On Why I Clean Everyday

Posted on by Esterina Anderson

First – why do you care? Haha, but really… If you care at all, why do you? How does it affect you?

When I was 22 years old I moved to Cape Cod. I was entering the Active USCG Reserves while transitioning from a military member to a military spouse. My new home was located on a military base. It was not my first home as an adult, but it was the first home I set up alone.

This period was a transitional time in my life. Before then I went straight from high school into the military. I was married just over a year later and unexpectedly pregnant 6 months after that. My life was busy and I had not truly actively planned anything in my life until that point. As I looked around at all the boxes and pictures to hang, the disorder around me was affecting my mind. Or was it the disorder in my mind affecting my outer world?

I quickly went to work setting up home. While I opened boxes, and organized the outward disarray, the disorder in my mind started to unravel into digestible thoughts. How do I gather all the college credits I accumulated into applying for a degree? Do I quit smoking? Have another baby? What do I want to be when I grow up?

As I unpacked and moved items, then moved items again into better places I made notes – call the education office, look into the local college, schedule that physical, reach out to neighbors, ask about pediatricians, talk to spouse about a new baby while this little guy was still young so he had a playmate…

The act of outwardly organizing was helpful. I was making progress on something important, but also the monotony combined with the active thinking of where we would most easily grab a plate was just enough active/inactive brain power to keep my mind focused on thinking about the next phase of my life.

When the house was all set up and arranged just so, I missed the act of taking care of it. So I cleaned it really well. Again, the repetition and combination of active/inactive thought was helpful in  organizing my inner thoughts. As they were all I had while doing this type of work.

I learned then I very much enjoyed cleaning. All these years later I would label what I was doing as a sort of meditation. But at the time it only felt like cleaning. I started to clean everyday in various ways. There was everyday picking up (dishes, laundry, diapers, trash, wipe the table…) but also things that needed to happen often but not daily – wash floors, launder sheets, clean bathroom. I put the nondaily essentials into a schedule for myself the way I learned in my years of cooking and ended up doing meal planning and shopping… basically transferring my work skills to my home. Then I moved these things to the outside – fix fence, mow lawn, ask about the grass seeds that are supposedly free…

I met my neighbors. They were all lovely. The one who was the friendliest lived across the street and worked on the base as a cleaner for the military houses in between family transitions. I don’t remember her name but I will call her Melanie. I asked Melanie what she did when she cleaned these empty houses and she told me all about the floors and the blinds and the walls and corners, and all the checkboxes she had to complete. Surprisingly her house was quite a mess and she didn’t really enjoy cleaning. But she did comment that she saw me cleaning often.

What ???

Saw me cleaning? How?

Through your window Melanie replied…

Through my window I thought?

Now I was embarrassed. But intrigued by what she told me. I hadn’t thought about cleaning blinds or paying attention to ceiling or floor corners.

A day or two later I decided to tackle the blinds. As I was doing so Melanie waved to me from insider her home across the street. I was slightly embarrassed yet again but continued to clean the blinds as if it were a normal everyday occurrence.

The next time I saw Melanie she commented on my cleaning again. Melanie commenting on my cleaning became the standard. It embarrassed me so I often would wait until I didn’t see her mini-van in the carport to clean anywhere near my own windows or outside.

None-the-less from there I continued a lifelong habit of cleaning nearly daily and scheduling various cleaning tasks for various days of the week.

Through the years I’ve had to explain and defend my cleaning to my partners, neighbors, kids, step-kids, friends who comment with some kind of annoyance that my house is clean. I was always trying to hide it, clarify where I saw dirt or oils, negotiate with the kids to just vacuum that room – yes on this vacuum setting. It was exhausting. I loved to clean when no one was home so I didn’t have to explain it.

Which brings me to the point of this blog. Why did anyone care that I was cleaning in the first place? I didn’t really ask for help. The kids chores of table setting, dish washing, cleaning their own bathrooms on a schedule or scraping the cat litter of the cats they wanted were not chores of some Nazi clean loving freak. The cleanliness of other people’s homes doesn’t affect how much I enjoy visiting their home or their company in any way. I’m not judging those who don’t like to clean. I know I’m unusual in this particular way.

Which brings me to a bigger question. Why does anyone really care what other people do? How they take care of their home, how often they cut their lawn, their hair, their fingernails? How deep into my life do you care about what I do? Why does my lawn count and my fingernails not so much?

At what point does what I do affect truly affect anyone else? Or does what I am doing make others reflect on what they are doing? And is that really my problem? Should I be hiding my true nature in worrying about how others will look at me or themselves?  I did hide my real self for a long time worrying about what other people thought. That was not healthy.

This question grows from me into the larger scale. Why does anyone care who anyone loves or how they use their body to please a lover? How does the spices one uses in their cooking matter to you? Why does it matter how other cultures cook, pray, love, dress, and take care of one another?

Yes – there are things that affect other people in some ways. But not as many as you think. Maybe the one house on the block with the overgrown lawn can bring down the property value of the street. There are things you can have influence over – like talking to that homeowner and maybe even offering to cut their lawn because it’s a single parent short on time. But perhaps do back down and accept how things are if that person doesn’t reply the way you’d like. You cannot control other people and just because you don’t like something they do or don’t do, it doesn’t make them wrong or crazy. Why waste any mental energy on something you cannot control?

I’m not saying it’s easy to do this, I’m just offering the suggestion to ask yourself why you might care and why you are wasting your mental energy on something you can’t control. There is a locus of what you can control, influence and what you have no control over.

I clean all the time. I like it. It clears my mind. For me the house doesn’t need to be very dirty to clean it (most folks shower daily even when they aren’t that dirty). It is something in this crazy world that I feel I have control over. I like the way I feel after moving around and taking care of the animate and inanimate objects that I own like my bed, plants and pets. I like the way those objects like being taken care of by me. I like the way my surroundings look. The question I asked myself when I was 22 about the disorder of my environment affecting my mind or if it was the other way around is irrelevant to me today. Both matter and this is one of my methods to tackle both.

But why do I need to even explain that?

So I ask again and again and again… why does it matter?

