![]() ![]() What if climate change eats my house? What if we never get on top of this virus? What if our country devolves into civil war because we actually, for real, can’t agree on what facts are? What are the less funny what ifs? What are the deeper anxieties that drive my day? Invariably, they’re about the (nonexistent) future. If I have the courage, I might go a little further. So, if I’m squirming on my cushion, then I’ve probably hit pay dirt. ![]() We have to identify when and how and why we struggle against spaciousness and presence. We have to witness all the ways in which we scramble for solid ground, where there’s no solid ground. It’s mostly heartbreaking and sometimes hilarious. My long time teacher, Anam Thubten, has always said that the experience of meditation is not floaty bliss. I’m a reasonably intelligent woman, and facing these foibles is no fun. I don’t wear eye makeup, but what if my novel gets published and I have to go to fancy events to promote it? This is embarrassing. I bought eye makeup that I don’t know how to apply, but it looked so awesome on the Instagram girl. These days everything’s online, so why do I still have these physical copies? Because what if the apocalypse comes and there’s no internet? Really? Sociopolitical upheaval has obliterated the grid and I’m going to be sitting on the couch reading a dharma magazine? Well, you could do worse, but in the daylight, this is just raw attachment. For example, I have a Tricycle magazine collection going back ten years. The tyranny of What if I need this later paralyzes all forward movement.Īs I work to unclutter my home, unconscious attachments come to light. ![]() My life is in gridlock because of this pattern. So I take a good look at what I’m thinking, and a pattern emerges. But soon the momentum disappears, and I don’t know why. It’s clear and clean and by far the most beautiful room in the house. Then I pay the best $89 of my life on the minimalist Joshua Becker’s course, “Uncluttered,” and I have my kitchen to show for it. That’s the bare truth.Īnxiety and guilt morph into a low-grade, psychic nausea, until I finally can’t take it anymore. ![]()
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