Caught in the Crossfire

white and red balloons

Photo by Sirirak Boonruangjak

Someone says something, does something, implies something that upsets you. For days following you rehearse rebuttals, running the scenario through your mind over and over again. You write a scathing email but have the good sense not to push send. You run the incident past whoever will listen, adding their shock and outrage to your own. Ugliness expands and overshadows everything.

When that happened two weeks ago the insult wasn’t aimed at me. But it grew horns and a tail and I took it on, enacting the above scenario to the letter. In the midst of the heat and angst of that simmering kettle another situation developed. It was a blast out of nowhere that blindsided me and I was still trying to make sense of it when, Wham! A third shock-wave slammed full force.

The disruption of peace is so foreign to my life that by the time the fourth and final jolt landed, the utter absurdity of the sequence of events left me shaking my head. What was I missing? What lesson was being pounded home with unrelenting force?

The Universe knows me. When it comes to subtle hints I’m hard of hearing. Some people pick up the slightest whiff of – you might want to pay attention to this – and execute a course correction mid-stride. Not me! I have to be bludgeoned with it.

Intense dialogue between the inner world of experience and the outer world of events ensued. It was as though my personality was in surgery, undergoing a central re-calibration without anesthesia. No wonder I wanted that second glass of wine. And forget about Bintang kecil, the small bottle of beer. Bintang besar silakan! Large please!

But the numbing blur of alcohol was temporary. In the morning the issues were still there. My higher self looked on with disapproval.

It was time for a better choice. I dusted off the meditation cushion. I’d offer my predicament back to the Universe and see what She had to say for herself. She’s a chatty sort I’ve noticed. Given the chance, insights gathered from eons of collective wisdom are there for the asking.

No sooner had I maneuvered my legs into half-lotus and She was transmitting.

That injury you took on wasn’t yours – – an acquaintance had an expectation that you were unwilling to meet – – you were wrongly accused of an imagined infraction – – the performance of another fell short – – Why are you angry? It’s not about you.

What? Why am I angry? Not about me? What? What?

She hummed a bit, waiting. Blew a sweet-scented breeze through my hair. Whispered mysteries and magic while I reflected. I’d grown quite attached to my indignation. Entitled to it. I’d thought of hundreds of ways to verbally bring them down, make them think again before they messed with me. But, would I ever actually say those things? Probably not. I’d just let distress eat at me when indeed, it wasn’t my injury, my expectation, my mistake, or my performance.

She was speaking again. I strained to hear.

Let it go, She said. Let it go, let it go, let it go.

There are times when we don’t need to justify ourselves to anyone. Perhaps we’ve been standing too close to the conflict and we’re caught in the crossfire of a battle that has nothing to do with us. Engaging in the turmoil, even mentally, pulls us down. Fast.

It takes a conscious act of will but there is sweet liberation and personal empowerment when we choose to move away from the ruckus and just LET IT GO.

 

Wisdom from Never-Never Land

 

In that groggy place suspended between dreams, I often get my clearest insights. Inspiration lurks there and I have to be quick to capture it before it dissolves into the murky shadows of Never-Never Land.

It’s fortunate on such mornings that I live alone. When I leap out of bed, throw covers on the floor, dash across the room, stub my toe, hobble to the table, scrabble among the papers for a pen, and write furiously without being able to see the words because it’s still that dark, anyone watching would have to laugh…I have to laugh!

Sometimes I return to my cozy nest and immediately fall back to sleep. When I awake again an hour or so later, I have no memory of my pre-dawn brilliance, throbbing toe aside, until I sit down with my first cup of coffee and see the scribbled note.

That’s what happened this morning.

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When I looked at what I’d written, the concept my subconscious mind had been chewing on all by itself with no help (or hindrance) from me came back in a flash. The more I considered it, the more it made sense. Here’s the gist.

1 – 20 Lost.     From birth to around twenty years old, we’re not our own. The adults in our lives make the plans. They mold us, scold us, and hopefully we arrive at adulthood fairly unscathed. Those years are lost in the sense that we don’t control them.

20 – 60 Learning.     I’d like to say that we have things pretty well figured out by age forty or so. But I didn’t. I was still repeating the same stupid mistakes I’d made in my 20’s and 30’s. They wore different clothes and had new faces but underneath those choices were driven by the damaged sense of self that hadn’t changed since childhood. Damaged or not, our child-rearing, career-building years are spent learning.

60 – ?  Living.     There should be another category tucked between 50 and 60 called Transforming. It’s a time of reckoning. The kids have gone on to start their own learning years. The nest is empty. If we’re still married there’s nothing to distract us from our mate any longer. It’s just the two of us trying to remember why.

