandon it and move on.

There was a person who I truly loved, for a time.  I felt so incredibly alive in his presence that I often dwell in memories of our time together.  Lately, I don’t know why, I’ve been reading old letters that I wrote to this person when I was in Cairo in 2007.  I’ve actually been trying to recreate, in a blog, my time in Cairo from nearly 6 years ago.  Even though this person wasn’t in Cairo with me, I wrote to him nearly every day while there.  The letters between us are intertwined with my experience of Egypt.  In addition, I’ve also been trying to recreate some other parts of my past, such as two study abroad trips I took while working on my Master’s degree, one to Mexico and one to Singapore, which marked the beginning and the end of this doomed relationship.  These trips were the bookends, so to speak, of our short-lived but exhilarating love affair.  I can’t help but wonder why I am dwelling on these memories, yet I’m not willing at this time to abandon them.

a happy memory for me that eventually became painful

Some of the songs on my playlist are wrapped up with this person and my feelings when I was in his company.  The songs are bittersweet, because they remind me of the happy times we were together; on the other hand, they remind me of an excruciatingly painful ending and a year of suffering and sadness. They are, to name a few:

• How to Save a Life, by the Fray
• Chasing Cars, by Snow Patrol
• Hurt, by Johnny Cash
• Silver Lining, by Rilo Kiley
• Think I’m in Love, by Beck
• The Reason, by Hoobastank
• She’s Mine, by Brett Dennen
• Meadows of Heaven, by Nightwish
• While Your Lips are Still Red, by Nightwish
• Falling Slowly, by Glen Hansard

Then there are other songs unrelated to this person.  One song is related to the time I separated from my unhappy first marriage.  I had a friend and colleague who I thought was the most sophisticated and wise woman I’d ever known.  She was 10 years older than me and had traveled all over the world; she had been on safari in Africa and on too many other grand adventures to count.  We could talk about everything and I found her wisdom valuable, as I was desperately trying to find myself.  At this time, I was 31 years old.  The sad thing about Susan, though, was that she was desperately in love with a married man who caused her great anguish.  The song “Foolish Games” by Jewel always takes me back to Susan and her doomed love affair with a man who sounds much like the man in that song.  For me that time represented new-found freedom and a world of possibilities.  Susan’s life, except for the married man, was the life I myself yearned for.

There are many more random and unrelated songs on my playlist, but all of them evoke some feeling of yearning, of possibility, but also of sadness.  Many of them are associated with my travels, or the possibilities that travel promises.  These are:

• I and Love and You, by the Avett Brothers
• An Egyptian song played at a wedding party on a boat on the Nile River
• All of Loreena McKennitt’s songs about Turkey
• Songs by the Turkish grunge band Duman, especially Oje and Aman Aman

There are too many more that I could talk about.  I recognize that all of these songs evoke unfulfilled desire in me, a kind of sadness that I can dwell in quite comfortably.  I don’t know why I keep going back to them, and to the memories they evoke.  But go back I do, time and time again.

my memories are of moments of pure happiness that came to an end

Buddhist thought says that we should not cling to thoughts of the past or the future, but we should be present to the moment at hand.  With a steady practice of meditation, we can learn to do this.  Because of this, I’ve been trying to cut back on listening to this playlist that so vividly brings the past back to me.  When I was in Kathmandu, I bought a CD of Tibetan chanting.

The chants are evocative and repetitive, much like a mantra.  I’ve started listening to these chants while walking and I notice when I listen to them, I become more aware of my surroundings, of the feel of my feet moving along the path, of the small breezes that whisper across my face, of my breathing, of the actual act of walking. I love it because it feels like a walking meditation and releases me from that “addiction to sadness” that my old playlist brings to me.  It helps me to be present to the moment, to be alive to the NOW.

I know it’s best to leave the past behind, but I don’t really want to abandon it. Not yet.

I don’t think I will abandon this playlist of memories absolutely, but for now, I’ll put it on the back burner for rare rainy days.

friday meditation: a question of fate

Tags

Oman, Spirituality, WPLongform

Friday, April 19: This week, one of my students was absent all week. She’s a sweet girl who poured her heart out to me a couple of months ago about losing her father in a car accident when she was a child.

Toward the end of this week, she came to see me in my office, crying.  She handed me an excused absence for the three days of the week she had missed and told me her uncle just died in a car accident.  Then she said, “You know, teacher, it’s the same uncle who called you about your car.”

the tomb of Mohammed bin Ali in Salalah, Oman

Before I listed my car for sale to the public on April 1, I mentioned to my students that I was going to offer my car for sale starting in April.  This student immediately called her uncle, while we were still in the classroom, and told him about the car.  She asked me all the details and I wrote them on the board.  She did what most students do when I write homework assignments or anything important on the board. She took a picture of the information with her phone.

That evening, her uncle, who sounded quite young on the phone, asked me about the details of the car.  I told him all about it and he said he would get back with me. The next day after class, the student accompanied me to the parking lot so she could take pictures of the car.

gravestones in Salalah, Oman at the Tomb of Mohammed Bin Ali

Her uncle called again after seeing the pictures of the car that my student had sent him.  But he never arranged to see the car, and I never heard from him again.

When my student told me that her uncle, this same uncle, just died in a car accident, my heart went out to her. I was shocked.  Although I’d never met the young man, I had spoken to him twice on the phone.  When I asked how the accident happened, she said he was alone in the car and fell asleep.

more tombstones in Salalah

Though there isn’t much traffic on Oman’s highways outside of Muscat, people drive like maniacs here.  Fatal car accidents happen quite frequently.  According to a May 22, 2012 report by MuscatDaily.com: ONE KILLED EVERY EIGHT HOURS IN ROAD ACCIDENTS IN OMAN, these are the statistics:

Road facts
–   Every eight hours someone is killed in a road accident in Oman
–   Every hour someone is injured in a road accident in Oman
–   Every 56km there is a death on Oman’s roads.
–   Speeding and reckless driving account for 72 per cent of all accidents.
–   In 2011, ROP imposed over 2.24mn fines for speeding.
–   Compared to 2010, 2011 saw a 30 per cent increase in the number of deaths due to speeding.
–   Nearly 60 per cent of all deaths on the roads are due to speeding.
–   According to WHO, road traffic accidents are the third biggest killer of people in Oman.

