It’s that time of year again….

Though I never make resolutions anymore (actually, can’t recall that I ever did) I always find myself falling into a reflective mood on every January first, +/-. It’s a nice moment to look back over a chunk of time and look forward over the next. And usually I arrive at something that is more like a theme than a resolution… something to keep in mind or a sort of general intention

My past year broke out into several well-defined chunks, each with its own defining characteristics. 5 months: South Sudan (parasites! heat! insanity! refugees!). A month at home with my Dad in a rare but satisfying moment of total, regressive relaxation. Two weeks in Haiti with my brother on his first trip abroad to visit our sister (heat! insanity! traffic!). A 3-month contract in Portland (insanity’s a given in the ER, so nothing new there), 2 weeks at the Vipassana meditation retreat (sitting! equanimity! insanity!) then off to round out the year with a couple of months in Central America (meetings! reports! new and different kinds of insanity, all en español!)

It’s been a good run. I got to go back to Africa. It taught me a lot, about…. everything. I broke out of my professional path in a big way and have had so many opportunities to experiment with new roles and different experiences. I’m enjoying an unexpected opportunity to improve my Spanish. I dig being back in Latin America. And though I’m an absolute beginner in meditation, I’ve found that the experience has given me some extremely interesting experiences of experimenting with different ways of thinking and being. I’ve crossed paths with a vast assortment of interesting, inspiring, and yes, pretty crazy, people. But who said insanity was a bad thing?

Like my friend S says, “Sometimes life gives you some candy.”

Yummm. I’m chowing down.

And there was some hard stuff, too.

I lost my Grandma… but for once in my life I wasn’t by myself with bad news. My cousin and I were driving cross country when we found out; he kept driving while I cried. That night we watched the sun set, together and silent. For that, I remember the day with gratitude.

I spent 3 months working all hours, mostly weird mid-shifts that made me exhausted and crazy… but through it reached a new point of stepping off that path and feel much more free to move forward.

I once again spent the holidays a long way away from my family… but got to celebrate with new friends. They’re my people and I love the community that emerges when we oddly assorted groups are thrown together in unlikely situations.

I’m living in a house with a teammate who is the most toxic person I’ve met in a long time, navigating a super negative dynamic both at home and work. And I am seeing how meditating and listening to my Zen talks actually is changing the way I experience these interactions.

New years always feel good. It’s the blank-page effect, I guess… the sense that anything is possible.

One of my friends was talking about quantum physics today… she was saying that discoveries in the field are starting to show that there are unlimited possibilities at a molecular level… that anything is physically possible at any moment. I haven’t read any hard science for ages, but now am feeling inspired to check out this idea.

In the meantime, I think I’ve found my theme.

2014… endless possibilities. I like it.

Seeing things

Getting ready to leave for a ten-day Vipassana silent meditation retreat, which I’ve been planning since I got back from South Sudan. At the end of my 6 months there, I was incredibly exhausted and drained. I struggled with getting adequate rest… it wasn’t just the 100F+ temperatures or the parasites keeping my belly in constant turmoil … I found it increasingly difficult to get any rest. The camp was noisy and I used earplugs at night, but the real problem was my mind. The more tired I got, the harder it was to shut off my thoughts. I would wake up hours before my alarm, exhausted but wide awake, in the middle of thinking, thinking, thinking. My mind was in overdrive but it wasn’t helping me.

When I got back to New York, friend N, ever bringing me interesting ideas and new slants on things, mentioned that her sister was going on a Vipassana retreat. I’d never heard of it but thought it sounded like a great idea. Just what I need: a bootcamp for my brain! The possibility of learning a different way of relating to my  thoughts never sounded more appealing.

One thing I’ve come to know about myself is that I live a lot in my head. I am strong in analysis, finding meaning, making connections, putting words to things. But as much as I appreciate those abilities and find them useful, sometimes they trip me up. Sometimes it’s hard even  to know what my instinct or gut feeling is about something. It must exist, but as soon as I’m presented with a situation or a decision, my mind goes to work on analyzing, planning, preparing. The mental flexibility that helps me see all different sides of a story or issue trips me up, creates multiplicity, confuses me, by presenting many plausible rationalizations or paths.

Vipassana means “seeing things as they really are,” or so the introduction to the course says. I find as I am typing that even that statement seems ambiguous to me. So many different ways of seeing. So many different meanings of being, so many different realities, even within myself. Clearly this will be an interesting experiment.

Aside from no talking, there’s also no reading or writing allowed. What will ten days be like with only the words in my head? What will I learn about them, about myself? I would be lying if I said the prospect weren’t a little frightening.

I heard a program on late night public radio from the BBC – an interview with a researcher who had found that our eyes contain light sensors that give us an awareness of whether we are in light or dark. They help with setting circadian rhythms, something for which, after working night- and swing-shifts over the past few years, I have a profound reverence. But, even more interestingly, even in people who are visually blind, the sensors allow an awareness of light. The researcher (whose name I wish I knew) told a story about how he asked a blind woman if she could tell when the lights were on. She said, no, of course not, I can’t see. But she agreed to an experiment in which she was asked whether lights were on or off, and every time, she knew. She just hadn’t been aware before that she did.

The story delights me. I don’t know how learning that new sense – not of sight, but of light – changed anything for that woman. But it makes me think that perhaps there’s a possibility for me to see something new, too.