Storyworth: Peace of Mind
Nov. 20th, 2020 04:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lillibetWhat gives you peace of mind?
My mind is most at peace when my thoughts, space, and time are well-ordered.
When my thoughts are jumbled and confused--when I'm having a conflict with someone, or trying to figure out my own feelings on an issue, or not sure what choice to make--the surest way to untangle my ideas and smooth my mind is a conversation with one of my closest friends. In many ways, the ability to communicate at very high bandwidth and to engage with ideas without judgment are the criteria by which people become close friends with me. With insightful questions and patience for examining a question from multiple angles and through many episodes, we build a shared space in which I can unpack my mind, sort out my thoughts, and pack them back up for easier travelling.
I don't subscribe to guilt. In theory, guilt should operate to make one feel bad enough not to do the thing causing guilt, but I rarely see that happening. Instead I see people doing what they want to do, feeling bad, but continuing to act in the same way, only with a greater burden of fear and self-recrimination. I sometimes say "Do better, or don't care," as shorthand for owning one's actions. I worked this out when I was in college and for the most part I am successful in avoiding the pattern of guilt. But emotions will out and sometimes I find myself cringing internally, feeling as though everyone is mad at me for unspecified reasons. When I unpack that feeling, it turns out to be me that's angry and frustrated with myself for not behaving up to my own standards. Instead of directly experiencing this as guilt, I have externalized it as a fictional judgment by others. Even without emending my behavior, just running through a rollcall of people in my life, affirming that no one is angry with me, creates a calmer space in which I can set out to do better.
When my space is cluttered I experience an almost synesthetic phenomenon, where I perceive the mess as noise. I didn't really notice that until we got a cleaning service and one time I happened to be out of the house while they were working. When I returned, the house seemed deeply quiet and peaceful. I realized that when it's messy, it's like walking through a crowded room with each thing out of place calling for my attention.
I really like plans. My life tends to be busy, with many different demands on my time, and when my family's plans are factored into the schedule, our calendar gets very densely packed. Having some sense of what is supposed to happen not only satisfies my own sense of control, but allows me to get a lot done with a minimum of fluster.
Making plans well in advance means that I can do it when it's convenient for me, rather than while I'd hoped to be doing something else. Each Monday we spend a few minutes after dinner crafting a meal plan for the following week, from which I create a list for the weekly grocery run. That means that I'm never scrambling to decide what's for dinner on any given night, or searching through the pantry to see if we have the ingredients on hand for what I'd like to make. When we travel I'm happy to leave deciding how we spend each day up in the air, but I like to know how I'm getting from place to place and where I'll stay each night before I leave home.
I am okay with meta-plans: "we will get together in the afternoon and when we get hungry we'll decide where to go for dinner" is a fine plan, as is "this rehearsal is TBD, with call based on the run the previous night," but "rehearsals for each week will be scheduled by Sunday," or "if I'm free on Saturday I'll give you a call," is not satisfying, because it does not give me any certainty about whether my time is booked, or not. I'm also usually okay with changing plans--reservations were made to be cancelled--although doing that at the last minute, or having someone else throw my plan into touch without an alternative to suggest, is frustrating.
The result of all this planning leaves fairly little opportunity for spontaneity, which is a real loss, but it creates a sense of order and peace in my days that I find deeply satisfying.
My mind is most at peace when my thoughts, space, and time are well-ordered.
When my thoughts are jumbled and confused--when I'm having a conflict with someone, or trying to figure out my own feelings on an issue, or not sure what choice to make--the surest way to untangle my ideas and smooth my mind is a conversation with one of my closest friends. In many ways, the ability to communicate at very high bandwidth and to engage with ideas without judgment are the criteria by which people become close friends with me. With insightful questions and patience for examining a question from multiple angles and through many episodes, we build a shared space in which I can unpack my mind, sort out my thoughts, and pack them back up for easier travelling.
I don't subscribe to guilt. In theory, guilt should operate to make one feel bad enough not to do the thing causing guilt, but I rarely see that happening. Instead I see people doing what they want to do, feeling bad, but continuing to act in the same way, only with a greater burden of fear and self-recrimination. I sometimes say "Do better, or don't care," as shorthand for owning one's actions. I worked this out when I was in college and for the most part I am successful in avoiding the pattern of guilt. But emotions will out and sometimes I find myself cringing internally, feeling as though everyone is mad at me for unspecified reasons. When I unpack that feeling, it turns out to be me that's angry and frustrated with myself for not behaving up to my own standards. Instead of directly experiencing this as guilt, I have externalized it as a fictional judgment by others. Even without emending my behavior, just running through a rollcall of people in my life, affirming that no one is angry with me, creates a calmer space in which I can set out to do better.
When my space is cluttered I experience an almost synesthetic phenomenon, where I perceive the mess as noise. I didn't really notice that until we got a cleaning service and one time I happened to be out of the house while they were working. When I returned, the house seemed deeply quiet and peaceful. I realized that when it's messy, it's like walking through a crowded room with each thing out of place calling for my attention.
I really like plans. My life tends to be busy, with many different demands on my time, and when my family's plans are factored into the schedule, our calendar gets very densely packed. Having some sense of what is supposed to happen not only satisfies my own sense of control, but allows me to get a lot done with a minimum of fluster.
Making plans well in advance means that I can do it when it's convenient for me, rather than while I'd hoped to be doing something else. Each Monday we spend a few minutes after dinner crafting a meal plan for the following week, from which I create a list for the weekly grocery run. That means that I'm never scrambling to decide what's for dinner on any given night, or searching through the pantry to see if we have the ingredients on hand for what I'd like to make. When we travel I'm happy to leave deciding how we spend each day up in the air, but I like to know how I'm getting from place to place and where I'll stay each night before I leave home.
I am okay with meta-plans: "we will get together in the afternoon and when we get hungry we'll decide where to go for dinner" is a fine plan, as is "this rehearsal is TBD, with call based on the run the previous night," but "rehearsals for each week will be scheduled by Sunday," or "if I'm free on Saturday I'll give you a call," is not satisfying, because it does not give me any certainty about whether my time is booked, or not. I'm also usually okay with changing plans--reservations were made to be cancelled--although doing that at the last minute, or having someone else throw my plan into touch without an alternative to suggest, is frustrating.
The result of all this planning leaves fairly little opportunity for spontaneity, which is a real loss, but it creates a sense of order and peace in my days that I find deeply satisfying.
