transitions
It was Friday afternoon, and I was struggling with a technical issue. There wasn’t an apparent error in the execution of the code, but it was not producing the expected result. I spent hours debugging the problem, and by the end of the workday, there was still no solution. I decided to stop working on it and continue on Monday.
It wasn’t easy to step away, but it was manageable. It helped that I had a routine in place. After work and before CrossFit, I had a meditation session. As I walked to my sitting spot, I could feel my mind spinning—all CPUs were running at full speed and capacity. I physically felt something in front of my head, on and above my forehead. I was also frustrated about ending the workday with a lingering bug. It could bother me throughout the weekend. I sat down. After the meditation session, the season in my mind changed. With that clarity, I was ready to move my body.
I went into the CrossFit session with a nearly empty mind. The WOD was 100 back squats with 3 man-makers every 2 minutes. On top of that, my body was fatigued from the week. But I wasn’t worried about it. I know that as long as I get enough sleep, rest, and food, I’ll be fine. I don’t panic when I experience post-workout soreness anymore, because, through experience, I know it passes with time. I went to sleep in peace.
The next morning, I’ll spare you some smelly details, but I should mention this part. Surprisingly, my stomach also knows exactly what to do. I don’t worry about what or how things will happen after I eat. It all takes care of itself. I don’t even think about it anymore. Somehow, I’ve come to believe that it’s not my job. Someone—or something—is doing it for me. So I sit patiently while it happens.
After I took care of myself mentally, physically, and emotionally, I was ready for some family time. I called my parents and had an intense conversation with my father. Long story short: I shared parts of my life, and in return, I felt judged, underestimated, rejected, and questioned. My behavior, emotions, and reasoning didn’t appeal to him.
It was the same old story. However, I’ve been reading it a bit differently lately. Our conversation wasn’t as reactive or explosive as before. I should give him credit for that. I can see how much he tries to soften his approach. I understand that it’s not easy to uproot a deeply rooted tree all at once.
We spoke for two hours. Eventually, I suggested we end the call, as I felt something was bugging me. So, we hung up, sharing good wishes for each other.
After the call, I felt similar to how I had felt after my Friday debugging session at work—my mind was full. Wow, that was a lot. I felt some heat on the right side of my face, near my ear and cheek. I wasn’t overly reactive, but it wasn’t comfortable either. I decided to go for a walk first. I reminded myself of my Friday experience: after an hour, things would feel different. I just needed to be patient and tolerant.
During the walk, I saw once again how I used to react. I didn’t want to share myself anymore; I didn’t want to call him again, and so on. My heart was becoming a fist. The call had ended, but the conversation with him continued in my mind. It was exhausting.
I sat for a while. My thoughts slowly began to shift. I could start hearing his words differently. I could see how much he cared about me—my comfort, my safety, and my happiness. He was worried about my well-being. He was doing all of this in his own way, the way he knew, the way he was taught. It wasn’t the way I wanted, but it was still full of care. That realization warmed me, and my heart began to open again. It was comforting. I sent him a message of appreciation.
However, this bug wasn’t going to leave me so easily. My mind had grown accustomed to chewing on it. It had years of practice, strong and agile muscles. After I stood up, my mind returned to its usual workout. So, once again, my routine saved me. I went to sleep.
The next morning, I sat, and my mind picked up right where it had left off. Thoughts of justifications, arguments, and attacks flew around. I knew this wasn’t what I needed—or what my father needed. I kept returning to my breath. My father wasn’t there, yet I was still fighting. My breath was going to save us both.
I began to feel something release in my upper back, unblocking. My body felt light and soft. What was once solid now felt like cotton. With that release, the fighting thoughts disappeared.
My mind, body, and heart opened to my father together. I felt warmth and love. In that moment, it dawned on me: he is the one person I love the most. I hadn’t realized that before. My thoughts shifted to all the ways I could appreciate him. What had once distanced me from him now brought me closer.
It wasn’t a smooth ride into his world. I can’t handle all the fire he carries. At least, I didn’t turn into ashes this time. I will get stronger, and I will build my love for him out of his fire. Hopefully, one day, I’ll be able to love him the way he likes to be loved.
These are the transitions. When I witness them enough, I know everything will be okay. Day follows night, night follows day. Rest follows exhaustion, exhaustion follows rest. Full follows hungry. A solution follows a bug. Week follows week. An open heart follows a closed one. A creative mind follows a reactive one. And so on.
I have everything I need available to me. My mind, heart, and body know it all. I just have to let them do their work. I need to delegate the task and get out of their way.