You have control over the thoughts about why this or anything matters. Are you wasting your energy on something you want to waste it on? Do you have control over it? Influence? Neither?

I’m going to clean whether anyone likes it or not. I hope you collect your gnomes or pink socks or do whatever it is that you like as well as long as no one is getting hurt. Don’t worry if I like it, I love you for being you and doing what you love.

Make sure you are doing no harm and then do what you love without shame or question or worry.

Be the change you want to see. Be what you wish the world to be.

It’s all you can do.

On the Teacher and Communication 

Posted on by Esterina Anderson

This story (two paragraphs down) has come up for me in various ways during past few weeks. I’ve been referencing it in thought and in conversations. I feel the story is rich with many lessons, particularly the meat of the story on emotions. One lesson I continue to ponder and adjust my own behavior on is clarity in communication.

This week alone there were at least five occasions at work and three at home where I was listening intently to another person and either during the communication or shortly thereafter realized that there was more than one way to interpret what was being said. Yesterday I interrupted an ongoing written chat to suggest that it’s difficult to get what is inside one person’s head into another’s and asked if we could verbally communicate. Since I read and discussed this story, I have been picking up the phone and turning on my camera far more often than before to make sure that I am on the same page as the other individual(s) I am working with. 

Negative Emotions by Lydia Davis

A well-meaning teacher, inspired by a text he had been reading, once sent all the other teachers in his school a message about negative emotions. 

The message consisted entirely of advice quoted from a Vietnamese Buddhist monk:

Emotion, said the monk, is like a storm: it stays for a while and then it goes. Upon perceiving the emotion (like a coming storm), one should put oneself in a stable position. One should sit or lie down. One should focus on one’s abdomen. One should focus, specifically, on the area just below one’s navel, and practice mindful breathing. If one can identify the emotion as an emotion, it may then be easier to handle.

The other teachers were puzzled. They did not understand why their colleague had sent a message to them about negative emotions. They resented the message, and they resented their colleague. They thought he was accusing them of having negative emotions and needing advice about how to handle them. Some of them were, in fact, angry.

The teachers did not choose to regard their anger as a coming storm. They did not focus on their abdomens.  They did not focus on the area just below their navels. Instead, they wrote back immediately, declaring that because they did not understand why he had sent it, his message had filled them with negative emotions. They told him that it would take a lot of practice for them to get over the negative emotions caused by his message. But, they went on, they did not intend to do this practice. Far from being troubled by their negative emotions, they said, they in fact liked having negative emotions, particularly about him and his message.

This reading opened my eyes to how often there is a disconnect between what is said and what is understood. I just haven’t noticed this before. It is particularly apparent when the communication is in writing.

I would like to convey that reading something like this on my own is different than hearing it read. Moreover, the more I read it; the richer it becomes. And when it’s discussed with other people I get perspectives I would have never come to on my own. 

Well DUH…

This is often the case for me too in a local library writing group I attend and a banned book club that I often participate in.

My favorite recent example of this “Duh” is after reading this passage about the teacher, a member of the group brought up the author’s use of the words “well-meaning teacher”. A poignant question was asked –Would the story have been interpreted differently had those 3 words not been there?

Good question! And my own answer is yes- absolutely. 

In one the many recent times I brought this story up and related it to a topic that was being discussed, the idea of being a third-party observer came to mind. The third party (reader) could discern that the teacher’s well-meaning intention does change the nature of the story. But that cannot necessarily be seen if you are a character in the story. 

I would like to say that in the past I looked at all perspectives and intents neutrally; but that wouldn’t be an honest assessment if I am honest with myself.

I know I always intended to do this. I know often I tried to put myself in the other person’s shoes. I know sometimes (more rarely) I did try to imagine I was writing a position paper and imagined how one could argue both sides. But those were for touchy issues. In my everyday life while communicating I assumed I understood and was being understood. Something about this story of the teachers flipped that assumption for me. 

Recently I have been looking at all communication with the assumption that I probably don’t understand and I’m probably not being understood. 

In the end what does this all mean? Well, that we need to pay attention more to what we are saying and how we are listening.

Soooooo….. at this point I could imagine one saying 

“That sounds complicated Esterina, I don’t have time or patience to think about everything I am about to say or think about what you mean!”

… and I can’t really disagree. What I am describing takes mental work and a little time that I didn’t apportion to it before. 

But the more I think about it, the more important I realize this is necessary and worth the effort. It’s an investment into saving time, building trust, and fostering peace. 

This next part might sound divergent from the topic, but it’s not particularly.

Over this last summer I did something I have been meaning to do for years. I changed my political affiliation to “unaffiliated”. I came to the realization that I don’t think the left and the right are that different in thoughts. Neither want school shootings to go on, unwanted pregnancies and subsequent babies, or to be hated because of what they look like or who they love. Small snippets, barbs and banners like “baby killer” or “2nd amendment” do not do justice to the complex topics and the varying ways they can be resolved that the majority of people who don’t reside on far left/right spectrums could find a solution to. We are all so distracted by extremes and categorizing, and are so busy and sure of ourselves that we aren’t taking the time to think anything through.

Aligning and dividing is the quick solution. These divisions are based on assumptions of what you think the other party’s intention is.

What I am describing is a human and natural response. But it doesn’t make it morally right. And it certainly doesn’t foster peace. 

Not many people are listening with the intent to hear. We were not really taught anywhere how to listen. 

It is mental work to consider the ways in which your words might have different meanings to someone listening. 

It’s even more difficult to consider a point of view you don’t like. Or be open to changing your mind. Or to stay put and engaged when a topic makes you uneasy. 

But I will argue that it’s wrong to run away, ignore, retort back without thinking through how your words could be interpreted and it’s certainly not helpful to not consider the filters and paradigms you operate in.

How could you not want to do this work and then wonder why we don’t have world peace? 

This short story about the teacher goes deeper for me, in that we frequently get so caught up in what we think are other’s intentions and agendas, we often miss the opportunity to have a rich discussion about the topic at hand.  

What was not discussed in my group or even here in the blog was the whole intention of this poor fictional teacher’s message about how emotions come and go like weather. What an awesome and very true analogy! And the irony of how the very message about emotions was neglected because of you guessed it- emotions…. 

