Not Entertainment

Right now one of my loved ones is in surgery. She has papillary carcinoma, cancer of the thyroid, so they are removing her thyroid and nearby lymph nodes.

In an earlier post, I mentioned one of the things that attracted me to T'ai Chi was the notion that as long as you breathe, you can get distance on challenges in your life, and look at it as entertainment. Well, when the challenge is cancer in your loved one, it's not. It's just not.

However, I have been grateful to fling off the worry every day. Just fling it off into the universe with its vast, unlimited ability to absorb and diffuse it, rather than let it accumulate. Because my worry is not going to help anyone. Not her. Not myself. Not the other loved ones who are also worried about her.

Today, my challenges are nothing compared to hers. But the nervousness and worry are there. The tightness in the chest and stomach. I just keep breathing, and waiting, and breathing, and helping however I can.

Not a Morning Person

For the last 6 days, I've been out of town at a convention. I have practiced T'ai Chi every day since I started in mid-May (that's, what? a whopping 9 weeks?). I am terrified of missing a single day, because it sets a precedent. If I give myself permission to miss one day, why can't I give myself permission to miss some other day? Or two? Or. . . . It's a slippery slope. It could go the way of the gym. And I really, REALLY don't want it to.

So, I was determined to figure out how I was going to fit in a T'ai Chi practice every day while at this convention. The choices were (a) do my usual sunset time, which would mean leaving the convention while things were still going on and missing something important--that had a lot of undesirability going for it, (b) do it after I come back to the hotel at midnight exhausted--yikes! a world of no! or (c) do it first thing in the morning, before going to the convention for the day--seems like the lessest of three evils.

I've read somewhere (even several somewheres, I think) that one "should" do yoga or meditation or T'ai Chi first thing in the morning. It starts your day off with your mind clear and calm, and you can carry that with you throughout your day.

Well, I can tell you that for me, that's bull pucky. First thing in the morning, my mind is not only clear, it's void. It's empty. There is nothing to clear, because no neurons are firing! Later in the day, it's really great--it clears out the clutter and dust bunnies that have accumulated all day. But in the morning, it's like sweeping a floor that's already been waxed and buffed. It takes just as much energy, but it doesn't have the effect.

Plus, my body complained! Oh, the moaning of knees, ankles, spine, and shoulders! Oh, the groaning of hips, thighs, calves, and feet! By the time I was done, my mind was filled--with cries for mercy! I don't think that counts as "playing" T'ai Chi.

Yesterday was the last day. The convention ended at 5 pm. With grateful relief, I did my practice at 6 pm. Ah, clearing away the mind clutter was so satisfying! And today, I was back at home, in my back yard, as it was getting dark. There's something soothing to me about doing T'ai Chi as the sun goes to bed. It's like I can put my cares to bed too.

Like Reading a Good Book

This evening when I was practicing T'ai Chi in my back yard, I suddenly noticed that I wasn't noticing the sounds around me. So I started noticing. A lawn mower. A neighbor's swamp cooler whirring and rattling. Some birds having a vocal and animated squabble. Cars whizzing down the high-speed-limit street bordering the neighborhood. A dog barking. And another dog. Kids in a neighbor's yard yelling, laughing, screaming at the top of their lungs. There was so much sound, I was surprised that I hadn't noticed any of it. The kids' yelling in particular, I thought would have been a distraction. But I was so absorbed in what I was doing, I didn't notice any of it. It reminded me of reading a good book, when you can get so absorbed in the story you don't notice the TV, or stereo, or the dryer beeping, or other people around you, trying to talk to you, or even yelling at you to try to get your attention. Focus. Focus is good.

Why do T'ai Chi?

I've read that stress isn't caused by events in your life; it's caused by your response to those events. It's your thoughts themselves--remembering past failures, resisting life as it now is, or fearing the future--that causes stress. Because your body, your biochemistry, your fight-or-flight response does its thing as if those events are really happening. So, dummy, stop thinking stressful thoughts! How easy is that? Ha!

About a year and 8 1/2 months ago (but who's counting?), my husband and I left our high-paying jobs to start our own software company. We get to be our own bosses (amazing!) and we have a safety net: if we don't succeed within 3 years, we can get our job back. What a sweet deal! You'd think it would be the formula for stress-free living. But no! What was in my head? "What if our product isn't done in 3 years? We'll lose our safety net!" "What if we run out of savings before we launch our product?" I was freaking myself out, and I knew it. I needed to find a way to quiet my mind.

I made 20 minutes of meditation a morning ritual. I've meditated off and on for years, with mixed success. Often during the meditation, my mind would quiet, and I'd achieve a sense of calm. But as soon as I saw dishes in the sink or a bill I needed to pay (demands on time or money), my calm would evaporate. Eventually, I decided the meditation was ineffective, and therefore a waste of 20 minutes a day.

I tried going to the gym and doing aerobic exercise in hopes of "blowing off steam." This did work to some extent. I tended to feel more relaxed afterward. But it wiped me out. I didn't have the energy to get back to work and focus. So, 3 times a week became 2, then 1, then nothing.

I had done yoga for a number of years. But I knew from experience: in standing poses, I'd fall over if my mind was racing, so it wouldn't race. But as soon as I lay down for Savasana (corpse pose), my mind would start churning again.

I had the idea that I should maybe try Qigong. I looked for a book at the library, and found The Complete Idiot's Guide to T'ai Chi and Qigong. And what an incredible find! With every inhalation, you breathe in chi, health, vitality; with every exhalation, you breathe out worries, stress, anxiety. One of the exercises to to physically fling your arms and upper body as you exhale, while mentally flinging off your negative stuff. You play T'ai Chi--you come back to it day after day because it feels good, and is fun. The way the author described it, it was like yoga, but moving, so that you seamlessly move right back into your life when the practice is over, even take some of the practices with you. As long as you breathe (in with chi; let go the stress), you can get distance on stressful things in your life, and start to look at them as a form of entertainment, just see how the drama unfolds.

Since I started practicing T'ai Chi and Qigong, I really have let go of a lot of the time and money stress. Every day, I just fling it off. When we encounter some nasty problem in our software that takes a long time to fix, or chores take longer than we think they're going to, or we have to pay for car repairs, or whatever, more and more often, I take a deep breath, and let it go. Sometimes I even laugh. It's entertainment.

Mr. Bunny

I live in the desert Southwest. These days it's in the high 90s, and feels hotter in the sun. I've been practicing T'ai Chi in my back yard in the evening, right around sunset. Although it's still quite warm, the shade is deep, and the occasional breeze is most welcome. (Evaporation is a cooling process, I learned in school.) The uneven lawn presents an entertaining challenge to the balance.

A few nights ago, a wild bunny zipped across my path about 10 feet from me. What a surprise! I think it made me wobble.

A night or two later, he sat and visited with me for 5 minutes or so as I loosened up, then hopped away somewhere. Lifted in spirits by this brief bonding with nature, I began praciticing the form. (I am learning the Kuang Ping Yang right long form.) I turned to face away from where Mr. Bunny had sat. Later in the form, I turned back, and there he was, watching my every move, as if he found me as fascinating as I did him.

Tonight he was waiting for me when I went out to practice. And he hung out with me the entire time. I think we're becoming friends.