So here’s the deal boys and girls, I’m currently working on an extra personal essay which I may not even use for Substack. I’m actually planning on submitting it for publication elsewhere. So I’m pretty wrapped up in that for the moment.
I also just returned from a much needed week long vacation during which I did not write a word nor do any work of any kind at all.
And I’m about to go on a business trip tomorrow.
So basically what I’m trying to tell you is Substack has taken a backseat to these things.
I have been reminding myself again and again that I can take however long I need between posts. That quality is far more important than quantity. That Substack and all the lovely people thereof will still be here when I return.
But the fact is, it’s hard to feel like it’s ok not to post for such a long period. Ridiculous as that may be. So what I’ve got for you today is an email I sent to my off Substack list when I was pitching that list to join my Substack.
It’s a good message and I think many of you out there may find you can relate.
And for my loyal crew that’s been with me for the long haul and probably already read this little piece, I’d like to think you may still get something out of giving it a second read.
I would love to hear from you all in the form of comments.
Don’t forget to hit the like button while you’re at it!
And to my OG pals (and new pals of course), you can still reply directly to these emails anytime you want to speak with me personally and avoid the social media machine.
So without further ado…
I’m a person who tends to do something I call cocooning. It’s an impulse to fold inward not just mentally but physically. I get really caught up in this desire to be comfortable and cozy so much so that I rarely go outside, especially if it’s cold, and I bury myself in sweaters and blankets even when I’m indoors. Of course this is something that mainly happens in the winter, but not just. I can find excuses to stay inside in the summer too, particularly now that I’m living in a place where it hits over a hundred degrees on the regular during the summer months.
Essentially cocooning is about seeking comfort. It’s about wanting to find the Goldilocks setting for every second of every minute of your life. If it’s too hot, you get sleepy, but if it’s too cold you feel anxious. That little sweet spot of perfect comfort is what you’re searching for and your mind becomes distracted with ways to improve your level of comfort.
For example, as I sit here writing this I’m at my desk wearing a long sleeve thermal t-shirt and a sweater. I’ve got a small heater running at my feet. Plus the central heating in my house is set to seventy-three degrees, so it’s plenty warm in here as it is. It’s only fifty-two degrees outside, which by most approximations isn’t bad at all, and the high today will hit a mild sixty-one.
Yes, I am a California girl there is no denying it.
I’ve been trying to break myself of this obsession with cozy comfort, but it’s hard. It’s a part of my anxiety. Discomfort of any kind can be an excuse to fidget and fuss and distract myself from doing whatever it is I actually need or want to be doing at any given moment.
Recently I had an experience which reminded me of the pitfalls of getting caught in this compulsive need for comfort.
In order to share this story I have to share something with you that I’ve never shared with anyone other than my husband and some very close friends.
Occasionally I like to take psychedelic mushrooms, that is mushrooms which contain the hallucinogen psilocybin.
Some of you may know that I’m a recovered alcoholic, and there are many people in AA who would consider any sort of drug use a violation of sobriety. But in this, I differ greatly from the generally accepted ideas of the flock. Alcohol was my problem and I haven’t touched it in over seven years. I don’t have any other substance addictions (other than maybe sugar, hehe) and I would never be foolish enough to take something addictive like heroin or cocaine or meth or whatever else. But mushrooms are different.
In fact, I used to hate mushrooms when I was a teen and young adult and had my first experiences with them. This is because I was not at all mentally and emotionally prepared to handle the ride that mushrooms take you on. But as an adult I see them as a tool for releasing blocked emotions so that you can begin to feel your way through what’s been holding you back. They help you to see yourself and the world with renewed perspective and they can even help you gain clarity regarding some of the biggest questions currently nagging you.
Mushrooms helped me to answer the question of whether or not to quit photography and shift my focus fully to writing. They helped me to acknowledge that I was done with Los Angeles and have no desire to go back there in the foreseeable future (I’m currently in Fresno, CA). They helped me to embrace a massive rut I was in and remember that it’s ok to be in a rut, because this too is a part of the process.
So now that I’ve gotten that little PSA out of the way, let’s get back to the story.
In early November my husband and I went to Joshua Tree for a vacation and to take mushrooms. The thing with mushrooms is they’re not all fun and games. There’s a reason you hear people talk about bad trips. Your mental state on mushrooms is everything. You have to be willing to let them take you where you need to go. If you try to fight them it can be quite unpleasant. If you get too caught up in negativity, mushrooms can bury you under a mountain of fear and anxiety.
For me, mushrooms are the ultimate reminder that what you focus on becomes your reality.
During our trip (wink wink) my husband, Patrick, who has been going through some rough times of late due to health issues, began descending into a troubled state. It was a cool day, somewhere in the low sixties, but there was a lot of wind and this was making it feel much colder. We had gone outside to roam around the incredible Joshua tree filled property at the Airbnb where we were staying. Patrick was getting cold so we decided to start a fire in the firepit out back which is positioned perfectly for a spectacular view of the mountains to the east.
