A New Earth, A New You

I’ve found myself at a crossroads. I’ve read a lot of books in the last few months, but few have had the profound life-changing effect that I recall experiencing after reading Eckhart Tolle’s A New Earth two and a half years ago. It is no surprise then, that in the midst of an over-stimulated mind and a restless heart, I re-sought the solace of the book that transformed my life.

One of the books I’ve read recently was The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F**k. And I enjoyed it. I thought it was a great, easy read (probably because Mark Manson speaks my native tongue). In the book, Manson essentially talks about how we choose our problems based on where we place our “fucks”. Despite resonating with this, and many of the other books I’ve read recently, I found myself wanting to get through it as quickly as I could so I could get onto the next book on my list. A list that only seemed to be subject to the laws of expansion and a list that was only contributing further to my feelings of uneasiness and restlessness.

I was using these books as a means to an end. Although they were incredibly stimulating and I found myself absorbing substantial information from each of them, the absorption was hollow and meaningless. The words penetrated my mind, but they ceased to feed my soul.

After catching up with a dear friend recently, she sent me home with a few questions to ponder; “If you cook yourself a meal with beautiful fresh ingredients, take time to wash and cut and prepare [them], worked through each step, smelled the aroma, watched as it was changing from raw to cooked, anticipating when you get to sit down and enjoy all the hard work and love you have put into said dish. Finally getting to taste that which you desired so much, what does your body do or say to you when you have finished your meal, your stomach is full, and you are proud of your accomplishment…Aside from these physical gratifications…what does your mind and body say to you?”

My initial response to her questions was, “I don’t like to cook because I’m lazy and don’t have time.” But I stopped; I was reacting. I questioned the real reason. And that reason? I don’t know how to be still with myself. I can definitely be alone, but being still? Nope, not for me. And that helps to explain the excessive mental distractions. It also explains my incessant need for growth and unquenchable yearning to better myself.

It seemed that any consciousness I had experienced the first time I read A New Earth had all but disappeared. I was dominated by my ego again. And it was showing in my relationships and in my seemingly unconscious addiction / attraction to drama. My mind (ego), because it’s so clever, would justify the drama in my life by stating that I am doing everything within my control to protect my energy from these individuals; I don’t reply nor engage in them in any way. Yet they keep reappearing in my life. Why is that? Well, the law of attraction states we attract what we elicit. So on some level, I was eliciting an energy that was attracting individuals with heavy pain-bodies and I, despite what I consciously thought, was still communicating that I wanted that energy in my life.

The other day I received a few messages from different people whom I have tried to create some distance from and I found myself snapping inside. Why can’t they just leave me alone? I’ve communicated, by both not communicating and with my words, that I no longer want them in my life. And so I drafted this message; “In all honesty, the energy you elicit is not compatible with the energy I desire in my life. I often feel drained after conversing with you so in order to become the best version of myself, I need to remove you from my life.” But something within me couldn’t send it. And it’s because I knew I was being reactive. I was dominated by my ego. I was unconscious. But I knew there was another way. And that way was through consciousness.

This internal reaction started me to question some of my beliefs – I’ve believed, and frequently acted on, that when people are leeching your energy, the best solution is to remove them from your life. But isn’t that egoic to believe that your energy is something that can be drained by others? I do still believe we operate on varying frequencies, but when you come from a place of true presence, what I’ve found is that your energy cannot be drained because it is not your energy; it’s the energy of the universe. When you find yourself feeling negative or feeling drained, that is an indication that you are being dominated by the ego as the ego requires substantial energy to survive. It is then not the other individual that is draining you, but your own ego, your own unconscious being.

As another friend of mine said: “Eradicating negativity isn’t a bad thing so long as it’s not coming from a place that says, ‘I’m better than that negative person, and they’re the reason I’m being pulled back or drained.’” And that is the exact place I unconsciously was coming from. It’s as though my ego sought out individuals with heavy pain bodies, related to them with my own pain-body story, but once my ego felt like it had helped the other person it decided, I’m done here, I don’t need you in my life anymore. It rationalised these interactions with clever little arguments (because the ego is very clever); “Oh you were just getting to know them, that’s just what you like to do, it’s not your fault that they keep wanting more of your energy.” Worded like this, it becomes very evident that I’ve been operating from a clear place of unconsciousness.

