Gratitude de luxe

I think I first heard about gratitude journaling on Oprah. Sounded a bit too hunky dory and don’t-they-have-anything-else-to-think-about? So naturally I kept too busy to do it…

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I think I first heard about gratitude journaling on Oprah. Sounded a bit too hunky dory and don’t-they-have-anything-else-to-think-about? So naturally I kept too busy to do it.

Second wave came with The Secret books. I actually did the exercises, but again it didn’t really stayed with me. Start-stop-syndrome.

Third time was with Rhonda Britten – she advocates taking it a bit deeper than just listing things, to actually write out the whole scenario or scenery in such a way, that if you look back into your journals years from now, you should be able to recall the exact memory.

This did help a bit. I stayed on it for ca 10 months – 5 every day.

Then I read the book by T Harv Eker and doubled it to 10.

Yet it started to feel random again.

Then something didn’t happen and I couldn’t write how grateful I was about it as I had planned.

Somewhere along the lines of understanding myself and understanding co-dependency patterns it does have sank in that controlling out comes is a less good habit. As well as things happen when we are ready, universe has our back etc.

So for whatever reason I started to write the good things it was or could be that this thing hadn’t happen. And then it worked. It just came bubbling up and I almost over-whelmed myself with emotion.

It not just worked for deepening gratitude, but it also turned negative thinking and expectations into something positive, so positive in fact I could dwell in the feeling of good rather than bad.

That was a first and I liked it. Maybe it will get old too one day, but for now it does the job very well.

Do you have any De Luxe versions of gratitude yourself? Please share with me 🙂

316 signals to go. Good steps.

Image courtesy to Thank You1 at www.freedigitalphotos.net

Days of deep thinking

Are we this uncomfortable or untrained in talking about feelings?

At the moment my access to internet is not constant. What first may seem like a complete disaster has turned out to something quite good and actually helps me focus. I read, write, hang with the kids – and think.

On this discovery of understanding and finding of myself, as a complete being with feelings, it is some things that first confused me, that now is becoming clearer, but not entirely yet.
As much as I enjoy finding a “tribe” in fellow sensitive and seeking spirits I have also become painfully aware of a quite passive aggressive and undermining language used against me or “us” as a community.
If I express any other feelings than “I love this or that” or “you are amazing” I am referred to as a drama queen. And out of the many things you do could call me drama queen isn’t really it. [If something dramatic does happen I never soak, I never call anyone, I don’t intrigue – I am the type that rather back out, shut down and go very quiet…].
So to say I am sad or this is hard or I need help is actually quite difficult – so I am practising. Not in an accusing way, but more of a matter of fact – this is what I feel right now. With the kids is working quite well. We have an open conversation about it and have by now agreed not to accuse each other and if the other one just want to be alone or talk, to respect that. When I talk about it, so do they I have noticed. Everything is more open and we are getting to know each other more closely.
In the outside world it is quite the opposite. If you don’t answer fine to the 5-times-per-day-how-are-you you are weird or something slightly wrong with you. I always wondered why people ask in the first place when they are so not interested in the answer. [on that note I always also wondered how Italians know what you are talking about when the start to talk themselves before you finished…?].
Are we this uncomfortable or untrained in talking about feelings?
If someone tells me anything else but fine I usually feel relieved. It is like it gives me permission both to actually engage on a somewhat slightly deeper level with this person, as well as it allows me to express myself in a deeper way.
So I don’t get the drama queen stuff. Nor do I understand the empath down talk.
I am however going to try to find the golden middle way and come back to it in a later post.

342 signals to go.

 

On my own

This is the first day and night I spend on my own since my mother passed away…

This is the first day and night I spend on my own since my mother passed away.

My girls picked up their stuff from the car and returned me the keys and then wandered off to spend a day and a half at a hotel with my ex, swimming in the pool and watching football.

All so that I “could work”.

First I kept busy studying, researching, writing emails – put this blog out there for the first time – trying to understand html coding…

…got myself so worked up I ended up writing a deep and long email about the mental mobilization required to launch an online campaign…to the technical support [do-not-reply-to-this-email] guy whose name is probably something I can’t pronounce, but I call him Henry.

By that time even my conscious brain was registering that this u-n-c-o-m-f-o-r-t-a-b-l-e.

I had no idea what I was doing, but somehow I have to get from A to B.

And I didn’t want to cry sitting alone at a café[people always look horrified when you do –like they would have to do something – when you are two they can somehow pretend it is not up to them and at least try to look sympathetic].

I have cried a lot by myself this last year. Both openly and alone. So now I know and normally I don’t care anymore. If I need to cry I cry. But today everything seemed u-n-c-o-m-f-o-r-t-a-b-l-e.

Since I suspected they were talking about me I eventually decided to leave. Smiling casually as if nothing ever happened.

And went to sit in the car.

I don’t like to drive, but I like to sit in the car. Close all doors, pull the seat back, take my shoes off and read or meditate – often I do a lot of hand writing.

When my mother was still alive and in the house I used to do my morning reading in A course of Miracles in the car. As if the distance between the house and the parking lot would have any relevance.

So I try to chill in the car. It works a little bit. I write something. Feeling a little it more in control.

Eventually I decide to drive home.

After being busy feeding and giving water to everybody and dotting around the house I sit down.

We don’t really talk me and the dogs. I mean not out loud. We do our thing, but the is no conversation.

And in the house there are no teenage slamming of doors, no music constantly on somewhere, no phone calls, no playing with puppies – just silence.

Far away traffic, some birds singing, some dog sighing, another one sneezing.

When I sit down, so do they. Nobody moves.

If I do move, they all attend me, rushing up to see if I possible would drop them anything.

I go out in the kitchen making myself a cup of soup and some bread.

Like a ball thrown too hard in your solar plexus the loneliness hits me. But now I can’t cry.

It is stuck somewhere in between.

I am supposed to be the grown up and I feel like calling them right up, telling them to come home right away.

But I don’t.

I take my work calls and pretend everything is just normal…

I miss them s-o-o-o much.

I go back to the laptop. Distract myself. Write all this.

Pretend there is someone on the other side. Just like me. All alone.

Signing out. 345 signals home.