We got the fire going and I was enjoying myself quite thoroughly. I was cold, but doing my best to ignore it. I stepped nice and close to the fire to help warm myself. Patrick became concerned that I was getting too close to the fire and started warning me back, but I knew I was fine. Despite his nervousness about my proximity to the flames, I held my ground. I was talking a lot, as I often do on mushrooms, and didn’t notice how his demeanor was changing.
He decided he was too cold and wanted to go back inside, but the fire was far from burned down and we couldn’t leave it unattended. We made a failed attempt at putting it out, but it became clear we needed to let it run its course. The sun was lowering in the sky as it grew closer to sunset and the light was looking rather spectacular. I suggested we roam around the property and enjoy the drama of the magic hour. I began to walk away from the firepit toward the outskirts of the property where there was still some direct sunlight spreading over the chollas, creosote, and the myriad shrubs of the desert. But Patrick lingered, still obsessing over the fire, afraid to leave it behind.
And that’s when I looked at him and saw the fear and discomfort he was feeling. I knew I had to help him shift focus, so I simply told him point blank to drop the worrying: “The fire is going to be fine, we are going to be fine, everything is fine.” Luckily I was able to talk him into moving away from the fire, and as we began to explore and chat again, he relaxed and regained his fascination with the vast array of natural wonder surrounding us.
All it took was a simple shift in his perspective, a re-focusing, and he was free, happy, and enjoying himself again.
Prior to this he’d been focusing on discomfort. The cold, the chore of having to tend to the fire, his fear that somehow we were ill equipped to the task of fire given our current state, and the host of dark thoughts which can intrude at such moments of anxiety.
I was cold and uncomfortable too, which was part of why I wanted to move, to walk, to bring some energy and warmth to my body. I wanted to chase the light, to stand in the last warm rays of sun before darkness fell over us.
In that moment I understood that I could choose to shift my focus and that moving toward the light and investigating the plants and the little tree house tucked into the far corner of the property and looking out on the spectacular sunset that was falling over the hills and watching the little chollas as they sparkled and danced in the sunlight was enough to obliterate the cold I was feeling.
I could have just as easily gotten caught up on my own discomfort and descended into a state of unease. And I have been in that position many times: carried away on violent waves of unrest to the dark recesses of consciousness.
All of these thoughts and feelings are amplified under the influence of a hallucinogenic substance, but when were ready to receive it, the lessons learned in this state can be instructive in our daily lives.
This experience reminded me, among other things, that perspective is everything.
It’s a lesson hard won for someone like myself who learned at a very young age to focus on the negative. This tendency is a part of who I am. It is not something that can be got rid of, but it is something that can be controlled. And no matter what anyone says about it, I know from firsthand experience the power of perspective. It took me years to gain control over my thoughts, my moods, the tempest of emotions I was drowning in, but when I did it changed everything about my entire life.
Of course that change didn’t happen overnight. It was gradual, as all true change is. It began with the simple idea: what I focus on becomes my reality. And in time it lead me to a place of confidence and ease previously unthinkable to me. A transformation so complete that here I was not only enacting the power of perspective, but helping someone else find their way out of that emotional tumult.
Taking mushrooms, an experience that used to lead me into fear and a sense of isolation, has transformed into one of revelation and reverence to the incredible power of the mind.
But I do want to be clear about what I mean when I talk about perspective.
Shit happens in life, bad shit, shit that cannot be escaped. If you’re trying to use perspective to escape something you refuse to face, you will fail.
Your perspective cannot change the truth of your circumstances. If that’s what you’re looking to do, you’re completely misunderstanding what it means to gain perspective.
Perspective is about fully accepting exactly where you’re at. Seeing it, knowing it, feeling the pain and the fear and the uncertainty, and choosing to live with all of it.
Perspective is not an escape from difficulty, it is an understanding of the role difficulty plays in your life. It is a way of shifting the mirror so that you see the beauty and the possibility in any and every situation.
I won’t placate you with bullshit clichés about how life will never give you anything that you can’t handle. This is patently false. Life, the universe, god, whatever has no concern for what you can and cannot handle. It will never stop meeting you with the unexpected, for better or for worse.
But perspective can help.
It can help you to bear that which feels unbearable.
It can help you achieve your goals.
It can make you a stronger person.
And if you let it, it can change your life.
Reminds me of when I listened to a talk given by a Tibetan Buddhist monk who described all our thoughts/perceptions as illusory. He suggested that many of our neurotic beliefs and patterns of behaviour are rooted in the tendency to solidify our experiences - in the tendency to make our thoughts/emotions far more solid than they actually are. And then he spoke about how different forms of meditation can help us to look at our day-to-day experiences in a completely different way. ✨