Two important things have been caught in my awareness filter in the 48 hours since hitting publish on Restlessness and this redacted reposting will make more sense once I explain what I’ve discovered.
Important Thing #1
Yesterday, on my commute home from work, I stumbled upon the most recent episode of the podcast, Unlocking Us with Brene Brown entitled Esther Perel on the new AI — Artificial Intimacy. There were so many beautiful ideas shared between the two powerhouse thinkers and I feverishly scribbled down notes while on the train.
One idea stood out amongst the rest (caught in my filter!), which is the notion that we’re currently living ‘beyond human scale’. Many of us are tethered to technology by work and by choice; connected to a vast array of people and places, performing on social media to thousands of followers, tapped into a network beyond our human cognitive capacity. Their conversation weaved in and out of beautiful stories and thoughtful lines of questioning, exploring what it means to stay human in a hyper-connected world.
Aha! That’s it!
There’s a restlessness that comes from operating beyond human scale.
No amount of colourful schedules, optimized workflows or creative outputs can quiet the restlessness. These systems facilitate connection within large networks, perpetuating my operation beyond human scale. I don’t think it’s all bad (not in the least), but there’s a tipping point… perhaps it’s when computer and phone interaction surpass human interaction in a 24 hour period? There’s something deep and meaningful and profound here. This feels like it’s at the root of my restlessness.
Important Thing #2
I love going to art therapy because it often feels like a creative improv session; I’ll be prompted to answer a question in a unique way (often using found materials and objects in my space) and I’ll answer it, which often sparks discussion that leads to other questions and additional creative prompting.
It’s a dialogue and it’s also a dance.
Today my art therapist and I were discussing the contents of Restlessness; we discussed the stillness and the rest and the ebbing that I’m craving. As a prompt, they asked me to choose a book from my bookshelf with a cover that felt like the kind of rest I was looking for. I found one with two simple, brightly coloured concentric circles with big, sturdy, simple text (yes, we use typefaces as analogies in therapy).
In the process, I also found the incredible book Tree of Codes by Johnathan Safran Foer, which felt like a metaphor for the process of getting to stillness. To create the book, Foer brilliantly took the original work Street of Crocodiles by Bruno Shultz and physically cut away at the text to create a new story within the original. The result is a book that was incredibly difficult to manufacture because every one of its 130+ pages is uniquely die cut.
My clever art therapist (dancing the dance) invited me to make a copy of Restlessness and use the same reductive process as Foer had used, to chip away at my own words, leaving only the most relevant behind.
The result is less, creating a new story within the original.
In this process, leaning on my beloved books as visual symbols, I discovered that less can be a great path to a solution. It’s not always a top-of-mind solution when our schooling, interactions and professional lives encourage more. Less can feel simple — too simple — but there’s a resonant energy present in less.
If the process of solving through less were represented in sound, it would be at a quiet volume, slow and calm, juxtaposed against the sound of solving through more, which I interpret as loud, excited and frenetic. There’s a place for both, but I’m grateful to be reminded that less is — in fact — an option.
I am calmed by the prospect of less.
I am stilled by the prospect of less.
I am sturdier by the prospect of less.
Less in more.
"If you don’t have time to meditate for an hour everyday, you should meditate for two hours.” - Zen Proverb
Today I feel unsettled, restless and lacking sturdiness.
I have everything I need in this world and more: shelter, safety, food, family, fulfilling paid work and volunteerism. (I’m practically dancing on the summit of Maslow’s pyramid, baby!)
Yet, my eye twitch has returned.
An unmet need, however deeply ingrained, is undoubtedly restless. There is something askew, something missing.
Also, I’m certain I’m not the only one with an itch because scratchy solutions are promised everywhere. Promises from highly-targeted and cleverly crafted ads on mass and social media; a buffet of ever-evolving tools/tricks/courses available on demand.
But I know, deep down, that the something can’t be solved by any outside means or by anyone other than myself. In my 37 years on planet Earth, I’m only beginning to understand that solutions to complex problems come not from having more answers, but asking more questions. Solutions are often found by saying less and listening more. Solutions make themselves known not through trying to control a situation, but by believing with unwavering conviction that connection is the ultimate goal. Solutions arise not from knowing more, but knowing that there’s so much more to know.
Without fail, when you’re looking for something, you begin to see it everywhere (also known as the Baader-Meinhof Phenomenon or the Frequency Illusion). It’s as though a filter has been placed underneath the contents of life, capturing the something.
What remains on top for me right now are ideas about calmness, encouragements of stillness and more about less. For example, these three works have caught my attention, having been caught in the filter this week:
Becoming Minimalist
’sThe One Hour Each Week That Will Change Your Life for the Better—Every TimeI found a copy of Patrick Rhone’s 2012 bookenoughwhile cleaning up other paperworkReceiving my weekly instalment of the brilliant , this week’s letter answering the question: “Dear Love, what would you have me know today aboutfinding a sense of calm?”
Tellingly, Liz’s Letters from Love practice has been on my to-do list for years. My procrastination has run rampant out of fear, perhaps? When she recently started her substack community, I felt encouraged to finally give it a go. While I’ve only written 3 short letters so far, each one feels like an outstretched hand towards internal stillness. It feels like an actionable solution that can only be found through asking questions, listening to the answers and striving for connection, knowing that I know very little.
I share them with you below in hopes that we may connect — across time and space — over a shared restlessness.
And in the sturdiness of connection, may we find a sliver of stillness.
Dear Love, what would you have me know today?
01/11/24
There is nothing that I can tell you that you do not already know. I am inside of you. I am you. There are moments you may feel tired, exasperated, but I am still here.
Gratitude is like a key that unlocks me and my unwavering presence is known, again and again. But gratitude feels elusive, like flossing. I know it’s important to my overall health and well being, yet, like flossing, it’s forgotten or passed over for sleeping, eating, sitting, working or literally any other excuse.
Here’s what I want you to know about gratitude: sit close, listening even more closely and breathe in.
That’s it. Breathe in. That’s gratitude.
Remove the excuse of overcomplicating the process, instead surrendering to the doing, the breathing. Unlike flossing, there are no special tools required or a bathroom mirror in which to see your progress. Instead, I will be your mirror. But you don’t even need me to explicitly show you your progress because this mirror is inside of you.
This mirror is you.
So then all you must do is sit, sit close, listening, observing, remaining present and breathe. In and out, strong and unencumbered with ease and with life-giving force.
For this, I am grateful.
01/14/24
Stillness is vital to living.
May we ebb and flow, ebb and flow.
The ebbing is just as much a part of the process as flowing.
Sit, still, settled.
Love is found in stillness.
The simplest, yet most difficult thing is moving ahead by not moving.
Be still.
03/16/24
There is a deep restlessness inside. Moving, churning, itching for more. You want to close your eyes, bringing stillness to the end of the day.
Guilt will pass. Forgiveness will come.
In the stillness. In the stillness.
Don’t consume; be consumed.
Be still, just rest, for tomorrow is another glorious, hope-filled day.
Goodnight.
Goodnight,
Diana
