When We’re Wobbly in Our Contemplative Practice

11/24/20

Dear friend,

Often, for me, it starts with sleep. I'm either sleeping too much or not enough.

I'm going to bed late because I want to keep reading just a little bit more, ravenous for the escape to another world being offered to me on those pages and just a teensy bit afraid of the realities waiting to greet me in the morning.

Or I'm sleeping in late—partly due to having gone to bed so late the night before—and getting a late start to the day. Gone is the intention for my body practice of morning yoga. Gone is the intention for a mindful reading of the news before starting the day. Gone is the intention to read contemplatively in a book by one of my current teachers. Gone is the intended spaciousness to plan for the day and live into it at the speed of soul.

What is it Glennon Doyle says—"First the pain, then the waiting, then the rising"? In my case, in these periods, it's more along the lines of "First the avoidance, then the guilt, then the rushing."

Avoidance—my Enneagram 9-ness at its most potent.

I'm curious what leads to the contemplative wobble for you. What does it look like? What prompts it? What do you think you're seeking at those times instead?

For me, it's that avoidance. Something feels big or scary, and I feel too small or ill-equipped to face it. I want to close my eyes and ears to it all, escape into another reality, and live vicariously. There, I can live a half-life that feels just alive enough that it fools me into thinking it could be the real thing.

When really, the invitation is to engage my own life.

I think the fullness of life overwhelms me sometimes. There's so much to notice, so much to see, so much to care for, so much to do.

It makes me tired at times.

But this is where one of my core contemplative principles emerges out of the water like a unicorn come to save me, and it's the principle to notice the invitations.

Not one of us is being asked to do it all. Not one of us could do everything perfectly or even well. We're being asked, instead, to do what's ours in this present moment or season. What is that right now? And tomorrow, what is it then? And next week, the same question remains.

Here in the avoidance bubble that often leads to my contemplative wobble, what's mine to do is to first face that it's happening. I'm avoiding. I'm intimidated or scared.

Then it's to get gently curious. What feels intimidating? What feels scary? Why is that so?

Then it's to remember my beliefs. I'm not alone. I believe graces abound. I don't have to do it all. I don't have to do it perfectly. I only have to do what's mine to do. I can ask for help. I can take it one step at a time. I can move at the speed of soul.

What about you? Do you get wobbly in your contemplative practice sometimes? Have you noticed patterns or usual suspects in bringing those wobbles about?

I'd love to hear what you've noticed or learned. You're welcome to reply!

And if you live here in the States like I do, I'm sending wishes for a happy Thanksgiving holiday, whatever that looks like for you this year. One thing for which I'm mighty grateful this year is the chance to write this weekly-ish email to you.

Yours in contemplative practice,
Christianne