I could go on… I could always go on, but I will stop and end with one more note to possibly consider.

It’s a new year. I gave up on New Year’s Resolutions a while ago. But I will never give up on wanting to be a better human and leaving the space I took up in the world better than I found it. If you don’t want to make New Year’s Resolutions but want to consider something to work on, perhaps contemplate how you might remove yourself from the stories you find yourself in and imagine being the reader of that story who is able to see and reflect on the full picture. And perhaps think about that monk’s message too, the one that got lost in all this the next time you sense a storm…

Happy New Year

On Coming Full Circle

Posted on by Esterina Anderson

If you haven’t read The Alchemist (spoiler alert: skip to the next paragraph if you ever plan to and don’t want to know how it ends) and grasped the true meaning, it speaks to how you can travel the world, be rich, be poor, and experience everything life can possibly offer, but you will not find what you are looking for until you look right where you are. In essence the treasure we seek is within.

Last night I came back from a 28-hour marathon trip from Westhampton Beach, NY, across the Long Island sound via Port Jefferson to Connecticut, to Branford/Rhode Island/Branford/Rhode Island and back across the sound on the east end of LI via Orient Point to drive back to where I started from. I went in a large circle.

While having a quick take-out dinner I grabbed earlier in the day on the Cross Sound Ferry yesterday evening, I suddenly felt the urge to MOVE. I had been in the car or in a tight crammed space for more than a day and felt like I HAD to break free.

But there was almost nowhere to go…

So I walked. And walked. And walked.

I walked  around and around in circles on the ferry. The wind was warm. Breezier in some parts than others. I breathed it all in deeply. The sun was setting.  

I passed the same people many times. People mostly doing the same things, on their phones with a handful engaged with another. I walked past them over and over in my own reverie as the ship moved forward from one destination to the next.

Something about this felt symbolic. Many remain in one spot, or like I was doing, going around and around in circles as we are carted ahead by life via a man-made creation known as time.

Once the ferry arrived and I began the drive from the east end, it all felt so very familiar. The dark. The long winding roads. Infrequently passing other cars as I skirted my eyes toward the right to where the white line meets the end of the road – as I was taught in Defensive Driving when I was 16.

I felt like I was that age again. Driving familiar roads. Some of the same roads I had driven then. The landscape of the road, the lining of the trees against the night sky, the warm summer air, the cicadas, and the crickets. All my senses were highly engaged. I was so present and aware of the present and the connection to the past.

The radio was on and connected to my iPhone. I was listening to Angels and Airwaves. I looked at the name of the album’s words that lit up on my car’s navigation display.

Stomping the Phantom Brake Pedal

I only just noticed what those words mean.

Has my life just gone on until now while I went in circles?

I spent my entire adulthood on a path away from where I grew up.

The first 16 years or so were quite lovely. I put trauma behind and made a life for myself. One that I was proud of. But a divorce and what should have been a happier ending threw me into a tailspin. I was suddenly looking for something. And to make what could be a very long story short, I unearthed trauma that was still lingering and the last 13 years have been about discovery and healing.

But I stayed away from home.

My current husband grew up a mere 7 miles as the crow flies from the place I attempted to escape and was driving toward last night. I’ve visited his hometown for years while skirting around my own. I never really went back mentally or physically.

Then a few weeks ago on a whim I decided to stop in my own hometown on the way past it. I was alone. I had time. I suddenly wanted to see it.

To my wonder I felt nostalgia. Something I never imagined I would feel. The feeling came on quickly, without warning. It hurt because it felt unfamiliar. Yet it was very happy, and at the same time very sad. A mix of emotion that only nostalgia unearth.

A few days later I realized I could love and dislike the past equally. It’s not all or nothing.

The feeling of suddenly being open to seeing the good of the past felt so free.  It was a band aid that had been on for so long that when it came off, that part of me felt exposed and unfamiliar – yet amazing. In the same way skin under tape would feel when exposed once again to the sun. Cautious, but so warm and dare I say inviting?

I let that all marinate for a few weeks and carried on with this temporarily homeless existence my husband and I have been living in since our home has been under construction in June.

And here I was last night coming back to where I started the prior day and literally close to  where my adulthood journey began.

The song Reel 1 (Diary) was playing. A song that starts out so quietly you need to strain to hear it. It ramps slowly over the next 5 minutes up to a beautiful crescendo so intense that the moment the lyrics break the invisible audible barrier, you can almost feel your body release with the musical vibration –    

Reel 1 (Diary) Lyrics

Breathe

Open up the air flow

Taking in a ray of light

Stretch across the long coast

Falling back on past time

Sleeping in the wallow

Crying and shivering

Hunting for your sorrow

Bending down to hold it

Shiver like a young child

Scatters like a serpent

Killing off your habit

Take me as your servant

Take me as your weapon

Take me as your courage

Take me as your servant

Take me as your servant

Take me as your servant

I suddenly want to break out. Not so dissimilar to the feeling I had on the ferry earlier.

What I am looking for has always been with me like in The Alchemist. I know this intellectually. However, it seems difficult to access most of the time.

Last night that portal was wide open.

I wanted to be where I was. In the flow. In the perfect moment always, like the spiritual teachings of all shapes, sizes and religions teach us. We are always where we are supposed to be.

If we let go of our imaginary steering wheel and embrace what God/Brahma/The Universe has in store for us, we will truly be able to enjoy the ride.

Maybe my purpose this morning is to write about this. To scream from the rooftops (in the modern world from behind a computer) that you can Stomp on the Phantom Brake Pedal, out of stand stills or ruts you find yourself, and exterminate habits that stop you from being the fullest expression of yourself.

I feel it now at this very moment. I know I will forget it quite soon and carry on with my day and my life very much as I always have, but perhaps a smidgen more enlightened.

It’s all these little “smidges” of becoming more aware that lead to peace and flow. That is the only path “forward”.

Perhaps forward is really upward?

Perhaps we can stay where we are in that same physical place, the same rut, but use the brake to find true freedom in knowing that there is always a very special treasure within.

That treasure is inner freedom and peace.  

