Comfort Food for Thought

I was listening to a podcast and the subject of autism came up. One of the guests mentioned her sister, who had autism, would watch scenes from movies over and over again. At first, the family found this extremely odd, but more understandable after diagnosis. Her sister would watch these clips and find comfort in the monotony. The predictability.

I’m not autistic, but I could understand this. How many times have I found succor in the familiar? Just the other day, I found an old comic book that I had read (and re-read) countless times as a kid and even now, decades later, remember the story line and the jokes. It made me feel warm inside. Like I recognized myself within this piece of my past. 

My brother is a Trekky. He watches old episodes and reads the novels so often even those of us who aren’t remotely interested in the Enterprise can recognize the plot at a glance. It’s like he’s spending time with old friends.

Nor is this uncommon. Comfort foods are named such because they take us to a safe place where others took care of us and fed us. We wear old t-shirts not just because they are soft with age, but because they remind us of a particular time or event we remember fondly.  

I’ve been thinking a lot of about this idea of comfort and the familiar as it has been a rather crazy month. Not in a bad way. Just lots of changes and challenging myself and my habitual thinking. I’ve been taking steps and making plans outside my comfort zone. It has been good for me. But this long weekend, I’ve taken a step to the right of the stream that has been carrying me forward. A slight pause to touch base. Spend some time on the couch with my family, watching TV. Take a bath and read a book until the water gets cold like I did when I was ten. Play songs from the 90s and remember high school. To feel safe and enveloped in a blanket of where I have been.

The Tortoise versus the Hare

I’ve always been a hare. 

When I was in fourth grade, I took up the clarinet. Out of the four of us in class, I caught on the quickest. I could do scales and play songs weeks before the others could. I was good at this and I was happy. But, I hated to practice, so I would rarely pick up my clarinet between classes. Oh, I had every intention of doing so while I was in class, but the instrument seemed loathsome to me once I was home. After awhile, I noticed the others getting better. One day as good as me. The next week, better than me. Suddenly, I didn’t want to play anymore. 

I wish I could say I learned a valuable lesson with this, but I didn’t. This kept same pattern kept happening, with other interests. Swimming, dancing, sports, writing, and even friends and dating. Quick to sign up, quick to do well, then quick to give up when I was no longer ahead of the pack. It’s embarrassing how much I’ve given up simply because I wasn’t good enough and how soundly that blame can be laid at my own feet for lack of trying. 

So why not practice? Why give up? I’m afraid to try. To try my hardest and still not be the best. At least if I don’t try, there is an excuse. I’m not good because “fill-in-the-blank”. But if I try, I may have to admit that I may not be that special. And if I’m not special, then I don’t matter.

In the past few years (yes, it has taken me that long), I’m challenging this. What is this race I’m in and who with? I don’t play competitively, I don’t make my living performing and there is no race to see who can be in a relationship first. It’s my own, quiet progress that matters and it only matters to me. So what if I take dance for another year and am only marginally better than I am today? What if I slow down and actually learn to do something rather than trying to skim over it with quick results? What if I invest my time and effort doing what I can, when I can, how I can and having that be good enough?

Life’s about the journey. Why race to then end?

Fear Drag

I’ve been engaging in not the healthiest behaviors lately and, as is my wont, have been disappointed and disapproving of myself. Which only gets me to feeling rather defeated and defeated, I engage again in said behaviors.  And so, the cycle continues. Through past insight, I recognize this cycle as a way of distracting myself from some emotion I don’t want to face. This time, however, it’s a bit different. I realized I’m trying to keep myself safe. 

 

Around December of last year, I moved into this idea of leading with an open heart. I also decided to take more personal risks for the opportunity for growth. This has meant stepping away from fear and leading with love, instead. Great stuff. But my fearful heart learned to be fearful at a young age and did a good job of protecting me when I needed it. Since I haven’t been heeding it as I’ve done in the past, it has only grown more fearful and has resorted to deviant tactics to keep me safe through use of familiar old patterns to keep me safely under the covers where the monsters can’t get me.

The idea behind this is simple. The more I’m consumed by these behaviors and the shame and guilt associated with them, the less time and energy I have in treading into unfamiliar waters. If I hurt myself, I’ll be less likely to get hurt by others. 

I wish I could just live out of my heart and let go of my fear, but I’m afraid that’s what got me into this cycle in the first place. Instead I must acknowledge it (consider it acknowledged) and honor it. I have to have more compassion for the hurt child that did what she could to keep herself safe. This doesn’t mean allowing fear to rule my actions. It means seeing the intention behind the fear and not only moving forward with love, but moving inward with it, as well. It may slow my pace, but at least I’ll be taking all of with me on the journey.