Empty cup

Let it be.

Hi there, and welcome. I record my own voiceovers, in case you decide you’d like the slower experience of listening to my voice while you read along. Or maybe you decide to listen after you read it on your own first. At the end, I always play a snippet of a song that speaks to me during the writing process that particular week. The song is linked at the end of every post. No matter how you decide to engage with the text, I sincerely hope you enjoy your experience.

xo - Jeannie

This week I felt like a flat soda. I felt like a wilted flower. I felt like a really brown banana. I felt like that unfortunate car you see every once in a while on the highway, driving the minimum speed on its spare tire.

Photo by Silvestri Matteo on Unsplash

How’s everyone else doing out there since we cracked open 2023? On a positive note, this year I was not so anxious starting back to work after the holidays. This time last year, I was still only about a month and a half into my new role at the university where I work. Last year, picking back up after the winter break was like taking the first step forward after two steps back. I had to regain some lost momentum without much energy to do so. At the start of 2022, I was depleted and feeling overwhelmed with everything I needed to learn in my new job. Fast forward to today, I have been in the role for one year, in addition to that initial month and a half. I don’t feel overwhelmed anymore, which is nice. I’ve always appreciated when various people have openly talked about how the lightbulb happens with new jobs after a while- when suddenly one day everything “just clicks.” It’s interesting; at different points in my life, there would always be someone who would say something along those lines. I have always held onto the concept, like a lifeboat during the stressful, unpredictable learning curve of a new job. Sure enough, stuff started to click with this role I’m in now, and I’ve even gotten into my own rhythm with it.

I wish I could say the “depleted” part of the beginning of 2022 didn’t apply to this year either, but I have felt pretty dang tired this week. Before I go any further, let’s remember: we are trying to see upside down in this space. So, I am intentionally not going to write about the fatigue in a negative way. In fact, I’m going to say it was a very good thing to be tired and empty this week, at the start of a new year. My cup is empty, and all that means is there is much goodness to look forward to for the filling up of said cup. Maybe I’ll even be a little more selective with what I allow to be poured into it. Just because my cup is empty doesn’t mean I have to immediately reach for the next available thing to fill it. For all I know, the next thing could be dishwasher detergent. I know I’ve openly shared here about my thirsty past, drinking toxic libations to much excess… but your girl damn well isn’t reaching for the Cascade to catch a buzz (hehe).

In other words, I am recognizing the benefit of allowing myself to be empty for a moment. I sit here on Saturday continuing my thought that started on Wednesday night. I don’t feel the same way anymore, and that is precisely why I wanted to continue the thought. I look back on the week with gratitude that I overcame fear of the emptiness. I actually had a moment when I told myself to listen to my own guidance in last week’s newsletter! Haha. “Jeannie, let yourself wander in THE NEGATIVE SPACE!” I had to walk the walk and let myself float around aimlessly in the space between crashing and feeling better. I didn’t have motivation. I didn’t have energy. Most importantly, I didn’t have guilt. For once, I didn’t force myself to get out of it so quickly. I did my best to simply be. What came out of that was grace, relief, rest, and rejuvenation. That is vague because it is vague. I don’t have a specific, inspiring incident to report after taking The Beatles’ advice and letting it be. It comes down to the simple fact that today I feel peaceful and refreshed. Those of us (which is probably all of us) who have been to hell and back know that this peace is one of the greatest gifts there is to hold.

Those of us (which is probably all of us) who have been to hell and back know that this peace is one of the greatest gifts there is to hold.

Photo by ilya gorborukov on Unsplash

My guru sent me a copy of the Tao Te Ching, or Book of the Way, recently. It is a version by Stephen Mitchell. Keep in mind, this is my first exposure ever to the Tao Te Ching. It has been introduced to me very carefully and intentionally. I am taking my time turning the pages. What I can say, based on my limited, personal experience with it so far, is that it is a sacred, spiritual text full of deep, poetic wisdom. I can read one page over and over again because it opens my literal and figurative eyes to something new. Honestly, it might even be more accurate to say that, with this text, I am given new eyes… or a new lense, to see things that have always existed; I’m just now realizing them. I’ll quote a piece of chapter four below.

The Tao [(The Way)] is like a well:

used but never used up.

It is like the eternal void:

filled with infinite possibilities.