On Your Hometown

Posted on by Esterina Anderson

I read a lot. When I veg out alone with the TV, I often watch documentaries. I don’t really know how I find these things (Amazon, Netflix, Kindle, etc have me pegged as a certain type I guess); but what I do know is that there are common themes. Mostly ones that would apply to a middle-aged woman.

One of the common themes is a main character who left their hometown after high school graduation and never looked back. In my books/shows that person is usually drawn back for some innocuous reason like a wedding or funeral, and  then find themselves entangled in stories, immersed in the past, and unraveling a mystery in which they are the hero or heroine of the story.

In the end they come back to their town.

I watch with intrigue but never imagined ever wanting to go back to my hometown. For the record I still don’t, but for the first time in my life this last weekend – I was intrigued by visiting and putting my toe in what always seemed like a waste of time to dabble in.

Like the characters in my stories there is an element of a painful past I’d rather escape. But in the mix are really, amazing happy memories too.

I’ve struggled with that.

It’s only in the past few years as I’m inching up to the age of 50 that I can see the value in looking upon the past as just what it was. It doesn’t have to be all bad in my mind as my brain probably made it out to be in order to cope and not get sucked back it. It’s a healthy reaction to trauma.

But truth be told, I had far more good times than bad. And it’s only now that I feel healthy enough to look at it all without negative emotion clouding all the good memories.

I lived in Brooklyn until I was 12, but those 6 real formulative years where you transition from child to adult I spent in Long Island in a small town often nicknamed “Mistake Beach”.

For good or bad, it is a large part of what made me who I am. There is nothing wrong with embracing what is and loving it all as part of life.

I have  been thinking about my hometown all week and today put together a little video.

I truly feel like I am in a place that I love every good and bad place I’ve ever been, any good or bad thing that ever happened to me or that I did. Because it all brought me to here where self-inquiry and self-reflection have a meaningful place with 47 years of experience to draw upon to be a better and healthier person for the second half of my life.

I’m grateful for all of it. Today in particular I’m grateful for Mastic Beach – my Hometown. No more hiding from the past.

On Minors and Gender Issues

Posted on by Esterina Anderson

I’m not a bigot in any way. I feel alive and love when people are who they are inherently. I can tell when they are being something other than themselves and it bothers me because it feels inauthentic.

I am ecstatic to live in a period of time where you can love anyone who you connect with openly and free. Maybe we aren’t completely there yet, but we are way closer than we have ever been in history. And we continue to progress everyday.

In this time period there is also a controversy over medical care and human rights. Particularly gender dysphoria. This part I don’t understand. 

Regardless of any health issue that arises, we should always try the least invasive solutions before diving into something unknown or irreversible. It’s not only the right thing for our bodies, it’s socially responsible for the cost of healthcare. 

To be clear I am not opposed to any kind of lifestyle and/or partner of any possible combination. 

And if there is no other solution one tries for being comfortable in your skin other than modifying your body with surgery or medicine, then I support whatever it takes to ensure that we are comfortable expressing ourselves as who we are.

To be clear however, I am opposed to this as a first solution or any solution for minors. Particularly for minors. 



I just don’t get what the controversy is about on gender altering for minors. 

Why can’t we buy cigarettes until the age of 21? 

We’ve made this restriction because we believe says we aren’t wise enough to make the decision to do something potentially harmful to our bodies. We KNOW it’s harmful and a risk. My mom died of lung cancer at the age of 49 from smoking. It’s bad for us. But there are people who live well into their 90s smoking everyday and don’t pass from smoking issues. It’s a risk. 

Same with 21 as the age limit for alcohol and in states where it’s legal – Marijuana. Risks.  Being old enough to decide to take the risk. Alcoholism runs in my family. I myself need to stay dry because it affects me in very negative ways. 

What about car and vacation home rentals? Many have age limits of 25. No one is arguing with these. Young people in general are a risk for so many reasons. Too many to list. Most of the time it has to do with making decisions that as you get older you wouldn’t otherwise take.

Why can’t we vote until the age of 18? Or even get a tattoo? Or enlist in the military? Because our brains are not yet developed and we aren’t yet wise or experienced enough to think things through or make major decisions.

These age limits are universal. As you get older you can rationalize more clearly, understand your emotions and make better decisions than a 16 year old may.

We have a legal obligation to our children until the age of 18. An obligation to protect them, not just cater to their wishes. We don’t cater to them because they are not old enough to know their own minds yet. We should absolutely support and let them try out things they would like to explore. But I would draw the line at permanent body changes. Using the line “but I know my child” is not possible because if the child isn’t old enough by every law to even vote, they can’t know their own mind- so how could a parent?  

Related, but unrelated…. Weight loss surgery. Pediatric weight loss surgery is not common. It happens but it is uncommon. There are strict prerequisites for it. Those prerequisites are family support/community in place, the requirement that all other medically supervised diets and exercises have failed over the course of 6 months to a year, and mental health pre-op. Plus – the adolescent has to have a BMI of 40 or more. 

Even grown adults have these guidelines. 

So I have to ask why is it controversial to put an age limit on gender altering drugs and surgeries? 

These children cannot even vote, let alone buy a cigarette. We all agree they are not old enough to make decisions good for them or society, so why is it so controversial that they wait until at least the age of 18?

Why are we scared that adult rights are being taken away when we put parameters in place to limit gender altering drugs/surgeries on adults too? Parameters like medically supervised alternatives first and the requirement for emotional support and counseling, before and after? How different is it from bariatric surgery? 

I think these are important considerations and that law makers are being responsible with our healthcare dollars by putting these laws in place. Children are not able to vote or buy mind altering substances for a reason. So why are we even having the discussion about body altering? 

I’m not a bigot. I am just asking. We need to be able to ask questions without being seen as a bigot. 

Enlighten me so I can help support positive societal change too.

On the One who is Looking

Posted on by Esterina Anderson

This morning was a gorgeous, unseasonal April spring morning. There wasn’t a wisp of wind, and the water surrounding my home was perfectly still. I took these two photos. What I love about these pictures is the perfect reflection of the objects on the water.

The photo with the wooden boat stakes is particularly interesting in that it is nearly impossible to tell where the stake ends and the water begins.

