What's this all about? Part II: GIVE

If "crave" represents scarcity, then the "give" part of my blog represents abundance.  

I get a kick out of playing with words and phrases.  The day I came up with this phrase, I was in my cubicle at work (does anyone have a cubicle at home?), frustrated with cravings, but had been in therapy enough years to know I needed to do allow my feelings and do something with them.  It just wasn't my first choice.  A snack would have been my first choice-- or Ed's first choice (ED = eating disorder)-- but I took a break and pulled out a piece of paper and doodled and wrote words.  

I wrote "crave" over and over.  I wrote everything that rhymed with "crave."  I wrote everything that started with "cr."  I drew a casket ("grave" rhymes with "crave).  I googled "crave."  Every phrase I saw was about satisfying a craving (here I was trying NOT to give in to the urge) or reducing cravings (believe me, just the word "reduce" triggered my scarcity mentality).  Then a rhyme stood out from my list:

GAVE

CRAVE

While my scarcity mentality had me trying to get, not give, and I knew all about giving in to cravings, I realized that there was something different there.  Something I needed to flip around to flip my mindset.  So I brought in the what-ifs:

What if I GAVE what I CRAVE?

What if?

Instead of the drained feeling I get when I've given and given and have nothing else to give, I felt the teeniest bit of spaciousness.  Room for abundance.  A hint of a new well to draw on.  What if?

Well, first I would have to know what I crave.  The idea of going around handing my co-workers candy bars because I wanted them was laughable.  Not that I don't like to share or bring in the occasional office treat, but I pictured myself physically giving what I craved, and I looked silly.  Clearly, that is not what I craved.  I needed to figure out what it is, and then figure out how to give it.  And to whom to give it.  

I was awfully good at giving to others (whether or not they appreciated was I was giving)-- or I thought I was.  Of course, I ended up taking any time my well ran dry, generally making a mess of any giving I had done.  But at least it was something I had practice at, despite not being good at giving to myself.  At first, I practiced mostly on my husband.  When he was driving me up a tree, I paused to figure out what I was craving from my interaction with him, then I identified what his variation of that might be, and I looked for a little way of giving that to him.  When I felt judged by him, and pointing out that he was being judgmental didn't help, I identified my craving for acceptance, then turned it around and figured out a way to accept him.  

After that, I got a little obsessed and tested my phrase all over, practicing on everyone, and learning to give to myself.  I'm not an expert at giving what I crave, and it has not solved my problems, and it doesn't replace the Golden Rule, or the Serenity Prayer, or any other tasty morsel of love and wisdom, but I have one more tool in my toolbox for turning my mind from scarcity to abundance.  If I crave, then deep down there is enough to give. 

One Day My Trout Bum Soul Just Opened Up

Bathroom Reading

My son (age 12) commented that a person could learn a lot about my husband and me by looking at the two books we left perched on the edge of the bathtub this past week.  The young man is ever-so-perceptive.  Even if you couldn't read English, you could judge us by our book covers: mine brightly colored, patterned, effusive, full of symbols, and drawing your eyes toward movement, and his muted but intense, earthy, quietly beautiful and amusing, slower.  When I found my husband, one family member comments that he was good to keep me "grounded," because I had my head in the clouds.  On good days, he is my anchor and keeps me safe; on bad days, I feel weighed down by him.

I said to our son, "You know, Papa's book is about his soul, too."  He thought I was taking issue with the point he had made and quickly lost interest in the subject.  I will explain to you instead, using words from each book.  I alternated and in each case opened randomly and counted down to the tenth sentence on the page.

When you give of yourself for the sake of love, the impersonal, immutable, perfect laws of the universe demand that you must be rewarded tenfold.  On the other hand, it would be a tool that was lovingly and carefully crafted by an artisan of legendary skill for the sole purpose of catching trout.  All that I do, I do for myself.  I consider this one to be a local artifact of considerable significance, and I show it off every chance I get.  You must be strong in order to be compassionate.  The band notched comfortably against the worn spot on the foot of the reel-- so it was the one.

Well, now, if you know what that meant, you know he and I belong together.  If you don't know what that meant, but you like it anyway, then you're like me, at least a little bit.    If you don't know, and don't care, you might be my husband reading my blog for the first time, and you might give me a confused hug anyway.

        

I am totally in love with...

...myself.  My Self.  Life.  Love.  People.  Air.  Crickets.  Joy.  Distant shouts.  My new laptop.  Time.  Space.  Sleep.  My husband.  God (as I understand God).  Bliss.  Transcendental Meditation.  Friends.  My kids.  Words.  Ideas.  Excited gasps.  Possibilities.  Feeling.  Books.  Music.  Tutoring.  Being busy.  Green beans.  Purple beans that turn olive green when I saute them.  Turmeric.  Deep breaths.  Radio.  Spring in my step.  Letting go.  Fingers.  Song.  Now.  Tomorrow.  Again.  School.  Snuggling.  My therapist.  My Surrendered Circle.  My high school memories.  Water.  Rain.  Curls.  Paper.  Denim.  Purple.  Cell phones.  Imperfection.  Cheesecake.  Bibliotherapy.  Release.  Highlighter pens.  Tear-by-hand Scotch tape.  Tabs.  Movies.  Surprises.  My middle schooler.  Drama.  Clocks.  Skype.  Copper.  Elbows.  Sun hats.  Ballpoint pens.  Scrapbooks.  My dogs. 


I told myself if it took me more than 10 seconds between things I love to think of the next thing, I would stop.  I got lost in the happy feeling in my core for at least that long. 

Of course, it took me longer to tag than to write.  Some words that have never been tagged anywhere were getting their 15 minutes of fame.  Until I found out that I was limited to 200 characters and deleted most of them.  Another post someday, I promise.  (I'm making a promise to the words, not to you, dear Reader)

And I thought of enough more things that I am in love with that I could do it all over again, but I love self-care, so...

I am pleased that I broke my blog-silence and can contentedly put myself to bed.