Living With A Guilty Conscience

I’ve lived the majority of my short life carrying a small but somewhat demanding guilty conscience. The cause is psychosomatic, mind-made. I have this theory that human beings have conquered the art and science of survival for centuries, but something in our biology, in the way we operate wants us to experience the stress involved in successfully surviving each day. Most of us, at least in western civilization, have more than enough food, options for shelter no matter how lavish, clean water and separation from any animal that could maim or kill us. By simply being born in the United States we’re born with privilege and with opportunity. Some are more advantaged than others of course, which is unfortunate and a slight cause for my guilty conscience, but my larger point is most of us do not have to struggle to simply exist and live to see another day. And therefore we’re complacent, bored, uncertain and completely attached to our own bullshit sob stories. When I say bullshit sob stories so flippantly like that, I’m really referring to mine, which isn’t sad or tragic in any way. First of all, I’m white. The least interesting, most entitled in this and many countries, whether my fellow light-skinned ones want to admit that or not. It’s true. It is what it is. There’s of course nothing wrong with being white, just as being born any other color, it simply perpetuates this need in the human psyche to create our own problems and own identity where they don’t really exist. I was fortunate enough to be born into a loving family who are very understanding and accepting people, of me in particular. The older generations naturally had it more difficult than me growing up, from being born during wars, complicated relationships with their parents and family, having less and needing more (money, space, food, options), and their unique experiences during the decades filled with tumult and uncertainty, more than anything I’ve ever experienced, including the sadness and insanity since 9/11.

The most challenging thing I endured as a child was my parents divorce and all the subsequent crap experienced as a result. They divorced when I was 3. Big whoop. They got along fairly well all throughout my childhood and I actually really enjoyed the personal time I had with my dad when I’d visit. I also had an amazing man marry my mom when I was nearly 5 so I had two loving fathers. I have a younger brother who was only sweet, generous and loving throughout our childhood. Seriously. Hardly ever annoying. Anything that perturbed me was just a result of being a bitchy, selfish older sister, nothing else. I have tremendous relatives all over this country, from my biological parents, to my numerous relatives assigned by law, and on my mom’s side in particular. My grandparents specifically could not be more kind, helpful, hardworking, fun and loving. They were as much my parents as anyone else, especially since they were older and my parents were quite young. My Grandma inspired my deep love and attachment to my Italian heritage. I’m not even close to 100% Italian, but probably because I was born white, middle class, no deformities or illnesses, I needed something interesting to adorn myself to. I love being Italian but I realize now how trivial and limiting it is to define yourself by such measures. As if it really means anything. My curly hair, brown eyes, skin tone, pension for bread, wine, sex and humor may or may not be indicative of my background. I think it’s merely a facet of human existence and my particular taste. My need to feel and project Italiano was more of an attempt to feel interesting and that was easier than actually being interesting.

Being born into young parents who divorced early left me confused and incessantly introspective. I remember being 6, 7, 8, 9 years old lying awake, staring at my ceiling, thinking. Fuck if only Yoga had come into my life then. Something about the uncertainty you feel when your parents split up allowed me to contemplate on the same ambiguity the rest of life carries. Will I wake up tomorrow? What if I wake up blind? Am I good? Am I actually alive? These are true, actual thoughts I had on my sleepless nights. Little did I know then how important doubt is. It keeps you inquisitive, and once you realize your survival and your sight are fairly safe, you can keep asking questions and pondering the answers. But man was I a definitive little shit. There was yes or no, black or white, A’s or every other grade, wins or losses, attractive or invisible, popularity or loneliness, marriage or solitude, intelligent or lazy, interesting or forgettable, and hardly anything decipherable in between. Life had such clearly defined edges then. Nothing was blurred, no one was gray. Everyone was an archetype, a caricature of something else.

My mom is super MILFy, especially when I was a child. She had me at 20. I grew up hearing how hot my mom was and how maybe if I looked like her I’d have a chance with boys I liked. Poor me. Boo. Not really. My mom being hot made me sink deeply into my sense of self as an intellectual, as an independent woman of the ripe age of 10, with ideas and goals of grandeur. Olympic gymnast, first female president, high powered lawyer, man eater. Boy was I way off.