Having said this though, there is a line about pain-bodies that resonated deeply with me, particularly because of who I have dated in the past, “It would be hard to find a partner who does not carry a pain-body, but it would perhaps be wise to choose someone whose pain-body is not excessively dense,” (151). Individuals with dense pain-bodies will only continue to suffer until they have their first glimpse of awakening. It is then that their pain-bodies will become lighter and their partnership more desirable and compatible.

The ego likes to mask and justify itself behind good intentions. As Tolle states, “If caring for your children gives meaning to your life, what happens to that meaning when they don’t need you and perhaps don’t even listen to you anymore? If helping others gives meaning to your life, you depend on others being worse off than yourself so that your life can continue to be meaningful and you can feel good about yourself… “Making it” in whatever field is only meaningful as long as there are thousands or millions of others who don’t make it, so you need other human beings to “fail” so that your life can have meaning,” (291). Tolle is not stating that “helping others, caring for your children, or striving for excellence are not worthwhile things to do,” (291) but that so long as one’s outer purpose is not aligned with their inner purpose, which is to awaken, then it will always be of the ego and thus self-serving.

The aforementioned desire for growth is seen as an admirable trait in the western world and it is a trait I have valued throughout much of my life. But what growth really is is an unquenchable seeking for more. It’s a pursuit that never ends and one that communicates, “I am not enough yet,” (46). In essence, growth is the ego in disguise. “No content will satisfy you, as long as the egoic structure remains in place. No matter what you have or get, you won’t be happy. You will always be looking for something else that promises greater fulfilment, that promises to make your incomplete sense of self complete and fill that sense of lack you feel within,” (48).

Reading this excerpt caused an unconscious resistance within me. In the past few weeks, I’ve had a conversation with numerous people about friendships and how they are all essentially transactional; the people in our life are there because they offer us something, whether it’s a challenge, validation, or just simply an ear to listen, we gain something from their existence. And because of that, I’ve been very intentional about the people I keep in my life. I always question; how can they help me to become a better version of myself? And if I don’t feel like they have anything to offer, I’m quick to eradicate their presence. I realise though, how egoic this really is. Wanting something from another, that’s ego. Gaining something from another, that’s also ego. If I’m constantly concerned with how the other person might be able to benefit me, I am not present. And not being present is to miss the point of existence entirely.

I think the reason that I found A New Earth so profound, even more so than The Power of Now is because it’s unlike most meditative books and practices that I’ve come across. Yes, it focuses on presence, but through consciousness and by eradicating the ego. Many mindfulness practices focus on the same things; be still, be aware of the breath, be present. But I find these suggestions to be hollow, they don’t speak to the consciousness within. They don’t alter one’s inner reality. Perhaps this is why many self-help books struggle to have genuine lasting effects, yet still continue to be extremely successful and are frequently on The New York Times Bestseller list. And it’s because they’re tailored towards our ego. Our ego relates to the content and we feel inspired to make changes to our lives. But the changes we make are superficial; behaviour is the least successful predictor in determining permanent change. Tolle states, “If there is no change on that inner level, no amount of action will make any difference. We would only re-create modified versions of the same world again and again,” (290). So instead of listening to your ego’s insecurity of not being good enough and picking up your next self-help book, I highly recommend feeding your soul with A New Earth.

The crossroads I mentioned earlier is between the ego and the highest self that I am. I feel myself being drawn to this path that has gifted me some beautiful opportunities of late. Catching up with a dear friend, whose presence is one of calmness and stillness, directed me towards an energy healer who then recommended I partake in yoga and attend a wellness workshop. Yoga with a former teammate of mine introduced me to an individual who specialises in peak performance in sports through the use of neuro-linguistic programming (NLP), and the wellness workshop has potentially gifted me with an opportunity to work with a phenomenal mentor and to resolve my history of injuries and digestive issues. There is some resistance though, because from my experiences the athletes that “make it” are invariably those dominated by ego. But even as I type this, that latter argument, which was once so convincing, now seems hollow. Perhaps this is the start of the space within. Perhaps this is the start of my awakening. Perhaps this is the start of “my” new earth.

