Practicing What You Preach

Or Living What You Write

This will never stop, unless I stop it. So, how do I want to stop it?

This question has been stirring inside the last few weeks as I’ve been settling into life on the other side of my book launch, which is also life as I start year two of a PhD program, which is also regular life of tending to daily chronic health issues, which also includes what’s becoming regular life of recognizing the extra toll that neurospicey-ness plays in day-to-day living… along with some part-time work and creative projects I’m playing around with..

To summarize: it’s simply been too full, and the way my body has been navigating it has been to press on the gas, leaving me feeling stressed and strained and unable to really enjoy any of the many things I’m doing…

I wrote about this analogy of an internal gas pedal and brake system in my book, specifically how much of my life I spent with that gas pedal revving up, even when I didn’t want it to, and how my body slammed on the brakes when I became overwhelmed by too much longstanding stress.¹ These are things I know in my head and in my bones, and still, practicing what you preach is simply not that easy, or perhaps more accurately, living what I write.

And as I’ve shared in other posts here, since moving to Scotland, I’ve been surprised to find that my old muscle memory of pressing on the gas has resurfaced in ways that are both old and new, propelling me to move through my days with stress and strain. This isn’t what I’ve wanted, and I’ve honestly been frustrated with myself—and a bit worried—wondering, how/when can I get this to calm down? I’m doing the work, on my own, in therapy, with the trees, and overall tending to stress, but still, it’s not been enough. And that’s what led me to the thought: This will never stop, unless I stop it. So, how do I want to stop it?

I don’t think I’ll ever stop researching or learning, whether it’s in a PhD program or another format.

I don’t think I’ll ever stop creating, whether it’s writing books or other resources.

I don’t think I’ll ever stop cultivating healing spaces, whether it’s facilitating retreats, therapy, or something else.

I don’t think I’ll ever stop coming alongside others in their own growth, whether it’s instructing in a classroom, dance studio, or somewhere else.

I don’t think I’ll ever not have some form of chronic health issues to tend to or manage each day.

And I certainly won’t ever stop adventuring in the world around me, or soaking up time with loved ones, or simply being out in nature.

So, the equation doesn’t seem to be adding up. Too many things, not enough time, right? Maybe not.

This is where my perspective is starting to shift in new ways, beyond what I was trying to tease out in The Sacred Art of Slowing Down. I’m starting to get curious about the fact that even before I approach what’s ahead of me, part of me believes the equation is already stacked against me — no matter how I approach it, there is not enough time for all of the things I enjoy doing/must do/should do — unless I recognize that perspective is making certain assumptions about time.

The too-many-things-not-enough-time equation only exists if I’m trying to complete or produce things within a certain timeframe. It’s the pressure of that timeframe that pushes parts of me to press on the gas, sensing that unless I get into gear and go, I’ll run out of time.

Now, I know, some things are set within a timeframe not determined by us. And also, a lot of things are set within a timeframe that is determined by us, or that at minimum, is agreed to by us.

So what if we shifted the timeframe? And what if shifting the timeframe is what creates space to gently pump and release the brakes, allowing us to experience a kind of coasting — not a laziness, but instead, a different kind of posture as we move through life, one that includes less tension, strain, and stress?

Now, in my circumstances, yes, I’d probably finish my PhD sooner if I kept my foot on the gas the whole time.

And also, for that few months difference it would make, I don’t think it would be worth the daily toll it would take to press on that gas pedal, every day, for years.

And the same applies for the other things before me. Yes, I could probably “get more done” or “accomplish more” in the next year—or two, or five, or ten—with that gas pedal on, but at what cost? How does that shape each day, and is it really worth it to squeeze things in over the long haul when it shapes the moment to moment lives that we are living across that long haul?

More than ever, I’m realizing the circumstances that effortlessly prompt me to press on the gas pedal are never going to stop — they’ll always be there, meaning, I’ll likely always be prone to get tangled up in a muscle memory of stress — unless I choose to stop it. So, I ask again, how do I want to stop it?

Practicing what I preach, or living what I write, I want to play with what it might look like to press and release the brakes in new ways. For now, I think that means viewing time differently. Rather than subscribing to certain timeframes in my head, or agreeing to timeframes set by others that are often more arbitrary than we’ll let ourselves honestly acknowledge, I wonder what it would be like if I viewed how long something would take differently—mostly simply viewing it as, as long as it takes. This is not a new thought or phrase, things take as long as they take. So in one way, this is super simple, yes. And also, could it be life changing? I think also, yes.

Now, parts of me don’t like this. Parts of me love this. And all of me knows, I need this. I don’t want to keep pressing on the gas until my body slams on my brakes, that’s no way to live, and I don’t know about you, but I’d like to enjoy the life that I’m living, and I’d also like those around me to enjoy it too. I’m not sure what prize we think we’re going to win by stressing ourselves out and pushing to accomplish things in a shorter amount of time than they’d organically take on their own, but spoiler alert, there is no prize, and even if there was, it’s certainly not the prize of being present in the life that we’re living.

As I often do, after spilling all these thoughts onto my keyboard, I’m curious, is it just me, or does this resonate for you too?

Can any part of you resonate with feeling like there’s too much to be done and not enough time? (if the answer is no, please make your unicorn self known…!). Does expanding or shattering a timeframe shift how you view that equation?

How do different parts of you feel about expanding or shattering timeframes set by you or others? What fears, worries, or reactions pop up inside at that thought? What makes it feel impossible for those timeframes to shift?

Some misty magic from a hike this weekend.

1. This analogy is from the work of Deb Dana, who translates a lot of Stephen Porges work on Polyvagal Theory into accessible resources.