After she left me, I thought about my poor distraught student and the tragedy of losing an uncle to a car accident after already having lost her father to an accident when she was a child.

Then the thought hit me:  I wondered if the uncle would still be alive if he had bought my car. I wondered if the time he took to buy the car, or the fact of being in my heavy solid GMC Terrain, might have changed the trajectory of his life and thus the outcome.  The whole idea of this made me think of the movie Sliding Doors, starring Gwenyth Paltrow as Helen, the main character.

a cemetery near Plakias, in Crete, Greece

Sliding Doors is a 1998 British-American romantic comedy-drama film starring Gwyneth Paltrow and John Hannah. The film alternates between two parallel universes based on the two paths Helen’s life could take depending on whether or not she catches a train.  In the film’s conclusion, both tracks of life, one of which leads to Helen’s death in the arms of her new lover James, and the other which leads to Helen leaving her cheating boyfriend and ending up by chance on the elevator with that same James, both end with what we can assume is the same ending.  The audience is left to speculate whether it was fate or coincidence that brought Helen and James together in the end (Wikipedia: Sliding Doors).

I mentioned my thoughts about my student’s uncle to one of my Muslim colleagues and she said, “It wouldn’t have made any difference.  We believe that everything is written before you are born.  He was fated to die on this day, and it would have happened no matter what he did.”

Père Lachaise Cemetery in Paris, France

After my colleague’s comment, I looked up the belief of fate or predestination in Islam.  I found that Qadar (Arabic: قدر‎) is an Arabic word for destiny and divine foreordainment. Essentially, destiny is what Allah has decreed. Allah has knowledge of everything in His creation. Nothing occurs except by His will. Human beings are given free will, and it must be made clear that destiny does not have a cause-and-effect influence on the choices humans make. The choices that humans make are all within Allah’s knowledge.

Some Muslims believe that the divine destiny is when God wrote down in the Preserved Tablet (“al-Lauḥ al-Maḥfūẓ”) all that has happened and will happen, which will come to pass as written. According to this belief, a person’s action is not caused by what is written in the Preserved Tablet but, rather, the action is written in the Preserved Tablet because God already knows all occurrences without the restrictions of time (Wikipedia: Predestination in Islam).

This is a fascinating question which I’m sure all of us have from time to time.  After checking into Islam’s belief on this, I thought I would check to see what Buddhism says about fate.  According to About.com: Misunderstanding Buddhism, the word “karma” means “action,” not “fate.” In Buddhism, karma is an energy created by willful action, through thoughts, words and deeds. We are all creating karma every minute, and the karma we create affects us every minute.

cemetery in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia

It’s common to think of “my karma” as something you did in your last life that seals your fate in this life, but this is not Buddhist understanding. Karma is an action, not a result. The future is not set in stone. You can change the course of your life now by changing your volitional acts and self-destructive patterns.

The Christian Bible is very murky on the concept of fate or predestination.  Some verses state that it is preordained by God which people will be saved and which are doomed to eternal hell.  Other verses say that it is God’s perfect will that all people should be saved. Most of what I can find about Christianity has to do with salvation or damnation, rather than about if one’s life is predetermined, as to life or death or other earthly matters (A Matter of Truth: Predestination).

I can’t help but wonder about this situation, along with countless others.  On September 11, 2011, many people were late to work and so avoided death in the World Trade Center attacks.  I have a friend who was in a terrible bus accident in Africa; by some freak chance she and two others survived while everyone else on the bus was mangled horrifically and killed.  My friend Mario was in El Salvador during the revolution and was afraid for his life many times.  He wonders why he never was killed when so many people he knew were gunned down in the streets.  I’ve heard of people who missed their plane flight and when the plane crashed killing everyone on board, they wondered why they were lucky enough to have been detained, and thus spared.  And I’m sure the Boston Marathoners and spectators who were injured or killed this past Monday, April 15, never thought they would be victims of a terrorist attack.  And those who didn’t happen to be at the finish line wonder why that incident happened at a moment when they weren’t crossing the line.

a cemetery in Akrotirion, Santorini, Greece

I remember reading the amazing book, The Bridge of San Luis Rey, by Thornton Wilder, that told the story of a (fictional) event that happened in Lima, Peru, at noon of Friday, July 20, 1714. A bridge woven by the Incas a century earlier collapsed at that particular moment, while five people were crossing it. The collapse was witnessed by Brother Juniper, a Franciscan monk who was on his way to cross it. Wanting to show the world of God’s Divine Providence, he sets out to interview everyone he can find who knew the five victims. Over the course of six years, he compiles a huge book of all of the evidence he gathers to show that the beginning and end of a person is all part of God’s plan for that person (Wikipedia: The Bridge of San Luis Rey).

I don’t believe in predestination.  Otherwise why would we have free will?  We ultimately don’t have control over our lives, but we do have the free will to take certain actions, which of course have certain or uncertain outcomes.  There really is no way of knowing whether a person’s life is preordained by God or Allah, whether our actions, or “karma,” determine our fate, or whether our lives are just a series of coincidences.  Any way you look at it, only one thing is certain.  We all will die.

cemetery in Santorini

In the book I am currently reading, The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying, by Sogyal Rinpoche, the author says: Death is a vast mystery, but there are two things we can say about it: It is absolutely certain that we will die, and it is uncertain when or how we will die.

The author goes on to say: Switch on a television or glance at a newspaper: You will see death everywhere.  Yet did the victims of those plane crashes or car accidents expect to die?  They took life for granted, as we do.  How often do we hear stories of people who we know, or even friends, who died unexpectedly?  We don’t even have to be ill to die: our bodies can suddenly break down and go out of order, just like our cars. We can be quite well one day, then fall sick and die the next.

colorful gravestone in Santorini, Greece

No one can know if that young man’s untimely death was preordained, or if he would have forestalled it by doing something different.  Whatever beliefs we have assimilated over our lives are what ultimately determine how we look at it.  In the end, we really cannot know.

friday meditation: star-spangling our solitude

Tags

Life, Spirituality, WPLongform

Friday, April 5:  A couple of months ago I was having dinner with a young woman who teaches French in the Foreign Languages Department at the university.  We were talking about things we do with our free time.  She told me a friend of hers coined a phrase to describe our attempts, as expats, to fill our long lonely hours.  This friend called these attempts: “furnishing our loneliness.”

