Armed with a carload of guns and a list of addresses for people who held differing views, he decided to resolve his internal discomfort by driving from address to address and pulling a trigger. It’s hard to understand how a human heart and mind can arrive at this kind of decision, let alone maintain an unchallenged conviction that supports willfully taking human life. Clearly this is aberrant behavior originating out of a distorted mind, but it does offer an interesting lens on disrupted connection.
Our mind is designed to receive information from the outside world, make sense of it and arrive at decisions that support our place within it. This process relies heavily on healthy connection with ourselves, others and something greater. There are a lot of facets and ways in which we can lose the ability to live feeling fully connected. Up until now, most of my posts have explored social connections. This one is an exploration of what happens when we become disconnected from ourselves.
I believe most of us feel disconnected and have no vocabulary to describe it. It often looks like interpersonal conflict, resigned dissatisfaction in the day-to-day grind, hyper consumerism, and diverse forms of escapism.
But how do you know if you have lost connection with yourself? It is going to sound odd, but I believe our ability to make decisions is a great indicator of our sense of connection.
My Decision-Making Gestalt:
For nearly four decades, my decision making looked very much like a ball in a pinball machine. Often, I felt propelled by an external force that sent me along a fully designed course. Then out of nowhere, someone would say or do something, and my trajectory would change abruptly in response to the new stimulus. I was in a constant state of reactivity and had no familiarity with equanimity or self-agency. When I found Al Anon, it was as if a bright spotlight was shone on the instability and suffering this kind of living created.
The idea that I could do life differently had never occurred to me. Questions like “How important is it?” And “Is this mine to do?” slowly started to drip a “saline solution” of self-determination into my awareness. As I continued to practice their simple slogans like “Think,” “Let it Begin with Me,” and “Live and Let Live,” I slowly became aware of my own inner compass. It was such a new awareness that the pull of my true north felt undeniable. By relaxing my need to please others, I found an ease in knowing what was pleasing and right for me. Most of the time, I would describe that inner experience as a sense of calm around circumstances of uncertainty. I would still feel the discomfort of speaking up for what I wanted, particularly if it were in opposition to others, but I would know what felt right. And there was a lot of comfort in that.
When I discovered and developed a daily meditation practice, the aperture of awareness expanded. Suddenly I was not just responding to opportunities in life, but in many ways, it felt like I was proactively receiving messages about what to do with my life. Often these meditation delivered messages are so cryptic I must “feel into” their meaning. Until I started receiving these kinds of intuitive messages, I would not have been able to describe my decision-making process as one that included a “bodily sense of rightness” But it is a major factor in how I have come to trust a decision.
A few weeks ago, I awoke to a pressing arrival, “Dull Edges and Action.” Clear as a bell they dropped into my consciousness just as soon as my mind awakened. Baffled, I wrote them down and committed to exploring their potential meaning.
My first impression is that the words were inviting me into action without a clear idea of what is emerging. It reminded me of creating a work of art. Sometimes an artist has a clear vision and executes with highly representational detail. But most creative processes start with a whiff of an idea and invite you into an exploration of trial and error. It is a dance with uncertainty that is dependent upon curious engagement and action. But why did this message arrive and what is it helping me do…?
My Current Dance with Uncertainty
My husband and I have recently decided to sell the home we have lived in for the past 24 years. Beyond that one agreed upon decision, we knew nothing more and committed to make this “Our Great Adventure in Trust.” We did not know if our future would include a move out of state, which is something we have always talked about. We didn’t know where that might be. We didn’t know the timelines or if we would be renting or buying. In making that first decision together, we had agreed to let things remain unknown and trust that clarity would arrive.
A phone call to our financial planner was the first time I had publicly shared our decision and rather unorthodox intention of not having a plan. I was met with an innocuous statement that instantly challenged our approach. “You should be prepared that this could move pretty quickly; houses at this price point and in your area are not easy to come by.” Before the vibration of his voice had finished tickling my eardrum, I could feel energy rising from the top of my legs and through my core until it lodged itself as a tightened ball in my throat. I noted its presence but remained committed to the adventure of “not needing to know.”
Paradoxically, I couldn’t imagine traveling this stressful life experience with a realtor I didn’t know. So, Ken and I had plans to reach out to an agent that had helped us purchase our current home. It just felt right. So, when our financial advisor suggested another realtor, I found myself torn between “my plan” and a desire to remain receptive to the Universe’s guidance.
“Dull Edges and Action”
We decided to place a call to our past connection and to the new one and after an appointment with each, we found ourselves stunned that the new contact felt like the better fit. I entertained the new option more out of social courtesy than true open-mindedness, so this was an entirely unexpected choice. But the clarity was indisputable and while I didn’t relish the idea, I made the uncomfortable phone call to our past connection and let them know we were going with someone else.