So, born out of a hot woman’s vagina to two good hearts but immature minds, they divorced, and I felt like I was split in two. I was never asked to take sides and so I didn’t, but when you’re made up of the genetic material of two people who no longer choose to be one unit, you feel like a fragmented mess. Oh this must belong to my mom and this is clearly my dad. Nothing is your own. I did not have abuse, poverty, betrayal or neglect to weigh me down, so I burdened myself by what I could. I spent a decent amount of elementary school talking to the guidance counselor about divorce. I remember liking it but feeling no change from it. It was just something else I could attach myself to, something else that gave me character, gave me an edge. I have sadness too! I’m deep and rich in character, see? Do you see me? The desperation in me to prove something to myself and anyone who’d pay attention was so unbelievably ridiculous. Why didn’t anyone tell me that mastering memorization said nothing of who I was and certainly wasn’t reflective of the intelligence I thought I possessed. Neither was being an elite athlete, being skinny or “pretty”, being first in line, or even being president of the class. None of that bullshit matters. I was so disconnected from the goodness I am, the heart and its capacity, that my mediocre head took over and ran the show. I’ll take it from here, it said, let me show people how great I am. Now, I’d rather be good. Greatness is for crafty egos. Goodness is for intelligent hearts.

Since the age of 3 I was drawn to men. I had lots of little boyfriends in elementary school and junior high. High school hit, my ego developed rapidly, and my heart diminished in size, drastically. It was difficult to breathe. I spent a few years following others, popular girls, girls in my neighborhood, girls on sports teams, just trying to fit in, keep friends, maintain the ever interesting status quo. Then I experienced personal and school related challenges from the age of 12-15 and I said fuck this noise. No more giving a shit about fitting in. I’m standing out. People will know how I feel and where I stand from now on. Look out. I still derived my sense of self from my good grades, from being a strong athlete and basically nothing else. What else mattered? Then I began having crushes on unattainable men, teachers, older guys, guys with girlfriends, etc. That made it easy because I never had to really be vulnerable, never had to tamper with the unknown, I could just sit and think how mature I was and how no one got me except these men I couldn’t have. I watched other friends lose themselves completely in silly high school relationships, never to need their friends again. I never wanted to be that dependent, so I was caustically independent, a fucking hermit. The concept of balance clearly didn’t hit me until later. Neither did self-awareness. I made myself available to one guy, one. An idiot. An alcoholic. An unavailable, aloof, sexy, deep voiced, big lipped, lazy twat. I’m sure he’s fine now. I sincerely hope he’s happy. My disgust is with myself, in enjoying the melodrama that was the nothingness of our relationship. I got the monkey off my back, I should’ve just said thanks and waved goodbye to move on quickly to others, but instead I wallowed, I sheltered myself off even more and spent most of my college years lonely, slightly bitter and more engrossed in intellectual pursuits.

I’m approaching a decade since graduating high school. I was so underwhelmed and not inspired by those I went to school with, which I’m sure they echoed in their sentiments toward me, so I have no desire to go to my reunion. However, naturally it’s inspired some reflection. Only recently have I shed my guilty conscience. One I hardly earned. I didn’t even betray, kill or tell major lies. I simply did nothing. Loved no one. Welcomed no one in. I had some wonderful friends and I think they might speak up on my behalf. I wasn’t a total C, but I’d say the light behind my eyes didn’t show up til about 22. And even then I struggled to find my own sense of who I was and where I was going. Everything was easy growing up. I was so beyond fortunate. And the average challenge public schools provided instilled a false sense of confidence because decent grades were easy to come by. I felt a sinking, crushing doubt about myself as a worthy human being. What in the world did I truly have to offer? What was my voice? Sarcastic and clever? Where was the true intelligence and compassion? It left with my parent’s divorce, my sad excuse for a broken heart and with the guilt that I actually had no excuse at all. I was privileged, rewarded everyday for nearly nothing, loved for no reason other than being alive, and connected with opportunities just by virtue of being where I was and knowing those I did. I gave myself a chip on the shoulder and now I was tasked with sanding it down, dusting it off and putting it to work.

