in which I attempt a greater degree of honesty

I do try to be positive here, on my blog.

In fact, I use this blog as a tool to help me see the world in a positive light.
The truth is that I have sometimes put an hour or more into typing a negative post and realize along the way that it doesn't fit with my purpose here. This is neither a memoir nor a place for my public whining. It's called Unburied Treasure, after all, not Flaunted Self-Pity. So, I try to access and share good thoughts.

I have learned, through my many adventures in therapy and self-help, that gratitude is a powerful tool for finding our happiness (for which we are solely responsible) and one of the ways I try to harness that power is by writing it.

I didn't realize until today that by editing out my negative thoughts and feelings from this, my only active blog, I have been painting a very distorted self portrait.

This morning, just after I'd criticized my teenage son too harshly for singing while I was trying to speak and be heard, so that he left the house actively not speaking to me, I received an email that included the following confession:

I sorta envy how happy and grounded you always appear to be. How committed to whatever you're in...I see myself as doing hysterical somersaults through life and I see you as sitting on a beach in groovy sunglasses soaking in the rays with a martini.

Well, she could not have gotten that more wrong. Where is this beach and how do I get there?

This email was a wake up call to me to be aware of how I present myself to my friends, especially those whom I have not see in years, with whom I mainly keep in touch through facebook. I care a lot about this; I am so not about the facade.

When I was in the process of gathering courage for my divorce, my therapist said to me "Well, at least your being divorced will make you more likeable."

I flipped out on him. What the hell was he talking about? He explained that from the outside, my life appeared to be perfect. The divorce would be reassuring evidence for other people to see that it's not. Nobody likes a perfect person. It would now be much easier for me, he predicted, to make friends in Cincinnati.

This was shattering. All I really wanted was to be loved, and I had just spent 29 years trying to be as perfect as possible in order to get love. And now, I was being told that I had gotten it all wrong.

I had thought I was open before, but since that day, I have tried to be much more consciously open with people - both in person and in correspondence - about what is going on with me, about how I really feel. I have learned that it is a great gift to share your struggles with others. We all have our struggles, and when you are deeply in one, it is incredibkly comforting and reassuring to know that someone else has stood in your shoes and climbed out of the hole. I think the greatest horror of adolescence is that we tend not to believe that our problems are not hideously unique. The antidote to this misperception - sharing stories of overcoming difficulties - has got to be the single greatest benefit of the recent wave of published memoirs.

Today, I arrived at yoga, telling myself I was really ready to dig deep and discover a new truth. I have been especially preoccupied lately by the pattern I find myself in with my teenage son, where I miss him terribly when we are apart and drive him further away almost as soon as we are together. When other people complain about their teenagers, I have found myself thinking. "No, my teenager is terrific. It's not him; it's me." It's been very troubling, and I haven't heard anyone speaking my struggle, at least not precisely.

Our lovely yoga teacher, Karen, announces that in honor of Hallowe'en we are going to make the class about facing our fears. She instructs us to stand in tadasana and silently identify a fear that is plaguing us and in that moment I instantly have clarity. I realize that I am afraid of losing my son, of losing the first true love I have really ever known. Karen proceeds to explain that the Universe is not such a good listener when we are negative. If we think about what we don't want, it only hears the thing we fear and thinks we want more of that. So, if we want the effective support of the Universe, we must reframe our fear into the affirmation with which we will overcome it.

Tears were streaming down my face and neck as I framed the affirmation that I will be kind, fair and loving with my son. I saw very clearly in the brightness of the moment that by focusing on what I feared happening, I was using the energy of the Universe to support a negative, self-fulfilling prophecy.

It's funny. I had just posted on facebook before walking into yoga that "I cannot wait to find what insights come up on the mat this morning." And the Universe didn't keep me waiting even a moment longer than it took me to find a pose in which to be still.

As I continued to wipe at the small river of tears and snot that were now emanating, I felt so grateful, once again, for the yoga community I have found at Shine. I can't help it. I really do feel deep gratitude for this safe supportive environment in which I can receive deep, powerful insights. The love and safety of the Shine community gives me the freedom to take them in fully, and respond fully, in the present moment.

At temple, by contrast, when, during silent prayer, or while singing a song of healing, I may suddenly get in touch with things that are laden with strong emotion, I immediately try to quell my emotional response. I'll take note of what comes up and try to save the power of it for later. Sometimes I cry in spite of this resolve, because I have a tendencey to be very liquid, but at Shine I don't even feel I need to make an effort to hold back.

My yoga mat at Shine is a miraculous place where I can deeply experience and express joy, power, strength, love, surrender, acceptance and serenity, both through the physical expression of the asanas and internally, while sitting still. Having been there for 90 minutes, I feel strengthened in my affirmation to turn over a new leaf with my son and to stop pushing him away in reaction to my fears. It may take a few tries, but I believe I will wrestle that leaf into submission. The pain and hopelessness I felt when he walked out the door this morning is gone. It feels great, and it's a whole lot less expensive than therapy. Not to be overly positive, or anything, but I do feel so much better now, full of gratitude and love.

But ask me again tomorrow. I'll try to be completely honest.