The Gift That Keeps on Giving
For many years, I felt insecure about understanding how I coped with my mental health. I had endured distinct anxiety issues, symptoms of long-term severe depression, and multiple suicide experiences. During my youth, I was already diagnosed with attention deficit disorder. Due to numerous factors, such as stigma and being born in the early 1980s, I faced much of my mental health on my own. Concerns about anxiety were trivial or imaginary. Stop worrying so much.
Depression problems stemmed from a lack of self-esteem. Put on a smiley face. What kept me balanced? I expected few, if any, positive reasons for maintaining my mental health. After attending a local mental health conference in 2017, I discovered a positive source of strength I had unknowingly been utilizing for years. By sharing what I have learned about mindfulness, I hope to help you find the remarkable potential that is all around everyone.
In its simplest form, mindfulness is awareness of yourself and your surroundings. It is best described as a perception rather than a state of mind. In practice, there are two common forms: formal and informal. Formal mindfulness is often attained through physical activities such as yoga and meditation. These require time set aside to engage in them efficiently and concentration to channel your thinking through awareness of your body.
Informal mindfulness involves focusing your attention on anything you perceive so you can become more aware of it. This includes abstract elements such as ideas that have no real-world form. Thanks to my natural autistic ability to think outside the box, I have discovered a vast potential for positivity by paying closer attention to all the life around me. Long before I knew what mindfulness actually was, though, a problem with one of my senses forced an insightful change in my life.
At the age of ten, while I was in fourth grade, my vision unexpectedly degenerated from normal to 20/1000. I was diagnosed with myopia because I could not focus to see objects at a distance. My visual acuity is considered legally blind, the category closest to actual blindness. As a result, I instinctively started to rely more on my other senses. Studies have shown the same can happen when one of a person’s five senses becomes impaired. This created some of my first subtle opportunities for better awareness, particularly of sounds.
I did like music as much as the average person during this time. I recall recognizing sounds in general. Some were positive. Some were negative. The sound of a professional hunter slowly stalking through dry African grass was strangely fascinating to hear. The sound of howling winds, amplified by the valley where I lived, incited anxiety and fear. Unknowingly, mindfulness was enriching my life.
The soothing sound of George Harrison’s song “Cloud Nine” playing over the radio. The sweet smell of marigold flowers on a summer day. The soft touch of a satin-trimmed blanket between my fingers. The mouth-watering taste of a traditional Italian Stromboli. Or the vibrant color of green I would see during springtime. While I paid closer attention to these simple and positive sensory experiences, I became more aware of myself and my feelings. There is no better example than when I was in fourth grade.
I was singled out and repeatedly bullied by a classmate. I specifically remember recognizing the disruption he caused in my life. Anxiety, fear, and frustration. I could not understand why other kids would be so mean for little or no reason. As early as elementary school, I also felt sad and unwanted from being the last person picked for teams in gym classes. As a result, I was increasingly receptive to positive emotions.
For special occasions, like holidays and my birthday, I wrote thank you cards to my elder relatives. Awareness of negativity compelled me to care about how I treated others. So, I put extra effort into expressing how grateful I was for my relative’s thoughtful attention. The praise I received was very rewarding, such as from my grandmothers, whose admiration was especially heartfelt. Mindful awareness of this praise reinforced my behavior and served as an incentive to develop my talent for self-expression.
I had no idea my undiagnosed autistic trait of oppositional defiance helped my expressions to be increasingly unique. As a teenager, I recognized which emotions I valued because it mattered to me how I felt. I embraced compassion and cared about how negative emotions made others feel simply because I was aware of them. After junior high, though, I was not prepared for just how painful negative emotions could be.
The bullying I experienced only got worse. More classmates my age and older targeted me with dehumanizing behavior. I was oddly unable to ignore it. As a result, I caused conflicts that should have been avoided. Rejection from girls had left me feeling ugly and lonely. Dating became nearly impossible due to a failure to recognize social cues. I had a small group of respectful friends I valued spending time with. Yet, peer pressure still made me feel like an outcast who did not belong.
My underlying autistic neurodivergence also intensified the social isolation I felt. My first classmates and family members died when I was in high school. I was ill-prepared to grieve for them. Personality conflicts at home afforded little relief. Even the specialist treating my attention deficit disorder alienated me. Thankfully, a growing awareness of sounds offered useful sources of enjoyment when I struggled with my problems.
