Regard – Part I (The Gift of Presence)

***This is the first in a series of posts about the concept of regard. I'm not sure how many parts the series is going to have, probably four or five and possibly more. I will tag each of them with #regard, so if you click on that label in the right-hand column of my blog it should pull up all of the posts in the series (all that have been written and posted so far, that is).*** 

This post is dedicated with gratitude to Frank, Momo, Trevor and my Mom.

“The most precious gift we can offer others is our presence. When mindfulness embraces those we love, they will bloom like flowers.”

—Thich Nhat Hanh

I have been thinking lately about the concept of "regard".

It's a word that I use often, but I have to admit that I had not given much thought to what it means. "Best regards," I often write in work emails; sometimes "Kindest regards" or "Warm regards" to friends and extended family members; or just plain "Regards" when I'm stumped for a closing salutation.

Then, I had an experience this past winter that brought my attention to thinking about regard and what it means in new and different ways. 

I have a friend named Frank, who lives in the States. He and I don't know each other particularly well – we met briefly when he was travelling in Nova Scotia a few years ago. He's a storyteller and a thinker and we meet up (virtually) by times in the realm of words, as storytellers and thinkers tend to do. 

Frank often reads my blog. And this past fall, he sent me a gift – an email which said, in essence: I see what you are doing over there. And I feel connected with it.

Frank saw me. 
And he told me that he saw me.
And I took that in. 
And it got me thinking.

Now, it's not that no one has ever seen me before, or never told me they saw me. And it's not that I've never taken it in before. In the past, I've even given some thought to the experiences of seeing, of being seen and my relationship with those experiences. But a new train of thought got sparked by Frank's email and has been bubbling away in my brain ever since (if you love mixed metaphors – you're welcome).

What does it mean to be seen?

This is the definition Google gives for regard:

Click here to visit this link for a larger, more readable version.

Check out the etymology from Old French. Regard basically has its origin in this idea: I've got your back. 

Regard is more than being seen. It is mattering to someone else. It is about meaning and connection; care and attention. Frank's email got me thinking in new ways about what it means to me to be seen and also to feel seen.

I didn't develop the habit of feeling seen when I was growing up. I was a latch-key kid. My busy parents separated when I was seven years old and then divorced. From there, I continued growing up in a family with more parents and step-parents than I knew what to do with. Each person was coping with a lot; I felt like I often disappeared in the midst everything that was going on. And frankly, a lot of the time, I felt pretty lucky if I was able to stay under the radar. I preferred to keep my head down, trying to avoid both conflict and disappointment.

Unfortunately, growing up in that environment trained me to notice people who were absent or pre-occupied more than people who were present and paying attention.

As I moved into adulthood, I became someone who noticed the people who sent their regrets more than the people who showed me their regard.

My approach to regard was twisted.

The people who didn't give a hoot about me often felt more important than the people who had my back.

I was better able to see the people who couldn't see me and less able to see the people who could.

I am just now beginning to understand the impact this kink in my personality has had on my life so far.

I could still spend days, maybe even weeks, running down the long list of the moments I can remember when I felt people didn't show up for me, whatever their reasons, and how I felt about it. I could talk about the amount of time and energy I have spent focusing on people who didn't give a damn about me – hustling for worthiness, as Brené Brown would say.

Husbanding those grievances is a familiar and well-worn strategy. But that way of looking at my story is losing its appeal.

What is becoming more interesting to me is this new lens that I'm developing, a new understanding, a new way of experiencing and valuing being seen. And along with that, I hope, new ways of seeing others.

Let me tell you a story.

Re-framing regard

In 2015, I did a 52-song project on YouTube. Once a week, I posted an original, previously unrecorded song. There were a few people who viewed every (or almost every) single song and often commented on them. All year long.

I was having a tough year, struggling with depression and a broken heart. That song project felt very vulnerable to me most of the time. Sometimes excruciatingly so. And it was also a lifeline, something that kept me reaching out week after week, to connect even when trying to connect felt agonizing or unlikely or pointless. And every week, those few stalwart people gave me the gift of seeing me. Some of the videos in that project got eight views each in their first week.* And I know who at least three of those eight people were, because they granted me the gift of saying: I see what you are doing over there. And I feel connected with it.

While the project was going on, I admit that I frequently struggled to feel seen. I mostly couldn't take it in. When a video got only eight views I would take it as a sign that I shouldn't bother, instead of realizing that those eight views, and – most of all – the one or three or five comments and acknowledgments were the most precious part of the whole process. And that I would be far better off focussing on them rather than on the people who couldn't or wouldn't see me or who wouldn't or couldn't acknowledge that they did.

The people who could see me were the ones I needed to take in. They were saying with their constancy and their encouragement:

I see what you are doing over there, and I feel connected with it.

I struggled to understand this at the time, but now I see more clearly.

I was being given mighty gifts of connection, of constancy, of love, of regard.

Those connections were pointing me in a direction where I need to explore and grow.

And now that I'm finally getting closer to where I need to be, I feel profoundly grateful.

Thank you.

I am really, really, REALLY taking our connections into my heart.

THANK YOU!

(Better late than never, eh?)

***
I'd love to hear in the comments your thoughts and feelings about the experience of being seen and/or seeing others. 

Menopause: Mood Swings

I have noticed an interesting trend in my moods. The bouts of peri-menopausal euphoria I've been experiencing occasionally over the past couple of years have been extending into a pretty regular phenomenon. I can no expect to feel unreasonably happy and high for about 7-10 days out of every month.

