The Wellness and Mindfulness Machine Is Driving Me Crazy(er)
Or maybe I am just grumpy. Probably that.
I like to look at the news when I get up in the morning. After I summon myself a cup of coffee, of course. We are not barbarians in this household. No siree! I sit down with my cup of liquid gold, bring my iPad to the proper news-viewing position, fend off the cats who instantly appear (in a puff of demon smoke) making better doors than windows, and voila! I am connected with the world. I like to start out with news apps that deliver, to my every beck and call, articles that come from many different sources on many different topics. It's like having a World Newspaper. Obviously, I think it's so awesome I have to give it the proper, upper-case letter treatment. (Off topic: have you ever read any very old personal letters that capitalize words and phrases in a seemingly random nature? They're very cool, but almost physically nauseating to read, oddly.) My go to, top-of-the-day news apps are Flipboard for iPad, and Apple News. When I first downloaded the apps, both asked me to lovingly create my own experience, telling them all the subjects I was interested in, and giving the go-ahead to all the news organizations I was willing to receive articles from. They both made uniquely curated news magazines just for me. I was ecstatic, patting myself often on the back in celebration of my exciting and informed news choices every time an inspired or delightfully scientific (dramatic, colorful, refreshing, etc.) article was pointed my way. I felt so in control of my morning news. I must assuredly be winning at life now, and maybe on my way to being nominated Queen of Life? Surely, I thought. Any day now.
And then disaster struck. At first it was just a minor irritation, a pea under a tower of mattresses, a speck of sand stuck between my toes. Something was off, something was out of kilter, but I couldn't quite put my finger on the problem. Something...something was too cheerfully bossy for my mornings, painting a small shadow on the rest of my day. That "something" was all the Mindfulness and Meditation articles that were being funneled into my precious news magazines. I read them all at first, for these articles were to be a guiding light, helping me to navigate the treacherous shoals of my anxiety, making the way clear for me to journey to the far-off land of "Always Happy and Cheerful."
Except the journey was fraught with dangers. My guiding light illuminated well, but caused some deep shadows to rise to the surface and threaten to run me aground when I was not looking.
Sometimes the Wellness and Mindfulness articles give you some very good insight, tips and tricks to help a negative person stay positive, or at least find the foot of the path that leads to a positive personality. That one tip to put the damn phone and iPad down for an hour before you go to bed? It was brilliant, and actually helped me fall asleep faster during my first few attempts at going technology free at bedtime. Victories like this were proof that these articles were working, right? So why was I feeling lower than low after reading them?
Because I am human.
Being human is to be imperfect. All of these cheerfully helpful, bright-frantic-smiles articles were coaxing and encouraging me to be more than human, and closer to perfection. A real life (not to be confused with either a robot or something godlike) human can in no way attain that level of beautiful but always out of reach perfection. Day after day I was being gently pummeled with so many well-meaning tips and tricks and hacks (for a better you!) that I was being overloaded with light and goodness and smiles. Maybe I reacted differently in this situation than you would, and I know I can be grumpy as hell most times, but I started to wither in that bright sunlight of frenetic encouragement. I started questioning myself daily "Why am I feeling tired, I tried such and such hack," or "Why am I still in a bad mood? I followed so-and-so's tips for a better me!" I was trying so hard to be "better" and I was failing so hard even I couldn't laugh about it, and I can laugh about almost anything.
So I said f@#k them, and went back to being the perfectly imperfect me.
If my deep-from-the-heart's life purpose was to be a yogi, mystic, or saint, where my body and mind and soul were vibrating in perfect alignment and harmony (and all the small woodland creatures would bring me sugared flower petals to eat and dew-drops to drink and I would think about how one is all, all is one, and all you need is love) only then would those articles be perfectly tailored for my most perfect and enlightened being. Sadly, they would shift into a gentle reminder for how awesome I had become, and would no longer be needed. I am not perfect and I am not enlightened, for I am a human being. I am perfectly imperfect, and pretty apt to stay that way, too. I will forever try to be more understanding, more empathetic, more giving, less selfish, less argumentative, and less grumpy. I can only be who I am. I have stopped trying to be something I'm not, and feel so much better for it.
If you have a calling to be a yogi, a mystic, or a saint, then by all means go for it! I will applaud you from the sidelines and then go on being my perfectly imperfect self, thank you very much.
