Wild Things

“Between stimulus and response there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and our freedom” - Viktor Frankl

On New Year's Day, I went to the Maurice Sendak exhibit at the Denver Art Museum.  I had not read "Where the Wild Things Are" in many years.  To attend with my son, his wife and my grandson brought back many memories, especially bath times.  Naked butts running down halls, big fluffy towels and small bodies scurrying in "feety" pajamas to the bedroom and settling in for stories.  Nothing better than having both of my children, one curled up on each side of me, scents of damp freshly washed hair, and reading a goodnight story.  It was my favorite time of day. 

The exhibit had life-sized drawings of Max and the "Wild Things" on the wall and it was fun to stand in the middle of the room and watch them dance around the edges.  A thought came to mind; as my own wild things, my thoughts, rarely stop dancing.  What is the difference between the wild things in my head and the wild things in my heart?  One seems so destructive and one makes me brave.  Why can't they ever be in sync? 

Physiologically, the brain is wired for survival, and its wild thoughts often revolve around potential dangers or "what-ifs."  Our brain's are constantly trying to predict, control, and protect us, but they often spiral into overthinking, doubt, and anxiety.  The incessant chatter in my head feels like it only leads to analysis paralysis or a sense of being trapped on a never-ending hamster wheel.   I am easily lost in the overactive, analytical, and fear-driven chatter that  feels chaotic and confusing.  Each morning seems to bring my daily dance in the forest with the "wild things". 

In between worrying about my survival and "what-ifs", I have my dreams.  And my thoughts travel from my head to my heart.  The heart is more intuitive and emotion-driven.  My wild heart thoughts are less about survival and more about who I REALLY am.  My wild heart thoughts feel brave and connected.  My heart is constantly trying to remind me who I am and what I want.  Physiologically, our hearts send twice as many signals to the brain than the brain sends to the heart.  With all that effort, with our hearts talking twice as loud, why then do we find it so hard to listen? 

One of my favorite poems, "My Brain and Heart Divorced", talks about the constant battle between what we think and what we feel.  One always blaming the other, each believing that they have to be right.  If I follow my dreams, I might fail.  If I overthink it and never do anything at all, I will never know who I am.  And on and on and on.  In the end, it IS chaos.  And stressful.  Always feeling like I am disappointing myself both in how I am surviving AND in how I should be thriving. 

In the poem, the head and the heart meet in the lungs.  That space in-between where, if I just breathe, take that precious pause, and occupy that space where neither is right, I can see that I have forgotten I have choice.  I can choose to acknowledge my fears, the ones my brain can't stop pointing out.  And I can choose to remember that I only get one shot at this amazing life.  What AM I going to do with it?  But it requires me to STOP and notice and breathe.  I have to move out of the auto-pilot of my day and into the peace of my breath.  In other words, I have to tell both of them to be quiet so I can listen.  Really no different than when my children came running into a room arguing, both convinced they were right, and talking over each other.  I HAD to get them to slow down, breathe and tell me what happened so I could make sense of it all.  So I could give them an answer. 

Chaos comes from fragmentation—thoughts pulling me in too many directions. Courage arises from coherence, when my emotions feel in line with my actions. Instead of silencing the brain or ignoring the heart, silence helps to balance them.  Who would I be if I could combine my brain's analytical power with my heart's courage?  Might I be both wise AND bold?  When I meet at my breath, slow down and listen for the answer, I find that space between stimulus and response. That place of growth and freedom. I have the ability to CHOOSE the next step.  It feels intentional, not random. 

This is what I am practicing in January.  STOP, listen, breathe, choose, and move boldly. And if it is the wrong choice or the wrong direction….simply start over.  Easy peasy. 

Much love to you ALL.