Notes from Louisa

August 2021

8/30/2021

As I sit to write these words, Bill Withers is playing over my speakers, singing his classic “Lean on Me”. Every time I hear this song, when I really can stop to take in the lyrics, it brings tears to my eyes. It’s just one of those songs that can instantly call to mind the gift of community.

If there is a load you have to bear
That you can't carry
I'm right up the road
I'll share your load
If you just call me

We have never needed community more, or been more creative and resourceful in getting that need met, despite limitations and restrictions. How industrious human beings can be! How else might we get through the demands and challenges of modern life, if not in the company and support of one another?

This blessing works both ways though, leaving us feeling more adrift and bewildered than ever at those times when community feels elusive or inaccessible. More and more, I hear stories of discord among once tight communities of friends and family, because we have lost the shared narrative that kept us together.

The difficulties we currently face might serve to pull us apart superficially, but perhaps there is an invitation to a deeper conversation about the underlying values that we are trying to protect with our posturing? Perhaps that deeper conversation, on the level of values, not ego or identity, might help us once more find common, healing ground?

I have been challenging myself to speak less and listen more to those whose views differ from mine. By allowing for some stillness, I can better listen for those common threads that hint to what we all ultimately long for: safety, sovereignty, belonging, love.

This has become a spiritual practice for me and keeps me engaged with those whom I might disagree with and even seek to avoid. It is far too easy to retreat to my own echo chamber where I am right, surrounded by those who share my world view. There, if I choose, I can become hardened and callous.

However, this does nothing to further my own evolution. Insisting I’m right, doesn’t help me to practice acceptance, or compassion, or to keep my self-righteousness in check. Like every practice, there is a learning curve and I am not always successful. But I have had conversation or two, where I once I might only have felt sadness, anger or resentment.

Perhaps, you might join me in trying this spiritual practice for yourself? I’d love to hear what you discover.

Blessings on your journey,
Louisa

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June 2021

6/30/2021

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A Note from Louisa

I recently had one of those difficult experiences during which, while comforting a friend, I felt absolutely helpless. The story she recounted had that epic quality, and her despair and loss were great. As I listened to her, I decided that the only thing I could really offer her was my presence, hoping that she would feel seen, heard, and loved.

While listening, I also became aware of her tremendous compassion and her capacity to see the narrative as an evolving part of her life story, pointing her toward new challenges and growth. I could sense my admiration for her deepening and wondered if I would have met a similar moment in my own life with such awareness and resolve.

As we parted, she hugged me and thanked me, saying that she felt better. The strange thing was that as I listened to her unpack her story, share her reactions, and decide on a course of action, I also felt better. I felt emboldened by her courage and fortitude, and a little less fearful that events of such magnitude are simply insurmountable.

This month, Kara writes of “vicarious resilience”, the positive effect on those that witness the healing and growth of others. Therapists have long been aware of the joy of watching the transformation of others. For me, it reinforces the communal nature of the human experience, and the ingenious way our mirror neurons allow us to share the pain and triumph of being human, dispelling our isolation, and allowing us to be one another’s most valuable resource. When we are “in it together”, we truly all benefit.

Blessings on your journey,
Louisa

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May 2021

5/30/2021

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A Note from Louisa

“Here is the world. Beautiful and terrible things will happen. Don’t be afraid.”
~Frederick Buechner

I always imagine this quote by Christian Theologian Frederick Buechner as the first words whispered to a child entering the world.

Here is the world.
Beautiful and terrible things will happen.
Don’t be afraid.

This seems like the closest we might come to an owner’s manual for life.

I wonder how might we relate to our own experience differently if we entered the world expecting both shadow and light, and not personalizing the absence of either?

What if we weren’t constantly scrambling to push our way to the front of the line for all “the good stuff”? If we could accept and welcome the terrible as part of the bargain? Perhaps we would cease to be surprised, or feel victimized, when things don’t go our way.

What might we be capable of if we could remember the words “Don’t be afraid?” Could we stand in the entirety of human experience and let it all happen, without trying to control or manipulate it? Could we seek out all experiences, assigning them equal value as teachers, so that we could truly understand what it is to be human?

The amateur sociologist in me is always reminded of how little training our culture provides in managing disappointment or developing frustration tolerance. Instead, we are taught that we must always win, we must always have “the best”, we must always be surrounded by beauty. It’s as if our welcoming words were:

Here is the world.
There is only so much of everything. Do what it takes to get your share.
Don’t ever fail.
And… don’t take too many risks, you might get hurt.

However, we fail to see how needed those shadow experiences are for us to develop any character, to establish our values, and engage us in empathy for one another. We forget that failing and making mistakes are the only classroom in which wisdom is taught.

For me, this is the primary role of a mindfulness practice: to help us develop the capacity to face each moment, filled with the unknown, comprised of both beautiful and terrible, and not be afraid.

Taking one breath after the next. Welcoming it all.

Blessings on your journey,
Louisa

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April 2021

4/30/2021

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A Note from Louisa

As the country begins the process of “opening up” to a post pandemic reality, I am hearing more and more people express their fear about returning to the regular activities that we once gave little to no thought to.

And why wouldn’t we be cautious? After a year of being afraid that we might inadvertently cause harm to ourselves, or others, by the causal act of going to the grocery store, or out to lunch, this seems normal.

While the brain is adaptable, adaptation after a threat isn’t automatic, and it will take some time for the stress we’ve been living under to lessen its grip on us. The American Psychoanalytic Association’s COVID-19 Advisory Team has even given our collective experience a name: Pandemic Trauma and Stress Experience (PTSE).