The epidemic need to escape reality through suicide

Suicide continues to be a recurring theme in my life. And I believe anything that’s recurring, whether that’s lessons, themes, or people, are recurring because we have not learned all there is to learn from them. My repeated experiences with suicide, which are often greeted with a deep sense of heaviness, have led me to feel compelled to write about them.

I was first exposed to the darkness of suicide when I was 14. My best friend at the time was struggling, struggling so much she attempted to hang herself at school. I recall feeling overwhelmed, as you would, and not knowing what the fuck to do. I wasn’t qualified for this. But much like anything in life, you don’t have to be qualified to be a friend. And often, that’s all we ever really need.

So I sought out the only person I knew who was qualified; my school counsellor. I remember asking her for practical advice on what I could do to help my friend and the exercise she gave me, which I now realise is probably rooted in the principles underlying CBT (cognitive behavioural therapy), was not at all helpful. My friend’s pain was not going to be eliminated by altering her perspective - what she needed, and what so many of us often need, is someone to listen. Someone to share the pain, the burden, the darkness. Someone to sit alongside us, to physically remind us that we are not alone.

And that’s what I tried to do with my friend. I offered to accompany her to see a counsellor, and I offered her the one thing I can never get back: my time. I’m fortunate to say, she made it through. But not without struggle. And not without pain. And not without attempting everything she possibly could to try to escape reality; sex, drugs, alcohol.

I’ve noticed I become reactive any time I read the words, “You are not alone.” And it’s because of their hollowness. Sure, they might be said with the absolute best of intentions. But the reality is, I’m sitting here, and I’m still fucking alone. No words can offer the same level of comfort as what one’s physical presence can. And that, I believe, is a big fucking problem in today’s society. We are more connected, yet more alone. We have more Facebook friends, but fewer real friends. Worse still, this, all that I’m writing about now, we don’t talk about. It’s as though vulnerability is weakness with a guarantee to be left behind. We’ve become so consumed with success and getting ahead that we’ve forgotten how to be real, to be human, to be alive.

Within the past three weeks, suicide has been intensely present in my life. In the space of 24 hours, I became aware of two individuals struggling with suicide. One, a 14 year old kid that I mentored in America, and the other an ex of someone I had formerly seen. The latter of the two entered my life because of a decision I made a little over a month ago to speak openly and candidly about a former relationship of mine with a mutual friend. Because of this transparency, it became evident that my lived experiences could potentially be helpful to this girl who wasn’t just struggling with thoughts of suicide, but had genuinely attempted to end her suffering.

I write this post with a deep heaviness in my heart because I know how close she was to no longer being here. And I write with the knowingness of how close I was to no longer being here either. It’s confronting to know and accept that someone with so much beauty, so much still to offer this world, essentially gambled with life. And fortunately, in these cases I write about, we all won. We’re still here. But the same can’t be said for Madison Holleran.

Shortly after I hit my rock bottom on February 15, 2015, I read the following article on ESPN about a student-athlete at Penn State, Madison Holleran, who took her life. I proceeded to write my reaction to the article, which I’ll insert here, unedited, from over two years ago.