Popular science fiction series, such as Star Trek and Star Wars, offered a way to escape daily stress through the use of imagination to explore the fiction. To expand my experience, I found myself often listening to the music by composers Jerry Goldsmith and John Williams. Hearing the Star Trek: The Next Generation rendition of Alexander Courage’s original theme still gives me goosebumps. Other music genres were similarly invigorating.
Musicians like Billy Joel, Richard Marx, Enya, and Rob Zombie, followed later by bands such as Linkin Park, Shinedown, Mesh, and Rammstein, each gave me an empowering sense of identity and fulfillment. My autistic neurodivergence of doing things differently led me to create my own compilation CDs because it was efficient, creative, and fun. A few years after high school, I became aware of a specific personality trait that was increasingly difficult to cope with.
I was pushing myself too hard to accomplish tasks with precision. I felt trapped between a rock and a hard place. Except I knew what was causing the stress and exactly where it came from. Perfectionism was instilled in me during my upbringing. Stress got to the point where I distinctly remember feeling a need to correct it. I thought to myself, “If something is very negative, then why not try the opposite and see if there is a positive effect?” So, I put more effort into appreciating nature.
This revealed interesting opportunities for more relaxed thinking. My dad drew my attention to beautiful sunsets and scenery, which was helpful and visually refreshing. If a precise route into town was the fastest and I had extra time but the weather was fair, I took a different route to enjoy the experience. The more unstructured my thinking was, the more I valued the positive difference in my personality. I actually tamed perfectionism.
I learned how I reacted to positive and negative influences and chose to care about what negativity did to other people. I preferred the endearing nature of compassion and forgiveness over senseless bullying and unpleasant behavior. I instinctively gravitated towards instrumental and lyrical music for positive self-expression and identity. Less-structured thinking helped me lower stress by appreciating different forms of art and the beauty in nature.
Unfortunately, mindfulness alone was not enough to stop my suicide attempt in 2003. Life took on a whole new meaning with a different perspective on everything. I moved on by trying to live my life one day at a time. In 2008, when I finally overcame the denial of that attempt, something important happened. My stagnant depression finally weakened. I started experiencing more enthusiasm and noticed a creative outlet, for my feelings, through a familiar medium: movies.
I discovered more realistic heroes who became empowering sources of self-motivation in Christopher Nolan’s Dark Knight Trilogy and Marvel’s early Cinematic Universe films. For the first time, I could cope with my suicide experiences by relating them to something. When the teaser trailer for Star Wars Ep. 3 was released, I identified with the tragic character of Anakin Skywalker because the film series already portrayed his redemption. Thanks to trailers for the film Avatar, I discovered a genre of music called neo-classical.
Production music companies, such as Audiomachine, and modern-era composers, such as Thomas Bergersen, created unique instrumental music I found remarkably stimulating. As a result, the inspirational value of music literally doubled for me all because I valued it more. For the first time in my life, I could see that inspiration was all around me. The more I could find, the stronger I could feel.
Now, by 2023, I will be exploring a boundless source of positivity from awareness achieved through informal mindfulness. No gimmick or scheme, and not just with physical objects. Imagine enjoying your favorite food more because you pay attention to how delicious it is or if it has nostalgic value. Socialize with a dear friend to share stories and jokes because this person treats you with respect. You can recognize how important genuine friendships are in your life and try to cultivate more.
What if life feels like a struggle? You are only just getting by each day, but music is very important to you. By paying attention to and valuing that love of music, you could draw greater strength from an ordinary pastime to improve your mental health. Despite dealing with some of the toughest life issues, such as suicide, mindfulness can still avail positive feelings for use at any time. Simple things in your life are now tools of empowerment.
In early 2017, I discovered how mindfulness helped me balance my mental health through adversity thanks to a local conference presentation. One of my recent counselors even said I became my own support person because I faced it on my own for so long. The sympathy in the look on her face was unmistakable. Now I know where my inner strength came from. Informal mindfulness is not a tangible object. It is a way of perceiving who you are as a person in this moment of your life.
Through self-awareness, I can counter tougher negativity with stronger inspiration. Positive influences, such as music, movies, appreciating nature, and valuing friendly people, have been and can continue to be an essential part of my life. Although for me, mindfulness alone could not replace seeking proper treatment, I now value it as one of the most important parts of my life. Mindfulness truly is the gift that keeps on giving.
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