The clarity to stay in Minnesota was an equally unexpected arrival. During our discernment process, our then “experimental” agent asked us to meet him at a home that was not available for purchase. He told us he wanted us to see it because it was the kind of home he expected we were seeking. He was spot on. It was not the only reason, but this simple act won me over. Not only did I feel understood, but it also illustrated he was willing to be generous with his time, experience, and information. He said, “I wanted you to see this because knowing what you are looking for makes your house shopping very portable. This concept can be found anywhere from Georgia to Utah.”
But something else happened during that visit. On the surface it felt like a genuine but inconsequential conversation about our potential out-of-state relocation. But in discussing the similarity between his situation with his wife and ours, something shifted in Ken’s perspective that was both swift and precise. He got in the car and said, “I think we should stay in Minnesota.”
I’m not going to lie, something that had been knotted up inside of me, relaxed and I felt a spaciousness unfurl. The comfort of staying connected to the people who make a place feel like home was a huge relief for me. But my mind had a tough time believing that Ken genuinely wanted this. Our shared narrative had always been that we would move somewhere warmer and closer to his family after we retired. I struggled to allow a compromise made for my happiness. I’m not sure I knew it at the time, but my discomfort was “of the mind.” But after a few uncomfortable days of wanting but questioning Ken’s change of heart, I found myself feeling “fuzzy” and less connected to my own internal knowing.
After signing our first few dozen pages and legally securing this gentleman as our selling and buying agent, we were invited to start shopping for houses and plan to view a few. Our first day out found me feeling both sad and still strangely disconnected. I attributed my inner state to a couple of things. Leading up to that morning, I had spent days unearthing the contents of every closet, trunk, and bookshelf, making necessary but difficult decisions about what needed to make the move with us and what I was willing to release. It was a bittersweet process of reconnection and deconstruction that left me feeling a bit raw.
We had also invested a great deal of effort and money in making our home presentable for prospective buyers. Strangely, I had started to form a fondness for its fresh aesthetic, and it was making our choice to leave a little more complicated. To make matters worse, dancing between this peculiar emotional polarity, was a damp wariness that I could not shake.
As we entered the address of the first home we would be visiting into the car’s navigation system, I remember suppressing tears and quietly resigning myself to the fact that I may not be entirely present this first time out. Sure, I wanted our first outing to be colored by the excitement of discovering promising potential. But the confusing swill of emotions that followed me into the car that morning left me dissociated instead. There was a fleeting moment when I remember thinking,” Well, maybe THIS was what was meant by “Dull Edges.” My typically perceptive senses were definitely “offline.”
When Ken and I walked into the first home it felt as if he and I were equally curious but noncommittal. Ken immediately recognized that the home did not have the one feature I held as the most important and he was quick to suggest how it could be re-envisioned. I wasn’t resistant or sold on his recommendation. Frankly, I continued to struggle in my ability to feel present. Internally, I had accepted how I was feeling and held it with a good bit of self-compassion. I assured myself; it was only our first time out. We were just getting our feet wet. We would be doing this for weeks before finding our new home…
As I continued to feel unmoored, we wandered throughout the home moving in different directions and experiencing its space quite independent of each other. It was not until we descended the stairs to the unfinished basement that we traveled together. Ken and the realtor were ahead of me and as soon as my foot found the same concrete floor they occupied, I watched Ken’s head spin around to find me, and he stood beaming and wide eyed. I looked past him to allow myself a full understanding of what he was responding to. And within a flash, I saw it too. This perfectly unfinished and expansive space was Ken’s future artist studio in waiting.
Having been schooled by my father to never give a salesperson a glimpse into your true feelings, I both cringed at Ken’s unadulterated exuberance and doubled down on my aloof poker face. But at this point, nothing was “dull in our edges.” Ken had loved the space, and I had loved Ken’s reaction.
I don’t remember much about leaving the house or going on to the next one. Highly attuned to Ken’s reaction, I was still only skimming the surface of my own. We walked through the second home and the only memory I have of it is that it felt much lighter than the first one, but also, TINY…in every room and in every way. At some point near the end of our visit, I remember standing in the shared space of the kitchen and living room and saying, “I want to like it, but it is just too small.” The realtor heard my clarity and was quick to move us towards an exit. In some kind of subconscious effort to slow our passage out, Ken leaned a hand on the kitchen counter and said, “I don’t want to lose that last house…what will it take for us to get into it?”
Still feeling adrift, I let their conversation swirl around me. Parts of it landed, but most of their words became fragments that dispersed among the sunlit dust that hung between us. The realtor looked over at me and said, “You look confused, did we lose you?” I dismissed his question, making my distracted presence as disposable as it felt. The last thing I remember hearing as his large and heavy hand fell on my shoulder was “keep shopping.” Distant from the words they had exchanged, it felt like a sign that they had concluded we would be best served by continuing our search.