Pair this with 4 or 5 days a month when I feel absolutely full of hate and have to bite my fingers to keep from trying to start big fights with people via email or Facebook.

Definitely a weird place to be.

I'm trying to stay even-Steven. No big decisions on the up days, no massive outburts on the down days. Afterall, there are still 15 days a month when I feel like myself. Plenty of time to get things done.

Makes me think of this song, Mood Swings, that I wrote in the 1990s and posted as part of my 52-song project last year. Have a listen, if you will.

Design Your Year: 2015

I find December difficult. I call it Holiday Seasonal Affective Disorder (or H-SAD): a dislike of the short days, the mandatory gaiety (or at the very least the struggle not to harsh others' buzz) and the rampant consumerism. Most years, I find myself wishing I could go to bed on December 1st and wake up on the 31st, just in time to bid the old year, and especially December, a hearty farewell.

This year, December has been particularly difficult. The past year has been a doozy – lots of heartbreak, some serious illness in my family, the realization that I've made some big mistakes over the past couple of years and am now facing the consequences of those decisions, an ensuing depression, and my struggles to answer a call from within to take better care of myself, including doing some challenging work to transform my relationship with food and eating. 

Yes, 2014, you were a big, bad year. One for the books. 

There can be something sweet about closing the door on a difficult year

Well, bittersweet, at least. Which is to say, that I've been mostly feeling bitter. I definitely have a tendency toward the year-end review, and I have been looking back over this past year with a bad attitude, my disappointments and pain looming much larger than my accomplishments and blessings. The sweet part though, is that time marches on and the present becomes the past. Wounds begin to heal and hope begins to return.

I am a fan of new years in general – I like the feeling of a fresh start, the feeling of possibilities and potential. The chance to re-think and change things, to make better decisions for myself, to evolve and grow. 

I know it's just an artificial line in our invented sense of time. Every day is the beginning of another 365, but personally, I'm always happy to draw a line shortly after Christmas and start again.

A little help...!?

I felt like I needed a some extra mojo to shape a plan for some new and different experiences in 2015. When I read that Jamie Ridler was offering a planning workshop called "Design Your Year", I was  very interested. Jamie is a creativity coach in Toronto and I've done work with her in the past, including a dream board workshop, a glorious creativity-sparking dance party and participating in the Kickin' It Old Skool Blogathon (which did wonders for my H-SAD last year). 

I'm not a formal planner, usually preferring to fly by the seat of my pants, but I felt in my gut that I wanted to take Jamie's class. Unfortunately, though, it was offered at a time that didn't work for my schedule. I had another commitment; I thought I had to let Jamie's class go. But then, I discovered that Jamie was making a playback of the class available until January 31, 2015 and I could do it any time before then. As soon as I heard that, I signed up.

I did the class this past weekend...

What Design Your Year looked like for me.

It was excellent!

I feel like it brought me a ton of clarity about what I want and what I need for 2015. And it was fun: with sticky notes, journaling exercises, visual exercises and lots of guidance from Jamie about the many possibilities: different ideas about how to structure, grow and release the ways I think about planning.

I often have a "get 'er done" attitude toward the year – for example: "this year I'm going to record and release a CD", or "this year I'm going to play as many gigs as I possibly can and find out if I have a chance at becoming famous." Yes, I don't usually shy away from big goals and I would even say that in the past I have had a tendency toward grandiosity. 

The coming year is going to be very different.

My hopes for 2015

I have a number of gentler, more personal and internal goals for 2015. I still want to make and share creative work, so I'm excited about my 2015 52-Song Project (more about that over on my music blog). And I plan to revive my old practice of running "Creative Marathons" near the solstices and equinoxes next year.

My main focus, though, is going to be on self-care and self-respect. I want (and need) to improve my ability to make decisions that are gentle, kind and decent to myself. I want to deepen my yoga practice, do more work around food, eating and body image and make peace with the past couple of years, through forgiveness, understanding and humility. 

I want 2015 to be a gentle year, a simple year, a fun and delightful year. I want it to be a peaceful year, a relaxed year, an easy year, a straightforward year. 

Most of all, I want this year to be for me. I have an overall tendency to give away a lot of my time and energy. Usually, I have lots to spare, so it's not a problem. Sadly though, I have shared too many buckets from my well and received too little rain over the past couple of years. I feel depleted. The coming year needs to be about conservation and renewal.

My word for the year

Until I started writing this blog post, I had forgotten about the word I set as my intention for 2014. It was "right-size" as declared in a blog post a little less than 12 months ago. I did make some steps toward right-sizing with my tiny home and de-cluttering efforts, but 2014 had its own ideas and the word it dictated for the year was heartbreak.

There are lots of contenders for 2015's word. Humility. Self-Care. Respect. Authenticity. Courage. Acceptance. But in the final analysis, I believe my word for 2015 is:

***

Do you have a word in mind for the year ahead? I'd love if you shared your word (or any other thoughts) in the comments below. Happy New Year, everyone! I hope 2015 will be full of growth for you!

PS: If you're interested in taking Jamie's planning class, I highly recommend it! It's available until January 31, 2015. Here's the link again: "Design Your Year"