Tag Archive | mental hygiene

Mindfulness Skills

Jan28
I’m grateful for waking up again this morning. You never know…

When I first started this blog in 2013, it felt inconceivable that I would ever post every day. I’d been inspired by a friend who committed to posting daily in 2012, but inspired only to start a blog, not to post daily. In order to free myself to even do it, I told myself that I’d pay no attention to comments, not read them and not interact with them. And that was my approach for many years. I was writing and posting only for myself, to loosen my creativity and express my thoughts. I didn’t care who, if anyone, read it. But at some point I began to read comments, and later to respond with a simple thank you. They were all nice, for so long. And then even later, as a few more people commented, I began to engage more, even making friends with one or two heretofore strangers.

I was reminded yesterday of why I set up the ‘ignore comments’ rule. I’ve been processing an old friend’s comment for too long already, but haven’t yet worked out all the ways it and our subsequent exchange distressed me. I’m pulling out all my mindfulness skills from the toolbox, including allowing, and letting go, and compassion, tolerance, forgiveness, equanimity, and trying out each one on the mixed feelings this situation brought up in me.

I’m tempted to stop posting for awhile, or stop reading or maybe allowing comments. This is my safe space, and I want it to be a safe space for readers, also. But I don’t want to censor my thoughts or creativity, or other people’s whom I find meaningful enough to share, based on reader responses. And I don’t want to censor reader responses, either. So I’m in a bit of a pickle. I feel icky about what he wrote, icky about my responses, and icky about doubting the value of Morning Rounds. But I’m grateful that I also got some unsolicited enthusiastic positive feedback about the same post.

Meanwhile, I’ve got a lot else to be grateful for. I’m grateful for the people in my life who make me feel less alone. I’m grateful for the thoughtful friend who gave me this beautiful puzzle, and for having time today to begin piecing it together, as I listened to numerous webinars (most of them reminding me, among other things, that I can’t change the world but I can change myself, and thereby influence the world on a more positive trajectory).

I’m grateful for help from kind people, including Good Tim who brought the week’s firewood down to the house, and then knocked down and collected almost all the wasp nests from the eaves. I’d been meaning to do it, but he spotted a wasp flying into the front porch light fixture while he was stacking wood, and he had the time, strength, and balance to take care of it. I’ve given the wasps every possible chance all these years, but last summer they snapped my endurance. So into the compost go the nests and all the wasp eggs before they start hatching.

Topaz checks out the mug drawer before I can get it emptied, while the flatware drawer is outside awaiting disinfection.

I’m grateful for my neighbor who kindly agreed to run a couple of drawers full of flatware and mugs through her dishwasher, on the antibacterial setting. It’s been many years since this house has had a mouse problem, but I noticed a couple of mouse turds in various places in the kitchen over the past few days, and was keeping an eye on Topaz and Wren, hoping one or the other would catch it. Worthless animals! But I’m grateful that Wren last night finally located the mouse: She sat in the pantry staring at the cookbook shelf, and when I listened I could hear little rustlings behind the books. Knowing where to place the trap, I set it and went up to bed. Before I reached the top step I heard it snap. I felt bad about killing her, but I’ve got even less tolerance for mice in the house than for wasps outside. And there’s a long story of patience practice behind this intense aversion, but that’s for another time.

Teeth

Apr27
It was a beautiful morning, thwarted only by the promise of rain that never came.

One of the ideas that is used in the lineage of mindfulness training that I’m cultivating this year is that of mental hygiene. We spend at least five minutes a day attending to our dental hygiene, why do we not spent at least that amount of time attending to our mental hygiene? The idea has been bugging me for the past six months, as I’ve begun spending far more time on mind training than I have on physical training or fitness, never mind teeth. I tend to clench my jaws during sleep, funneling all the day’s anxiety into the night rather than dealing with it while the sun’s up. As a result, I found out today, the surfaces of some of my teeth are crazed like old china.

In Colorado, California, and Washington, dental hygienists are allowed to practice on their own unrelated to a dentist’s office.