I’ll go to grad school, get a master's degree, that’ll prove something. I’ll go to law school. Everyone always said I’m skillfully argumentative and what a great financial living that would provide. I felt guilty for not wanting to do these things I was clearly inclined and primed to do. I wanted to run away, move to some small island and sell pineapple juice, expect nothing of myself and others and just be. Again, balance. One must locate their goodness and then pursue greatness, not the other way around. Goodness is inherent, innate, but it certainly can be covered by dust, muck, resentment and all the clever tricks of the egos trade. Like the sky left invisible by a thick layer of clouds, my goodness and essence was always there, just as with everyone else, I needed some rain to fall, some wind to blow and some sun to shine to have the courage for it to re-emerge. Falling in love with someone naturally good, who’d worked for every single dollar and every single achievement left me feeling more insecure. Why did he love me? Because I was cute, funny, Italian, smart? Hell if I knew. So I ran away with him to Italy, to travel, explore and search for what I’d already found and forgotten.

The pervasive theme and question plaguing my overactive mind was why am I so dissatisfied with who I am when everything I was born with and grew up with was so great? My body worked and my metabolism was good. So on the basic physical level, all was well. I nitpicked, hated my hair, my poo colored eyes, my thick thighs, long toes, small calves and any other number of nonsensical complaints I could render. Nonetheless the smarter side of me knew I was lucky and I was fine and to get the hell over any trivial nonsense. My mind worked fine, probably too well. My heart was largely ignored, my loins were fulfilled, my belly was always full, my arms often embraced in hugs. I was told I could be anything I wanted to be, encouraged to follow my passion, to do what I love, to relax and enjoy, but that made it worse. Agh, freedom to choose? Someone just tell me what to do and who to be and I’ll work to mold myself, I’ll consume myself with that task. I’ll make money and dress sharp and I’ll convince everyone and myself that I’m making something of myself. I never felt I adequately showed gratitude or achievements to make up for all the good that bestowed upon me before I earned it. This was no one’s fault but mine. I just didn’t know how to process out of it. Until I found Yoga.

My pursuit into teaching started as a love for challenging my body and a desire to do something that carried meaning. I see it in myself a few years back when I was a fresh, young teacher trying to encourage others to believe the same shit I was convincing myself to absorb. Yoga makes you deep and teaching Yoga is noble. I see it in many today, you can see when someone is pleased with themselves because it is a mirror to a look you’ve expressed yourself. Companies exploit this, showcase a false sense of sincerity, soul and goodness to pillage the pockets of consumers who want to believe the same thing. This is why I rebel and reject labels. The rush is so phony, the identity is so contrived, the message so disingenuous. I just aim to be comfortable, let the cloth be a small expression of uniqueness but not an identity, not a staunch loyalty, not a showcase of membership with an exclusive club. So through meeting some truly incredible, awe-inspiring people with tremendous goodness and greatness, I felt encouraged to find my own. First I felt terrified, of course, then slowly the clouds started to part and I could see and feel my own sky again, my essence, my goodness. My ego was still there, fighting very hard for survival, keeping me in a cycle of complaint, of discontent, of melodrama and inner turmoil, and why? Guilty conscience. I’m not doing enough. I’ve experienced such little tragedy, had so much good fortune and what have I shown for it? Vicious cycle.

So on my journey back from where I feel my heart belongs, Italy, after a short stop with long lessons and memories in New York City, I settled, for the time being, in Chicago. Finding my voice and place as a teacher and woman here continues to carry challenges, questions, issues. It’s mostly been beautiful. The summer of 2011 I turned 27, my brother moved in with us, a dear friend was in a terrible near-death accident and I embarked on a few travels around the states, both yoga and non-yoga related that shifted my evolution into high gear. After all this time and energy spent in discomfort, in guilt, in confusion, in discontent, I let go. All those damn philosophical books came falling down upon me and somewhere in there my ego began to die. It’s still there, of course. Not sure it ever completely dissolves, but the reminder is healthy and necessary. Instead of putting my mind to task trying so hard to locate my goodness, decipher if I had greatness and figure out where those two paths met; instead, I surrendered. I said fuck it.

I started writing and sharing my words. Not much changed, who I was and how that was expressed was the same. But my decisions weren’t based on the expectations of others, the impossible standards I placed on myself, or this crock pot of fear I’d spent so much energy stirring for most of my life. I began to accept all that frustrated me previously, not liking or following these previously unapproved paths, but respecting that they make work for others and their decisions should have no weight on mine. I enjoyed the things that previously defined me without attachment to them. Who I am in essence is far more important than who I'll ever be on paper.

