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The Adventure

I awake several times in pain. I might still be able to fit in a workout tomorrow morning before my flight, I try to convince myself.

The following morning, I can barely put weight on my foot. I had felt the twinges in a couple of fitness classes but had chosen to ignore them. I had pushed myself too hard and hadn’t listened to my body. Maybe I need to become more balanced in my approach, I muse philosophically while simultaneously huffing with resistance.

I might not be able to go to London, I realise as my eyes well up. This is closely followed by another thought: I’ve been feeling great exercising and now it’s being taken away from me. It’s not fair. I want to look and feel good. Oh dear, there’s clearly more I need to learn here.

Of course, exercise is good for me and it’s important to take action and do the things that are beneficial for my physical and mental well-being. I honestly thought I’d been doing great but, now that I can’t exercise, I immediately feel less good about myself. I have formed an attachment to exercising as an external source of happiness and self-worth.

I know I have the potential to feel good no matter what. I just have to figure out how.

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favim.com

The next few days are filled with learning and awareness. A friend comes over and I instruct her as to where to place acupuncture needles.

It’s interesting to have to ask for help, to be on the receiving end of such care, and to experience the magic of acupuncture when I really need it. I’m delighted to discover that I’m able to tell my friend where the energy meridians are merely by feeling where they are in my own body.

Afterwards I notice that, as I hobble around the kitchen, I’m repeating the mantra: I am amazing. I’m not forcing myself to do it. It’s coming naturally. All those affirmations I’ve been saying are clearly paying dividends.

I’ve resigned myself to cancelling my trip to London when I ring my mother who’s a nurse. She speaks to a physiotherapist who assures her that if I collect crutches on my way to the airport, there should be no reason that I can’t fly to England.

I’m going, I resolve. I feel strong and excited.

My friend very kindly offers to drive me. We grab the crutches and an hour later I’m making my way to Departures. I’ve never used crutches before and I’m surprised to learn how energy-consuming they are.

A member of staff approaches me to offer me a wheelchair. I say yes. What a weird experience!

Suddenly, I’m at a different level to everyone else. Most people don’t look at me. Others stare at me with what I presume to be pity in their eyes.

Now that it isn’t happening, I realise that men usually look at me as I walk past. This afternoon, I feel invisible to some and as obvious as a clown in Mecca to others. I certainly don’t feel very sexy.

I haven’t had time to wash my hair. And I’m wearing runners as they’re the only footwear that don’t hurt too much. I’m unable to drag along a suitcase so I’ve packed the bare minimum into a small backpack. Talk about hurling myself out of my comfort zone in so many different ways!

I’m transferred from the wheelchair to a buggy then deposited at my gate. One of my favourite things to do in an airport, or anywhere really, is to go for coffee. But I wouldn’t be able to carry a cup while on crutches.

I hop over to a café anyway and ask the barista if she could bring a latte to my seat for me. She gladly obliges.

Last Christmas, I presented my friend with a wonderful book by Cheryl Richardson called The Art of Extreme Self-Care. Each month, a few of us meet to read a chapter together, set some goals, and find out how we got on with the previous month’s challenge.

A couple of months ago, we did a chapter on taking your hands off the wheel, letting go of control and asking for help. Last month, my friends asked me how I’d done.

I reported being aware of when I’m being controlling. I admitted that I hadn’t actually asked for help but that I hadn’t needed to. Now, I’m eating my words.

When it’s time to board, I’m escorted down to the plane and up to my seat. When we arrive in London, I’m put in a wheelchair and wheeled to the bus terminal.

By the time I meet my friend at Victoria Coach Station, I’m exhausted and emotional. We have a catch-up and a quiet night in.

katimorton.com

katimorton.com

The next morning, I’m ready to manoeuvre the London public transport system on crutches.

Hobbling slowly through a tube station when everyone else is speeding is an interesting experience. I have to be okay with going at a certain pace. I have to take it one slow step at a time.

The kindness I receive from people who hold open doors, carry my crutches as I make my way down the stairs, and give me their seats on the Underground is really heart-warming. I’ve never said “thank you” so much in my entire life.

I spend all day Saturday at a Hay House: I Can Do It! conference. One of the first things the beautiful speaker Robert Holden speaks about is self-image. Perfect!

Robert describes how infants, up until the age of 18 months, don’t recognise themselves in the mirror. They have not yet identified themselves with their bodies. Robert surmises that babies are still identifying with something greater – the very essence of their being.