Note: Please read the article first to understand the context of my reaction.

http://www.espn.com/espn/feature/story/_/id/12833146/instagram-account-university-pennsylvania-runner-showed-only-part-story

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The only difference I feel between Madison and I? I am here and she is not. This article, which was written by Kate Fagan, could easily have been about me. I was there. I was at that point. But for whatever reason, I did not succumb to the fate of what Madison did. Imagine reading something and knowing how close you were to being that person the article is written about. My experience yields power. It yields power because I have the voice that Madison no longer has. I can be the spokesperson for all those who tragically took their lives. I think one of the most tragic clichés is that if you are fortunate to be unsuccessful in your suicide attempt, you realise that life does get better…because at that moment, you are at rock bottom. There is nowhere that is lower than the intent to take your own life. As is mentioned in the article, Madison approached something that we naturally try to run away from and escape: death. To her, death was her light. Death was her freedom. Death was her escape from the indescribable turmoil she was experiencing. The unimaginable loneliness and internal feelings of failure, of worthlessness, of emptiness. Death gave her purpose. Death paradoxically became her saviour. I write this from the perspective of being at that moment. Of having intent, of needing that escape. It was no longer about life or death; I had failed life. Life had failed me.

The only thing that stopped me from living the fate of Madison is the thought of my parents getting that phone call. When Kate Fagan relives the experiences of Madison’s friends the night that Madison jumped from the parking garage, I’m reliving the experiences of my friends and girlfriend at the time. Nothing but utter panic, stomach-twisting thoughts, denial of the gravity of the situation, the fear of being too late, and that dreaded phone call…she’s gone.

Some might consider suicide selfish. Some might be angry at the individual. But instead of focusing on your pain, your grief, your struggle – consider for a moment what the individual who, “successfully” or “unsuccessfully”, took their life might have been feeling. Madison’s story resonates with me. You live a life of emptiness. You feel hollow. You feel worthless. But paradoxically you feel nothing. You’re numb. You’re lost in the overwhelming waves of thoughts and you’re drowning. No matter how hard and fast you try to stay afloat, you’re going under. You try to find an escape. You try to distract yourself from the treacherous emotions that have become your perception; your reality. Nothing works. Friends and family cannot comprehend, instead they make the situation worse…why are you feeling that way? You shouldn’t feel that way…You have no reason to be sad, you have everything…You are x, y, and z. As though people who have x, y, and z, are immune to mental illnesses like depression. Depression doesn’t discriminate based on age, sex, socioeconomic status, race, sexuality, etc. Sure, some populations are more susceptible than others, but depression can affect anyone at any time. Just because you’re wealthy, doesn’t mean you’re immune to feeling sad. We all experience bouts of sadness. And we’re all entitled to those feelings. The most important feelings are the feelings you are feeling right now. Two phrases that need to be dropped are “should” and “should not”. There is no right way to feel. The right way is your way. Your feelings are valid. All feelings have a cause. Some causes are neurochemical imbalances. And that is what depression is.

I cried when I read the article about Madison. Not only because I was grieving the loss of Madison, but because of how close I was to having the same outcome as this beautiful individual. I was grieving what could have been for my friends and family, the repercussions, their grief, their blame, their lifetime struggle of losing someone to something so tragic: suicide. So much of the article resonates with me. Whether it’s small things that Madison did, with quotes, with writing, with her intelligence, or whether it was with her feelings – I feel connected to her story. The sense of loneliness doesn’t stem from being physically alone, it stems from people’s inability to comprehend one’s internal feelings and struggles. How do you verbalise your pain? The constant, simultaneous internal battle of feeling worthless, but then invalidated for those feelings. The convincing belief that there is no end to this pain. The only end is death, which to many is a paradox because we perceive death as the absolute and ultimate pain. But for Madison, and for people who have or are experiencing similar, death is peaceful. Death is an escape. From the pain. From the thoughts. From the constant, inescapable turmoil called life. Madison was a shell. Like her friend said, she seemed lost. She felt like she had lost Madison. And she had. Madison had died long before she physically took her life – she died in the worst way possible because she was still alive. And I think that’s what many people experience before they take their life. Life isn’t life. It’s fucking hell. Breathing becomes strained and effortful. How beautiful it would be to rid oneself of this seemingly inescapable pain - death presents that opportunity. By no means am I glorifying death or suicide, but to individuals who are at that point, and who have intent to end their life, they do so with the thought that life has become so painful, so heart wrenchingly difficult to survive, that death seems the only fathomable solution. To those who are left with the remnants of this individual’s life, you might never be able to comprehend how or why someone would turn to death as a solution. But hear this: suicide is not selfish. It is selfish to judge those who are contemplating suicide as being selfish. It’s selfish that there are people experiencing these struggles daily, and we not only fail to acknowledge their struggles, but we make them feel bad for their struggles. Suicide is a heartbreaking tragedy. To contemplate the severity of someone’s struggles that drove them to that point, the point of realising death is the only solution, is sickening. There are people who are experiencing this battle every day. There are people who become victims to this battle every day. What is it, more than 40,000 Americans commit suicide each year, which translates to approximately 110 people every single day taking their own life. 110 beautiful, beautiful souls, who have been driven to the point of no return. I hate numbers for one reason: they’re superficial and shallow. I hate that an individual’s life can be confined to a number, or a statistic. As I recall my own suicide attempt, I have considered that my attempt will be marked in the books as “an unsuccessful suicide attempt”. Firstly, labelling it as unsuccessful needs to stop. Considering an act as “unsuccessful” from an individual who is struggling with feelings of worthlessness and already feels like a failure, or from someone who has only known successes, or who is accustomed to experiencing successes, suggests that they even failed at trying to take their own life. No worries guys, I’ll make sure I’m successful next time.

