I spent twelve days doing nothing but coughing, and then the coughing changed.

Instead of accompanying my every move (ha, move is possibly not the correct word since I was barely getting out of bed), the coughing became intermittent: a visitor, not a roommate.

Its absence was nothing short of blissful. Interludes of ten or fifteen glorious minutes, each new pause full of hope and sweetness.

Then, last night, Night Fifteen …not that I’m counting… I’m totally counting, the coughing was gone. It came back again briefly this morning, just to check that I hadn’t forgotten about it, but it gave me a whole night off.

A whole night of beautiful absence.

Noticing absence is tricky.

I find it so much easier to pay attention to something that is happening, and happening in a way that is loud, painful or annoying than to notice and appreciate the quiet it leaves behind.

This is the question of The Absence of X.

I’ve been filling in different variables for X, and trying to notice retroactively how aware I have been of the lack of X.

Also how the Xs change, and the speed of that change. If X is a dance move I haven’t figured out yet, I am keenly aware of my lack of X, but the second I nail the move, something else jumps in to be the new X, and I fixate on that instead.

I’m also noticing the difference between my relationship with the absence of something I want, versus the absence of something I don’t want. Today I want to focus on cases where X is something I want to be done with.

This is how I’m playing: solving for X, studying X, studying my relationship with X.

Let X = hiccups.

This one goes either way.

Sometimes I’m so focused on being with my hiccups and counting the seconds they are maybe-possibly-gone (nope, still here!) that I am able catch that first pause, the beginning of the exit.

Most of the time though, it’s more like: hiccups hiccups hiccups hiccups hey cool I haven’t been hiccuping for a while.

And then they are gone: forgotten.

Same thing for a cold, a headache, any physical discomfort. How much I notice the transition from presence to absence depends on the severity of X, how able I am to be present with X, the extent to which X changes how I function.

It always seems as though I will be eternally grateful for not-X, when not-X finally shows up, and then sometimes I don’t even notice the passage of X. Or only in retrospect. Man, I’m glad I’m not X-ing anymore, that was rough.

Let X = [desire/want/need].

It is absolutely amazing to me how often and how easily I will relinquish the thing that I want in order to choose the thing I think the other person wants.

The desire to please will override the the desire to be present with what I want/need in that moment.

That’s a pattern. An unsovereign pattern that doesn’t support me or the person I am trying to please or placate or take care of.

So if X is the thing I actually want in a given moment, then I often choose something that ensures the absence of X.

And do I notice that absence?

Or do I only notice the pieces of the pattern: the blankness, the gradual frustration and resentment, the moment of rebellion?

Or do I not even notice any of it?

Presence, the thing I am most deeply committed to, means being present with what I truly want and need, present with the patterns, present with the absence, present with the questions, with all of it.

This doesn’t come naturally. It’s something I have to consciously choose. I choose it because it is part of healing, part of vital aliveness.

Let X = Bolivia.

[Explanation! Moving to Bolivia is my imperfect metaphor for procreating.

It has never occurred to me to pack my things and move to Bolivia, and I find it baffling when people ask if/when I’m planning on it. I like where I live. I’m supportive of other people’s Bolivian voyages, and I’m staying here.

Bolivia is probably the one example I can think of where I am deeply aware of — and grateful for — the absence of X in my life (when X does not happen to appeal to me).

Obviously if I wanted Bolivia, then its absence would be incredibly painful.

For me, it’s not like that. Boliva has never spoken to me. Also, I have PTSD, the H in my HSP is off the charts, I find daily life fairly overwhelming as it is, I don’t speak, and I am very ambitious with regard to my [secret missions]. I’m not sure how I’d fit Bolivia into that even if it was something I wanted. So my lack of desire makes things easy for me.

The point here is: People Vary, and our Xs vary. As do our desires and our relationships with their absence.

So this is just what is true for me. Your experience might be very different, and that is okay. Your truth is what is true for you. There is room for both. The important thing is that we are both being present with what is true for us, which means we can also be present with what is true for the other.