I got nowhere withholding who I was from others or from sheltering myself from opportunities I deserved to seize. My life was a series of what-ifs that I never learned the answers to. We can’t white knuckle our way through life. Our past can only define us if we allow it, regardless how bad or how good it was, we can be whoever we wish to be now, and each day is an opportunity to improve and wash away the clouds from our skies. I am kind, generous, grateful, funny, loving, smart and hard-working. And I’d be willing to bet most human beings who get in their own way are as well. It’s about finding the courage and intelligence to acknowledge these positive facets, to let go of the mistakes, guilt, bitterness and hesitation and just commit everyday to enjoying all that you are. Life is riddled with flaws, rejection, hurt, despair, tragedy and any concoction of negativity you can conjure up in your imagination. Accepting that the spectrum of experiences in life is bound to affect you throughout the journey will free you from deriving your happiness from it. You are enough already. I am enough. It isn’t about impressing others, staking a claim, being the best or having the most. It’s about feeling grateful to be alive each day, having the guts to stop listening to your conditioned thoughts and instead be aware of the infinite wisdom residing in your heart, and to simply try what you wish to try, go where you wish to go, and living how you wish you live so you can glance back briefly at the end knowing there were no what-ifs that dragged you down and kept you from living your life fully.

It is my intention to feel grateful everyday for the amazing family I was born into, the friends I’ve acquired, the healthy body nature gave me, and to use my mind to better my experience and not diminish my potential. Each day, regardless if the events were good or bad, I’ll always come back to appreciation for my goodness, for the life that I am. Armed with this, I’ll be brave enough to pursue greatness and share this truth with others, so they can better live in their own definitions of happiness, having all been freed from the imprisonment that is fear, guilt and negativity. I am Never Not Hungry, here, now.

Never Not Hungry Danielle Robinson Yoga teacher/ Writer You, Me and Yoga Makes 3 on Facebook Follow: @mastic8onthis on Twitter

Optimism is a Choice. Declare it.

If I’ve learned anything at all, it’s that my life has been a series of self-fulfilling prophecies. When I believed love was bullshit, relationships were wastes of time and most people were assholes, guess what? That’s precisely what I experienced. I had no right. To watch many members of my family love one another is akin to listening to the hypnotic and tear-extracting sounds of an impeccable symphony. They love with reckless abandon and unrelenting loyalty. And so do I. Being analytical and pragmatic, even as a damn child, I learned from multiple divorces and negative displays of love that my heart was too fragile to be fucked with, and so I let it shrink, like the Grinch, narrowing my scope and understanding, limiting my experiences and ultimately, myself. The truth of the matter is, I’m not wrong. There’s endless corroborative evidence (a nearly 60% divorce rate, for example) to support my cynicism, but this world is exponentially complex and expansive, how could I ever pigeon hull every human being into one category, or even most of them? Or eliminate the possibility for people and circumstances to change? I can’t. It’s wrong, foolish and keeps me in a cyclone of crankiness. What fun. I’ve learned to feel grateful first, for the simple and the magnificent, and everything blossomed from there. I spent roughly 4 years studying the depths of Nature vs. Nurture. I’ve spent subsequent years with less emphasis on the intellectual pursuit and more with the lessons bestowed by living. I believe wholeheartedly that the way we choose to nurture ourselves once we are responsible for our own growth is entirely indicative of our happiness and success level. My parents did their best job, despite divorces or mistakes, they loved us strongly, provided a pretty healthy genetic make-up to take care of the nature side, and then raised us in a stable, positive environment with valuable life lessons to round out the nurture aspects. Having a practical based brain and then being raised by very logical people fostered an entrenched sense of realism, with little emphasis on imagination or unknown manifestations. That was just me. This is not to disparage any family member; they’re compassionate, humorous people who gave me a love of food, travel and comedy, not to mention their belief I could do anything and the mental fortitude to take care of myself; however, there’s at times an imbalance because I made the poor decision to follow my strengths, opting out of anything that didn’t come natural to me, and when you have a hyperactive left hemisphere and choose then to squelch any right hemisphere thoughts or activities, you end up lop-sided.

