Gratitude, oh the attitude!

Gratitude journals are all the rage now. New year resolutions revolve around it. Self-help coaches recommend it. Lifestyle magazines echo the trend. 

I don't know what to feel about it though.  

Before marketing took over, gratitude was expressed in the quietude of prayer, or through the comfort of homemade food made with a little extra attention, or through DIY gifts. And if you didn't have ideas or the time, you could always count on Archies to be the mouthpiece of your heartfelt emotions. Gratitude found its way into our lives without much conscious effort.

However, today gratitude journaling is an extension of 'mindfulness'  (one might think, it is a practice meant to empty the mind and fill the heart, but okay). 

Apparently it is supposed to rewire my brain into being happy. I'm not entirely convinced by that sales pitch but I'm willing to give it a try. You see, I'm a fairly happy person. Not exciteable puppy happy. More like relaxed lazy panda happy. I eat, sleep, admire my paunch and just be. 

But Instagram tells me practicing gratitude with colourful ink pens in specially designed books is going to change my life somehow. I don't want to miss that bus. I mean, what if my life did turn around? I'm pretty sure it would land me in the exact same place (round, get it?). But then, FOMO. 

And so I decided to  give it a shot- one thing to be grateful for every single day. 

Look, no judgements. I think it's a good practice. Considering that our worlds (both physical and virtual) are increasingly being shaped by the stuff we own and the fear of missing out on the stuff that other people own, it's a good idea to pause and reflect. Not very different from counting your blessings really. If it keeps you grounded and satisfied, by all means go for it. And if it has brought about a conscious change, I would love to know. 

Personally though, I noticed a pattern to the things I was thankful for everyday. Invariably, my gratitude centered upon family, access to material comforts (that I'm aware is a luxury for so many out there, hence very very grateful), and on some chaotic days, even the help.  I was grateful for the access to education, clean drinking water, a hot bath, food on my plate and books to read. And then I hit a dead end. There was nothing new to notice and be grateful for. Honestly, it was not very different from what I said in my prayers. But imagine making entries in beautiful calligraphic handwriting, in journals too pretty to be used. 

God, you can really be spoilt for choice here. There's something for everyone- hardbound, spiralbound, dotted, lined, blank spreads, flexible covers, pocket sized, giant sized, leatherette, scented, handmade, recycled, upcycled, cloth covers, with prompts, without prompts, personalized, cartoonized. The variety is mindboggling. So before I feel the gratitude, I must deal with my poor decision-making skills and pick my journal for the task. 

And this is only the beginning. If you realllly want to jump onto the bandwagon, there are other essentials you need to stock up on- a collection of washi tapes, felt tip pens, gel pens, glitter pens, paint, stickers, cutouts, and basically a mini craft store at your disposable. 

Again, no judgments. If this is your artistic space, go for it! But for this to become the norm can be more of a deterrent than an act of freeing up the mind. 

The pressure of living up to the emotional and financial (have you seen the price of some of these journals?!) commitment made towards developing this habit can be annoying. Uff the guilt if you miss a single day of entry! Not only has paisa then not been 'vasoolofied', you question your approach towards everything in life. So much additional stress and FOMO. Was that the purpose of this new trend to begin with? 

So, what makes the best gratitude journal, for me? A little burning flame and 2 minutes of silence on the prayer mat. Gratitude expressed, signed, sealed and personally delivered to the one who is meant to know it all. 

Now, would I then stick with the practice? Hard to say. Perhaps on some really tough days when I need a pick me up, I might turn to mindfully changing my mood. The very act of writing it down then, will do well in helping me switch gears. 

But other than that, I think I'm going to stick with what mummies and grandmummies across most homes and religions have been doing for ages. Easier on the mind, lighter on the pocket, and suits my type C personality well. 

Have you tried maintaining a gratitude journal? Did it work for you? 

"All My Bags Are Packed, I'm On The Go"

We moved into our first home a day before my 27th birthday. A few boxes, some appliances, clothes, kitchenware, and just us.  As newlyweds and first-time homeowners, every purchase we made for the house was up for extensive and enthusiastic deliberation.

There wasn't much back then. Most of what we owned were wedding gifts that we cherish even now. Everything else has been a steady build-up. The transition from worn-out rental furniture to floor mattress to our first real couch felt more of an emotional investment than a utilitarian one.

