I don’t try hard much anymore. I realized this last evening when a woman in the audience of a lecture expressed her frustration at trying unsuccessfully to change. I thought, “Try a little less hard.” I too would be tight, anxious, frustrated, constrained if I tried to change my habits, my way of doing things.
Instead, I have chosen a gentler, more relaxed path. I pay attention to my habits, and I also embrace them, hold them close to my heart. I tenderly examine them. Some of them I notice are a source of kindness to myself or to others. Some are a little less effective or skilled, and so I casually let them float on their way.
I don’t shoo them away, but I allow them to go. Sometimes I smile when they assert themselves again and again. I gently pat them dearly on their little behinds and softly let them pass on. Gradually, they recognize they are less welcome, and they seem to show up less.
I know they are part of me, and there is no reason to be mean to them. I am patient. There is no need to rush.
I don’t really try to change myself, but I do allow myself to change. It is a dance, and I try to stay loose and fluid. I am not so anxious to rearrange the chairs properly in my personal dining room. I prefer to allow the chairs to find their own places. I put less energy into defining my relationships with people, and my life seems so much more pleasant and richer. Things seem to work out, especially if I am paying attention and being present.
I trust the learnings and leanings of my heart, and I allow it to guide me. My heart has grown a little wiser over the years, and has become more open, softer, less brittle.
My heart knows that I set my intentions a couple of times each day. I remind my heart that I do not intend to dishonor it with hatred. I also tell my heart that I commit it to be a guardian of nature, a healer of misery, a messenger of wonder, an architect of peace, and a fountain of loving kindness. That seems to be enough, and then I relax. My heart knows the way, and I allow it to lead. I don’t even try to follow; it just happens.
I don’t stray into much self-criticism. There is no examination of conscience, detailing what I’ve done wrong. There is no morning-after review. I save that for the rigor of work meetings. My heart is aware, I trust it will have adequate insight if I can keep “me” out of the way.
I occasionally need to apologize to others if I think I have over-reached with excessive enthusiasm and perhaps given offense. I hardly ever apologize to my heart.
I find that the notion of “trying harder” is almost amusing. It is awkwardly unskillful and often ineffective. It is so self-defeating. The natural current in my heart is so trust-worthy, all I have to do is keep my eyes open and my body awareness alert. When I stay unclouded, the rest happens naturally. I hardly ever have to try.