This situation reminded me very much of our essence and our soul. Do we know where we begin and forever ends?

That may sounds deep, but it really is not.

This stillness of the water this morning reminded me of the quote “As above, So below”.

What does that mean?

My understanding is that the laws of physics and how things work in the universe (above) is how things work with us too (below).  

Both Us and the universe are made up of the same “stuff”.

Our bodies and minds operate the same way the universe operates. Yes – even our mind. While our mind is invisible to the eye, is still a product of the “stuff” in our universe.

As Carl Sagan often said “We are made of Star Stuff”.

The Yoga Sutras were written around 200BCE in Sanskrit. In the very first chapter it is explained that we really are not separate from the Universe/God/The Divine/Pure Consciousness (or whatever your concept is of an entity that is greater than us as individuals). It is said that we can’t see this because we are looking at ourselves through false lenses.

Why did they think this?

It sounds complicated but when it’s explained and thought through, it’s really simple!

  • Our minds are comprised of matter
  • This matter fluctuates
  • These fluctuations are what we perceive as mind chatter (that voice in our head that is talking to us all the time, replaying songs and conversations, worrying, chatting-chatting & CHATTING…)
  • These fluctuations and chatter impact our emotions
  • If we quiet the mind, we will be able to think clearly and not have our emotions impacted by our  thoughts
  • A quiet mind brings peace
  • Our emotional/mind connection functions like a mirror that is clouded. Others have interpreted the original Sanskrit to liken this to water.

That last bullet point is the most important and off the bat it makes the least sense. But if you stay with me maybe it will make sense to you too.

But what needs to be explained first is the watcher part.

Watcher Part???

I am blown away by the idea, expressed in the first part of the Yoga Sutras, that we are one with everything in the universe. We are all connected to just one thing. A source of sorts. All major religions incorporate this concept into their teachings.

That part, in and of itself, is not particularly mind blowing. I have always heard it; kind of accepted it, didn’t understand it, and just moved along.

But when I considered this in a different way, I was able to understand the absolute coolness (for lack of a better word) of how this can be.

This is the watcher part:

If we consider the monkey chatter of our mind and understand it to be the organ of our brain doing it’s thing –

Then the other part– the part of us that notices the chatter (which seems like the same part)  – is the part of us that is not stuff. If you are just reading this through right now to finish and didn’t grasp the lines here; re-read it.

Another way to put this is that when I notice a song in my head that I didn’t put there, the thing that noticed the song is not the same thing that is playing the song. They can’t be. How can the same thing notice something it didn’t do.

The first time I grasped this concept someone asked me to close my eyes and picture a dog. When they asked if I saw the dog, I said yes. Then they asked who created that image and I answered my mind. Then they asked if your mind created the dog image, who is seeing the dog? And who told the mind to put it there?

The part that notices is the part that sages, philosophers and religion describe as our immortal soul.

Psychoanalysts have use the Freudian construction of the Id, Ego and Superego. While the Supergo in Freud’s theory is sort not meant to be a soul, it is still the watcher. It is the part that hears the chatter of the mind and sees the images that are there.

This Superego has also been referred to as the Superconscious.

If our soul/superconscious is immortal and interpreting the world through our senses; which part is real?

Back to that last bullet point  which I will copy here again:

Our emotional/mind connection functions like a mirror that is clouded. Others have interpreted the original Sanskrit to liken this to water.

If water is moving, filled with dirt, impacted by wind – anything that would disturb it; it is not clear. Items reflected off of it will be distorted and not be reflected back as they really are.

Same with a mirror. If you look through it and it is distorted, moving, dirty, or clouded it is difficult to see the original image clearly.

The mind works the same. When it is filled with chatter, static, noise, etc – it does not see clearly.

When we still the mind we will feel peace.

That is fairly simple right? Easy concept but difficult to carry out.

But where does this reflection come in?

The One you are looking for is the One who is looking

If our immortal soul is watching the world and listening to our brain’s chatter through our bodies, unless we clear the mind; we will see distorted images. The mind is the vessel that transmits the image, like the water or the mirror.

On a completely similar note that may not be clear yet, scientists have been studying the theory of a holographic universe for about 25 years now Our Universe a Hologram. Meaning what we see and live in the 3D world is only in our minds.

I do know it sounds ABSOLUTELY CRAZY. I’ve watched at least a dozen documentaries and explanations about this. I understand parts of it for moments but get thrown off by the math and science that is beyond my ability to fully comprehend.

Perhaps it’s true. Think about it.

If as in the Yoga Sutras, our immortal self that is part of everything else can only see ourselves through the mirror of our mind  mirror, only one part is real. Because when we look through a mirror we see a duplicate of us. Only one is the original.

If the theory of As Above so Below has any merit, mirrors and water reflections and all that jazz shows two of everything, with the “two” really only being one.

But if the mirror is cloudy or the water is moving, it looks like 2 different objects, but really there is still only one.

If our mind works like everything else in the universe – what we experience when we still our mind is our true self. It is a point at which point we are aligned with all that is and are able to see that what is all around us is only a holograph.

But like my photo of the boat stakes, with that perfect reflection it is difficult to tell where one part begins and the other ends. But only one part is real.

What is looking is safe and secure for all of eternity; because it is eternity. It’s why we feel peace. It is Us. 

The moral of this story? Still the mind. Meditate. Be at Peace.

Namaste

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If anyone who read this far is still interested in learning more, the late philosopher Alan Watts explains this many times in many ways. He has many free podcasts to listen to. One talk in particular relates this concept to the scientific mystery of Quantum Entanglement. There is science behind all this! Religion, philosophy, the field of mental health and science are very much related.

“The biologist will show us very clearly there is no way of definitively separating a human organism from its external environment. The two are a single field of behavior. And then, furthermore, to observe something—either simply by looking at it, or more so by making experiments, by doing science on it—you alter what you’re looking at. You cannot carry out an observation without in some way interfering with what you observe. It is this that we try when we’re watching, say, the habits of birds: to be sure that the birds don’t notice us that we’re watching. To watch something, it must not know you are looking. And, of course, what you ultimately want to do is to be able to watch yourself without knowing that you’re looking. Then you can really catch yourself not on your best behavior and see yourself as you really are. But this can never be done. And likewise, the physicist cannot simultaneously establish the position and the velocity of very minute particles or wavicles. And this is in part because the experiment of observing nuclear behavior alters and affects what you’re looking at. This is one side of it: the inseparability of man and his world, which deflates the myth of the object of observer standing aside and observing a world that is merely mechanical, a thing that operates like a machine out there.”