This home has been witness to plenty of love and abundance, peppered with a few fights and stresses along the way. It has seen warm dinners with close friends as well as solitary nights. There have been periods of spiritual upswings and phases of disconnectedness too. Joy, laughter, banter, and the occasional temper and tears. In short, this home has been as much a partner in my life's journey as the spouse. 

I've changed homes several times in my life. To the extent that it has helped me approach any change of place with cold pragmatism. There's very little feeling. Moves have become nothing more than a massive to-do list. Another chore that must be done and over with so we can get back to routine as quickly as possible.  And frankly, the process is so cumbersome, I've never had the mind space to assess my emotional status. This time, however, it is a little different.  

Saying goodbye to this house has been overwhelming.  Letting go of my steadfast 4AM friend of 10 years has not been easy. The walls here witnessed the birth of the little one and shared our joy at each milestone. Breaking up is taking its toll.

I mean sure the list of to-dos serves as a welcome distraction. But as I walked into the empty apartment yesterday and took in the dust left behind by the movers and packers, I felt my heart drop to my stomach.  I was almost thankful I still had a few bags left to carry back. Whether that's a good thing or not though  is hard to say. For, each bag that is left behind, is an excuse to revisit the old times. Like old friends giggling over an inside joke. Only we get it- me and these bare walls.

Each visit is a punch in the gut and also a moment to feel nothing but gratitude. What an evil combination. 

I know the plaster is peeling off in corners where seepage has always been an issue. I now see the old hole in the wall that was wrongly put and hurriedly covered up all because we didn't know how to use the electric drill. There are crayon marks on the wall, greasy baby fingerprints on the window panes, a line of dust atop the thin tube light, and a mesh of wires hiding behind the TV. The curtain hook is missing a loop, the little clock has run out of battery, and a string of dainty fairy lights still clings to the wall. The baby took her first steps here  and had her first fall too.

Ten years ago, moving from a rental into our own place didn't feel like too much of emotional risk. This time however the move feels more significant. And predictably, I've been my stereotypical Cancerian self.

Supposed to be feeling excited. But it's the first space in years I've felt intricately attached to. An adhesion that won't wear off. And instead of feeling optimistic, I've been sulky, crabby, and nostalgic. Not the sort of combination you want in people around you. Hats off to everyone who has had to endure my mood swings (Can we blame it on the full moon instead?). 

Interesting isn't it, how a space can own us as much as we own it? If there's one thing this move is forcing me to learn and practice, it is detachment. The hardest thing in life is to be detached. But it can be one of the most empowering sentiments to nurture as well. 

There are moments when I find myself singing and taking in the sights and sounds of the new place. At night, the crickets here kept me company. Way past 1AM. They are different than the ones at the old place. They seem to have a lot to say.  

I know introducing myself to a new space will take some time. We need to get acquainted, share a few stories, laugh over lame jokes and learn to deal with the initial hiccups. Together. With Covid looming menacingly over our heads. 

Lock, stock, baggage and burn out, I'm kon mari-ing my way through this mountain of stuff collected over the years. Souvenirs of precious moments that have made up my journey. I know I will have to let go of some stuff. So naturally, I am being crabby, sulky, moody, and boring all at once. 

But move on we must. So I try my best and I'm hopeful of some success. As long as I remember, tomorrow is another day but today is what I have now. 

Let's Capture Time in 2022

 Hello 2022! 

A week into this new year now. The planner is here and it has been duly filled out, true to the spirit of any bullet journal enthusiast. Sans the creative decorations of course (just not my thing). 

A ritual 10 point resolution has been written down. And it features the usual suspects- health, self love, peace of mind. Three very loaded aspects of life that I've tried to translate into easy-to- practice rituals. I know we all need an escape from time-to-time but if everyday living can be made a little light to bear, perhaps the need for an escape won't be felt so severely.  

2021 had been challenging in its own way. And not just because of the pandemic.  We've all lost,  or known someone closely who has lost, a dear one. It really brings alive the value of time. To the point where it stops being a concept and seems so real you feel its passage in your bones.

There really is no greater way to show your respect towards life than to live it. And even though life has been in a kind of limbo for the past two years, we need to find our little moments and celebrate it with abandon. Perhaps that is the lesson Iam meant to learn amidst this global mayhem. 

