The Mindfulness of the Wrong Shoes

I just had a good lesson in mindfulness, the Snowball Effect, compartmentalization, and gratitude.

I ordered a cool pair of shoes about a month ago and my normal shoe size wasn’t right for these shoes. I need two sizes bigger for a proper fit. I immediately sank into an all-encompassing despair that went from, “Damn. The wrong size!" to "Why can’t anything ever work out right for me?!” and the image of me as an old man living in some broken down apartment looking back on a life filled with bitter regret and missed opportunities. Funny, huh? 

For starters, I immediately realized I’m grateful for that moment. It reminded me that mindfulness is not about perfection. Nor is it any sort of acceptance of struggle, putting a smiley face on unhappiness. One can be the most mindful, calm, and accepting person in the world and it’s still okay to be upset and disappointed sometimes. Even about the size of a pair of shoes. It doesn’t mean I’m less mindful or I’ve failed some cosmic test of temperament. "Oops. You got mad about something trivial. You should've known better! We're going to have to take your Mindfulness Merit Badge away." It means I’m human, just like everyone else.

Second, the wrong shoes has absolutely nothing to do with the rest of my life. They are not partners out to "get me." The wrong shoe size isn't an omen for the rest of my existence. The wrong size shoes doesn't mean a lonely and bitter Third Act. That’s all internal programming from the past. It’s that record the ego puts on the turntable any chance it gets to play the same song over and over. It's the ego's way of tricking me to staying in place, right where it wants me.

Which brings me to the gratitude part. In the midst of a deadly pandemic I’m losing my shit over a pair of shoes?! There are people in hospital rooms in this COVID crisis fighting for every breath alone with no family to hold their hand, no spouse to comfort them in their final moments, and I'm complaining about shoes. How dare I. There are families in this crisis who don't know where their next meal will come from or how they're going to survive. Literally. I need to remember this. I need to be quiet and be still. I need to keep this lesson close and remember it as I move step by mindful step forward in a humble and grateful fashion. 

Steve Martin

The Healing Snow

It's snowing again here in Chicago. That's twice this week, and in April of all months. Watching it falling so gently and quietly through my dining room windows a single notion keeps overwhelming my thinking. This is the Earth's way of saying, "Stay inside. I'm not ready for you to come back out yet. I'm not done healing from the damage you've done." 

A Solitary Walk

I’ve taken to each day after work taking a nice mile or so walk around the neighborhood. Today being colder and the snow flurries on and off all afternoon made it feel like mid to early-late Autumn. The clouds had that Fall look, stark white and billowing on top, flat and grey on the bottom. The cold wind gusts only added to the Autumn feeling. Given the circumstances of Shelter in Place I was practically the only one out, and barely any traffic gave it all a cozy, desolate feeling I actually enjoyed. I stopped at one point and just watched the trees and the clouds. I thought to myself, "What do they care about COVID? They don't." It’s as foreign to them as the bees Colony Collapse Disorder is to us. They simply go about their silent, regal business. Floating across the sky and swaying in the breeze. I was struck by their humble arrogance, their steadfastness. Their world continues uninterrupted. They’re unaffected by us either way. Be here or don’t be here, they could care less. There’s a much higher purpose they’re an integral part of we haven’t recognized yet. They get the interconnection of it all and we don’t. We’re as foreign and almost meaningless to them as the gnats are to us.