When I find my space
When I moved to Austin, TX (stay warm!), I had 6 roommates and a history of feeling overwhelmed by the people around me. I struggled with creating boundaries between my experience of the world, and the environments I found myself in.
For those with the acute sensitivity of an empath, or as Dr Elaine Aron’s research describes us, a highly sensitive person — this feeling is familiar.
Whether it’s dating, or the now mythical concept of commuting to work, we take in interactions unfiltered. The noise of wheels scraping on a moving train, the emotions of the people sitting across the bus aisle, the angst of a work email, the longing for a loved one’s touch. We feel it, all.
This sensitivity can make the world so challenging.
And yet, becoming empowered in this experience has given birth to the most important and joyous moments of my life.
But I didn’t start there.
Naive and determined
If I had a life motto it would be “naive, and determined.”
This mindset encouraged me to drop out of college and pursue a ballet career, move to an Indian village and a protracted battle with local monkeys (the birthplace of my first blog), apply to Stanford Graduate School of Business, and in what could be considered a more mild adventure — move to Austin, TX sight unseen.
Let’s set one thing straight: few are more California hippie and New York impatient than I.
My decision, therefore, to move in with six graduate film students, in a Winchester Mystery style home with our own 25 pound wild snapping turtle — after a 20 minute Skype interview — might seem… naive.
And it was. And I was determined to make it work.
It wasn’t just that the insulation was horrible (because who needs temperature regulation in Austin… too soon? Take good care friends!).
My new, very creative and very eclectic roommates had their own deep way of experiencing the world, and they experienced it all the time, all over our apartment.
Unable to separate, I created peace around me in order to find peace within.
Whether it was returning from work to 20 fairies dancing around our backyard, or a murder mystery unfolding in our kitchen, or the inevitable interpersonal drama with six people, two couples and two people who liked things clean (guess who!), that home’s intensity rivaled my Brooklyn subway-level apartment, with an emotional pitch that made me long for the comfort of baking shows and Jane Austen novels.
Suffice to say, it was a very lovable place, and it was a lot.
Grounding
Sitting in that huge house in Austin, with a sound machine blocking the noise of clanking kitchen pots and yelling roommates, I took my first meditation class.
It was a simple class, taught by a friendly British man named David who, along with his wife Anne, would become the closest I’ve gotten to spiritual teachers.
Their meditation center, Intuitive Way, validates those with my high sensitivity, and teaches tools to get present in the body and centered in the mind, by releasing energy of the people, places and experiences we energetic sponges constantly soak up.
I sit with my feet on the floor. David takes me through a simple visualization, grounding to the center of the earth and releasing each feeling, image and memory that floods me the moment I slow down.
Emptying everything, trusting that what is mine will stay, I learn what it feels like to have my own space — just for me.
For the first time in a long time, I feel at ease in my body, rather than overwhelmed by the waves of other people’s “stuff” that I’ve always felt as acutely as my own.
Learning to open up to my sensitivity while also creating boundaries has become my most important practice.
As I settle into the stillness, I smile, remembering how my mother used to chastise me for trying to make everyone happy. I understand now that by taking care of others, I was taking care of myself — I felt their pain as closely as my own. Unable to separate, I created peace around me in order to find peace within.
Now, in my own space, I reconnect to my knowingness — to how I feel, to what I think, to what I want or need.
My sensitivity can now be enjoyed rather than feared. It creates a colorful universe for me to experience — a rich landscape of loving, joy, amusement and enthusiasm. Of sadness, anger, yearning or grief. Still so many feelings, each felt to the fullest, but now the feelings are mine.
Learning to open up to my sensitivity while also creating boundaries has become my most important practice.
It has unlocked better health, more self awareness and the freedom to explore without fear — myself, others and the world.
As the waves hit, I now have a choice — to stay grounded, rather than getting swept out to sea.
A constant practice
Nowadays, life certainly isn’t perfect — pandemic, politics, systemic racism… Need I go on? :) These experiences have created huge ripples in our society, and in our lives. But as the waves hit, I now have a choice — to stay grounded, rather than getting swept out to sea.
The ability to meditate is my anchor, literally, and I’m absolutely thrilled to now teach that first meditation class I took with David at Intuitive Way.
Yet even after nearly a decade, meditation is a constant practice.
I’m writing while doing my best not to inhale Zazie’s legendary brunch pancakes, and grateful for where the maitre’d placed me in this cute patio — brick wall at my back, hipster planters to my sides. The location allows me to get grounded, without feeling distracted by people walking behind me, or anxious about someone entering my space unannounced — whether a waiter, eager customer or even endearing dog.
I’m especially thankful for this space, as the intense adventures of the past 4 months have made it difficult for me to find the presence and energy to write.
Positioned comfortably, I can drop in — I find my space again, and again and again.
Now, it flows effortlessly.