I have love for everyone’s relationship with Boliva.]

So. Let X = Bolivia, for me.

Each time I take a bath and I am able to stay in the bath until I am done taking a bath…

Or when I walk barefoot on a floor that has nothing on it. When I take a nap in a completely quiet and peaceful house….

Or just now when I was sick for fifteen days, and didn’t have to take care of anyone but myself. When we were snowed in for four days and I didn’t have to entertain anyone, cook for anyone, do anything but rest.

I think:

You know, if I lived in Bolivia I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t have the time and space that I need for practicing in the way that I need to practice. Thank you, past me who knew I would not be happy there, who stood strong and remained true to what she and her body really wanted amid the intense cultural pressure to do what everyone thinks is a requirement.

I am living in accordance with what I both desire and need, at least in this very particular and very big way. How incredible is that.

Not many women have even gotten a say in their voyage to Bolivia, ever.

So I am grateful for so many things, so many magic beans of privilege. What a miracle to be alive at this point in history, in this culture, and specifically to live in this part of the Pacific Northwest where it is socially acceptable to not even consider doing the thing that women have always been expected to do without question.

I am filled with appreciation that I am able to experience this particular absence, this particular lack of X. As well as for the quiet and peacefulness this absence affords me, and how it allows me to focus on the things I truly want to do.

It is interesting that I am not able to do this for other forms of X.

For example, I don’t pause each day to feel gratitude for the fact that I can legally vote. And of course I think, dude I shouldn’t have to, civil rights should be a given.

So yes. Civil rights should be a given. And at the same time, they are not. And also, filling up with gratitude is a pleasurable experience. It is such a lovely feeling, these moments when we remember what is good.

This just isn’t one of the places where it happens for me.

It is much easier to notice what isn’t working than what is. Much easier to see all the places that sexism is still rampant, how it affects my life in very real, very disturbing (sometimes even terrifying) ways, and on a daily basis.

So my tendency is to notice the presence of what I don’t like, and not the absence of what I wouldn’t like, if that makes sense.

I notice the street harassment, the dismissiveness, the endless online bullshit, the way unexamined male privilege sneaks into places that I think of as safe space, how testosterone-fueled confidence combined with people acting like your success is inevitable is such a useful and enviable thing in this world.

It is easier to notice lack of privilege, desired privilege or someone else’s privilege than it is to notice all the magic beans of privilege that I do have that make my life easier in countless visible and invisible ways.

That’s the practice, right?

That’s the practice, right?

That’s the practice.

Noticing the absence of X. Noticing all the different things that X can be, when it is there, when it is not. My relationship with myself, and with the presence and absence of Xs.

Being present. Noticing presence. Noticing absence.

Noticing when the absence of something is treasure. Noticing when absence is the pattern: oh look, I’m checking out and not paying attention, and I’m doing this to take care of myself, is there a better way I can take care of myself, what do I need.

Being curious about what X is, and what it could be. Filling up on appreciation for things that are treasure, working to change the things that need changing.

How we play here. You are invited.

A love-filled reminder that we are all in a process. We have this rare thing that is safe space on the internet, and for this to work, we commit to not giving each other advice, and not caretaking.

We all have our stuff. We’re all working on our stuff. These are stuff-filled themes we are talking about, and that can bring up pain.

So we tread gently here.

We assume good intentions, we speak with kindness, we remember that Shit Is Not About Us, we know that if it seems like something is against us, that’s probably a misunderstanding or an illusion.

We pay attention to what is our stuff, we take responsibility for our stuff. We say, “this is true for me“, because how could we know what is true for everyone.

You are welcome to share noticings of your own about X and Xs, about the absence and presence of X, about the process of noticing things about the absence of X. And you can fill in anything you want for X.

I am also receptive to things sparked for you, and you can always leave flowers because flowers make everything better.

Much love to the commenting mice, the Beloved Lurkers, everyone who reads.

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