And this is where I find social media so powerful. Sure, many might argue that the most candid shots on Instagram are often the most painfully rehearsed, therefore, it promotes vanity and artifice. But for the bulk of the junta,  it is really about finding and recording the moments where they've truly lived it up! 

And that fascinates me. What have I done today that I would want to record for posterity and share with the world, just for fun? Never mind that my eyebrows look like mating caterpillars or my face looks like what's leftover on the frying pan after making begun bhaja. If I'm having a moment of joy, it must be celebrated with something as simple as a second glance. 

If time is what is so limited.  Then time is what needs to be rewarded, celebrated, lived up and lived well.  And to that end, my blog serves as my cathartic practice, and my Instagram serves as a reminder, that life is a collage of cherishable, beautiful moments, rather than a stinking pile of stress, fatigue and a sense of having lost something.

 2020 stunned us all. It taught us the importance of valuing and prioritizing what really matters in life. For some, this was family, for many others it was a hot meal. 

2021 came to us as a lesson in patience, discipline and making the most of a glimmer of sunlight on a cloud day. 

So I hope that in 2022, we will finally be able to live and celebrate the everyday comforts. That we are able to respect our time here and celebrate the small wins instead of waiting for that perfect moment. 

On that note, go read that book (or write it), learn something that excites you, meet people with interest,  pray with humility,  serve with gratitude, smile at yourself before you smile at others. 

I hope 2022 makes up for all the drama we've all endured. 

Pandemic Aftershocks- Why Alone Time Matters

This year (will almost be two in a couple of months), has taught me a lot. As it has nearly all of the world.  Starting from the obvious- getting healthy- to the less regarded but still important, need for personal space. 

Oh how drastically that has vanished! Mental health disorders are no longer a concern you'd (ignorantly) restrict to the elite. It's as widespread and transmitable as the virus. It can prove to be equally weakening and lethal if not attended to on time. It can be asymptomatic  at first but it steadily nibbles away your sanity until you feel so hollow from within, you're completely weighed down. 

And I wonder if a rather significant reason for that, or at least one of the contributing factors, is the lack of personal space. 

Think about it. With everyone working and/or studying from home, the kitchen doesn't have much breathing space.  The scatter is not just on the floor and furniture but settles into the corners of your mind like mites. The need for human contact can be overwhelming.  And the desire to unwind is often met with bumps because we all need it at our own pace. It builds up like blocks. Mental blocks. And knocking it all down is simply not an option because the daily humdrum that keeps life in order, will disintegrate just like that.  

For order to exist, and a sense of purpose to the day, the monotonous stream of everyday activities can be a familiar cushion that breaks your fall. But to count your day as just a sum of all your chores is a gross injustice to your spirit. 

This pandemic has brought to life and is still teaching me the value of claiming my own space. This means that I am allowed to let the laundry collect once in a while. That screen time is not the devil because that's when I can nap and just space out. That even though the office and the home battle it out to grab attention, Iam permitted to put myself first and royally ignore the guilt until it doesn't exist anymore.

Though I'm not really talking about 'me time' here. It isn't about the self care regime you follow- your beauty routine, workout schedule, virtual reunions etc.  Because let's face it, most of us are multi-tasking even through all that. It isn't meditation hour or early morning yoga. Nope. To me those are things that need to get done just as much as you need to get that report submitted or the lunch prepped. It is an essential task. And therefore, are delinked from my concept of personal space. 

My own personal idea of personal space stems from the need to be simply left alone. To be by myself for an hour or two during the day. To be left to my own thoughts and activities. To talk to myself silently or even out loud. To space out. To wander in my head. Something that this pandemic has sucked away.

Not that I'm unsocial and take joy in loneliness. Being alone and feeling lonely are two very disparate things. While one energizes you, the other pushes you over the edge. 

'Alone time'  is the energizer pill, the mental immunity shot that I need. One that has seen me through rough weather in the past. My charging station. 

So now I must carve out moments during the day to reclaim this space. To have a chai time conversations with myself first. Like everything else that had to be unlearned and learned during this time, this too is a process. But one that I need to perfect because honestly our lifestyles won't ever be the same again. And so we must alter our ways and adapt our needs to the current climate. 