This is something I need to connect with more – my soul. I am more than just my body.

So when I can’t exercise, when I’m on crutches, in runners, with unwashed hair, I can still love and accept myself and feel the energy of my amazing spirit.

Subsequently, Robert shows us a lovely ad that he was involved in making.

Robert also teaches us that being too independent and trying to force things to happen exactly as we want them to is not allowing life to flow. He says:

“If we stick with independence, often we’re running on adrenaline and not grace.”

I sit back and allow life to flow because, right now, I can do very little else. And it feels good. I experience a sense of peace as I breathe a sigh of relief.

An excellent question Robert poses is the following:

“If I could let life love me even more, what great things could happen?”

Tears spill down my cheeks as I contemplate this.

During the break, remembering my vow to take myself out of my comfort zone, and recalling how I definitely didn’t do so at the last Hay House: I Can Do It! conference I attended, I purchase Robert Holden and Louise Hay’s book Life Loves You: 7 Spiritual Practices to Heal Your LifeI then join a queue to have Robert sign my book.

I take this incredible opportunity to tell Robert how much I love him, how wonderful his talk was and how much I enjoy his radio show. I even get my picture taken with him. Go me!

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Pictorial evidence

I meet some lovely people at this inspiring event. One woman insists on buying me a coffee and carrying it back to the conference centre for me. And Hay House author Susan Lander approaches me to give me a free signed copy of her book Conversations with History.

Despite all the learning, awareness and random acts of kindness, I decide that I’ve had enough of the crutches. It takes so much effort and energy to use them. My arms are paining me. And I want to be seen as a “normal” 35-year old woman again.

Thankfully, I’m reminded by inspirational author and speaker Mike Dooley that everything happens for a reason. Mike likens life to a three-hour car ride.

Before this car ride, you decide where you want to go. You type your destination into the GPS system, or Divine Intelligence as he calls it. Then, you have to put your car into gear and drive.

For that three-hour journey, you may not know where you’re going. You may feel lost and the whole experience might feel weird. You may even take a few wrong turns but the GPS always recalibrates. And you don’t know if the GPS has worked until you get there.

Mike then describes a baby learning how to walk. The child takes a couple of steps before it keels over. The parents don’t start shouting at the child, telling him that he deserves it or that he brought it on himself. This child clearly has a desire to walk. And his parents recognise that falling down is part of the child’s journey.

After a great conference, yummy food, lots of adventures outside of my comfort zone, and quality time spent with friends, I leave London with a knowing that everything is unfolding perfectly. I resist nothing. I allow life to flow.

Before I arrive at Stansted airport, my mother texts offering to collect me from the airport. And I take her up on that offer.

I now have a greater understanding of how people must feel when they’re injured or incapacitated. From now on, I’m going to be more mindful of offering help to people when I’m in a position to do so as I can attest to how much it’s appreciated.

Today, my foot is almost all better. I’ve learnt many lessons from this injury. Some of which I didn’t want to have to learn. But learn I must if I want to move forward.

The GPS recalibrates and onwards I stride.

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tumblr.com

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Other People

Yesterday, I texted a few of my like-minded friends to share my most recent awareness. The importance of other people.

Relationships (with a partner, friends, family, co-workers, acquaintances) accelerate our growth and teach us more about ourselves than all the spiritual retreats, self-help books, and hours of meditation and counselling ever could.

Other people serve as mirrors. They reflect back to us how we feel about ourselves and the beliefs we’re holding about life.

Every single person who enters our lives is there for a reason – to show us all the barriers we’ve placed around ourselves. Once we become aware of these barriers, we can remove them and open ourselves to love.

In Marianne Williamson’s book A Return to Loveshe writes about the two main emotions we experience – love and fear. Fear closes our hearts. Love opens us up to an easier, brighter, more wonderful world.

Up until recently, I had assumed that I preferred to be alone. I’d spend most evenings on my own, reading, writing, and watching TV. I walked alone, jogged alone, cycled alone. I meditated and did yoga alone. I took myself for coffee. I wandered alone in nature and took pictures. I holidayed in the west of Ireland. Alone.

I’m proud of my independence and I’m content in my own company but sometimes a stray pang of loneliness manages to slip through my carefully constructed armour. I realise now that I was confusing strength with a refusal to budge out of my comfort zone.

I really believed that I did better at life when I was single. Romantic relationships seemed to blaze into my world. They were quick and exciting and dangerous.