On Self-Compassion

Posted on by Esterina Anderson

This morning I spent a little time creating a short yoga class that I will be providing at work on Monday. The Employee Health program is focusing on Self-Compassion and holding some events and classes that support this important concept.

From the definition on the Employee Health flier: Self-Compassion is the ability to turn compassion inward toward oneself, especially when we believe we fail, make a mistake or feel inadequate. 

How often do we focus on our heart? Take a moment to think about this amazing organ that relentlessly beats and gives you life.

Consider what your heart would tell your brain when you are down or have a negative dialogue ruminating in your head.

The heart generates 2-3 watts of energy through an electrical stimulus called the sinus node (or SA node). Your heart is the only thing in your body that generates its own electrical current from seemingly nowhere.

Where does this electricity comes from?

It is said the heart is connected to a larger energetic field linked to the universe.

Decade long studies show the heart has it’s own intelligence, neurological system and electromagnetic field. Additionally, these studies show that the heart’s intelligence is actually much larger and more powerful than the brain’s. Reference

We aren’t taught to consult the heart as a center of intelligence. If you listen to your heart, what would it tell you about self-compassion?

Consider self compassion and the way you treat yourself. How do you feel when a mistake was made, something didn’t happen that you wished would or your own level of adequacy? How does your heart feel about it? It is still in there beating, loving you and providing life for you.

As you go about the rest of the day and month where the American Heart Association focus’ on heart health, consider committing to catching yourself anytime you might not be as loving to yourself as your heart wishes it might be.

Be your own Valentine and treat yourself with kindness, compassion and understanding just the way your own beating heart does for you.

Namaste

Esterina

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On Lighthouses

Posted on by Esterina Anderson

Ever since I could remember I loved lighthouses. As a child they looked like fun structures to explore. Crazy stairs, little buildings nearby, and oddly shaped rooms.

Each looked different on the outside too. Varying colors, shapes, height and of course stories. Not just stories as in floors, but legends about ships, sailors and the keepers who kept them up and running.

These days they are automated (if they even work at all) and gone are the times of the lonely lighthouse keeper. On the other end, the need for lighthouses are not as pressing either. GPS and good maps not only provide solid  coordinates of where you are, but they also include every rock and shallow to avoid.

But the beauty and idea of the Lighthouse is still the same. They are beacons of hope for the lost and weary.

When you are proverbially lost at sea, all systems are down and hope is limited – the idea of a beacon of light seems intoxicating. I can only imagine sailors in the past or even someone on a small rescue boat  in 2022 floating along in a storm, in the dark, being cold, tired and hungry… then seeing a lighthouse! Knowing that safety and land are close by. Hope is restored. There is a chance of making it, and soon!!

Even if a [proverbial] sailor doesn’t need to stop, lighthouses are aids to navigation. They help to inform of whether or not you are on the right course.

The lighthouse is a helper, there if you need it and just looking beautiful and stately if you do not.

It can help to guide you securely in and out of a safe harbor. They are there to help keep you from danger.

Their light breaks through the darkness.

We need that kind of aid for hope today. Not only in our own backyard, but around the world. The first place that comes to mind is the Ukraine. They need to see hope. We all do.

I made these cookies at the end of this year, 2022 as a sign of hope, a beacon of light for things to come as we rip off the last page on the calendar and begin again.

Hope, peace, love… We can get there. It’s not impossible with all the love to go around, all the people who care, and all the aids we have to navigate us in the right direction.

Each lighthouse has a place in history and the lives it saved. However, that salvation was temporary to a mortal life.

I still LOVE lighthouses. I now photograph, draw and paint them. It’s the closest I can get to experiencing them other than popping by to visit them when I can.

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Edited in Prisma app with Bonfire

On Paula

Posted on by Esterina Anderson

I have worked in a hospital for 20 years. 99% of my work has to do with outpatient administration. I am been in the background and very much away from the inpatient floors. Those few floors are where the procedures, recoveries and most critical health issues take place. Yet I nearly always forget I work in a hospital.

On some work calls I hear about the inpatient statistics and infection rates of COVID. Those patients seem distant and far away. They have little to do with me. Yet on other calls where letters are anonymously shared, patients and family members have the most human experiences on those floors. Experiences that are so positively impacting to their lives that they take the time to share. 

While these letters cause me smile and temporarily feel proud for working in my organization, they do not personally touch me.

Enter Paula.

Yesterday my husband & I moved a wooden flower container that was Paula’s from our deck to our small garden area behind the fence to remove the dirt. 

As soon as we dumped the dirt the entire container fell apart. Pieces of wood mixed with the dirt. I was surprised at the great condition those pieces were in. Being a self-proclaimed up cyclist artist, I immediately saw beautiful pieces in which to make art on. First order of business was to make something involving Paula. 

Paula used to have beautiful wildflowers in that same box. I remember her telling me in 2020 how she went to go put some seeds from a packet into the container when the wind carried the seeds right out of the packet! She thought they flew away, but a few months later beautiful flowers appeared. 

Now, like her life – some of the most raw, beautiful things such as the wildflowers are long gone, but the memories and magnificence of what was there remains. 

Paula was the first neighbor I met when my husband and I bought our current house in 2016. It was a second home on the water in Branford. We had no intention of living at it for several years, so I was taken aback (in a good way!) when Paula and a host of other neighbors warmly welcomed us to the neighborhood. 

Somehow every time we were here, I saw Paula. She was always around. Walking, talking to neighbors, out with her happy dog Stella. Paula was in her mid-sixties and lived alone. She was FULL of life. Always smiling, laughing, joking… Happy.  

She often invited me over with my dog Koji to her fenced yard. Sometimes I had limited time at the house to complete work and declined her offers, other times I went there to spend time with her. In a short time, I learned about her life. She had a beautiful home that was lifted from the ground recently (flood risk) and again she was one of the happiest people I ran across regularly. 