So the next time I don't reply or refuse to indulge in aimless chats, it's not because I don't like you or don't want to. It's probably because I'm busy rebuilding the relationship I have with myself. That's the one that ought to matter the most anyway. 

 

 

Post 2- Part 3 | Jan 2021

And finally,perhaps the most difficult learning of all. One that I am still struggling with on many days. 

3. Chill out

With total lockdown came total uncertainty.  And to make sure our lives stayed on track, discipline mattered. Of course too much of anything is a pain in the *S@. And the kid has not shied away from pointing it out to me on many occasions.  And yet, if things need to get done, it needs to be done on a schedule. 

The major flipside to setting a routine is that there's  often no room in it for flexibility  or deviations  of any sort.  And thus begins the mom stress. 

As I still battle my need for order and the kid's natural urge to disrupt it, I'm learning that letting go is the only way to co-exist in peace.  What a pain this is proving to be!

Mommyhood unravels you in the most unexpected  ways. While you find yourself feeling inexplicable  love for this little human you've  managed to create, you also discover your worst flaws. 

Relax. Relax. Relax. I tell myself.

The kid doesn't need to learn every fact by the age of 6. Doesn't  need to ace every extra curricular activity out there. 

That's  the issue. I'm the boho mom struggling to be the tiger mom. And the result ain't  always pretty. 

Some children flourish better when they're free and dreamy. And some mothers are meant to be the quirky companions they need to truly shine and soar.

A year of global pause and it's  only now that I'm learning that there is magic in slowing down, in opting out (at times) and letting them be. 

God! 2020, you've  been such a slap in my face. And I have no choice but to thank you for it. 

Post 2- Part 2 | Jan 2021

Lessons in 2020 continued-

2. Claim Your Space 

What happens when two adults and one little individual are sharing the same space for almost year? 

You learn that voicing your needs is key to a drama-free existence (that's not to say we don't  have our share of drama :)). 

And it isnt about physical space. But claiming your right to your own mental and emotional sanity is as essential as turning up for other members of the family. 

If you're a mom, you probably get what I'm talking about. It's  almost first nature, instinct, that tells us we need to put others before us. Not the smartest of decisions IMO. 

Ask any homemaker and you'll  learn what a nightmare 2020 has been. To juggle individual schedules, food habits,  household chores and then show up for mom duties requires mammoth mental stamina. 

The mundane humdrum, the painfully repetitive  nature of these tasks, the fact that taking a day off from any of them means you have to work double shift to clear the load next day, has made me realize the value of simply saying no. Without mom guilt. 

It isn't restricted to women who have day jobs, you know. Mom guilt is the result of social conditioning that makes women believe that claiming some time for yourself makes you the 'anti-mom'. 

And slowly but steadily, little-by-little I'm learning to be unapologetic about saying no. About claiming my time and my space too. 

And while it's  still work in progress (duh!) it's better late than never. 

Post 2 - Part 1| Jan 2021 |

 2020 has taught us a lot. The importance of family, relationships, good health, self-love etcetera. And of course, I've given each of these due time and thought. But I've also imbibed a few more lessons from this year. And each one deserves a separate post. 

1. The Value of Learning

The kid has a special unit on at school now. The class is supposed to research a topic of their liking and present it once a week. I'm usually hovering about catching up on chores, and find myself listening in quite often. Within a span of some forty minutes, a multitude of topics is being explored each week. From the solar system to the making of bricks, books and art to cats and insects.

What these sessions have taught me is that there is a lot of value in learning, a sense of fearlessness when you know you are not going to be judged or graded. But for many of us, learning seems to stop once we're out of an educational institution. By the time you're done acquiring a formal degree, you've suffered through enough labels and grades to be put off by the idea of learning. 

But as I watch these children, I am finally beginning to unlearn my understanding of learning. 

2020 gave me time to make a list of things I want to pick up before I relinquish life. Learn, for the sake of learning. Not to earn a certificate or accolades and without that Indian mentality in my head asking me the worth of whatever I choose to learn and whether I can 'do' something with it. 

Value of learning something. Anything. From tennis to tarot, music to meditation. Exercising those grey cells is key to living a happier life. I'm putting together my list. And I hope you give this some thought too.