But that didn’t really worry the dental hygienist I saw for the first time, with gritted teeth, a bit worried that they were in as bad shape as they felt. In fact, for not having been to a dentist in almost three years, my teeth are in great shape, and I was grateful again today, as yesterday, for the compassionate care of a qualified female medical professional. The only thing Jen was really worried about throughout the teeth cleaning was the “aggressive sound” of her instruments on my delicate dentition. She apologized several times for it, reassuring me that though it sounded bad it really wasn’t. In between jaw stretches, when she had her hand out of my mouth, I reassured her that it didn’t sound aggressive, it sounded like progress.

“You’re doing great,” she cheered me on several times. I felt safe again, from the moment I walked into her office. I used to be not fond of the smell of disinfectant, and normally might have gagged at the scent when I entered. However, in Covid times, I found the aroma comforting, and relaxed immediately after meeting her. No one else in the office the entire time, everything I encountered spic n span (until my muddy shoes touched the chair), and what seems like a solid protocol for both her and her patients’ well-being. It was the most fun I’ve ever had getting my teeth cleaned, and though I kept feeling my body tense up as she scraped gently away, I also kept being able to release, let go, relax. One thing that amazed me is how did she manage to put so much pressure on the scraper, or the floss, as the tartar resisted, and then not let the tool or the floss plunge into my gum when it finally released? I was impressed with her control, and surrendered to her capable hands and the general feeling that I’d chosen well to trust her. I’m so grateful to have finally found again a place I feel safe getting my teeth tended, and inspired to pay more attention to them myself. Her intake questionnaire asks, among many other things, Do you want to keep your own teeth? YES! I answered emphatically. Floss more, was essentially what she said.

I’m grateful for my teeth, that they’re in such good shape 62 years into this life, that they serve me so well, that I know now to be gentle in what I chew to protect their fragile enamel (No ice chewing, she advised), that regular brushing and occasional flossing has been enough to keep them stable for three years, that she accepts ACA insurance so I can go back more often; I’m grateful for my teeth for all they do for me daily, crunching into celery, tearing and chewing a lamb chop, lending emphasis and clarity to facial expressions. And for all they have done for me in the past. May these teeth keep on biting, tearing, chewing for several more decades!

Lynne Norton Anderson’s exquisite raku art hangs on the wall of my new favorite teeth cleaner’s office.
Late today I took the plastic off the potato bed to find the first five red potatoes sprouting through the soil surface. So grateful for this small success, and eager now to plant the rest of the potatoes this week.
I’m grateful for blooming tulips and growing garlic.
Another random juniper, unnoticed until this evening’s flat light.

Mindfulness Practice

Jan23

I’m grateful today for mindfulness practice. The simplest definition of mindfulness that I can share after six months of in-depth study on the subject is: mind training. So that ‘mindfulness practice’ becomes ‘mind training practice.’ It’s still and always practice. You never get there, because of impermanence: ‘there’ is no fixed point, ever. It’s always changing, along with everything else including your means of locomotion to get there, the companions you meet along the way, your own fitness for the journey. 

Most of us invest five minutes to an hour or more each day in our physical fitness, whether simply brushing our teeth and running hot water over our faces, or more: a weight training workout or a run, or a swim, or a yoga class three times a week, or or or… and a hot shower afterward. How many of us devote ten minutes a day to mental hygiene? I’ve always spent more time each day on introspection than I ever have on dental hygiene. The difference is, now I’m actually training my mind, instead of simply riding it. (Like a horse, right, cowgirls?) I also floss more often.

A key component of mindfulness practice is breath. Of course, breath is a key component of everything. We’re spending a lot of time practicing awareness of breath this weekend in our class retreat, but more about breath another time. Immersed in a weekend intensive, each exploring our own way of being across the four domains of body, mind, emotions, and spirit, the domain of spirit especially resonates with me today. This domain is comprised of one’s sense of purpose, one’s sense of worth, and one’s sense of connection, or belonging. Today, I’ve been examining these three aspects of my way of being whilst teetering on the brink of a yawning pit of existential angst. It’s fascinating. I’m so grateful for mindfulness practice!

I’m grateful, too, for deer butts, their shining signal in the woods that lets me know they’re there well before I get close enough to spook them, so I can walk softly and pass close by, ‘bearing in mind‘ (another component of mindfulness) their proximity, their spooky prey nature.