She often hosted Happy Hours. She held a welcome party for anyone who moved to our small community. She randomly met people on walks or in town and made connections with them and for them. 

Somehow, I had her cell phone and she texted me often. She would often call to let me know about how nice my renters were, that an ambulance was on the street, that something happened in the neighborhood we might be interested in. 

I felt a part of the neighborhood even though we didn’t live there – thanks to Paula. 

Extra bananas, clothes she was cleaning out, a knickknack that reminded her of me… she was often coming by with items that I may want that she didn’t need. 

She dressed beautifully. Her natural hair color of nearly white looked very chic on her stylish cut. She had keys to our house and often went in to check on things while we were away. She welcomed nearly all our renters to the area. I still have dozens of comments from renters about how wonderful the area, neighbors and particularly “that lady across the street” Paula was. 

She was the only neighbor our children knew the name of. None of them ever lived here but when they visited they were sure to run into her. 

I shared my blogs and stories with her. She often commented and referred to little things I wrote in daily interactions.

Based on an innocuous comment one hot summer day in July 2018, she was the very reason I realized how my PTSD was different from panic attacks. This kicked me into a 3-day frenzy of large flipcharts and sticky notes about the root cause as I explored a past that I was previously afraid to face. 

During that time there was a storm and we lost power. I was alone in my current home here in Branford. While I never went over to her place, Paula invited me over daily to have some salads and enjoy the comforts of her generator. I was very much involved in my little self-exploration and in a strange but cathartic despair. I knew Paula was right there if I needed anything. And that was comforting. 

She came to every party we hosted with a very elaborate store-bought dish to share. She WAS the life of the party. I do remember though in the early months of 2019 during a party she disappeared quite early. The next day I brought her coat that she left behind over. She would tell me she didn’t remember going home. She was drinking so I wrote it off. 

In the late summer of 2019 when we permanently packed up our Cheshire home and made the move to Branford. Paula was very excited. Yet every so often she seemed confused. It was getting to be this way for a while. I can’t say when exactly. But she wasn’t the same. 

She was never the same. In 2020 the decline had taken an obviously noticeable turn. She turned 70 that year and in the height of COVID her brother and sister-in-law hosted a very nice outdoor party. Paula had friends staying with her from all different times in her life. My husband & I heard stories from them about Paula that were not surprising – how friendly and vibrant she was, how amazing of a friend she had been, how she lit up a room. And how the person now on her 70th birthday was only a shadow of Paula. 

Now it’s 2022. Her home is empty. She is a patient that some administrator counts the beans for. She is a number. Paula is someone that providers confer about how to handle during a huddle. Someone that the family members will likely write a nice letter for if her care was good. A random note that someone like myself who does background work to make such a place run will hear about, smile for a moment and carry on. 

But what about that patient’s life? Their loved ones? The people they touched? The remnants of their possessions that used to hold such life and love? – Like the planter that used to adorn her lawn which is now in pieces in my yard? Where and how does that all count? 

Where do those stories and that love go? 

I was a very small part of her life for a very short period of time. Thinking about Paula and these pieces of her planter (that I will absolutely turn into something beautiful) will hopefully help me to stop and think about each patient while I run thousands of beans for them in various “ways til’ Tuesday” so the administration can make data informed decisions. 

These lives count. All lives matter. We aren’t just numbers. We are amazing human experiences that make differences for the next lives that come along. The history of each one of us may not be recorded – but we make history with every last interaction of our lives. Even by accident. Like the wildflowers that appeared when Paula thought they flew away. She planted something beautiful and didn’t even know it. 

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Some pieces of the wood I plan to work on first out to dry.

On Non Alcoholic Beverages

Posted on by Esterina Anderson

20 months and counting. This is just my point of view and may not be suitable for all.

10/9/22

Today is 20 months without alcohol for me.

I’ve learned a lot about myself in the last 20 months, particularly about drinking. 

I love to drink. Not just alcohol. Beverages. All kinds. Coffee, tea, sparkling water, soda (diet ONLY), Crystal Lite… and now non alcoholic (NA) beer.

I’ve always loved the taste of beer. I think my first experience of beer was when I was around 7 or so. My family and I were coming back from a Sunday afternoon of fishing off the piers of Brooklyn NY.  We didn’t plan to stay out that long and we had nothing to drink. I was soooo thirsty. 

On the way home we stopped for a family favorite- pizza at Spumoni Gardens. My dad stood on the pizza line with my brothers and my mom and I on the drink line. The beer for my father came out first. I had been complaining for hours about being thirsty. The soda was taking entirely too much time. My mom handed me the beer and said “just a sip”. I took the flimsy wax coated cup off the tray and intended to take one gulp, but promptly downed the entire thing. My mom looked at me with horror. 

“You liked that?” she asked?

“Yes, I was thirsty” I replied.

The workers behind the counter handed us the sodas and the pressure of the line moved us out to the general courtyard where we sat with my dad and brothers.

My mom was still shocked when she said “I need to go back online to get the beer, Esterina drank it all”.

The rest of my family stared at me in awe. Everyone asking how I could have liked the taste. 

Geez, I was just thirsty and it quenched my thirst is all. I didn’t understand the big deal.

I had also danced for 10 years. 2-3 times a week for most of the school year I would put on a pink leotard for ballet lessons and the black one for tap and jazz. I was always concious of how that leotard fit. As I got older and started filling out more, I started to think about calories and the things I liked. I always loved soda and when I realized that diet soda tasted almost exactly the same I decided to never have non diet soda again.

I may have had non diet soda once or twice since then (I honestly can’t say), but it’s diet soda for me now. At least for the past 35 years it has been. 

As a young adult I never chose alcohol as a beverage of choice unless it was some fruity elaborate cocktail on a beach somewhere. Even then I’d only have one – completely aware of the sheer number of calories the drink had.

But sometime in my early 30s there was nothing but non diet soda and beer as an option with pizza somewhere after helping some friends move. I was hot, hungry and thirsty. I wouldn’t drink the soda but had the lite beer instead. Less calories.

