Seeking Compassion

This is essay #4 of #52essays2017

I know that many of us are feeling extra fragile/terrified/depressed with everything that has been unfolding, pretty much every few minutes, since January 21st. It’s bleak. It’s stunningly terrible. And I would write about that if I could even focus on what to say. It’s just… everything.

That’s the state of mind I’ve been in. But I’ve been trying extra hard, and have made a commitment to, trying to care for my mental and spiritual health. Last week I had the great gift of doing a small, two-day retreat with a dear friend. She suggested each morning that we take ten minutes to do a meditation together.

I normally meditate either by myself, with my husband, or in a group meditation sitting. I rarely, if ever, meditate with just one other person. It feels incredibly intimate and also so affirming. My friend introduced me to the Insight Timer app, and I showed her the Headspace app. What a gift to share these things.

Anyway, last night I attended a really fun, celebratory book party at my writing place, the San Francisco Writers’ Grotto. TEN of our writers had recently published books, and it was a grand celebration. I love going to parties at the Grotto, because for me, it’s a perfect introvert/extravert environment. I can jam myself in with all the folks in the big “party room,” get food and drinks, and when it starts feeling to hot, noisy or claustrophobic I can retreat down the all to my own cozy little office. I have my own couch, desk, and a really nice chair that I recently acquired from someone who was moving cross country. I like to sit in there with my door open, and invite passersby to come in and hang out with me for a quieter, more personal chat. I had some wonderful conversations, moving back and forth from the “big party” to my own little party.

When it was time to leave, I was with a friend, and we were chatting it up on the way to elevator. I had gathered up my laptop bag, and some other things I’d wanted to transfer from office to home, and I was… distracted. We drove across the bridge and I dropped her off. Then I thought it would be a good idea to text my husband and let him know I was on my way home. Oops, no phone. It must be in my purse, in the trunk. I got out of the car and popped the turn. No purse either. BIG OOPS. I guess I must have left my purse AND my phone in my office.

I got home and activated “Find my Phone.” Sure enough, it was radiating a little blue dot at the Grotto address.  Then, I got an email from another Grotto writer that “someone had found” my purse (where??) and she’d secured it in HER office there. Okay. I actually didn’t give it much thought. I knew where my stuff was. I went to bed.

In the morning, my husband showed me some charges from our credit card on his laptop. Had I gotten gas at a Shell station? At Chevron? I knew I’d filled the car, but which was it? And what was this hotel? Both charges had been declined. But it made me wonder – what if someone had taken my purse OUT of my office? Where had someone “found” it? Why had I been wandering around a 100+ person party and leaving my office door wide open? What was wrong with me?

Suddenly, I had an image of our financial life crashing down around us. ALL of the credit cards compromised. Bureaucracy. Having to change all of our accounts. And it was all my fault, because I was… careless. Something inside me cringed. “I have to go.” I pulled on my clothes, didn’t even brush my hair or wash my face. I grabbed the car key and drove back to the city.

There, in my friend’s office, was the purse. There was my phone in my desk drawer. I counted all the credit cards AND the cash, and everything was there. Probably no harm was done. But maybe it was!  What was that weird hotel charge? Maybe somebody took all my numbers and are waiting to use them when I am not expecting it. Maybe I’m just a paranoid fool.

I texted my husband that I’d found the purse and phone, but that I needed to sit and get a grip. He suggested that I do a guided “Compassion for Self” meditation that both of us know well. I agreed that it was a good idea.

I hemmed and hawed for a while in my office before settling down and starting the meditation. First I did a 5-minute Self-Compassion meditation from Insight Timer. I felt like it barely scratched the surface. There were mad voices in my head telling me I’d blown it, I’d blown it BIG, and it was just an indication of what a terrible, stupid, careless loser I was. As soon as I heard “think of a time when you were feeling hard on yourself” I started dripping tears. Then it was a gush. Then I was sobbing out of control.

Man. The places your mind goes. That’s the thing I’ve noticed about meditation. It’s an incredible place. And I was absolutely shocked to find myself, even after no harm had been done, in this veritable zoo of monsters. (unlocked monsters, by the way) If it wasn’t so painful, it would have been fascinating. (OK, it’s fascinating NOW) There was a big story going down about how I always lost things. I never keep track of my things. My time. My appointments. My life. It was just one huge crumbling chaotic mountain. I could TRY to be more organized by using a bullet journal or whatever, but ultimately it was fruitless because I’m basically the worst person on earth and I shouldn’t be trusted with… ANYTHING. It was a giant domino game that led from me stupidly leaving my purse SOMEWHERE at the Grotto, to our entire lives falling apart and my family being left in ruin all because of me.

Wow. Where did THAT come from? This thing took about half an hour to run its course. I felt like I was being beat upon from all sides. It was exhausting. But also — curious. It felt like such an enormous effort to find my way to even a crumb of compassion. Eventually, it came. A little bit. I was able to get myself up from the chair and put an arm around that other, loser self, and say, hey, it’s okay.

The thing that I find comforting about this practice is knowing that hey, the Buddha went through this too. EVERYone goes through it. And yet we think it’s totally all about us. And I also felt comfort in knowing that, like everything else, that it would eventually pass. I just had to let the tears fall, to hang onto the armrests of my red chair like the sides of a life raft, and hang on.

Minds are funny things.