Mistakes were made

This is possibly one of the most frustrating sentences in the English language. Mistakes were made (but nobody made them).

My beginner class is tackling the Yamas and Niyamas as a way to organize the classes. The theme for this week was Satya – the truth. The truth is much more than a mere absence of lies. It’s truth in word and deed. Walking the walk as well as talking the talk… more or less.

Several weeks ago, against my better judgment, I voluntarily associated myself with a group of people for the purpose of completing a project. It’s become one of the most maddening experiences of the last decade of my life, chiefly because I’ve had to deal with one of those people for whom the words “Mistakes were made (but nobody made them and especially not me)” is a lifestyle choice.

The facts of the matter are mistakes were made and PEOPLE made them. It wasn’t done out of malice or out of greed. Mistakes were made because sometimes we shut up when we should talk; we talk when we should shut up. We listen with our brains for the purpose of countering another’s points in the ensuing argument instead of listening with our hearts to hear what the other is saying beyond the words. We imagine another to have our same values. We project our wishes onto others. We assume others can read our minds. We say words that we think will mean X – they get heard as Y.

Personally, I don’t think any human being who has ever attempted to communicate with any other human is immune to these mistakes. It’s part of the human condition. How we cope with these limitations on language is by being aware of them.

I’ve had several run-ins with a work colleague who seems to excel at the poison email. I’ve tried ignoring him but that strategy only seems to fuel his anger. My problem when I find his frequent loads of toxicity in my in-box is that I eventually have to deal with him and therein lays the choice – I can take the high road and try to be the bigger person or I can just let vintage “Kate MacKay” out of the cage. If you have the mental picture of someone bellowing “Let loose the hounds of war”, you’ll pretty much sum up the concept “vintage Kate MacKay”. I have a biting anger that works like a cutting torch on mere mortals. I can slice, dice, and julienne most people with my tongue. My command of language combined with a full head of steam can result in absolute brutality. I’m sarcastic and quick to form judgments. I can usually figure out someone’s weak points and on my lesser days, I go for the jugular. These incidents have never the proudest moments I’ve had in my career as a human being. The temporary satisfaction of triumphing over my perceived enemy has never been worth the long-term shame over how much damage I inflicted. That’s my satya – within me lie demons of ego that best lay sleeping – in spite of my desire to lash out like a two year old. At some point in the game, I need to square my shoulders, be the responsible adult, and do what I can to keep things moving forward in a productive manner instead of indulging my infantile longings for revenge.

Satya — it’s so much easier in theory. It is so much easier in theory. We speak the truth. We don’t tell lies. But what happens when the “truth”, as near as I can figure it out, is “you’ve made a rotten business decision”, or “that decision was ill-advised, poorly thought out and an excellent example of short term thinking”. How does one delicately say, “that particular course of action can only be described as the perfect storm of egoism, strategic ineptitude and irrationality”?

When I’m asked directly, do I speak the truth and invite the hyper-defensive backlash or do I polite murmur something soothing, anything to keep the peace, and let the situation build to hurricane strength?

Getting into a ‘flame war’ with this individual would only goad him into upping it another notch. I suspect he really wants someone to take him on so he has a reason to blow up. It’s a control thing. It’s how he manages people issues in his life – by making his perceived enemies (which is just about the population of the entire planet) want to slit their wrists rather than deal with his emotional baggage one more time. Truly, how does one make peace with someone who thrives on war? When every interpersonal transaction is reduced to a zero sum game – I win; you lose – the soul wearies quickly. Passive-aggressive people are difficult to deal with because they are so emotionally dishonest – with themselves. They’re the masters of ensuring no one can win. It’s a strategy of what I’ve always called “blow torch diplomacy’. The peace is kept by ensuring that everyone within arm’s length is burnt to cinders.

Mistakes were made… damn right. What was my role in the mistake making process? Partly, it came about because I wasn’t honest with others. I had a longer history of dealing with this man than the others. Previously, I’d been on the receiving end of his complete abdication of any sense of personal responsibility for anything. This work project was something I entered into against my better judgment. Was it just last year that I swore I would NEVER do business with him again in any capacity?