We have all been affected by PTSE, to some degree or another, as we collectively began to worry for the future, retreat into isolation, adopt steep learning curves for engaging in ordinary activities that once came easily. We worried and grieved over the health of loved ones, as well as our own. We felt the frustration of a divided country and the difficulties of finding common ground on something as basic as reality. We felt the pain of witnessing the waning of compassion and communal responsibility.

This has not been an easy ride. And it’s not quite over yet.

Give yourself time to acclimate. As is true of most traumas, the onset was sudden, and we had to move quickly to deal with the threat. Our central nervous systems went from 0 to 100 in a few heartbeats - the switch had been flipped from “normative functioning” to “fight or flight” very quickly.

On the other side of trauma, however, we don’t just resume “business as usual”. While our bodies responded to threat with urgency and immediacy, the deactivation looks more like a dial that must slowly move from 10 down to 1 over time.

The plus side of a collective trauma is that we have one another to process it with, unlike other experiences that happen in shame and secrecy. We know that trauma is best metabolized when we can talk about it in a supportive environment, with others who feel empathic resonance.

Find a space to tell your story and to witness someone else’s. If you find someone who is ruminating or feels stuck in their story, help them find some help through a therapist or a coach.

If ever there was a place to honor transition and practice self-compassion, this is it. We have no template to work with from here, but we do know an awful lot about helping to heal trauma. We may all be feeling our way out of the darkness, but we’re doing it together.

Blessings on your journey,
Louisa

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March 2021

3/29/2021

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A Note from Louisa

Today, I went for a long walk with a friend. It was chillier than we expected, but still, it felt glorious to be outside, moving our bodies, and catching up. The sun was nowhere to be found, but knowing that there were warmer days on the horizon made the temperature feel just fine.

I always marvel at how warm 50 degrees feels after a long, cold winter, and yet how cold it feels when November rolls around. It’s all about the perspective, isn’t it? Perspective and expectation.

When the temperature begins its inevitable drop toward the bitterness of winter, the same weather I experienced on my walk today feels foreboding. It chills me to the bone. Yet today, knowing that spring is just around the corner, I welcome the wind and rain as a sign of the new life that is struggling to push through the earth.

So it is with all of our reactions. Our entire experience is often shaped, not by the present moment, but by the narrative we construct around it.

I remember a couple of years ago, getting angry at someone who cut me off in traffic. A few blocks later, we got stuck at the same red light. I looked over and saw that the passenger of the car was in some distress, vomiting into a bag. The driver was clearly upset, trying to comfort and soothe the passenger, while navigating rush hour traffic to boot.

In that moment, the context of the story changed my entire perspective, as well as my expectations, and most importantly my reaction. Instead of indulging my self-righteous indignation, I saw the driver as a fellow traveler, worried, preoccupied, trying to manage the urgency of the situation. How might I drive if I was anxiously tending a loved one?

My heart softened. I wondered how much unnecessary resentment I might have continued to carry had we not both been stopped by that light. If I had not been “reeducated” about what was really going on. How many other times have I not been compassionate because I didn’t have all of the information? And, frankly, isn’t this always the case? Do we ever have all the information necessary to warrant our judgement of others?

I’m reminded of that famous saying attributed to Plato “Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.”

Because, when we peel back all of our expectations, interpretations, assumptions, judgments, and narratives, 50 degrees is just the temperature.

Blessings on your journey,
Louisa

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February 2021

2/28/2021

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Note from Louisa

I am feeling agitated this morning, as I sit down to write this. The vernal equinox is still nearly a month away, with its promise of bird song and new blooms. We’ve just emerged from the record-breaking cold, and watched as our sisters and brothers in Texas have had additional suffering piled on to their already considerable burden.

I am weary. We are weary.

In my meditation practice, this feeling of restlessness is an old friend… the urgent desire “to do something”, “to make something happen”. It feels insufficient to simply befriend the impulse and observe it with curiosity and compassion. Yet, that is the task.

What I notice immediately is the unpleasant sensation of helplessness that we have all been living with for the better part of a year. So much is beyond our control. We are merely passengers on an out-of-control train that has jumped its tracks.

I must remind myself at these times that that train was never really ON the tracks in the first place. In fact, in rare moments of quiet, I glimpse that there isn’t really even a train. There is only the illusion of the train on its orderly track, that is navigated at respectable speeds, that I create to avoid feelings of… well, this.

You might think that this understanding makes the loss of control all the worse. In the face of such enduring loss, it’s no wonder we create complex illusions that further our belief of control. Who wants to feel that everything is so random?

Yet, perhaps, letting go of the illusion of the train, also liberates us from having to try to steer the damn thing.

If there is no train, no tracks, no illusion, then perhaps I can relax into the experience of the ride. Yes, it is frightening, but at times exhilarating. Yes, there is sorrow, but there is joy and love as well. And, in my panicked desire to try “to make something happen”, I might miss all of this.

I’m still gripping the “not-really-seat” on “the-not-really” train, and even this is evidence that, once again, I am trying to “do something”. I wonder what it might take for me to put my hands up in the air, throw my head back, and laugh with delight at the imminent roller coaster drop, and just… enjoy the ride?

Every Blessing,
Louisa

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January 2021

1/27/2021

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Note from Louisa

Welcome to a New Year! It feels like we have already lived three months of it with all the events that unfolded in the past few weeks.

I certainly have been moved by many of them, but none more that the beautiful presence of the first National Youth Poet Laureate, Amanda Gorman’s recitation of her work, “The Hill We Climb” at the inauguration.

If you missed it, I encourage you to find a recording of it, to experience it as Amanda would want it to be heard. Here is a link to the complete poem. Words from a 23-year old sage, who overcame a childhood speech impediment and an auditory processing disorder. Perhaps one word for 2021 is INSPIRING?

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