Living as an expat can be a lonely existence.  No matter how much you try, you can never belong to the culture where you are living.  You are always an outsider.  Sure, sometimes foreigners befriend you and invite you to do things, and sometimes you do make some good friends.  I had some very close friends in Korea, both women and men; in Oman, it’s been a different story.  Oman is a very traditional and closed society.  In Oman, I have found nothing even close to the female friendships I had with Kim Dong Hee and Julie Moon in Daegu, or the male friendship I had with Young Dae from Seoul.

Some Omani rose-picking ladies give me a gift of roses to embellish my loneliness. What more could say “love”?

Sometimes you become close to other expats who are living in the same circumstances as you.  But too often your world of possible friends is very small.  You either get along with the few expats you work with, or you find it takes too much of an effort to enjoy their company.  When I first arrived here, I connected with a few women, but as they are the kind of women who love to have many acquaintances, I knew we wouldn’t have the closest of connections.  It was only when I met Mario that I found a true friend.  Slowly, slowly, we have built a trusting and close friendship that I value more than any relationship I’ve had in a long time.

I have never been a person to be friends with everybody.  I’m not a very trusting person.  Usually someone must make an effort with me first and then I can eventually let down my guard.  I have always had just one or two close friends at a time, and that has always felt perfectly right to me.  I’ve never been a person who enjoys being in large groups of people, nor to I feel the need to jump on every bandwagon that comes my way.  I’m maybe a little too discerning; because of that I often find myself alone.

cultivating a solitary existence is important when living as an expat in a foreign land

When I was still living with my husband, I always looked to him to fill my loneliness.  For him, I’m sure it was a frustrating and difficult job to try to fill that gaping black hole in me. What a no-win situation!  Even after we first separated, I found myself frantically searching for friends, particularly a man friend, because I felt I couldn’t be complete without someone in my life.

“How we need another soul to cling to,” said Sylvia Plath, who eventually committed suicide by putting her head in an oven and turning on the gas.

That deep hole within me, I have learned over many years, couldn’t be filled by my husband, or by anybody.   I needed to fill it myself.

In Happiness: A Guide to Developing Life’s Most Important Skill, Matthieu Ricard reports that “fifteen percent of Americans report experiencing an intense feeling of loneliness once a week.  Anyone who cuts himself off from others and the universe, trapped in the bubble of his own ego, feels alone in the middle of a crowd.  But those who understand the interdependence of all phenomena are not lonely; the hermit, for example, feels in harmony with the entire universe.”

a goal: to feel in harmony with the universe and all its wonders

In one of my favorite books, Eat, Pray, Love, Elizabeth Gilbert tells herself: “When I get lonely these days, I think: So BE lonely, Liz. Learn your way around loneliness. Make a map of it. Sit with it, for once in your life. Welcome to the human experience. But never again use another person’s body or emotions as a scratching post for your own unfulfilled yearnings.”

When I first got to Korea, I had to learn to deal with true loneliness.  I thought I felt lonely in my marriage, but that was nothing compared to the loneliness I felt in that country.  I had no one to fall back on.  I became friends with Myrna, but she was often busy with her younger friends.  Seth and Anna became good friends to me, and for that I will always be grateful.

At first I used to wallow in my loneliness, afraid to venture out by myself into the strange world of Korea.  With great effort, I learned how to use the buses and trains in Korea, and to get out to explore the country.  Even if I had to travel alone, which I did most of the time, I made myself do it.  All of that helped me learn how to be comfortable in my loneliness.  Slowly, very slowly, I started to actually enjoy my company, my solitude. I still was hoping to find that perfect man who could be my soul mate in life, but too often the men I met I found disappointing.  I began to realize I enjoyed my company more than theirs.

even a pomegranate flower thrives in its solitude.

Even when I returned to Virginia for six months after Korea, and during my first months in Oman, I was hoping to meet that amazing man who could be the antidote to my loneliness.  But soon it became apparent that wasn’t going to happen.  So I started going out and exploring Oman on my own.  I had a nice camera that I took with me on my excursions, but I didn’t think much about trying to take really good pictures.  It was only when I met Mario that I learned to see things in a different way. He is an amazing photographer, and he loves and knows so much about nature that he taught me a new appreciation for it.  From him, I learned to see in a new way.  I think since meeting Mario, my photography has improved , as my love for exploring the outdoors has grown.

In the last couple of years, I think my mindset has changed.  Now, instead of dwelling on and feeling sad about my loneliness, I cherish my solitude.  There is a difference.  I see loneliness as being a lack, something missing, whereas I see solitude as a conscious choice to be, and enjoy being, alone.

Solitude is a conscious choice to be, and enjoy being, alone.

Janet Fitch says, in White Oleander, “
Loneliness is the human condition. Cultivate it. The way it tunnels into you allows your soul room to grow. Never expect to outgrow loneliness. Never hope to find people who will understand you, someone to fill that space. An intelligent, sensitive person is the exception, the very great exception. If you expect to find people who will understand you, you will grow murderous with disappointment. The best you’ll ever do is to understand yourself, know what it is that you want, and not let the cattle stand in your way.”

I no longer feel a desperation to fill my solitude with a man, or with another person.  If I find another person with whom I connect, a person with whom I have chemistry, a person with whom I have a great rapport, a person who makes me laugh, then I will cultivate that friendship.  Otherwise I will continue to fill my hours as I have finally learned to do, by reading, taking pictures, writing my blog and my novel, going on excursions, planning my travels, taking walks outside, watching films, trying to eat healthy food, meditating and working on my spiritual growth.  A glass of red wine on top of that doesn’t hurt. 🙂

the ways to embellish your loneliness are abundant

I have met many expats in both Korea and Oman who immerse themselves in whatever they have found to furnish their loneliness.  Some immerse themselves in religion, either seeking out Christian churches or going on Buddhist retreats, or converting to Islam.  I know a man who spends all his time reading and as far as I know, rarely goes out.  Whenever I ask him what his plans are for the weekend, he says he will “catch up on his reading.”  I know people who spend their nights going out to bars, drinking heavily and looking for a companion to fill their evenings.  I know people who go to Muscat every weekend to see a film or go shopping or go to the beach.  I know people who are workaholics and expect the same from other teachers, not understanding that most of us want a life outside of work.

