"Close your eyes and turn your vision inside." That's what my yoga instructor says at the beginning of every class as we settle in and set our intention for the day. I always ignore the instruction to close my eyes because I tend to cry. The music is soft and the room is dark and it's just too sad. So I keep my eyes lowered in the hopes she'll think I've adhered to her instruction.
"Focus my vision inside." That's a tough directive. I hadn't done that for years and now it's what I've had to do since Pete died. For many years I'd focused almost all of my attention on him, and I loved it that way.
As a wife: I wanted to be a really good wife. So I focused on being a wife who cherished her husband, who made him the center of her world. A wife who created a warm home and good food and clean clothes, things that made me happy to see him enjoy and appreciate. A wife who made him feel more loved than he ever had been.
As a manager: Pete annointed me his manager. It wasn't my idea, but he trusted me and had confidence in me. So how could I let him down? We had a great run and accomplished much more than we'd ever imagined we would. We were an unstoppable team, and I loved the challenges, and I loved to please him. He would tell me what he imagined career-wise, and I'd make it happen. He was always grateful. He toured all over the world, recorded many CDs, appeared at Carnegie Hall, one of the achievements he was most proud of.
As a caregiver: When we married I knew Pete had a congenitally bad heart. I knew this issue was in my future. We knew it was in our future, but we truly had no idea what it would look like when it became a problem for him. But when the first real crisis came, in the form of a massive stroke, I was there. All in for him. 100%. Not putting myself on the back burner, but I was committed. I loved him, and I hated to see him hurt or scared. I wanted him to be here for a very long time. So I did my damnedest to heal him and encourage him and nurse him back to health. I did this over and over and over again. From coast to coast, country to country. It was for entirely selfish reasons--I had to keep him alive to keep me alive.
Now all of the things that I loved to do for him, that pulled my focus outward, are gone. Poof! So "bringing my focus inward?" It's a bit too much introspection for me. Don't get me wrong--I'm still doing things for others, and I am developing some projects that utilize my skills that I hope will benefit others. But the time that I'm by myself, in the house, I spend in my own head. Thoughts rattling round and round. I don't want to focus on myself--to be in my own head all the time. It's overwhelming.
What do you do when you get too inside of your own mind?