No problems today.

The weeds are not a problem.

The whining that someone isn’t sharing with someone else is not a problem.

The itching on my arms from pulling the weeds, that are still not a problem, is not a problem.

I was channeling a spiritual guide/motivational speaker who said something like, “Stop bothering yourself with problems that aren’t problems.”

He explained that the things that we put energy into are only problems if we think they are problems.

One of the examples he gave was the rain.  I can notice it is raining, grab an umbrella and go about my day. Or I can say, “Oh no, it is raining. I hate rain.”  

See how much extra energy went into the second reaction? I decided the rain was a problem and then the rain became a problem instead of a necessary part of the water cycle.

I decided that morning I was going to ascend to a new level of awareness and not have any problems. Hakuna Matada, right?

My intention was set and things were going according to plan until I looked up from my growing pile of not-problems and suddenly saw some problems.

Hitting one’s little brother with a rake is a problem.

Throwing a shovel at one’s big brother is a problem.

Dealing with the hitter and the thrower without getting hurt is a problem.

I still have a lot of work to get to the point where I stop “bothering myself” but in the meantime, I can be present while noticing and disarming the problems.

The Dog

Coco ran away, again.

Of course, it was right before we were preparing to leave for a doctor’s appointment. We couldn’t be late, and we couldn’t leave with the dog’s whereabouts unknown. It was a true dilemma. (Dilemma: a situation in which a choice must be made between two alternatives, also a word that I can barely spell without spellchecker.)

“Let’s drive around and see if we can find her,” I said.

“Load up, boys. We have a naughty dog to find.”

I put on a calm front, like it was no big deal, while inside I felt my blood pressure start to go up as my window of tolerance began to close. Everything was not fine, and that dang dog was going to make us late.

We took a loop through the neighborhood with all the windows down, shouting, “Coco” on repeat.  

“We have to go, guys. We can drive by the house one more time and then we have to call it,” I said.

As we cruised past the house, lo and behold (a phrase meaning: look), Coco had reappeared on the porch, shiny and black with her pink tongue hanging out of her mouth, panting from her freedom run.

“She’s back, she’s back,” Little Legs said.

Baby Brother screamed, “Coco!”

“Well, there she is, I am so mad at that dog,” I thought out loud, feeling the irritation as a pressure in my chest.

“Why are you mad, Momma? She came back?”

She did come back, I nodded my head, took a deep breath and checked in with myself.

I wasn’t mad.

I was scared that she was going to get hurt by another dog or run over by a car and then would have to deal with the aftermath by taking her to the vet or explaining death to my boys. I was inconvenienced that she was missing, and I was frustrated by my own poor time management.

Using a minute of mindfulness helped me to breathe and make the headspace to see the truth of the situation.

It wasn’t the dog.  

It was never about the dog.

The Gift

Cherophobia.

An irrational fear of joy or happiness.

“I just can’t shake the feeling that the other shoe is about to drop,” the woman jiggled her leg, recrossed her legs and resumed jiggling.

Of note, she was barefoot.  

“Let me rephrase that, I know it’s going to happen. I just don’t know when.”

“And this is because you are able to see into the future?” I asked.

“No, it’s just what always happens, so why would this time be any different?”

Good point, better give up now, I thought and wisely held my tongue, reflecting for a moment. She had lost sight of the positive things in her life, with a memory like Velcro for the bad and Teflon for the good. She was so focused on the million bad things that could happen in the future; she wasn’t aware of the present.

My father-in-law had magnet on his fridge that said something like, the past is history, tomorrow is a mystery and today is a gift, that’s why it’s called the present. I remember looking at it when I was 19 and never forgot the message.  

We can come out of our stream of thoughts about yesterday and tomorrow and check into the right now. The present might feel painful or boring or exciting and wonderful, regardless of the experience, its real and its ours for the taking.