So why did I go along with it? I did it because I didn’t know how to voice my objections in a way that didn’t sound like pettiness and backbiting gossip. I did it because I didn’t know how to say, “I can’t deal with this person. We have a history, and I don’t have the capacity to deal with him.” I didn’t know how to say to him, “I don’t want to work with you because whenever I do, I develop this never-ending throbbing pain in my ass that lasts for weeks.” I did it because it was easier to go with the flow and hope for the best than pay attention to the wisdom of my own voice.

So, Kate, how do you like your dukha – over easy or sunny-side up? We create our own suffering. I got caught out here trying to respect the principle of ahimsa (non-violence) over satya (truth). I would have avoided the whole mess if only I found the courage to respect my own wisdom on the issue of working with this man. It would have resulted in some embarrassment. I might have even risked being perceived by others in my work group as being “mean” or “jealous” or “insecure” because I didn’t want to work with this seemingly charming man.

Inwardly, even as I write this, I’m cringing because I know that things are eventually going to come to a head between this man and me. Ignoring each other isn’t an option. At some point, I’m going to need to put the concepts of Ahimsa and Satya together and directly say, “No, I don’t want to work with you on this or any other project because I find you too difficult to work with.”

Does that sound mean-spirited and cutting? Hmmmmmmm, do you see what I mean? I got myself into this mess in the first place because I was overly concerned about how I would be perceived by others. Maybe in the future version of myself, I will have grown a spine. Otherwise, mistakes will be made.

Namaste and thanks for reading,

Kate

Anger

Tough. Demanding. Doesn’t suffer fools lightly. Volatile. Impossible. Direct. Pointed. All of these have been used to describe me at some point in my life. I have a track record of being an angry woman. It’s been part of my personality for a long time. In truth, it’s hard to scratch the skin of any woman over the age of about 30 and not find anger in some format but I’m just a little more expressive of it than most.

The problem with being angry most of the time is it’s damn hard on the head and harder yet on the body. The physiological high of the adrenaline rush has an addictive quality. Life is just a little bit larger, colours are a little bit brighter, and the mind is a little bit sharper. Anger brings with it it’s own power trip which reinforces the continuation of the state. Sometime in the distant past, I might have been angry and with just cause, but over time, it became a habit.

Yoga has helped. I’m much calmer, less quick to react, more patient with others and myself but occasionally, something arises to remind me that I’m still very much a work in progress.

The work I’ve been doing on the mat is loosening more than just the connective tissue of my body. Anger seems to be boiling out of some cauldron deep within me. So far, it’s an unformed, nebulous, lurking anger that seems without direction, cause or form. I don’t know who I’m angry with (if anyone) or what I’m angry about (if anything), it’s just this backdrop of unspecified anger.

Meditation proves to be no relief, at least not in the short run. If nothing else, it’s making it worse because the act of being still allows these emotions bubble up. Meditation brings me to a sense of awareness of something I’d rather not be aware of at all, thank you very much. .

So what wisdom does yoga have to offer me as I try to sort out this situation? First, and thankfully, yoga doesn’t tell me to just wish it away and pretend it isn’t happening. My anger is real. It might be ill founded, related largely to my ego, and directly proportional to my emotional need to be right, but it is real and real in its consequences. When we’re angry, we’re angry for a reason, even if it’s a pretty specious one on the surface.

In my fantasy world – you know the one where I’m 6’, blonde and have 7% body fat – I picture my yogini self as a island of tranquility, a veritable oasis of wisdom and discernment.  The reality version is much less  sanguine.  Things still piss me off.  People still have the  capacity to annoy the living daylights out of me.  And when I turn to yoga,  I thankfully am not innudated with some  Pollyannish  claptrap. Yoga tells me to be angry, to neither deny it or repress it.  Yoga doesn’t expect  me to justify it or rationalize it either.  It simply accepts it for what it is — another human emotion.

I can’t help but compare this to a cultural notion that we shouldn’t experience any negative emotions. There’s a cultural expectations that we should always be in a state of positive emotions. We should be happy. We should be tranquil. And when we’re not, there’s something wrong, potentially pathological. In particular, we have a strong cultural stigma against anger in women.