They were so out of my control that I feared I’d be engulfed in their flames. Then they died out, leaving me to tend to my burns.

I missed the warmth and beauty of relationships but I also felt blessedly relieved to be alone again. Alone, I was in control.

My longest romantic relationship was with my now ex-husband. Everything since then has never made it past the four-month mark.

I led what I thought was a balanced life. I had oceans of time to work on myself. I grow more when I’m single, I convinced myself.

And I’m glad of the time and space I’ve had to heal and to flourish. I agree that one must love oneself and have a full and happy life before one is ready to enter into a healthy relationship.

The thing is, I kept waiting for one (i.e. little old me) to become perfect, conscious and enlightened. I forgot that this life is a journey. And on this arduous yet rewarding adventure, we’re constantly learning, evolving and recalibrating.

It’s nice to share some of that journey with our fellow travellers who can also feel lost and who are also searching for meaning. And there’s more laughter and intimacy to be had on a path walked with more than one set of feet.

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After living alone for four years, I now have two housemates. I’m also spending more time with my fabulous friends. And I love meeting new people. How different we are fascinates me. How similar we are humbles me.

I understand now that living involves other people. For what is a life without company, support, affection and passion?

Other people highlight the areas we need to work on so that we can peel off yet another bullet-proof layer. It’s so much lighter and freer to let go of these heavy burdens that weigh us down and close us off. But it’s scary to be so exposed, so vulnerable.

I know that I have difficulty letting people in. Asking for help and believing I deserve to have my needs met is a challenge. But it’s a challenge I’m willing to accept.

Communication is also an area I’m working on. Recently, I detected a pattern of mine. When the going gets tough, my instinct is to bolt. To get out that door and never come back. But where’s the maturity in that? Where’s the learning, the growing, the compassion? Where is the love?

Other people have an amazingly frustrating knack of triggering the emotional reactions that I used to resist and get angry about. Now, when someone does or says something that provokes me to feel hurt, annoyed or defensive, I remember to breathe into it.

I feel grateful for this issue that I need to deal with. I look at my feelings about the incident, which leads to an understanding of why I’m feeling the way I do. Then, I let go and bring myself back to the present moment.

This is a very new practise for me, by the way, but it’s a revelation! I highly recommend it.

Today, I’m more open than ever before. This translates into a heightened enjoyment of life, a deeper appreciation of beauty, and more fun, peace and connection.

I am, thankfully and in Melody Beattie’s words, codependent no more. Nor am I locked in a distant land of me, myself and I.

I’m travelling on this awe-inspiring path called life. And it’s rich with billions of souls from whom I can learn so much, and with whom I can share a luminous journey.

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Images: Favim.com

I Surrender

Something happened this week that left me feeling extremely vulnerable. Instead of acknowledging my reaction, I ignored it and hoped it would disappear all by itself.

This morning, I set off on a fairly long journey. I switch on the radio to distract myself from how I’m feeling. Just as I turn up the volume, I miss my exit. I want to cry. But that won’t do. I’m wearing mascara.

I know that my upset isn’t really about getting lost on the motorway. It’s about the vulnerability that I’m trying to suppress. Issues around love, rejection and self-worth are simmering beneath the surface.

I want to be strong and independent. But now that I’m well and truly lost in a foreign part of the country, I realise that a lot of that is fake. I’m putting up walls in an attempt to protect myself. Act like you don’t care, Sharon. Then you can’t be hurt. 

Where’s the logic in that? Is anybody benefitting from this performance? I think not. And know it’s not real. So of course I can still feel pain. I’m just hiding it from others. And while I’m feigning nonchalance, I’m disconnecting from the full potential of the present experience.

I don’t know where I am or where I’m going. I allow the tears to roll down my cheeks. I give myself permission to feel the fear, to embrace it, to listen to its voice, and to open up to what is.

As I drive into unfamiliar territory, I spot a lone tree in a large green field. I feel an irrational kind of sadness for this solitary tree.

But who’s to say the tree is on its own? Is the tree separate from its roots and leaves and branches? Is the grass beneath it a part of it too? And the air that caresses its limbs? Where does the tree begin and does it ever end?

In The Infinite Way, Joel S. Goldsmith writes:

“The wave is one with the ocean, indivisible and inseparable from the whole ocean. All that the ocean is, the wave is; and all the power, all the energy, all the strength, the life and all the substance of the ocean are expressed in every wave. The wave has access to all that lies beneath it, for the wave really is the ocean, just as the ocean is the wave, inseparable, indivisible, one. Note here this very important point: There is no place where one wave comes to an end and the next wave begins, so the oneness of the wave with the ocean includes the oneness of every wave with every other wave.”