I know people who have lived here for months, even years, and have never even taken a walk outside.  Many people have never ventured out to explore Oman.  I know people who have made it a mission to save as many stray cats in Oman as possible.  I know quite talented artists who paint and draw.  I know people who are into feng shui and crystals and reincarnation. I know people who are always thinking of business schemes, ways to make money outside of work.  I know people who volunteer for overtime work to make extra money; they are probably stashing away thousands of dollars. I know people who go scuba diving regularly.  I know people who are in the thick of all the gossip and know everything about everybody.  I know people who are working on Master’s degrees or doctorates and people who have been in Oman for years and spend their time socializing with long-time expat friends.  There are all kinds of people in the expat world, and we all struggle in our own way to make a meaningful experience out of our time here.

star-spangled solitude

As for each individual, I don’t know.  I can’t say whether people are merely furnishing their loneliness, or embellishing, even star-spangling, their solitude.  I think there is a difference, and for the most part, except with interludes here and there, I like to think I am star-spangling my solitude.  For me, that is a great leap in my personal growth.

friday meditation: the treasure of time

Tags

Life, Spirituality, WPLongform

Friday, March 29:  This week I finished reading Happiness, by Matthieu Ricard, but he has given me so much to think about, I have a number of topics I’d still like to explore over the next several weeks.  In a fascinating chapter called “Golden Time, Leaden Time, Wasted Time,”  Ricard compares time to a “fine gold powder that we distractedly allow to slip through our fingers without ever realizing it.” The quote at the beginning of the chapter is this:

Those whom summer’s heat tortures yearn for the full moon of autumn
Without even fearing the idea
That a hundred days of their life will then have passed forever.
~ Buddha Shakyamuni

rose blossoms are as ephemeral as each passing moment

When I read this quote, I see myself a little too clearly.  I am the person who, tortured by Oman’s “summer’s heat” yearns “for the full moon of autumn.”  Everyone knows how much I am looking forward to leaving the relentless heat of Oman and returning to the four seasons in Virginia, on the east coast of the United States.  I am so ready for my time in Oman to come to an end, so I can return home to the country I love and to my family and friends.  But.  The quote says it all.  By wishing for the next three months to speed by, I should fear that 89 days of my “life will then have passed forever.”  I can see the wisdom of these words, and I feel I should really take them to heart.

Ricard reminds us that “it is essential to the quest for happiness that we be aware that time is our most precious commodity…. For the active person, golden time is when he can create, build, accomplish, and devote himself to the welfare of others.  For the contemplative, time allows him to look clearly into himself to understand his inner world and rediscover the essence of life.”

I am trying my best to cherish my remaining days in Oman, to use my “golden time.”  Even though I’m impatient to leave, I still cherish the time I spend with my students, and if I can add value to their lives, I will be happy with that.  I am trying to meditate daily (though I’m not always successful) and to read spiritual books.  I’m trying to be aware of my own sabotaging thoughts and my impatience for this time to pass, without latching on to these thoughts and without feeling irritated and antsy.  I’m spending time with my friends here and trying to get outdoors in Oman as much as I can, even as the weather gets hotter and hotter.  I’m also trying to make more effort with people whose company I enjoy but have made little effort with so far.

in a rose’s short life, there is no time for boredom

Luckily, I rarely feel bored when I have time to myself.

Ricard says of boredom: “Boredom is the fate of those who rely entirely on distraction, for whom life is one big entertainment and who languish the minute the show stops.  Boredom is the affliction of those for whom time has no value.”  By distraction, Ricard says he does not mean “the tranquil relaxation of a hike in the woods, but pointless activities and interminable mental chatter that, far from illuminating the mind, mire it in exhausting chaos.”

the rose strives for tranquility, not chaos….

Sometimes I don’t know if the things I do with my time are just distractions, pointless activities, or if they have any real meaning. For example, I spend a lot of time writing my blogs and working on my old blogs, adding more pictures and changing the picture sizes. Maybe this is pointless activity, but for me it brings great enjoyment.  When I share something of myself through my writing and pictures and I make a human connection, I feel great pleasure. When I get insightful comments from people who read my blog, or when I sense that I touch them in some way, those connections add value to my life, and I hope to theirs.

One of my goals for this year is to finish my novel.  As of today, I’ve finished revising through chapter 15 of my 50 chapter novel. I feel this is a valuable way to spend my time because writing and publishing a novel has been my lifetime dream. Sometimes, yes, I waste time, watching a movie or reading a book just for pure pleasure.  But is that a wrong way to spend my time?  I don’t think so.

a rosebud lives each moment it is given and then passes away without distraction

Ricard says, “The idle person talks of ‘killing time.’ What a dreadful expression!  Time becomes a long, dreary line.  This is leaden time; it weighs on the idler like a burden and cripples anyone who cannot tolerate waiting, delay, boredom, solitude, setbacks, or sometimes even life itself.”

Maybe sometimes, but not often, I talk about killing time.  Usually it’s when I’m waiting in a doctor’s office, or waiting for my car to be serviced at the GMC service garage.  Or when I’m driving to work or on the interminable drive to Muscat.  Yes, these things have to be done.  But do I often feel that I am doing things to “kill time?”  I don’t think so.  Usually, I feel there are not enough hours in the day to do all the things I really want to do.

I would love nothing better than to sit and contemplate this rose for a long time…

I like Ricard’s question: “Why not sit beside a lake, on top of a hill, or in a quiet room and examine what we are really made of deep inside?”  Now that appeals to me.  But in reality, I only have time to go out in nature for a walk on the weekends.  It would be lovely if I didn’t have to work and could just take my camera every day for a stroll through the wonders of nature, if I could just sit and contemplate the inner workings of my mind and the universe for hours on end.

Ricard tells of Tenzin Palmo, an English nun who spent many years in retreat, who wrote: ‘People say they have no time for ‘meditation.’ It’s not true!  You can meditate walking down the corridor, waiting for the traffic lights to change, at the computer, standing in a queue, in the bathroom, combing your hair.  Just be there in the present, without the mental commentary.’

