Overposting Compassion

Anger BuddhaYesterday,  I texted two friends of mine and told then they were over posting on Facebook. I mentioned that I had 87 notifications about Gaza and their random thoughts. I tried to do it in a funny way, but instead I managed to hurt both their feelings. It hit me that if their posting bothered me so much that I could limit their profiles. But instead I chose to be confrontational where no conflict existed. It was inside my head. I chose to make their alleged actions my focus when in reality it is none of my business what or how they do things. In fact, I didn’t even have to go on Facebook if I was going to take things this personal. While I immediately apologized, the guilt of saying anything stayed with me a long time.

Part of my meditation practice is the focus I place on letting go. Obviously, I don’t aways succeed, but I have learned to be self-compassionate and forgive myself. Intentions aside, there is so much time and energy we use berating and punishing ourselves. My friends almost immediately forgave me, but I didn’t forgive myself for hours on end. It’s really because I don’t like how I am sometimes. There is a burning desire to be the best who I can and have been in the past. Yet that’s not always possible.  My intention has always been to do good, but my words and actions get in the way.

There are so many things burning inside me.  Meditation calms me down. In those 15 minutes, I am grateful for all that I have. I thank as many people as I can. And then I send compassion to others. It’s not always easy, but I know it’s really more for me. When we show kindness to others, we become kind ourselves.

Food For Thought, Journal

Missed Opportunities

missed opportunityI love walking Bella in the mornings. It’s probably the only time of the day when I let my mind fully wander. Some days, I process what I watched the night before, but more often than not, I reflect on the missed opportunities I had to be better. I rewind conversations, moments and interactions with people and I wished I had done them differently. This is not to say my response was bad, but that it could be better. I imagine saying better things, going one step further, not being lazy, etc. I cringe at my inability to remember to stay present. Try it.

Being present is one of the hardest things in the world. I am either in the past or wondering about the future. It’s what causes me to be on auto-pilot. Where I respond automatically without thinking.  But when I do remember, my brain steals the part of the soul for writing. Each word I write is based on what I experienced in some ways. And it’s scary. How much of my soul can I carve out before I completely hollow out? Yes, I love the morning air, the passing conversations, the neighbor’s dog running around in a frenzied circle as it sees Bella (not sure how it doesnt get dizzy), and I think of missed opportunities while all the while trying to be present.

I do wonder if I making my life harder than it is but then remind myself it’s not about me. What I give is what I will get. So I take a deep breath and promise to make better use of those missed opportunities.

Myself, Writing

Word Stealer

i-m-a-wordsmith-which-is-kind-of-like-a-blacksmith-but-without-the-tools-and-fire-and-stuffMy name is Sanjay Sabarwal, and I am a word stealer. I eavesdrop everywhere I go, and put away the snippets of conversation I hear. I read various articles, stories and magazines, and pocket away interesting verbs and action sentences. I squirrel away images that come in front of me when I walk my dog. I hide away tidbits of friends’ conversations for some future use.  Again, and again I steal words. Some days, I am melancholic about my need to be such a thief, but then there are the days when I am sitting in front of the laptop, and those words come out from various from their hiding places and help me weave together an altogether fictional story built on truth.

I am tempted to warn my friends to watch out for my habit . When I was a novice, I didn’t have the sense to edit out contexts and emotions which made me a biographer, and the brunt of many a fight about why I didn’t just keep my mouth shut.  Then it hit me that I didn’t need to be a recorder just a thief, and so I began stealing. It has been my most satisfying tool in writing. I no longer have to worry about words, just how to use them.