I caught a snippet of this book a while back that was talking about the induction into Buddhism.
I don’t know a lot about Buddhism, it seems really interesting though. This book talked about the beginning of a person’s journey into the Buddhist life.
Did you know that Buddhists begin by spending 36 hours completely alone.
No phone. No internet. No interruptions. Just you alone with you.
This weekend my kids were with their dad. The house was quiet. Why not?
Three hours in…I’m on the verge of a nervous blinking breakdown.
I tried to keep going.
I didn’t talk on the phone, I didn’t text. I was avoiding the phone altogether.
I avoided TV because that is just me throwing days away binge watching nonsense.
I sat. I swam. I walked.
I tried really hard to just be cool to myself and enjoy the time but really quick–far sooner than I would have ever guessed possible this fear/hate/bullshit just started coming out of me.
There was this super painful pull for me to get the hell out of there and go anywhere else. There was a constant feeling I’m a shitty person. I caught myself telling myself that everyone hates me and I deserve it. I started envisioning my death and subsequent eating by cats. I wondered if my kids even cared if I lived or died.
Ugly huh?
I had no idea I hated myself like this.
I was scared, but I’m pretty stubborn so giving in completely was not an option. I decided on a compromise. I would not call in every friend I’d ever had to save me but I wasn’t going to be able to not have any distractions.
I painted the bathroom while listening to Unfuck yourself by Gary John Bishop.
I really liked his straightforwardness as well as how he brought ancient philosophers into our now with their relevant and pertinent thoughts.
I think my biggest take away from that book is that action is the only way to actually change. Not soon, or later or I’m going to…right NOW. Do it right now.
The other book that I listened to was ‘Stay sexy and don’t get murdered’. That book was ahhhhhhmazing for so many reasons.
It was entertaining, had awesome life advice, friend advice, silliness, anecdotes about growing up in the exact time I grew up and the biggest takeaway from that book was this:
Let your freak flag fly loud and proud. The authors are two weirdos that weren’t afraid to expose their weirdness and from it came overwhelming success and happiness.
(They are both super into true crime and apparently there are bagillions of people who are too and they call themselves Murderinos)
How cool.
I was still bummed about bailing on the Buddhist experiment. I am not trying to be Buddhist –not that I have any problems with Buddhists. I just am trying to better hear me but geeeeezus that was eye opening.
I have to fill any time alone with immediate information or action or anyone or anything at all or I freak out. This terribly mean inner critic takes over and picks at me, I pick at myself physically too…my face after the ‘facial’ is still blotchy and gross.
How can I not be able to be alone with my own
I never ever focus on the good.
I write. A lot. I love that about me.
Writing is more than a passion, I constantly do it all the time no matter what. I can’t stop it.
As Gary John Bishop says in Unfuck Yourself…(this is not a quote but some sort of forgetful style summation…he says it lots better I promise you) We all seek out certainty, when certainty is an illusion. Nothing is certain. Not ever. The only thing that is certain is uncertainty and yet uncertainty we treat like the plague. We consume billions of dollars of medicine yearly to try to quell gripping fear of uncertainty.
Nothing is certain.
So staying in this job so I can have a certain paycheck and certain life and certainly take care of my kids and never ever finishing a book like I’ve always dreamed of…where do his words have a chance? Where can his inflammatory statement pry up the loose board in the box I’ve built around myself to keep uncertainty…and happiness by the way…out?
They can’t. They stand zero chance.
In my mind, the finished book would do no better than the unread blogs–blogs I don’t even publish most times by the way. It wouldn’t be failure so I’m safer if I don’t even put it out there.
Which brings me to the last thing I’ll say about Gary John Bishop’s Unfuck yourself…he talks a lot about willingness and the need to be honest.
He says not everyone is willing to be rich. Everyone might want to be rich but not everyone is willing to trade their time for the extra zero in your paycheck. As long as you admit to yourself that you’re unwilling, then cool.
So I wonder if my not ever finishing any of the thousands of books I’ve tried writing over the years is really a fear of failure or is it really an unwillingness to let my vulnerability be exposed.
Putting the words out on the page is brutal. It’s like cutting yourself open and then if no one cares you’re bleeding out–that’s painful–and then again the thought of someone examining your oozing wound is terrifying too.
Those two books might not have been the self acceptance weekend that I needed but they brought a few great things to me and kept me from going crazy because before the Buddhist thing I wasn’t really sure that a human being could or should go two days without human contact.
I’ve been feeling in my heart for some time that I needed a reset and now that I know it’s not me being antisocial or weird and that it’s actually something that an entire religion uses as an induction…that’s enough for me to keep trying.
I don’t know if I’ll ever be blessed to find my Murderinos. I don’t know if I’ll ever be anything more than I am right now and I guess I’m willing to accept that uncertainty. For now.
So Juls, this is for you. Be nice to me. I’ve gotten you through so much, I’ve been there when no one else has. I don’t deserve to be called names, I am awesome enough to get you through ten thousand 36 hour Buddhist inductions and then some–just be kinder to me. Just as I am.
xoxo,
J
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