Even in the Bible, Thessalonians 5: 16-18, it says: Rejoice always; pray without ceasing. in everything give thanks; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.

time will slip away for this rosebud just as it does for us

Ricard recommends that we cultivate a number of qualities to experience our relationship with time more harmoniously.

1) Mindfulness allows us to be aware of the passage of time.

2) Proper motivation gives color and value to time.

3) Diligence allows us to put it to good use.

4) Inner freedom prevents time being hijacked by disturbing emotions.

Finally, he ends by saying, “From the day we are born, every second, every step, brings us closer to death…. A lucid awareness of the nature of things inspires us to live every passing day to the full.”

I will try my best to enjoy my last days in Oman without wishing for them to hurry and pass.  I must slow down, contemplate, appreciate, savor these final days, hours, moments.  Because I know I will miss this place, and my dear friends, when I’m gone.

friday meditation: optimism vs. pessimism

Tags

Life, Optimism, Pessimism, Spirituality, WPLongform

Friday, March 22: I have been continuing my meditation practice, while simultaneously reading Happiness: A Guide to Developing Life’s Most Important Skill, by Matthieu Ricard. This week, I was intrigued by the chapter: “Optimism, Pessimism, and Naiveté.”  As I read and meditated on this, I couldn’t help looking at myself and trying to determine if I’m a pessimist or an optimist.

a plant has to have a lot of optimism to take root in a harsh environment like this

I’ve always called myself a pessimist because, when presented with an obstacle or challenge, I usually think about the worst things that could happen.  That way, I tell myself and others, I’m prepared for the worst.  If the worst doesn’t happen, then I’m pleasantly surprised.

For example, now I’m starting to prepare myself for leaving Oman in 3 months.  On April 1, I need to put my car up for sale.  I keep thinking, Oh no, what if I can’t sell it for what I need to sell it for?  What if I can’t get enough to pay off my loan?  What if I have an accident before I can sell it?  What if something major goes wrong with it in the next couple of weeks?

An optimistic outlook enables you to take one step at a time to overcome obstacles

As you can see, I’ve thought of a number of obstacles I could encounter.  But instead of letting myself become engulfed by worries, I’ve made a plan and written it on my calendar.  I must go to the leasing company and find out what the loan balance is and find out if it’s possible for a buyer to take over the payments.  I must go to the Toyota dealer and get an estimate of the value.  And then I must advertise it.  Finally, I thought of the worst things that could happen.  If I wreck the car, it’s insured.  If I have to spend money to fix something major, then I just have to do it.  And if worst comes to worst, and I cannot sell it, I can ship it back to the USA.

When I read this chapter in Happiness, I started wondering if I really am the pessimist I have always believed myself to be.

The choice: move forward one step at a time, or stay stuck where you are.

According to Ricard, “An optimist is somebody who considers his problems to be temporary, controllable, and linked to a specific situation.  He will say, ‘There’s no reason to make a fuss about it; these things don’t last. I’ll figure it out; in any case, I usually do.’  The pessimist, on the other hand, thinks that his problems will last (“It’s not the sort of thing that just goes away”), that they jeopardize everything he does and are out of his control (“What do you expect me to do about it?”).  He also imagines that he has some basic inner flaw, and tells people: ‘Whatever I do, it always turns out the same way’ and concludes, ‘I’m just not cut out to be happy.'”

When I read this, I thought: Maybe I’m not quite the pessimist I think I am.

Though I call myself a pessimist, and have some of the tendencies toward worry, ultimately, I think I’m an optimist

I continued to read on with curiosity.  Ricard goes on to say: “For an optimist, it makes no sense to lose hope.  We can always do better (instead of being devastated, resigned or disgusted), limit the damage (instead of letting it all go to pot), find an alternative solution (instead of wallowing pitifully in failure), rebuild what has been destroyed (instead of saying “It’s all over!”), take the current situation as a starting point (instead of wasting our time crying over the past and lamenting the present), start from scratch (instead of ending there), understand that sustained efforts will have to be made in the best apparent direction (instead of being paralyzed by indecision and fatalism), and use every present moment to advance, appreciate, act, and enjoy inner well-being (instead of wasting our time brooding over the past and fearing the future).”

The optimist uses several tools to live his life: HOPE, RESOLVE, ADAPTABILITY, SERENITY, & MEANING.

Ricard goes on to note that psychologists define HOPE as “the conviction that one can find the means to attain one’s goals and develop the motivation necessary to do so.”

another plant that must be optimistic to live its life here

The optimist has RESOLVE; she doesn’t give up quickly. “Strengthened by the hope of success, she perseveres and succeeds more often than the pessimist, especially in adverse conditions.”

Optimists are ADAPTABLE: When they encounter what seem to be insurmountable obstacles, they react in a constructive and creative way, while pessimists tend to “brood over their misfortunes, nurture illusions, dream up ‘magic’ solutions, and accuse the whole world of being against them.”

An optimist, even in meeting with temporary failure, is “free of regret and guilt feelings” and able to maintain SERENITY while trying to solve the problem.

Finally, the optimist sees the potential for transformation in every human being, giving MEANING to human life.

So, Ricard says, “The ultimate pessimism is in thinking that life in general is not worth living.  The ultimate optimism lies in understanding that every passing moment is a treasure, in joy as in adversity.”

Hope springs eternal

I don’t see myself as a hopeless person; conversely I see myself as HOPEFUL and ADAPTABLE.  My problem is in maintaining SERENITY in the face of obstacles.  Often I get annoyed, irritable, worried, depressed and angry when I’m faced with obstacles.  The only positive is that these states of mind come and go like fireflies on a summer night.  But ultimately, I have enough confidence in myself to believe that I can solve any problem that is thrown in my path.  I never feel like life isn’t worth living; neither am I ever willing to play the victim.

I know a number of people in Oman who are absolutely miserable; they’re true pessimists.  Never do they try to make the best of their situation.  They see their situation as hopeless, that they are stuck here under the university’s dictatorship, that they have no other options, that they don’t have a country they can return to.  They don’t take walks in nature or try to get out and explore the beautiful country.  As far as I can tell, these are choices they make.  Every day, I believe people can take small steps to change their lives.  An optimist can see this easily; a pessimist cannot.