What a relief to have ‘permission’ to be angry. It’s one less thing to be peeved about. This cultural notion anger is appropriate only for men and is somehow unacceptable in women just winds me up but that’s a rant for another day.

Still yoga offers some relief. It acknowledges my anger but it teaches me something else — how to cope with it. Yoga teaches me that I’m not my thoughts nor am I defined by my emotions. Right now, I am experiencing anger but I am not my anger.  And yoga teaches me that all things are subject to change, including my anger. Perhaps this is the best solution for my rage at things unformed — sit and be angry. let myself experience the emotion in its purity without trying to construct a narrative around it. Walk away from the temptation to concoct stories that justify my feelings.

I feel anger. I am not that anger but I feel it. It simply is. And tomorrow, it will be different because I will be different.

Thanks for reading and Namaste,

Kate

Good grief, it’s bloody 3 am…

Normally, when I’m working dayshifts and am in need of being to work way too early in the AM, I set my alarm clock for 4:15 am in order to get in my practice before biking off to work. Winters are slightly more civilized in that I get up at 4:45 am, as I have not yet developed any psychological disorders that compel me to push my bike through 8 feet of bloody snow.

That said, it’s safe to assume that at 3 o’clock this morning, I was safely as a-snug in my widdle bed, unlike the inconsiderate, low-life, mouth breathing morons engaged in a battle royale on the street immediately outside my bedroom window. Snap — The police dispatcher was awake and ON DUTY. I listened for a minute, long enough to determine that no one is getting hurt, looked at the bedside clock a moment and decided, it’s highly unlikely I’m getting back to sleep anytime soon.

Now it’s been nearly 18 hours since my last practice and let’s just assume the Om has pretty much worn off. My capacity to demonstrate any sort of compassion towards my fellow humans, particularly when they’re stewed in the alcoholic beverage of their choice, is somewhere between nil and non-existent. In fact, I’m feeling pretty judgmental right now.

A word of advice to the world in general and residents of my street in particular: If you cannot handle your liquor, you ought not drink. Hint: anytime you find yourself out on the sidewalk, screaming at your significant other at 3 am and waking otherwise peaceable yoginis from their dreams, it’s a sure sign you can’t handle your liquor. Sometimes God speaks in mysterious tongues. This isn’t one of those times. It’s pretty clear cut. Lay off the booze.

Of course, now that I’ve had a chance to fully wake up and process the entire event …. I’d like to report that I’m all calm, cool and compassionate about it. I’m not. I’ve got a 12 hr Saturday day shift ahead of me and frankly, I could have used that sleep. But the drunks have wandered off and an hour later, I’m still peeved with the events they’ve likely forgotten by now. Seems like someone here is attached to her need to be right (and/or sleeping).

A word of advice to the world in general and residents of my street in particular: Anytime you find yourself still muttering about a minor event an hour after it’s transpired, it’s a sure sign you can’t handle your attachments. Sometimes God speaks in mysterious tongues. This isn’t one of those times. It’s pretty clear cut. Lay off the self-righteous anger.

Aparigraha — not grasping — is a fine yoga concept to drag out of the woodwork right now. Letting the experience be what it was and letting it go. Not grasping it to me and turning it into some emotional soap opera and not clinging to my desire to be right and a cut above the uncouth louts who disturbed my slumber.

It’s easy to see our neighbour’s addictions and their kleshas at work. Sometimes it’s not so easy to spot our own in action. And at some level I just have to laugh… five years ago, in my pre-yoga life, I would not have got out of bed, muttered madly until I had processed enough to write a self-reflective post on the experience. Hell, no, I would have yelled out the window and been launching bookends for missiles if I got any back chat. And I would have wound myself into a state of justifiable rage for the next 24-48 hours (yeah, because that’s so good for the old blood pressure).

Who needs double blind studies to prove yoga works? For me, all the proof I need right now is the fact my bookends are still on my bedside table and not out in the driveway.

Thanks for reading and Namaste,

Kate