Un-Mask the Fear

Dearest Readers,

The last Healing Journey letter was written at the end of March when the idea of wearing masks in public was unthinkable. Now we are in August and saying, “Nice mask!” to each other and comparing fabric and patterns. Humans are, if nothing else, pretty adaptable creatures, no?

I’ve noticed that the lockdown has divided some of us into two camps: one, for whom the isolation is anxiety-producing, and the other for whom it is a relief.

I tend to fall mostly into the second camp.

Not that I’ve been isolated very much. I was in self-isolation for three weeks when I thought I had the virus but after I finally tested negative (way back in April when it took 9 days to get results), I was able to go back to work at the long-term care home and have been around people pretty much every day since then.

Those three weeks in isolation were very healing. The everyday anxiousness I feel at just having to participate in life went away. I don’t have to go anywhere? Do anything? Ahhhhh….

I’ve been hearing from some of you that you feel the same way: the forced isolation has relieved your own felt-sense of a pressurized world.

And then there are those of you who are really feeling the loneliness. The lack of social connection has been getting to you and you feel like you’re climbing the walls. It’s been all you can do to stay sane in a situation some of you have likened to being in prison.

(There might actually be a third camp: those of you who live alone and are retired and life hasn’t changed much for you. Regardless, it’s a time of change for everyone, whether personally or globally.)

There was a time in my life when I didn’t even know I felt anxious about day-to-day living. The anxiousness was masked behind overachieving and pushing myself. It was only when I began to do inner work that I realized my insides are often churning. About what? Oh, you name it. Just about anything and everything.

Ironically, the more conscious I’ve become and the more healing I’ve experienced, the more the anxious state has been exposed. It’s probably not the best advertisement for waking up, is it? ‘Get on the spiritual journey, folks, and you will discover how neurotic you really are!’

But ‘un-masking’ the fear has been a life-saver.

The literal masks we’re now wearing are also life-savers but they are a nuisance and, for some, a source of stress. Despite the attempt at making them fashionable, masks hide our smiles and facial expressions, which connect us to one another in important ways. (On the plus side, masks hide yawns and spinach in your teeth.)

Like the virus-prevention mask hiding the smile and the yawn (and the spinach), the masks of overachieving and ‘pushing through it’ can be hiding an anxious or a fearful part of the self. When I removed these protective outer masks, i.e. when I began to slow down, get quiet and ‘check in’, I began to discover what was really going on inside of me.

Becoming conscious of the fear actually enabled me to attend to what was underneath it: a desire for reassurance, support and self-acceptance. At one time, I would have died before admitting that I was afraid of life but admitting to the fearand exposing it continues to reduce the power it holds over me and provides me with an ongoing source of courage.

When I leave the long-term care home after hours of wearing a mask and finally get to pull it off as I cross the parking lot, I cannot tell you how liberating it feels. The fresh air on my face is like a kiss from God. When I remove the mask of ‘having it all together’ and share the fear, I feel a similar kind of freedom. The relief is like a Cosmic Thumbs-up.

So let’s keep our masks on to prevent the spread of the virus and let’s keep un-masking to discover ourselves. Sometimes what’s hiding underneath is actually what connects us to one another.

Lost and Found

Dearest Readers,

Good news! I am now blogging from a brand-new (used) 13″ MacBook and she’s an absolutely lovely little thing. The brilliant team at Meadia Solutions also managed to recover the contents of the hard drive off the iBook I lost last week.

All together now: Hallelujah!

This means that the 16 pages of GITA that I had painstakingly excavated from the Ether is intact. I don’t have to start from scratch. I was prepared to do that. I knew the chances of recovery were slim and that I may well have had to go back to the beginning. I was steeling myself for the results of the “operation” with a combination of gritted teeth and total surrender.

The surrendered part of me even began to be excited by the idea of having to start all over again. It felt like an opportunity to free fall. The gritted-teeth part of me, however, was not so excited about beginning anew. This idea felt more like having to climb Mount Everest. So you can imagine how thankful I am that those 16 pages are still in existence.

It was interesting to see the different reactions in people to the dilemma. One guy, a journalist friend, said, “Hey, I’ve lost stuff and the new draft was actually way better. A clean slate can do wonders for the piece.” His reaction helped bring on the excitement.

But another guy, a computer technician, grabbed his heart and practically fainted. He understands the importance of backing things up and for him it meant a monumental loss. His mock-heart-attack made me very glad I got the work back.

Last week, when I was in no man’s land, waiting for clarity on how to proceed after the laptop got cooked, I had tea with a fellow artist. During our discussion we spoke of all the challenges and the joys of creating and striving and persevering in our craft. When we parted she said something to me that hit me with such a weight that I had to write it down.

From my little notebook I now give you her gem:

“Let’s get together again and share about the desperately courageous act of trying to create.”

Whump. I don’t know where that hits you but if you’re an artist (or if you avoiding being an artist) it will hit you between the eyes, in the heart, the gut and the groin. Why? Because she nailed it.

It takes courage, desperate courage to create art. Creating is an act of trust. Something is going to come. Moving into that place of trust is often glorious, seldom easy and mostly terrifying. What keeps me going is believing deeply in that old adage about the artist being the instrument. It’s not about me.

So today I will get back to the writing of GITA and I will do so with 16 pages of a draft to support me. But if I didn’t have those 16 pages I would still summon that courage, that desperate courage, and I would begin anew, trusting that the ideas, the characters, the story would be there.

BTW, thanks be to the God of Hard Drives.

Inspiring Message of the Day: Today, despite the terror of beginning anew, I will jump in to the act of creation with Courage and Trust.