If there is no separation, there can be no rejection. It is only my thinking about abandonment that causes suffering. In my resistance to what is, I’m floundering.

I let go. It doesn’t matter what happens. And what has already occurred is perfect too. I surrender.

A sense of calm settles around me like a blanket of sunbeams. I feel cleansed. I really am okay. I’m whole and open and connected.

I take a chance on an unknown direction and it brings me to where I’m meant to be.

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Activating the Activist

The last few courses I’ve done have included the four different styles of learners. While reading through the descriptions, I learned that I am an Activist. I don’t think any of us fits perfectly into just one type of learning style. I am also a bit of a Reflector, even a Pragmatist, and less so of a Theorist. But I am mostly an Activist. 

Activists are all about experiencing life and immersing themselves fully in activities. They enjoy trying new things and they move enthusiastically from one project to the next. I embrace this aspect of my personality. And I regularly encourage the students of my Positive Living classes to really live and enjoy life too.

So this morning, as I drive home to do some class preparation, I spot a sign for Donadea Forest and decide, on a whim, to go there. It is a clear, crisp October day and I, as the Activist, seize this opportunity.

However, there is a traffic diversion along the way and I become quite lost. Suddenly, I see a sign for Ballinafagh Lake. I’ve never been there before. The adventurer inside me whoops with excitement.

I pull into a small car park in the middle of nowhere. I get out of the car and start walking through the dew-drenched grass. My feet get wet but this doesn’t stop me from exploring this new landscape.

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It looks like Hallowe’en, smells like Christmas, and reminds me of primary school nature tables. The lake is still and oh so tranquil. I place my ear against the bark of a tree and am amazed at the sounds of its inner stirrings.

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The sight of red berries delights me. I tread upon a boggy carpet of autumn leaves. Deceased but still so beautiful. The constant cycle of nature is both thought-provoking and comforting.

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This walk has nourished the Activist within me. I return to the car feeling energised and inspired.

What type of learner are you? (Click here to find out.) And what can you do today to honour that part of you?

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Images: Author’s Own

Living with Overactive Imagination: the highs, the lows, and the completely off-the-wall

Where better to unleash your Overactive Imagination than at Masaya Volcano, Nicaragua?

I was born with an interesting condition known as Overactive Imagination. Even as I type the title of this blog post, I’m wandering off into the mystery mistiness of my imagination… Where did the idiom “off-the-wall” come from? And what kind of wall are we talking here? The bedroom wall? A prison wall? The Great Wall of China? And where is off-the-wall located exactly? Floating in the centre of the room? Hovering in the sky? Tumbling in outer space? Thankfully, Answers.com intervened and explained the origin of the expression: “In certain sports such as handball and racketball, a player hits a ball against the wall. When it comes off the wall, one has no idea where it is going. Therefore, this expression implied unpredictability.” Sometimes, Google is the only reliable medicine for this disorder. If I know I’m about to drift off, inventing my own weird and wonderful meanings for things, I whip open the laptop and hit that Search button.

My Overactive Imagination (or OI, not to be confused with Osteogenesis Imperfecta- a genetic bone disorder commonly referred to as brittle bone disease) was first diagnosed as a young child. I used to pretend to my little brother that our toys could talk. Each had his/her own personality, distinct voice, and best friend. After a number of years, when my brother was becoming slightly more street savvy, he asked me, “Why does your mouth move whenever the toys talk?” I had to think on my feet. I answered: “Their mouths are sewn shut so they have to speak telepathically through me. Duh!” That worked for about another year.

OI is perfect for when you’re interacting with children. When I was 11, a beautiful little sister arrived into our home. She thought I was magic. Seriously! If she got a splinter in her finger, I’d get her to close her eyes and I’d pretend that the needle I used to fish out the splinter was a fairy wand. I was the only one she let near her on those occasions.

OI is also an excellent tool for making you feel better about bad situations. More recently, I lost some of my eyelashes (read here for more details) and wondered if they were going to grow back at all. But, instead of feeling depressed and panicky, I developed a hypothesis. If we were to follow Darwin’s theory of evolution, that we were once fish and have evolved over the years until we’ve turned into good ol’ Homo sapiens, maybe it’s time for us to adapt further for life in the 21st century, and maybe, just maybe, we no longer need eyelashes…

However, like with any disorder, OI has many negative symptoms too, including sleeplessness, paranoia, and insanity. This condition has robbed me of many hours of sleep. I could be so caught up in my fantasies that I don’t even realise that I’ve been lying in bed, wide awake, for the last two and a half hours!