So, which am I?

Early this morning, my dear friend from high school, Rosie, lost her beautiful niece, Megan, to stomach cancer.  I didn’t know Megan very well, though I’d met her on several occasions.  I do know my friend and her sister Janet, Megan’s mother.  Their family is close-knit and loving, and they are fighters. I’ve known this family almost my entire life and I know what they’re made of.  Megan herself, in the face of being diagnosed with Stage IV stomach cancer, went to battle for her life.  She wrote a blog about her struggle with cancer:  This is Our Fight: We’re fighting cancer, fighting for the life we dreamed of.

From right to left: Janet (Megan’s mother), Megan, and Adam (Megan’s husband). Taken when Megan was perfectly healthy, in January 2010.

My own insignificant struggles were put into perspective by Megan’s death.  While I have been struggling daily with a horrible job and thinking about the upheaval of moving back to America in 3 months, this beautiful and talented young woman was facing the ultimate struggle, for her life.  This morning, she lost that battle, but during her struggle she was able to keep an optimistic outlook. To me, that’s amazing.

I wonder how optimistic I would be in the face of the ultimate struggle: with death.  I really don’t know.  But I certainly admire a person like Megan who met death with courage and the certain conviction that SHE, if she had her say, would choose life.

friday meditation: enlightenment guaranteed

Tags

Life, Spirituality, WPLongform

Friday, March 15: This week I watched a 2002 German film called Enlightenment Guaranteed. The film is an amusing yet thought-provoking story about two German brothers who go to Tokyo in search of enlightenment amidst a series of mishaps and tribulations.  I loved this film not only because I could relate to the brothers’ experiences as foreigners in Japan (I recognized my own experiences in Korea!), but also because it gave me food for thought on my spiritual journey.

Kyoto, Japan

Uwe is a kitchen designer with 4 screaming children and a wife, Petra, who he continually berates. At work, he tells a couple of his clients that arguments usually start in the kitchen because most kitchens are poorly designed and too small.  He tells them a kitchen has to make you happy, that you should be able to think clearly while chopping onions or cabbage.  The act of chopping, he says, can be aerobics for the soul.

In an argument in Uwe’s house that begins in the kitchen, Petra is busy cleaning up a puddle of cold milk that her child knocked to the floor because it wasn’t warmed. Uwe comes in and says, sarcastically, that he’s not surprised; after all, the child likes his milk warm: “Look, Mama made a mess.  People learn from experience.  That’s what makes us human. In theory, at least.”

Kyoto, Japan

Later that evening, when Uwe returns home from work, he finds his wife and children are gone.  There’s a note on the kitchen floor from Petra: “I’m learning from experience that you will never change.”

Uwe calls his brother, Gustav, who studies Zen Buddhism and works as a Feng Shui consultant. He spends time in meditation each day and applies Zen principles in his daily life.  Gustav is packing for a trip to Tokyo; he plans to stay several weeks at the Sojij Monastery in Monzen.    Uwe begs Gustav to take him along to Tokyo: “Don’t leave me alone! I’ll kill myself,” he cries and pleads with his brother in a drunken stupor.  “I won’t bother you!  I’ll carry your bags!”  Earnest Gustav agrees reluctantly to take Uwe along, even though he wants to do the journey alone.

So begins the “enlightenment” of Gustav and Uwe. Throughout their travels, Gustav reads wise Buddhist truths from a book about Zen.  When the brothers arrive in Tokyo, every Japanese person on the streets is talking on a mobile phone. The city is an assault on the senses.

In the hotel, Gustav uses a compass to determine the optimal direction to lie in his bed, and Uwe measures his bed like he measures his kitchen cabinets.  As they leave their hotel to go out for dinner and drinks in Tokyo, Uwe says, “Can we leave our passports in the room?”  Gustav says, “Of course.  Nobody steals in Japan.”

Kyoto, Japan

After dinner, they head to a bar.  Gustav, who is worried about getting lost in Tokyo, warns Uwe that they should use neon flashing signs to remember their location: KAWASAKI and EPSOM.  At the bar, they order 3 drinks and the bill shockingly comes to $600. When they head back out to the street, they can’t find their landmark signs.  By this time, Uwe’s money is “finito” due to the outrageous bar bill, and Gustav has only 5,000 yen ($52).  They can’t remember the name of their hotel, but Gustav has a business card he picked up from the hotel desk.  He gives it to a woman taxi driver and they start driving for what seems like a long distance, further than they walked.  When the driver finally stops, they say, “This is the hotel??” The driver says “Otel??? Otel??” like she’s not sure she understands. They get out of the taxi, and they see a hospital across the street: “Maybe she thought we were saying “hospital.” By this time, they are down to 1,000 yen, and they decide to go to an ATM for more money.  The machine is flashing Japanese instructions and then eats Uwe’s card.  Gustav inserts his card, and the same thing happens.  Now they have no money, no means of getting any, and no idea where they are.

Now, with nothing left, Gustav reads from his Zen book: “Become homeless.  Feel good in your own skin.  In misery is bliss.”  With the small change they have left, they go to a casino, hoping to win the jackpot.  Of course they lose all their money in the slot machines.

Kyoto, Japan

As it turns into the wee morning hours, Gustav reads: “Have patience every day of your life.”  Exhausted, they stop in a small park lined with cardboard boxes, and they each crawl into one to sleep for the night.  As they prepare to sleep, Gustav says, “I don’t think it’s all that bad.”  Uwe says, “In the last hour I only thought of Petra and the kids 17 times.  What do you mean it’s not all that bad here?  Is this more of your Zen bull****?”

In the morning, they wake up and Gustav swears, “No more cardboard boxes!” They go to a department store where they find tents for sale, and Uwe steals a bright yellow tent by putting it under his jacket.  As they are crossing a huge and crowded crosswalk, they get separated.

Kyoto, Japan

Uwe has been filming their experience on his video camera and as he wanders alone through the streets of Tokyo, he says to the camera, “I feel like I’m on some strange planet.”  While Gustav wanders alone, trying to reassure himself, he reads in his Zen book: “The melon knows not the cold wind of morning.  Alone on the ice, a cheerful cormorant.”  Gustav steals a meal from a sushi conveyor belt.  Uwe goes to a palm reader who reads his palm in Japanese; he films her reading.