It is hidden but always present.

-Tao Te Ching, Lao-tzu / New English Version, with Forward and Notes, by Stephen Mitchell

You all know I love a good paradox as well as a nice juxtaposition of words. This excerpt I included here tells me that this accessible source… The Way… is used but never used up. We can each translate this even further to something of own understanding. Maybe you call The Tao something else like God, Love, Nature, Light, Energy, the Divine, Higher Power, etc. I explore the idea of The Tao being the well of life from which I can always draw. If I, in my limited human form, am experiencing a depleted state, all it means is that it’s time to go to The Well. I suppose this is turning into a continuation of the topic last week. The Well is found separate from all the worldly, physical movement. It is within us. It is in the quiet, open space, where we slow down enough to notice our own breath. Then it goes on to tell me “It is like the eternal void”… ? So there’s nothing there?… “filled with infinite possibilities.” Oh, okay.

See? In so few words, if we allow ourselves, we can go on a journey with the text. This chapter specifically helped me respond in a new way to my own tired state this week. I was wilted, as naturally as the flower wilts, when the time comes. I allowed myself to reflect on the arduous year that was 2022. In its closing, I knowingly poured out every last ounce of love and energy I had for my family over the holidays. My body then needed a full, hard stop, and it made sure to tell me clearly by way of the flu. A body doesn’t bounce back to 100% in a couple of days after a virus like the flu. Sometimes we have be okay with being drained for a little while. It takes time, just like it takes the flower until the Spring to bloom again.

“It is hidden but always present.”

Not only can I remain hopeful and optimistic about the infinite possibilities, but I can also be assured that this good energy for the year ahead is always present and accessible. It remains so, even when my circumstances don’t seem to be aligning with how I feel on the inside. I’ve learned from the hamster wheel. I’ve learned from hitting my head against the wall. I’ve learned from drinking tons of tequila-not-Cascade that I should not waste my energy trying to change my circumstances before I have looked within myself!

I’m glad I went with the metaphor of The Well earlier. There is a well of this divine guidance inside each and every one of us. When I was younger, my parents were my first shepherds who demonstrated ways to interact with it through mediums like prayer, church community, the sacred text of the Bible, and songs of worship. I am forever grateful for their direction and realizing my own relationship with God early on. I got older and inevitably lost my way… many times very intentionally. In hindsight, I see the drunken, intense challenges of my adulthood as the means to “break” and become desperate enough to draw from a deeper place in the well. My religious practices had become mere motions. They weren’t helping me anymore. I had to surrender again, just like I did with my mom when I was a young girl. This time, it was all me and my own choices. I chose to waive my white flag. I’ve plugged this before, and I’ll plug it again: I wrote about this surrender in a metaphorical story called Fire Breathing, in case you have time and feel like checking it out.

The deeper area of the well offered new… thicker… soothing waters of community centered around recovery, new friends become best friends, teachers of meditation and yoga, and a new level of grace and love I had never experienced before. They poured it on me until I was healed enough to understand that I can actually swim in this grace and love for myself whenever I want. We all share the same source from where it comes.

Photo by Josh Kahen on Unsplash

I always found the phrase “You can't pour from an empty cup” very comforting in tired times. It acknowledges and validates how I feel while also implying that I need to take care of myself before I go out trying to save the world for other people. Maybe this post can help us consider how we specifically want to care for ourselves, in a way that is unique and natural to us, and not anyone else. I repeat: it does not look the same for everyone. It’s not a part through which to rush or disregard. God leaves us our own will and choices. Why not choose carefully from where and how we draw the water that will fill our cup once again?

Lately, (ideally on the floor, sitting up straight, yet relaxed) when I breathe deep and close my eyes for long enough, the well that appears is kind, loving, joyful, free, patient, quiet, funny, adventurous, daring, calm, intelligent, scientific, cosmic, glorious, light, and even dark. The unknown is dark. This new space has not always had those preferable attributes like “joyful” and “calm.” It was turbulent at first. I was sick. It was scary and even violent sometimes, as I fought on the way down.

What I can say today is the journey into darkness was worth it. I would do it all over again. I wouldn’t change a thing.

Yes, you heard me. Come on in. The water’s more than fine.

It’s bliss.

with love, Jeannie