On that note, this past week, I haven’t been nodding off until three/four/even five in the morning. Although there is a perfectly legitimate reason for this (I’ve been busy blogging, drinking cups of tea, and watching episode after episode of Brothers & Sisters), I started to speculate on a more zany reason for my insomnia. According to recent news reports, I am no longer a Gemini. I’ve been this star-sign all my life but now, out of the blue, I’m told I’m a Taurus! This is because the Earth has “wobbled out of alignment with the moon” (you can read the full Daily Mail article here). If the world is changing so radically, maybe that’s why I’ve been unable to sleep, because, going back to Darwin’s theory, Homo sapiens have mutated once again and no longer require at least seven hours’ sleep a night. Or maybe our circadian rhythms are running on different cycles. The whole of society will then need to alter the times we sleep, work, eat, and wind down. Maybe we should be going to bed just before dawn and getting up for work at midday. In that case, the TV watershed should start no earlier than midnight. And midnight feasts will be held as the sun rises…

Unfortunately, OI can also get you into trouble. When I was 10 years old, I convinced my friend and our five-year-old brothers that heaven perched at the top of one of the hills in Glending Woods. When it wasn’t exactly paradisiacal at the top of that hill, we went from hill to hill in search of my promised land. Hours later, we were totally lost, and my poor eight-month-pregnant mother was desperately searching for us. I managed to convince a group of gun- and knife-wielding men (don’t worry, they were hunting) to drive us to Blessington police station where we were reunited with my frantic mother.

OI also fuels paranoia and negative thinking. If a group of teenagers snigger as you strut by, it’s easy to imagine that they’re mocking your tea-cosy hat or the way you walk. If a loved one is late home, you picture them perishing in freak accidents involving lightning, falling elevators, and other spooky scenarios that even the creators of Lost would deem unbelievable.

On the up side, OI has taken me on countless surprising journeys, far removed from the mundane trappings of every day life. I’ve spent many a boring bus trip, mentally penning romantic stories involving ruggedly handsome strangers, which culminate in declarations of love/lust (depending on my mood) by Mr Sexy (you’d think, with my condition, I’d come up with a more imaginative name), as we lock eyes over a cappuccino/stroll hand-in-hand on moonlit beaches/get jiggy with it.

OI has helped fill me with optimism about upcoming exams and interviews. Before my driving test, I’d already imagined myself whooping with delight as I received the news of my success. Lately, I’ve been imagining the moment the novel I haven’t started writing yet goes into print. I can clearly envisage it beaming out of an Eason’s shop window. I can even see the font used to brandish my name. There are entire self-help books on the subject of the power of visualisation but I’ve already “got it” with my OI.

Living with OI is like residing in a roller coaster car, with constant ups, downs, and moments so wild you’ll have to close your eyes to bear them. Here’s how to make the most of your condition:

1) Drugs are bad, mkay?!

You’re already wired to the moon so you don’t need cans of Red Bull or shots of coffee to get you there. If I were you, I would also avoid alcohol, marijuana, and other hallucinogens.

2) Sleep

There’s no safer place to let your OI run wild than in your dreams. Also, the less tired you are, the better you’ll be able to distinguish between reality and the OI-inspired delusions.

3) Don’t dwell on conspiracy theories

If you’re prone to seizures of OI, stay away from all those conspiracy theories circulating on the net. On that vein, have you seen what happened to Mel Gibson in Conspiracy Theory? He had his eyelids taped open by a very scary Patrick Stewart. The thought of that alone should put a screeching halt to your crazy musings.

4) Human contact

OI thrives in lonely conditions. So, get out in the real world and connect with those afore-mentioned Homo sapiens. Chatting to real, live people will get you out of your head for a while and you’ll soon feel normal again.

5) Rationalise

As a frightened child, your parents did the rationalising for you. I don’t see any alligators under your bed, love. And the boogeyman definitely isn’t in your wardrobe. Now that you’re an adult, I’m afraid you’re going to have to do it yourself. But don’t worry if you can’t make sense of it on your own, that’s what friends are for. And if you’re still freaking out about glimpsing thieves and aliens in every dark corner of your house, it might be time to consult a professional.

