Drawn with markers in my journal last night. this is actually the back of the page I drew. I like the way the bleeding markers look on the reverse side.
I'm listening to Martha Beck's Steering By Starlight on my ipod (thank you to Christine Kane for the recommendation.) It's really great and has me thinking, laughing, processing, and pondering some more.
In one part, Beck tells the story of a client who is so depressed and fed up with his life that he's contemplating suicide. Her response is, "You'll definitely have to commit suicide to be free...In fact, ideally, you'll do it all the time. Not physically. Mentally." She goes on to explain how a person can live a vital life by regularly killing (in a sort of suicide) their conceptualized self. In other words, by regularly freeing yourself of the stories you cling to, you can free yourself from those self-imposed limitations.
I was particularly struck by this part of the book. Possibly because I've had my own brush with suicide. But also because this kind of death (of old beliefs) is one that keeps coming up for me over the last couple years.
There have been two memorable times in my life where I had a temporary, but freeing experience with the death of my stories. The first was when my step-brother died. He was only 23 years old and his death was sudden and unexpected. The night before he'd been at my sister's softball game. He went out for pizza with his friends before retiring back to the apartment he shared with a close pal. During the night he died of a brain aneurysm.
There had been a couple other deaths in my family that same year, one was expected and the other wasn't, but there's something particularly shocking about the death of someone so young and seemingly full of life. After the funeral, I remember everything seeming so surreal, more vivid and clear. Within a few weeks, I had ended a five year long relationship (that I had been agonizing over whether or not to end for the last year) and I quit the job that was making me miserable. Getting this stark reminder of how fragile and fleeting life is was like a bucket of cold water being splashed in my face. It woke me up. I recognized that I had the choice to live a life that made me happy or stick with whatever was bringing me down because I felt there was no way out.
The second time I experienced an inner death/rebirth was when I hit my lowest point with depression and was contemplating suicide. It had been crossing my mind for awhile, but when I actually made the decision, something shifted within me and again, everything became surreal and especially vivid. I saw my then therapist who directed me to the hospital where I checked myself in. And from there, I was able to reevaluate my life in a more objective way. I was able to ask for help, admit I was struggling, and get myself out of situations that seemed impossible to get out of, even though they really weren't. In my head, my stories about disappointing others, failing, etc, were just that - stories. And when it came down to it, the stories didn't mean much. This time around, I put in my notice at another job that seemed prestigious to me and related to my degree, but was no longer serving me, and I found a job that paid twice as much, was much less stressful, and allowed me time to heal and do what I love (make art). I also left the apartment that was too expensive, but I thought I couldn't break the lease (I found a subletter), consolidated my debts so I could afford the monthly payments, and moved to another apartment (which led me to meet the hubster.) And I also got some help from friends and family and re-connected with people I love.
Both of these turning point moments were brought about by extremes. Sometimes you can get to a shift like this without the low point. I remember at one point in my twenties imagining if I had a year to live what I would want to do. And then I did those things (spent more time with family, took a trip to the Caribbean, ran a marathon.) But lately it feels harder to get myself to that place of letting go of the story so I can get on with living. I try and do it in the small ways...I get present when spending time with my cats, really feeling their fur, noticing their movements, fully loving their every breath. Or on a walk when my mind goes still and the grandness of a tree puts me in a state of awe. Or when I'm dancing across the kitchen floor for no other reason than pure joy.
I suppose it doesn't all have to be about extremes, moving, leaving, huge life changes. But I also sense that there's something, some story holding me back right now and I'd like to put that fairy tale to bed. So, how do you get to the stories and let them go without the death and drama?
In my efforts to let go of defining beliefs, I look for inspiration in the writing of people like Patti Digh, whose blog is about just this sort of thing...in her case it's about living as if you had 37 days left. I find glimpses in the writing of Eckhart Tolle. And I write and I paint and I talk with loved ones, which often gets me closer. How do you get in touch with that part of you that grasps at your stories? And how do you lovingly help it release its grip?
by Quentin Blake. This book is so fabulous; it has loads of great art exercises and such a great attitude. The author takes such a light (and very funny) approach to art and creativity that I believe it could really help unblock anyone who is afraid to try drawing or is just stuck in their own art-making. Yes, this book is for kids, but I think anyone could enjoy it. I know I would! 
