mental health Archives - Ingrid Murray

Permission to Be

I chose “ease” as my word of the year precisely because recently, it hasn’t been easy. And I haven’t yet figured out how to write through it, preferring instead to emerge from my protective cocoon once everything feels more manageable again, painting in the meantime.

I took part in Oliver Burkeman‘s Designing Your System for Creativity workshop this past weekend. His book 4000 Weeks is one of the first I read last year, and it’s had a lasting impact on me and my thinking, frequently working its way into many conversations with friends and family.

So attending his workshops — I also took part in The Art of Imperfect Action in January — made sense.

The most significant realization I had was I find worthwhile only the things are literally unmanageable, and anything less is evasion. But this mindset results in inevitable failure: if some action is of value (ie. impossible) and I can’t do it, but also if I can do something and it’s not that valuable (ie. feasible), I am telling myself that I am incapable of accomplishing anything meaningful.

I’m trying to unlearn that there is no such thing as too small if the alternative is doing nothing at all.

Increasing ease — and reducing friction — has immense value, too, because it is the key to sustainability. So does consistency. (In the words of another favorite author, Brad Stulberg: “Do not focus on being consistently great; focus on being great at being consistent.”)

So I ask you and myself both: what is the minimum manageable thing that you can do every day that will still move you forward?

The Waiting Place

Last year, in late January, I got married. This year, I spent the day alone.

We’d been working on getting a visa for months, bogged down by bureaucracy, unexpected challenges, and moving goal posts. The embassy took my passport in September, and by January, the uncertainty of when I would be able to travel out of the country again was unbearable.

While in agonizing limbo, my friend re-shared Oh, the Places You’ll Go! by Dr. Seuss. I thought I knew it pretty well: it’s a celebratory gift to many graduates, lauding all the adventures they’ll have and the wide horizons of endless possibility.

I’d forgotten, though, about The Waiting Place.

The Waiting Place…

…for people just waiting.
Waiting for a train to go
or a bus to come, or a plane to go
or the mail to come, or the rain to go
or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow
or the waiting around for a Yes or No
or waiting for their hair to grow.
Everyone is just waiting.

Waiting for the fish to bite
or waiting for the wind to fly a kite
or waiting around for Friday night
or waiting, perhaps, for their Uncle Jake
or a pot to boil, or a Better Break
or a string of pearls, or a pair of pants
or a wig with curls, or Another Chance.
Everyone is just waiting.

Somewhere in my personal waiting place, I came across a crucial reminder that, no matter how dark or difficult or heartbreaking or lonely this moment is, humans across the globe — throughout all of time — have been through it, too, and there is a piece of poetry or art or music that echoes that pain.

No matter how isolated or powerless you may feel, you are not alone. And, because life is the way it is and change is inevitable, these valleys will not last forever.

Somehow you’ll escape
all that waiting and staying
You’ll find the bright places
where Boom Bands are playing.

Somehow, we did escape all that waiting. I am writing from Germany — the visa was approved just a little over a week ago. I picked it up the morning of our anniversary.

Darkness Before the Dawn

Today is the winter solstice — the shortest day of the year, with more than 14 hours of darkness.

After today, the light returns.

These past few months have been a struggle. There are 4,000 miles of distance between me and my husband. I am waiting for a visa while clearing out a home, with no real timeline for a final move. Time stretches before me endlessly and, at the same time, I’m unable to plan anything more than a few weeks out.

Several friends have also been waging their own personal battles. Kids and marriages and divorces, health challenges, healing from trauma, so much stress and anxiety. After two (almost three?!) years of a pandemic, we’re all exhausted.

“I appreciate that we can be messes together,” I texted friends tonight. And it’s true. Having friends that show up messy, who love you through your messes, are everything.

But from here, it gets lighter. I’m holding on to that.

My quarterly newsletter goes out on the first day of each season. Read the winter 2022 issue — and sign up, if you like — at ingridmurray.substack.com.

“To Feel” List

There are just 30 days left in 2022.

This entire year has sped by; it feels like it should still be May or June. I am focusing on spending this final month as intentionally as I can. This means slowing down, paying attention, and being mindful.

Somewhere on Instagram, I saw the suggestion to create a “To Feel” list. (I can’t remember where, unfortunately. I need to jot down more in my commonplace book.) I love this idea because it helps to clarify not just what we need to do, but how, or even if, we want to do it.

My “To Feel” list includes:

Confidence
Wonder and curiosity
Delight
Pride (in both my choices and accomplishments)
A sense of safety and belonging
Peace and groundedness

Now, I’ll backwards plan and prioritize decisions or events or opportunities that spark these feelings.

This process will be helpful going into the new year, too: centering your values, and assessing to what extent your current life overlaps with them, is a useful tool for goal-setting.

This, Too, Shall Pass

An out-of-focus photo of a dark room and a window.

This time of year is so difficult. It’s dark, it’s cold, and the holidays bring all sorts of mixed feelings. On one hand, there’s the promise of joy and charity and togetherness, and on the other the reality of rampant consumerism and the unrelenting pressures of maintaining a veneer of cheerful holiday spirit, no matter what.

Remember to breathe. Remember to find ease. Remember that your own reality is, in fact, real. Find moments of peace wherever you can.

This, too, shall pass.