6) Make the most of it

Some people would sell off their spleens for a great imagination. So, hold on to it, polish it, and learn to control it. Think of it as a superpower. Once you master it, you’ll rule the world. You could come up with an original idea for the next best-selling Xbox game or create a wacky blog or start a comic (sci-fi nerds lap that shit up). You could even become the next J. K. Rowling, writing your own series of fantasy children’s books, transforming them into blockbuster movies starring Saoirse Ronan and Jaden Smith, acquiring your very own theme park, being introduced to Ryan Gosling, marrying him… Oops, there I go again…

If you don’t want to wind up like this, follow my tips…

Attachment: Loved ones, identity crises, and negative thinking

This is a big one. Attachment affects every area of our lives. Some of us believe that if we weren’t attached to people and to things, we’d have no reason to be here on this earth. But letting go of attachment is the biggest lesson we have to learn. The biggest hurdle to overcome. And once we do this, we will be free.

It is our attachment to people, to things, to ideas, and to our thoughts that keeps us stuck and causes us endless amounts of pain. Initially, the severance of these attachments may also cause pain. After all, these shackles have had us chained for many, many years. They’ve prevented us from moving forward but it’s all we know. Then, one day something happens that breaks these chains and sets us free. There is a new world out there, bright and exciting and pain-free. Do you want to join me on this magnificent journey? Here’s how.

1) Awareness

First of all, it’d help if you could figure out what it is you’re attached to. Once you recognise your self-destructive patterns, you can do something about it. In the following sub-section, I’ll discuss the different things we become attached to.

a) image

If you’re attached to your external image, prepare to be saddened, disappointed, angry and depressed. An attachment to how you look will lead to pain and suffering every time you break out in pimples or gain a bit of weight. Hair loss, sagging skin and wrinkles will cause you to sink into a spiral of self-disgust. However, if you can let go of this attachment to your image, you’ll soon realise that there are more important things in life than how you look on the outside. Your spirit is beautiful. Allow it to shine.

b) other people

We become attached to our parents, friends, other halves, and to our children. We believe we couldn’t live without them, and we understand that they make us whole. If you feel this way, I have two words for you: Uh oh! People leave. People die, move away, or move on with their lives without us. Relationships break up. Children move out. Friends drift away. This is a normal part of life. But if you’re too attached, you’ll find it very hard to survive a loss like this. First, work on becoming whole yourself, then any relationship you have with another person will be an added bonus to your already full and healthy life. Their presence may enhance your experiences but their absence will not diminish you as a person.

c) identity

Many of us fall into the trap of defining ourselves by our job title, our gender, religion, social class, and even by our taste in music. This is dangerous. And this is why many people commit suicide after a job loss. Lately, many Irish people have become extremely disillusioned by the child abuse scandals in the Church. We were once a very Catholic country. Now, we are losing our attachment to our religion and this isn’t a bad thing. For the breaking of attachment creates an opening for more understanding, acceptance and inclusion.

Who are we without our identifying labels? For a short while after letting go of attachment, you may feel lonely, lost and confused. Confusion is a good thing. It means you are questioning life and your place in the world. Sit with it. You may think you’re lonely, lost and confused when in fact you’re now free and open and alive.

d) thoughts

The attachment to our thoughts is what causes us most pain. We think: I am fat, I am useless, no one loves me, life is difficult. When we attach to such thoughts, we believe them to be true and we live them. We manifest our own reality of hardship and self-hatred. But we don’t have to attach to such thoughts. We can choose to view things in a different light. When it’s raining, for example, you have a choice. You can attach to the thought This weather is awful OR I love the sound of the rain.

The death of a loved one is probably the most painful thing any of us will ever go through. And even at that, we have a choice as to which thought we attach to:  They are gone forever. I’ll never love again. I miss them so much. Life will never sparkle without them OR I am so lucky to have met such a wonderful person. They taught me so much about life and about myself. I will always remember the love we shared. And I will bring what I’ve learned from them with me on this fascinating journey of discovery.

2) Do nothing

You’ll be glad to hear that you don’t have to do anything at all. The more you fight against something, the more it fights back. You are now aware of how you’ve been behaving. So, allow this awareness to wash over you. And the rest will take care of itself. Eckhart Tolle wrote the following in his marvellous book, A New Earth:

“How do you let go of attachment to things? Don’t even try. It’s impossible. Attachment to things drops away by itself when you no longer seek to find yourself in them.”