Going Soft

Where: Solterreno, Vall de Laguar, Spain
When: January 30, 2009

So I've been wandering around without my glasses recently. This isn't as death defying as you might think - my eyesight really isn't that bad. It just makes things a little fuzzy; I have to be closer to a sign before I can read it, and I have trouble recognizing people. This resulted in anxiety in high school and college, because there was this huge chance that I'd smile and wave at someone I didn't even know. Which would obviously be horrible. To ensure that this never happened, I spent many of those years walking with my head down and not smiling or waving at anybody, just in case.

The other reason I like being able to see perfectly at all times is that I'm one of those people who needs to know. Everything. Right away. Or sooner. I will plan out whole conversations in my head, and then not even bother to have the conversation in real life because I've already figured out how it's going to go. I have spent enormous reserves of energy anticipating every possible bump and hiccup in a journey, plan, or project. If I can't see every step between here and whatever the goal is, chances are I won't start. "Perfectionist-Control-Freak" doesn't even begin to cover it. Therefore, this concept of wandering about having to wait the extra 5-10 feet of distance before I know precisely who I'm approaching and whether I can smile and/or wave at them, or whether the next train is the one I want, fills me with dread. So when I realize I've forgotten my glasses after I head out the door, I hunker down and try to resign myself to the loss of information.

On my retreat, Bodhin would often say, during meditations, "Soften, and let go". This reminds me of the crazy things yoga teachers say, like "grow from the waist up, while also stretching down through the feet", or "breathe into the area of discomfort", or "let's do shoulder stands now". Total insanity! Who are these people? Except, now that I've spent a month or so practicing yoga every day(-ish), all these phrases are starting to make some bizarre sort of sense. Shoulder stands are fun and floaty feeling - I actually think of them as my reward for pushing through the first half of the practice where I'm stiff and groaning and don't wanna and would really rather be in bed. Breathing into the discomfort actually does help (mainly because it reminds you to keep breathing), and yesterday I felt that the origin and insertion sections of my quadriceps were reaching in opposite directions away from the center of my thigh, and it was glorious.

So today I walked out of my house without my glasses, deliberately. And I softened, and let go, and felt like I was spilling out of myself, my edges a little bit fuzzy and my insides all warm. And slight vision-impairment meant that everything had a softer outline, that people and buildings and trees were blending just a little bit into each other. The mystery of whether or not the next train was the one I was going to take remained a mystery for five more thrilling steps. And knowing the identity of the person I was smiling and waving at had no relevance at all.