And oh my gosh was it good! Beer and pizza together was amazing. It was Miller lite that our friends bought. So the next Friday for pizza night I picked up a six pack of Miller lite. Light beer became a part of my life. 

Well, fast forward a few years. I met my now husband who introduced me to enjoying the subtleties of wine. That was a new area for me. Wine isn’t so easy to just have 1 when there is a whole bottle involved. The addiction took hold from there. Light beer went to all kinds and a little wine too way too much. 

Now I’m 20 months from my last drink and am as happy as I’ve ever been. I don’t miss anything about it. But I do have to give a giant plug to NA beer. I love it! I love it like I love diet soda. All of my life since I switched to diet soda I just don’t even like the taste of regular soda. It’s so sweet my teeth hurt. When it’s the only option I’ve often taken a sip to be polite but let the cup sit full. 

When I first got sober, one day after gardening I craved beer. It has long been a go to after a very hot day or long hours of work. I remembered we had NA beer in the fridge. But I opted for the diet soda instead. It was just as refreshing. 

The next day I started telling this same story to one of the Aware Recovery companions that came to my house as part of the year long program I admitted myself to. When I got to the part where I remembered there was NA beer in the fridge she stopped me with some kind of urgency and almost yelled “You didn’t have any did you?!”. 

No I replied- taken aback that she perceived I nearly avoided a relapse. What did I know? Was NA beer a gateway to drinking again? It seemed to be!

A few days later I told another companion who was at the house about this treacherous near miss. This one told me that despite being in recovery, she is a bartender and has NA beer and mocktails all of the time. She treated the episode as no big deal. 

I didn’t comment. I needed to mull this over. Maybe it was one of these things where there is no hard and fast rule. To each their own. 

No one talked about NA drinks in AA. My husband ended up buying a few varieties to try himself and they were always around the house. But it wasn’t until about a year ago this month that I dared try one. 

At my first sip I was convinced I had beer. I had to go to the fridge and read the can. It wasn’t one of these 0.0% things. I did claim it was <0.5%. Again I was scared about this little amount. I looked it up and read there is no way anyone can get drunk from that amount. You need to drink 40 for any kind of buzz. Your body processes this tiny amount so quickly that even if you could injest 480 oz in any short period of time, you still can’t get inerbriared.

Inebriation-proof and tastes this good? It seemed as too good to be true as the Diet Coke I still love. 

I started drinking them and trying different kinds. They are so good. To me as good as the real thing, but no buzz. No risk of slurring or not being able to drive. 

Nothing came up on my very frequent urine tests with Aware, the breathalyzer or at the addiction treatment center I went to for Vivitrol shots. 

It took me weeks to even think about telling the third companion that I was drinking NA beer. She was the youngest of the group and seemed to be the most receptive to such an alternative thought. As soon as I told her she piped up that she still goes to bars with friends and drinks soda or whatever non alcoholic cocktail might be advertised on the menu. She has been doing that for years and never felt tempted.

Not long after another companion was added to my dwindling # of visits (because I was nearing the end of the program) and this one had a whole list of NA cocktails up her sleeve. Additionally she didn’t get the AA word that drinking any of these out of a wine glass was the road to ruin, so my guilt about even entertaining such a thought went out the window. 

Now I am not saying this is ok for everyone- to have NA drinks, beers or mocktails. Or to have them in traditional drinking cups. Perhaps if I didn’t take that pause when that first companion sort of scared me. Perhaps that may have quickly put me somewhere bad. I’ll never know. 

It’s often not possible to know when you made the right choice. Usually you know when you made the wrong one.

But I’m still not saying it’s a great idea or alternative for everyone. It might not be. I am not an expert and the only experience I’ve had is my own short lived one. 

Not long ago I opened the question about yes/no to NA beverages to the local town Facebook recovery group I am in… and if one could get their proverbial head bitten off I would have. Glad I only asked and didn’t tell them I did!! Not one person (not 1) thought it a good idea. 

The two biggest comments were

1- when did we ever drink for the taste?

2- mimicking the real thing will lead back to the real thing.

And I think that might be true for some people. But not all. 

Everyone thinks they are different or immune to whatever the warning is. I took pause here and evaluated. 

I’ve always had good discipline when it came to food/drinks/calories. I do realize that drugs and alcohol are a different story and their addictive qualities make that nearly impossible to control. 

But I am not having the real thing and there is nothing addictive to it. 

I’ve always been ok with knock off food versions. My Diet Coke as an example, but so much more. I switched to skim milk in high school when I had money from a job and a car to buy the milk. We only had whole milk at home. Did it taste as good?? No of course not. But it was better for me and good enough. Now I prefer it. But I don’t even drink milk anymore- only almond milk. Another switch that wasn’t as good at first but my now preference.

Same with sugar substitutes. I never minded snackwells or those fake types of sweets. I prefer making them myself. Yes, like the beer they taste a little different- but not much. These kind of things satisfy me without the guilt and over time I don’t even like the original anymore. The same has been true for me all my life from the milk down to tofu over meat. 

So in answer to the responses to my question in the Facebook recovery page, I did drink for the taste and never has the fake version led me back to the real thing. When I switched I switched for good.

It’s been a full year now since I dipped my toe into NA beverages. So far I don’t feel any closer to a road to ruin.  Do I miss wine? Not really. There are zero good subs for it and in the face of that reality and I am not even interested.

I haven’t really gotten very into mocktails – for the same reasons I never did before on hard cocktails or hard alcohol. The calories don’t seem worth it. 

The growth of NA beer is pretty astounding. It is available everywhere. The only place I haven’t come across it is in the Bahamas. But everywhere else I have been since in the world, it’s readily available.

What makes it even more fun is the lack of too many options. There are 1-3 available choices TOPS. So I get to try the one or three varieties and never feel like I’m missing out on the dozen more I could have tried like I often felt with the real wine or beer I drank too much of.

The truth is I love to drink. I like lots of drinks. I love the taste of beer and I can have that taste without the consequences. It’s a chance I was willing to take and knock on wood it’s been a gift!

Not for a second in the 20 months and counting now did I feel like I was missing out on a things. I feel great and I love my life. I love my life without alcohol.

Yeah

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