Ken and I drove home thoughtful and committed to not rushing into any decisions. With plans to paint our living room the next day, we easily avoided any discussion about the house as we independently pursued our own projects of prepping. As furniture was moved and art taken down, our comfortable environment devolved into controlled chaos. Finally feeling grounded by the physical activity the painting project required, I took comfort in the fact that the task before us eliminated any urgency in decision making. And I must admit, I felt some relief that I did not have to reconcile my absence of feeling with Ken’s obvious excitement.
Convinced we had breathing room and would benefit from a good night’s sleep and the fresh perspective of a new day; I attempted to just unwind and watch a documentary in our now completely disrupted living quarters. But instead of tuning out, we found ourselves preoccupied with the idea of this house, and Ken, rather uncharacteristically, paused the movie in exchange for a conversation. We spent a good bit of the night talking about the opportunity this house presented and the only word that I could continue to find was “Freedom.” Because of the state I was in when we visited the house, I could not access any emotional response to it, but I knew “in my mind” this house offered us freedom.
By the time we laid our heads onto our pillows that night, we both felt like we may have found our new home. Was it possible the first house could be the one? Let me tell you…my mind was not at ease with that! I have this particularly annoying need to explore every possible option before even considering making a choice. Ken knows my mind loves the process of comparing and contrasting. And I can tell you I often know what I like/want/need based on learning what I do not like/want/need. Contrast is my intuitive friend. But he has also witnessed me incapable of taking any action because of too many choices. And so, as we surrendered ourselves to sleep that night, we agreed on one thing – we would give each other the prayer and meditation time we each use to find our “place of knowing.”
With a big project ahead of us and a “Christmas morning” kind of energy about the new house lacing the edges of our sleep, Ken was up early and feeling driven. Not having had time for my morning meditation and now feeling the urgency of our task at hand, I regressed to my old pattern of pinballing and matched my pace to Ken’s. Before leaving the house to pick up paint supplies, Ken texted our agent letting him know we wanted to discuss making an offer on the first house we saw. They visited by phone while Ken drove to his studio and after sharing that he is eligible for VA financing, they concluded we could reasonably make a non-contingent offer on the new home.
Having neglected my meditation time, I was still feeling rudderless when Ken came home with the news. In a flash, my stomach lurched. It was a familiar sensation that I would describe as the feeling you have when you take the first plunge on a roller coaster. As my insides seemed to slosh around in reactivity, I found myself incapable of identifying any accurate emotional interpretation. It was not dread or excitement, it was just a sensation I had experienced before.
At the risk of sharing too much information. I am at the back end of a lengthy and wild perimenopausal ride. For the most part, I have endured the dozens of daily hot flashes, frustrating brain fog and disrupted sleep with a good measure of acceptance. But for several months now I have struggled with a kind of emotional disconnection that truly troubles me. I feel flat most of the time. I am still aware of bodily sensations. And I can recognize that I may have labeled them with a particular emotional state in the past. But for some reason, both the intensity and my ability to make any emotional attribution to them is gone. Identified as a highly sensitive person, I have always felt deeply and could easily name my feelings. I have not always used that information skillfully, but it has always been a reliable source of internal feedback. Not so much lately…
Ok, yet more Dull Edges and now…ACTION was taken!
Honestly, we have signed so many forms over the last few weeks I don’t have a clue if I still retain my right to breathe air right now. And let me tell you, my MIND has made this decision its plaything. Much like the dreaded “clack, clack, clack,” that accompanies the painstakingly slow ascent of a roller coaster, my thoughts continue to torment me. My overachieving ego has dissected this decision and creatively conjured up every scenario in which we are at grave risk. And just like the misguided decisions I opened this post with, I have become keenly aware of how distorted our perceptions can become and how persuasive an unchecked mind can be. Within a split second, we can find ourselves no longer in the present moment, incapable of perceiving objective information, and panicking to find a way out. As beautiful as our minds are, there are unexplored beliefs hidden in the subconscious that can efficiently get us off course.
In this case, my disconnect happened when Ken offered that we stay in Minnesota. A deep-seated limited belief, that my happiness should not be at the center of other’s decisions, took over…and I became incapable of receiving reliable information.
Ken and I started this new beginning with a fully partnered decision to not need to know. We chose to allow for the dull edges and let the whiff of an idea lead us towards the right action. For the most part Ken is navigating with only a few fleeting moments of doubt. I, on the other hand, am experiencing a crisis of trust. An unexplored belief has compromised an already disrupted body and I have lost my embodied “way of knowing.” Now being challenged to rely on something else, I am perhaps in my first free fall with something greater than myself.
Now it is your turn! Tell us how you know when you are making a good decision. What process do you use? What feedback do you rely upon? Has it changed over time? And have you ever had a crisis of trust and felt disconnected from your own navigational systems?