And we change. It’s impossible not to. But is it conscious change or unconscious? If we’re aware of the growth opportunity and work with it, we’ll advance into our sixties wiser, making good decisions for ourselves and modeling positive aging for others. If the change is unconscious we may go to the grave still making the same mistakes.

The morning insights could have stopped there.

But my subconscious has a mind of its own and it likes to do math. (This is definitely not me.) What it came up with was so simple and obvious I couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought of it myself.

Bear with me now. We’re going to throw away years 1 – 20, we had no control over them anyway. From 20 – 60, then, are forty years of self-management, probably much of it spent meeting expectations, shouldering responsibilities, keeping the nose to the grindstone, the pedal to the metal, with a two-week vacation thrown in now and then to maintain sanity.

But consider this: our life expectancy in North America is around eighty years. Think about all that happened between ages 20 to 40, then from 40 to 60. Now we have another 60 to 80 ahead, one-third of our adult life yet to be lived. My mother at 90, still works out five days a week, beats the pants off the others at Bingo, and pretty much rules the roost in her assisted living facility. So where am I going with this?

Don’t waste the Living years.

What did you always wish you could do but never did? Make a plan and do it. Have you neglected exercise and proper diet? Start now to implement healthy habits. Does the cost of living where you are prohibit retirement? Move. I did, and it was the best decision I ever made. Did you fail to finish your degree? Check out your state’s Statutes. In Minnesota senior citizens can attend college tuition free. Maybe your state has a similar ruling.

Live like dying isn’t an option.

It’s not denial, it’s grabbing hold of the greatest gift we’ve ever been given, life, and running with it…wee wee wee, all the way home.

 

 

 

 

 

My Six Year Search for Baking Soda – The Danger of Assuming That We Know What We’re Looking For!

 

I took many things for granted before moving to Bali six years ago. I assumed that:

  • days were warm and nights were balmy
  • rainy season was the occasional thunder storm
  • hair products and cosmetics were available
  • I’d have a kitchen
  • not only a kitchen, but a shower and flushing toilet
  • earth tremors were nothing more than a gentle massage

Reality proved to be a variation on that theme.

  • days were hot and nights with a fan on high were tolerable
  • rainy season was a continuous deluge from January through April
  • hair products and cosmetics proliferated but not for blond Norwegians
  • kitchen meant a two-burner camp stove on a counter that hit just above my thighs, a doll-house sized fridge, and no oven
  • the shower was a concrete reservoir with a dip-pour bucket that also served to dump water into the toilet bowl to flush it
  • earth tremors were uncomfortable – earth quakes left my nervous system on high alert for days

Over time I built a house with a real shower, flushing toilet, and a state-of-the-art-kitchen, Bali style. (Still no oven.) I found a hair color that worked. Cosmetics – not yet. My body acclimated to the heat and I learned to appreciate the months of rain in ways I had never embraced snow.

The absence of an oven significantly reduced the need to stock certain ingredients. But baking soda has a multitude of uses beyond its leavening properties, so every few months I cruised the grocery aisles searching for the familiar box.

baking soda

Nada.

The day I found it was the day after I’d eaten a heaping plate of too spicy, too greasy, mei goreng.

mie goreng

 

My stomach revolted. If only I had bicarbonate of soda! The two-mile walk to the grocery store wouldn’t hurt my condition so I set out with singleness of purpose. Once there, I made a bee-line to the area that stocked flour, sugar, salt, seasonings, and spices. The unusual packaging and foreign names of things had become familiar but a sudden revelation dawned. Maybe, just maybe, I should look for something other than the orange box.

 

 

Seconds later, in a wire bin in the dark corner of a bottom shelf, I found it.

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Soda Kue – 3,450 rph = 25 cents. The package was minuscule – a little larger than an egg.

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No doubt it had been there all along. If I hadn’t been fixated on the orange box, I could have been enjoying the many uses of that simple white powder for years!

As I walked home, I wondered how many other things had escaped me because I was locked into images from the past. How often had I predetermined what an outcome should look like and closed myself to the magic of discovering something new? The more I thought about it, the danger of defaulting to unconscious settings became clear. If I wasn’t paying attention they’d kick in automatically, and hinder the potential for surprise in my life.

I got home, stirred up a glass of water with soda, and drank it down. Ugh! Same disgusting taste. But the gurgling and belching that ensued brought instant relief.

Awareness is tricky. It runs counter to old programming, and challenges core beliefs. It’s easier to remain in the realm of the unconscious, thinking how we’ve always thought and doing what we’ve always done the way we’ve always done it. But I want more than that from life, and now when I catch myself assuming I know what I’m looking for I hit the pause button, and run it through the Baking Soda Test.

 

 

 

 

 

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