Gustav ends up in a metro station singing Gloria Gaynor’s “I will survive!” in German.  While singing, a German girl approaches him to put money in his hat, and he latches on to her: “You speak German!!??”  As she takes him by train to her home, where she lives with a Japanese man, Gustav looks out the train window and sees the yellow tent beside the track.  The brothers are reunited and go to Anica’s house, where she gives them a place to sleep and the ability to work in a German Oktoberfest house to earn a little money.  As she speaks some Japanese, she translates Uwe’s palm reading from the video: “Clear lines, strong feelings.  Recently you’ve had problems in your love life.  I see a separation from your wife.”  Uwe says, “Separation or divorce??”  She says, “I see a hope line that points to the light.”  Uwe ponders the meaning of this.

gravel raked by monks into a pattern in Kyoto, Japan

Finally, they are on their way to the Buddhist monastery in Monzen.  On the train, Uwe reads: “Meditation is the way to enlightenment.”  Gustav says, “Yes, you just sit there and let your thoughts come and go.”

Uwe continues reading: “We must see through the illusion that there is a separate self.  We practice to remove this divide.  Not until the moment we and the object become one do we truly see our lives.  You don’t reach enlightenment.  It’s the absence of something.  You’re after something your entire life, some goal.  Enlightenment is giving it up.”

The Golden Temple, Kyoto, Japan

At the monastery, they get into the Zen Buddhist monks’ routine.  They wake every morning at 4.  They meditate and chant for hours.  They clean floors.  They clean windows. They sweep the ground outdoors.  They sit and contemplate nature.  Over and over, the routine is repeated day in and day out.  Finally, at the end of their stay, each of them goes to talk to a wise monk about their problems.

Uwe tells the monk about his hatred for his wife for leaving him.  The monk tells him: “See all other people as if they were you.  Just like you.  If you want to hate, then really hate.  Don’t eat.  Don’t sleep.  Hate, hate, hate.  The hate will go away by itself.  You will see that hate won’t get you anywhere.”

Gustav, who is continually messing up at the monastery, falling down while scrubbing floors or falling asleep during meditation, asks the monk about his fears of getting lost and of making mistakes.  The monk tells him: “Mistakes are a fact of life.  That can’t be changed.  Everyone makes them.  Your true nature is what counts.  Not the rest.  If you’re afraid of spilling a cup of tea, your fear keeps you from noticing how warm the cup feels in your hand and how good it smells.  Because you’re so busy trying not to spill it.”

****************

I love the messages in this movie. The movie is all about stripping down to the bare essentials, about learning what’s important.  I couldn’t help but think of myself when I went to Greece this summer and my suitcase was lost for 2 days.  At least I had money, my camera, and a place to sleep, but I was disappointed and irritated and worried.  I don’t know how I would have done had the suitcase never appeared, but I didn’t like the inconvenience one bit.  However, I didn’t sit in my hotel sulking; neither did I sit on the phone all day berating Egypt Air.  I went out to explore the streets of Athens and to see the Acropolis.  I enjoyed some heavenly meals accompanied by wine.  Neither did Gustav and Uwe like their situation, and many times one or the other of them threatened to give up, go the German embassy, and go home.  They continually reminded each other: “Never give up!”  And they didn’t.

Bamboo Forest, Kyoto, Japan

In the year I lived in Korea, I lived in a small one room apartment, much like a dorm room with a small kitchen, after having lived in nice brick 2- or 3-story Colonials in Virgina for most of my life.  I had to pare down and lower my expectations considerably.  When I taught at the elementary school in Seongju, I had a 1 1/2 hour commute each way,which included walking for 20 minutes, riding two unheated buses and sitting in an unheated, filthy bus station for 20 minutes.  The school was not heated in winter or cooled in summer.  Many days in winter, I was cold all day, huddled in my winter coat next to a heat lamp I bought for my classroom.   As hard as it was, I kept telling myself, “This won’t last forever.  I just need to make it though.”  And I did.  However, it was difficult and I didn’t accept it easily.  Often I would have to remind myself to just let it go.  Sometimes I was successful; often I wasn’t.

I have other challenges in Oman, different from in Korea, but challenges nonetheless.  My dear friend Mario has told me in the past that he sees me as generally content.  My first year here, I WAS content, more so than this year, mainly because of the deterioration in my job.  But slowly, I have learned to be content when I’m outside of work, despite the heat, the lack of greenery, the ultra-traditional culture. I’m still working on the art of letting go.  Practice. Patience.

I have this strange recurring vision of myself, sometimes in dreams, sometimes in waking visions.  I see myself walking down a path, and when I look down at my feet, I see my feet moving steadily forward under a monk’s robes.  Strange.  Maybe I’m being called to spend some time in a monastery.   I know there is still a lot for me to learn.   I believe, if I keep practicing, I will find the way to let go.  Slowly.  Slowly.

friday meditation: desire

Tags

Life, Spirituality, WPLongform

Friday, March 8:  This week, I’ve been reading about desire and the infinite forms it can take.  In Happiness: A Guide to Developing Life’s Most Important Skill, Matthieu Ricard differentiates between “the deep aspirations that we generate throughout our lives and the desire that is solely concentrated on craving and obsession.” He distinguishes between “desire, which is essentially a blind force, and aspiration, which is inspired by motivation and attitude.”  He says if the motivation is vast and selfless, it can be the source of great human qualities and accomplishments.  When it’s narrow and egocentric, it fuels the endless cravings of daily life and offers no guarantee of deep satisfaction.

sweet desire: mango blooms promise delectable fruit

Ricard notes that “the great pessimist Arthur Schopenhauer stated: ‘All striving springs from want or deficiency, from dissatisfaction with one’s condition, and is therefore suffering as long as it is not satisfied.  No satisfaction, however, is lasting; on the contrary, it always merely the starting point of fresh striving.'”

When I lived in America, I was all too familiar with this striving for more and more.  Living in the suburbs of Washington, I was as guilty as all my neighbors of wanting a big and beautifully decorated house, a nice car, perfect children, lots of money.  I even went though a very long period where I was so obsessed with clothes that I got in a huge amount of debt trying to keep up with the latest fashions coming from my favorite store, anthropologie.  I think it was all about fitting in, feeding my ego, looking like I had some amount of taste.