Because of the way I decided to develop my brain, I was very detail oriented, athletically inclined, not afraid to say no, too afraid to say yes, and hung up on the past and anxious about the future. I had no outlet and no capacity to know I needed one. I truly grew up believing the bullshit that you are either a glass is half-full or glass is half-empty kind of person, with little credence given to the vast grey areas between or understanding of choice, that I could foster optimism, I wasn’t just born with or without it. I’d convince myself I was half-full but through various negative experiences, recognized my tendency toward the half-empty as a defense mechanism.

Because my parents got married and had children (child, me) young and inevitably got divorced, I used to carry judgment and disdain toward people who chose to engage in the same behavior. It’s none of my business. They are not my parents and although I do believe maturity will make you a better parent and there’s value in spending your twenties learning, exploring, dreaming; there’s just as much in taking on the responsibilities of a parent and doing that well. That’s just one of many examples where I see behavior repeated by someone I barely know that clearly had a caustic effect on me in my youth, and my pessimism led me toward judgment and ridicule, often sarcastic encounters, subsequent self-criticism and burned bridges. Self-fulfilling prophesy. I saw negativity or the potential for it, and I made it so. What a god damn bummer.

People who know me may attest to my kindness and loyalty, the fun side of my sense of humor and my very intense passion for things that I care about; and while I’d love to sit here and toot my own horn or give myself a break, I have to share honestly the facets of who I used to be, so I can better articulate my and other’s progress. I’m sure there are still people who’ve rubbed the old me (sometimes I call her Dani, and many people I love still call me this as she’s still apart of me, just a lesser used Danielle. Danielle 2.0) the wrong way, exhibited such repugnant and cancerous patterns that I’ve written them off or created my own invisible barriers to prevent their entry. In some instances this is wise, because those specific individuals may be hell-bent on living from their worst selves and it is not your or my responsibility to take the brunt of their bullshit and hope they’ll improve, or even fantasize our presence will do that for them, but you can choose to be optimistic, tactful in your interactions rather than defensive like I used to be, and feel compassion toward what is probably a very sad, unhealthy human being. And then there’s the cases where your/my built up walls are out of habit and keeping someone at a distance is only preventing you both from improvement, both together and apart. This is often the case with parents, family, old friends, or even co-workers. It takes a wise soul to delineate between the two. An easy way to distinguish is how you feel in their presence. Does this person bring the best or worst out of you? If it’s the worst, as some people try their damnedest to do to me, without knowing it of course; then you must wish them well and move on, painful as it may be.

Being the major work in progress I am, flawed and at times frustrated by what I don’t know or what I haven’t changed, I have to remain positive and hopeful about others and myself. The most freeing mechanism is my breath. When I feel a surge of discomfort, adversity or anxiety, whether it’s justified or in my head, instead of reacting inwardly or outwardly, I breathe. That creates space in my mind to choose my thoughts, which will then affect my emotional response, which will then be cast outward as my attitude and tone, which will then affect my interactions with the world around me. I discuss this often in Yoga, choosing the energy we bring into the room, and I’m finding the power to choose lies in just one moment and if I make the benevolent choice, the selection that is kind to me and others, that is also a self-fulfilling prophecy, compounded to an excessive level compared to the path of pessimism. The choice lies in every moment, not only in the big life decisions, but in the day-to-day. So, through the space that has been created with my breath, as simple and easy as that sounds, I’ve learned to alter my state of mind, my relative openness to the world around me. Instead of thinking before I speak, I breathe before I think, and then I think before I speak. And it’s working. It’s not finished, nor will it ever be, but it’s on the up-swing. When I encounter the disingenuous or antagonistic, it is then to deploy the parachute of optimism. I feel lighter. Negative people or circumstances just flow through, in one ear and out the other. I don’t enjoy them, nor would I choose to spend copious amounts of time or energy on them, but I choose merely not to carry them at all. My ego’s former need to put people in their place has surpassed, for the most part, and now armed with the responsibility of making my and potentially other’s days better, I’m certainly not going to let some cranky person weigh me down, choosing to see how the world is shit through their eyes, but rather looking to the kind soul next to them, who is eager and thoughtful and open to a better day. See into the light of that soul, not into the darkness of the other.

