Thursday, February 28, 2013

Churning and Meditating

Sometimes putting words to how I'm feeling or what I'm experiencing is nearly impossible. But here goes.

Everything is shifting right now. The waters are all being stirred. While I'm excited to see what this churning is all about, it's also a lot to process.

I've been working on training documentation for my day job, and I have realized how much of what I do resides in my own head. Sure, I can write instructions on how to operate a web management tool, I can create spreadsheets that clearly show what content needs to go where and for whom. But so much of what I do is just plain decision-making. You can't write an instruction manual on how to make decisions.

But I'm doing my best with it. I'm writing down everything I can think of, and that in itself is causing more and more to rise to the surface. All in all, this may be the most difficult training I've ever given in my career. And I've given a LOT of training in my career.

This may also be the most important exercise in my career, though, too. I've got a million ideas for books I want to write, videos I want to produce, articles I want to make available to people -- but the cerebral nature of my expertise has made it difficult to pin down outlines for any of it. Now, being forced to get my cerebral expertise down on paper at my day job, it's starting to crack open the door to writing this other material.

So I'm swimming in this world of performing my day-to-day tasks while preparing to pass them on and learn a new job. Meanwhile, lunch breaks, evenings and weekends are dedicated to doing the million other jobs I have. And in the midst of this whirlpool, I have found meditation again.

It's been years since I had a regular meditation practice. And I really don't know why. Next to exercise and eating right, it is the most crucial thing I could do for my health. This shifting happening in my life is actually pushing me into meditation now -- like God has had it with my resistance and is taking matters into His own hands. I find I crave that quiet time. In the afternoon, no matter how busy I have been, I have made the time to take a break and go meditate almost every day for two weeks. I've had severe bouts of insomnia off and on as well, which has forced me to meditate to get my mind to calm down and go to sleep.

But beyond those quiet moments, I find the more I practice, the more I can carry that meditative state into the active parts of my day. Anxieties are being overridden, stresses are not causing the knots between my shoulder blades they usually do, I'm more focused and conversations are flowing more naturally.

I can feel it, physically, when I'm losing that meditative state and the troubles of the world are flooding into my consciousness. It feels like... sinking. And given my still-fresh grief, sinking feels especially dangerous.

Coming back to meditation, I feel like things are starting to flow in my life again. This churning, shifting life of mine is just the chug of the engine that is going to move things along again, and move us back onto the path of miracles.

And that led me to handle the latest bad news with more grace than I thought I had in me.

I had a phone appointment with our fertility doctor on Tuesday. Long story short... he's essentially giving up on us. Until we're ready to pay $20,000 to do IVF, there's nothing more he can do. Given that in my last conversation with him, he had told me that if we're still not pregnant in another month, he'd like to go forward with more invasive testing -- well, I should have been devastated when he told me, "Well, this certainly isn't the scenario we were planning on when we started down this path. I can't justify testing when all of your x-rays and ultrasounds have shown nothing wrong. Take a break and consider IVF." And I was devastated -- but not because he's giving up. Because I felt like we wasted all that time, money and energy, and we put my body through hell, for nothing. But at the same time I felt... free. No more pills that give me hot flashes and migraines. No more driving into downtown Denver for painful procedures. It's just me and Jeremy again. And the two of us can move mountains.

I cried, yes, I admit it. When I got off the phone with the doctor and I had to relay this information to Jeremy, I was sad. I felt myself sinking -- but I buoyed myself back up. I can't afford to have doubts. Doubts, I'm sure, are what have prevented us from conceiving all this time. I clung to the hope that these doctors could help us, but after a while I started realizing that they didn't know any more than we do.

I feel family in my bones. I know that sounds weird, but I can't think of any other way to put how I feel about having children. Children are coming to us, I just know it. Jeremy and I have not had an easy path, in anything. Not in our marriage, our careers or our family. But I feel like that's just all experience points. We're gathering those points to put toward a grand prize.

I have this vision of posting a blog years from now, full of pictures of our growing family, and linking back to this one. The hyperlink will simply say, "I told you so."

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