Wednesday, June 19, 2013

The word was CELEBRATE!

I first heard this joke on a podcast from Tara Brach, who has become one of my favorite spiritual teachers since a very dear friend lent me her book Radical Acceptance in 2010. I still have not returned that book, which I am not proud of. I am sometimes a bad borrower. Anyways, the joke:

A young monk arrives at a monastery to begin studying with a well-known elder monk. Upon his arrival, the elder monk put the young monk to work with the other residents, copying the ancient Buddhist texts to dispense to the laymen of their community. The young monk noticed that the books they were copying were actually copies of the original texts, and with concern, approached the elder monk to assert that the monastery should actually copy from the original sutras. The elder monk paused, thought, and agreed, "Yes! We have been copying from copies for years, so many important messages could have been lost in translation along the way. I shall go to the basement to read the original texts and be sure that we've been teaching the correct messages."

The elder monk went to the basement and was gone for several hours. The young monk, concerned for the elder monk's safety, went to the basement to see what had been taking so long. There he found the elder monk banging his head against the wall over and over. "Elder monk! What is wrong?"

The elder monk turned to look at the young monk and stated exasperatedly, "The word was celebrate!"

Hahahaha. I love that. Tara Brach, I believe, was using this story as an example of how we must seek truth and wisdom from our own experiences or direct sources, rather than listening to every interpretation of teachings we come across. I think. But this morning, as I became slightly frustrated with myself for picking up a third cigarette on my drive to work after promising myself I'd only have two, the story came to mind.

I know that smoking is bad for me and those around me. Though I do get a bit of enjoyment at gasping and exclaiming, "Oh no! A wizard gave these to me and said they were health sticks!" when a stranger gives me a reminder. I shouldn't; I know that most people are just trying to be helpful. But mayyyybe some of them just enjoy pointing out others' stupidity (to make themselves feel smart). Anyways, so I know smoking is bad. And I will quit someday. "Someday" is much better than my previous blanket statement on smoking, "Suck my toe; I can smoke if I want, and I enjoy it, so I'm never quitting." I am getting some wisdom as I get deeper into adulthood.

For now, I am trying to reduce the number of cigarettes I smoke in a day. I had great success with this in college, when having a monthly income of $38 forced me to limit my daily cigarettes to ten or less. I'd write out my schedule for the following day and plan my cigarettes for the most stressful or relaxing times, which are the times when I most enjoy puffing on a stick of death. I smoke about a pack a day as a moneymaking adult, though. That's twenty. Sometimes more if I'm more stressed, like during a particularly shitty workday, or more relaxed, like during a particularly fun night out with my girlfriends. And beer.

So to improve my lung capacity, reduce the guilt I encounter for adding my daily vice into our monthly budget planning, and increase the chances of successfully quitting someday, I am trying to cut back again. I like to break my long-term goals into smaller attainable goals. My commute is a major trigger for chain-smoking. It's an hour at minimum, and I have little landmarks where I'd usually light one up. I usually smoked three on the way into work, and four on the way home. I'm working on two cigarettes in each direction now. Monday and Tuesday this week were a great triumph! I'm pretty sure I only smoked fourteen cigarettes all day yesterday. That's like 30% less than usual. Boom. I felt so great about it when I woke up.

So while driving into work, I hit my fourth landmark (and had only smoked two cigarettes). I started justifying all the reasons it would be "smart" to smoke a cigarette then rather than waiting until I got to work, when I inevitably smoke a good-morning cigarette with the boss. I told myself that I deserved that extra commute cigarette, dammit. I lit it up. It wasn't easy. I actually spilled coffee during my inner argument - all over the car and my pants - and then dropped my lighter on the floorboard and had to pull over, get out of the car, and retrieve it. A more superstitious Lisa might have thought the universe was trying to tell me something. But this morning's Lisa was like, "JUST GET IN MY MOUTH AND BE LIT, NEWPORT!" Then I smoked it and felt incredible guilty. I almost let the wave of guilt taint my mood as I entered work. Then I remembered the story.

I have so much to celebrate. I made it through two whole days smoking half the cigarettes I would normally smoke on my way to work. I have cut down on drinking and a ton of other things that negatively affected my health for many years. I'm using mindfulness to pay attention when someone tells me that I'm doing something unhealthy. I'm using mindfulness to be fully present in each uncomfortable moment, when my chest is tight and my throat is sore, when before I'd easily brush these indicators off and tell myself that I'm too badass to care about the future of my body and relationships.

The word is celebrate, not celibate.

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