It’s easy to believe all goodness lies within our bubble and that bubble alone, and while it’s important to feel grateful for the good in your life and to surround yourself with it, feeling everything outside that box is somehow inadequate, negative or not worth your time leads down a winding path to pessimism and further self-fulfilling prophecies. Judging by the purely magnificent human beings I’ve met in the past couple years, I know the bubble theory is untrue. There is an abundance of goodness and greatness and I’d love to be privy to it all, to absorb anything and anyone I can, and hope to improve myself through expanding my circle. Having a small web of trustworthy, encouraging people will only champion a better you, but making room in your life for new, interesting people with varying perspectives and ideas will broaden you even further. Again, it’s a balancing game, and it is up to your wisdom to discern who you’ll allow into your bubble. You can at once be aware of individuals and situations that carry the potential to bring darkness while believing in your gut there is enough light in you and in the world to wash away the heavy. Allowing myself to be proved wrong keeps the progression train chugging, and simultaneously releasing any fixation with anything or anyone detrimental to that progression has led to a more authentically elated internal state.

It is very easy and extremely addictive to complain. Sure, we need to let out steam, vent our frustrations and find some solace in challenging encounters, but to the extent we take it is certainly questionable. Why, when we dislike someone, when they’ve wronged us in some way, is it then necessary to spread that negativity onto others, making others feel obligated not to like that person too? I’ve certainly been guilty of this in the past, and what’s most troubling is the degree to which I let these events stick with me, for fucking ever it seemed, not holding a grudge necessarily but definitely not letting go either. The ego needs constant validation, disagree with it and you may see tears, or fists, and the most empowering moments I’ve had is when I see my own ego at work, I watch the word-vomit spill out of my mouth and I watch as my self-fulfilling prophecies and the way I choose to nurture my own life come to fruition yet again. There’s a way to stand up for what’s right and give someone a firm, non-emotional no, a ‘present no’ as Eckhart Tolle calls it, without then perpetuating and exaggerating that event so it exists in you forever, becoming a permanent fixture in your operative state. What a colossal waste of time and energy. Imagine, if you carried and shared all the positive, enthusiastic, passionate and joyful experiences you’ve had, and during the bad days you choose to remind yourself of the good rather than letting the bleak tropical storm turn into a hurricane, choosing again optimism over pessimism, taking full responsibility for how you experience life and how you carry it on. Can you fathom how the world could open up for you? Can you embrace the unknown and be open to your and other’s possibilities? I certainly hope so.

I don’t believe optimism is an easy choice, but I do believe it’s the choice of wise, successful and genuinely happy human beings. We have this incredible facility to choose, to be hyper aware of our own existence and starkly aware of our impending death, that this knowledge can either drive us to fear, carving out even smaller boxes or circles, to a life of mediocrity and settling; or to sheer wonder, exploration, pleasure, learning, and a very heightened, engaged living. Living with presence, a relinquishing of control over the future but an omnipresent hope and exhilaration for what may come your way. When you begin to see the potential of your own mind and heart, the access to light and goodness at magnifies and expands, becoming its own self-fulfilling prophecy. Travel light, bringing emotional baggage with you around every corner only weighs you down and diminishes your light. See light, acknowledging the light in others only serves to reflect that light back to you, propagating your own goodness. Be light, making conscious decisions out of presence, making each moment better, will only make you more timeless, effervescent.

Ponder the impression you want to leave, not only on those you care deeply for, but those who’ll never know your name, only the lingering effect your energy left on them. Choose light and then brighten and spread it, no sense in hoarding, it’s not doing a number on your electric bill; if anything, your mind, body and heart will thank you, as will the countless souls left in your warm, vivacious wake. Take a look at this incredible short video created by futurist and optimist, Jason Silva. I know very little about this man, but what I see and experience leaves a lasting impression. His enthusiasm and yes, his light, are tangible and infectious, and his level of optimism only inspires me to soar to those heights, to believe in the innate goodness within myself, that same goodness that’s alive in You. I am ecstatic and energized for whatever and whoever rolls my way. I’m grateful years of skepticism and self-awareness led to my slow and gradual awakening, the truth that life is whatever the hell you can fathom it to be, my potential is only limited and thwarted by me, same for you, and whatever we believe it to be, will be.

http://vimeo.com/29938326

No one is breathing, thinking, absorbing or acting for you. You make small and large choices every single day, starting with each breath. Make the challenging decision and choose optimism. Choose light.