The reality? A large percentage of those who are “unsuccessful” will have future suicide attempts.

So much of the article irks me and troubles me. Our inability to talk about such subjects, our inability to acknowledge individuals’ struggles and to confine them to this idea of permanent happiness or their superficial social media account, it creates unrealistic expectations, it creates the environment for demise, it creates situations like Madison’s. She already felt alone. But when she reached out to others, their inability to not necessarily relate, because I doubt many of them had gone through similar, but their inability to empathise with Madison, and to truly comfort her and validate her feelings, that’s what contributed to her downfall. Holding her to these pre-existing beliefs of how she should be, based on her social media, or based on prior interactions with her, is recipe for failure. Everyone is entitled to their feelings. Everyone’s feelings are valid. Everyone is entitled to feeling sad. I understand that it is difficult for friends to comprehend how someone so lively, so energetic, so positive, can in fact be struggling – but that’s because of the beliefs that these individuals have created and their perceptions of this individual. It is impossible to be happy all the time. As the Arabic proverb states: sunshine all the time makes a desert. Usually those who are happiest, or who appear the most positive, are those who have experienced the greatest struggles, the toughest adversities – why? Well, simple contrast effect. When you’ve known the darkest of dark days, anything, and I mean anything, is better than that rock bottom. Experiencing that enables an individual to radiate positivity – white looks the brightest when it’s contrasted against black – its opposite. A star only shines so bright because of the darkness that encompasses it.

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I’ve echoed many of these thoughts throughout former writings because of the pertinence and essentialness within today’s society. Afer volunteering for the Crisis Text Line for six months, and with my additional experiences with suicide, I’ve learned that all anyone ever usually needs in a time of crisis is someone to listen. Someone to validate. Someone to remind them that they aren’t crazy for what they feel. That someone cares enough to sit with them in their pain. How sad it is that people must text a hotline to receive the sort of validation that once used to be a norm within friendships. Any time that someone would text in, I was reminded that we’re failing. That we had failed. We had failed to fulfil what it means to be human. To be there for one another. The fact that two girls I coached, at the innocent age of 13, had contemplated and are still contemplating thoughts of suicide, suggests there’s something seriously fucking wrong with the way we interact with one another. And unless there’s a radical intervention on how to be human, on how to listen, unfortunately tragic stories like Madison will continue to occur.

Using a smile to see

I read something a few years ago in The Art of Belonging by Hugh Mackay that has continued to influence my perception of human interactions. It’s this concept of acknowledgement and its importance in connection. When we wave at a neighbour or smile at a stranger, we aren’t exhibiting a conditioned social norm, but instead, we’re acknowledging the other’s existence. That wave, that smile, it says: I see you. I acknowledge you. And I belong to you. And this sense of belongingness is one of the greatest sources of human fulfilment.