Anyone who reads my blog knows that I have a lot of desires.  All one has to do is to read my New Year’s Resolutions (RESOLVED 2013!!!) or my Bucket List (things to do before i die ~ otherwise known as my “before-i-kick-the-bucket list”) to know my list is long.  I am a goal-oriented person; most of my goals nowadays have to do with creative pursuits or travel or learning new things.  I also desire good friends, true love, spiritual growth and time in the company of my children.  Lately, of course, I have a strong desire to return to the United States, to return home to my family, my old friends, and a job I love.  I miss so many things about home: four distinct seasons; abundant green; access to a wide variety of restaurants, movies and books; familiarity with my culture; and, most of all, a sense of belonging.

“Love is an irresistible desire to be irresistibly desired.” ~ Robert Frost

Are these desires good or bad?  Like Schopenhauer says above, satisfaction (of desire) is merely the starting point of fresh striving.  I know from personal past experience, that satisfaction of a desire often leads to more desires.  And that attachment to any desire’s outcome can be problematic.

“When you are discontent, you always want more, more, more.  Your desire can never be satisfied. But when you practice contentment, you can say to yourself, oh yes — I already have everything that I really need.” ~ Dalai Lama

Shortly after the September 11 terrorist attacks, I became obsessed by the Arab world.  Eventually, a determination to learn about this foreign world, and to somehow make a difference, led me to what was once my heart’s desire: to live and work in the Middle East.  I achieved my desire, but not exactly in the way I envisioned it or wanted it.  I wanted to work in international development, especially in Egypt, but instead life led me to teaching English to Omani girls. It wasn’t quite what I had in mind, but it’s been an eye-opening journey that I value immensely.  However, all the things I overlooked by focusing on this obsessive desire have now come back to haunt me:  separation from my family and my home, suspension of close friendships, and the homesickness I strongly feel.

we all have desires, things that appear as a light out of darkness

I know I’m attached to this outcome, returning home, but I am also trying hard to make the most of the present moment, these last days in Oman.  I have a lot I work on every day: I still try to travel every Thursday. I have embarked on a daily spiritual practice.  I’ve revised through Chapter 10 of my 50-chapter novel.  I have been updating all my blogs, including my year in Korea (catbird in korea), to show larger pictures and to break down long, cumbersome posts into smaller posts.  I am saving money and paying down my debt.  I’m trying to enjoy my students and my dear friends in Oman.

I’m trying hard not to focus too much on the outcome of returning home, though it’s difficult at times.  Most of the time I keep myself too busy in the present moment to dwell on this desire and its outcome.

I know a friend who trekked to the base camp of Mt. Everest.  She said she nearly died from altitude sickness because she was too attached to the outcome of getting to the base camp. It’s possible she might not be alive today because of that attachment.

We all have been attached to outcomes, so that the disappointment in not achieving the desire becomes crushing.  A cause of suffering. I have been attached to outcomes like this in the past.  When I desired to get married the second time, I was so attached to that outcome that I was afraid to reveal my true self to my potential husband.  If I hadn’t finally opened up and revealed myself, he would have married someone who wasn’t even really me!

I suffered a number of huge disappointments in my life regarding my career.  First, I applied to get into the MFA – Creative Writing program at George Mason University.  At the same time I applied, I began work on a novel.  I had to wait about 5 months to hear whether I was accepted, and during that time I was doing yoga and was quite productive on my novel.  After 5 months, I got word that I wasn’t accepted.  I was devastated.

Shortly after that my husband lost his job after 25 years with a big defense contractor, and I had to go back to work in the financial industry, which I hated.  I had to put my novel aside.  No matter.  After being rejected by GMU, I didn’t feel the novel had any potential anyway. Finally, when my husband got a new job, I was able to quit my job and return to my novel, but with much less enthusiasm.  All the wind had been knocked out of me.

the fruit fly’s desire translates to cross pollination and the creation of fruit

After this, a long period of exploration followed, where I took interior design classes and started a little interior design business.  However, my interest fell by the wayside when I realized having a business required abilities in salesmanship.  How can someone with no confidence sell herself?

Finally, I attended the Master’s program in International Commerce & Policy at George Mason’s School of Public Policy.  I graduated in 2008, achieving a 3.8 average, because it was the perfect blend of my financial industry experience and my interest in foreign affairs following the September 11 attacks.  I did two internships at the U.S. State Department, one in the Office of U.N Political Affairs and one in the Office of the Chief of Protocol, organizing events for then-Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice.  I worked on the Annapolis Middle East Peace Conference in fall of 2007; I was responsible for the U.N. delegation to the conference.

Despite all of this, upon graduation, I applied to 250 jobs in international development, including to the State Department, USAID, and too many non-profits and government contractors to count.  All to no avail.  I simply couldn’t get a job.  My desire to work in this field was so strong that relentlessly, I bounced out of bed each day and sent off a new application. I attended networking events and met with people who could help me.  Obviously, it was not meant to be.  I believe to this day it was because of my age (52 at the time) and the fact that I had a 15-year gap on my resume when I was a stay-at-home mom.

Eventually, I got incredibly depressed.  Not from rejection, because I wasn’t even being rejected.  I was being ignored.  Out of all those jobs, I only had about 5 interviews and zero job offers.  It was the first time in my entire life that I actually entertained the notion of suicide.

desire: blooms > fruit

I was so attached to the outcome I desired that I could have ended my life, leaving behind my children and a family who loved me.  And I would have missed out on all the amazing experiences that I’ve had in Korea, Oman and in all my travels over the last three years.  A perfect example of the danger of obsessive desire.

I won’t even get into my obsessive desires regarding my love life!  In that regard, these days, I no longer have any desires.  I think Oman has been good for me in helping me get rid of that obsession.

Anyway, in my life now, I have become generally less attached to outcomes.  I still have desires, but I try to be realistic about them as much as possible, and to not place huge importance on their achievement.  I try to live in the present moment as much as possible and go with the flow.  I’m not always successful, but I’m much more successful than I used to be.  Maybe one day, I can be satisfied with whatever life hands me.  That is my desire, anyway!