Having been home and heavily engrossed in training for two months, this concept of belongingness has been readily apparent in the culture at both my club team and even at Adelaide United trials. What I’ve noticed, and had painfully missed during my collegiate years, is this genuine excitement to see one’s teammates. One of the first things I noticed about my teammates in America is that they didn’t hug. Nor did they really acknowledge your arrival or departure from training. It’s as though players were numb to emotion. To excitement. To human connection. Here in Australia, everyone hugs everyone. And if they’re not hugging you, they’re probably hi-fiving you, or shaking your hand, or at the very least, saying hello and asking how your day was. And not because they have to, but because they want to.

This acknowledgement was absent during my playing years in America. As such, I recall feeling a deep sense of rejection for who I was – I loved soccer. I loved my team. And I was always excited to see others. But that excitement wasn’t greeted with enthusiasm, instead it was dulled with coldness. I felt my rough edges smoothing over the years as I learned to numb emotion, to conceal excitement. A social creature by nature, I became a hermit. I felt rejected by my teammates, by my coach, by athletic staff. I felt like who I was was annoying, because that’s how I was perceived by those around me. It’s as though my excitement to see others was childish and there wasn’t a place for it. I yearned for connections that reciprocated this excitement, but silence was all that I received.

A significant part of me regrets not having moved home sooner, given the fulfilment and sense of belongingness I have seemingly eased back into. But I acknowledge and accept that I needed to stay in America – I needed to understand my teammates and my collegiate experience. And I also needed to experience that sense of belongingness in an alternative setting. And I did. I found that in my work. Not necessarily with my co-workers, but with my regulars. My childish enthusiasm upon seeing a familiar face was unconcealed. Better still, it was reciprocated. Fortunately too, I found this sense of belongingness with my tennis ladies. My tennis ladies didn’t tolerate me, they embraced me. They made me feel wanted. And they gave me the most precious gift; their authentic, unfiltered selves.

Within the past week, my perception has altered significantly. And I owe it to a specific individual who, unknowingly by being herself, reignited my internal zest and appreciation for soccer. Frustrated by circumstances beyond mine or others’ control, I was going through the motions with soccer. Negativity seeped into my language, apathy and indifference dominated my emotions. Until I saw this kid – she was so damn excited to be out there even though she was injured and has been for months. She was loving every minute of her rehab. She didn’t see it as a means to an end, but as an opportunity; an opportunity to be in a professional environment around quality players. Her raw, unfiltered excitement not just for others, but for herself, cultivated excitement within me and further altered my reality. Regardless of what happens with the selection process, I am doing something I love and I’m becoming better every day because of it. So often our fixation with a result distorts the beautiful process of the journey. But this kid reminded me of that. And she did so with her genuine, pure excitement for life.

On that, here are a few things I’ve learned from these contrasting soccer environments:

1) Life is too short to surround yourself around people who aren’t excited by your presence. Feeling connected is essential to not only a successful life, but a fulfilling one too. Surround yourself around the best of people; the people who build you up more than life breaks you down. Remember: relationships are to be enjoyed, not tolerated.

2) Someone’s rejection of you is a reflection of them and their values, not you.

3) A meaningless connection to you, could be a meaningful connection to another. Never underestimate the power of a connection nor overlook an opportunity to connect.

On this last point, I want to emphasise the importance of telling people how you feel. Someone made an impact on you? Tell them! You appreciate what someone did? Show them! I frequently hear friends describing others they have met as being a “top chick” or a “great human” and I often wonder; do they know this is how they are perceived? One of my primary goals in life is to live in such a way that friends, family, even strangers, always know exactly what they mean to me and how they impacted me. I try to show my gratitude with my authentic presence and my appreciation through intentional effort. I do this at the risk of seeming “too much”, but saying too much is often better than not saying enough.

So I encourage you; live as though those you love will die tomorrow, and you’ll have lived a loving life. Surround yourself around those who have a genuine love for life, for people, and just as importantly, for you. And never lose your childhood enthusiasm, for your unfiltered emotion might just alter someone’s reality.