For many years I subscribed to a daily inspirational email. In the beginning the short emails were centered around general Zen Buddhism, moral and spiritual concepts, and occasionally, new age thinkings. They were useful, and they made me stop to think and reflect on my daily actions. But as the years went by, the author’s impetus to monetize manifested, and the daily missives were mixed with offers of online courses on subjects beyond spirituality. Nonsurgical facelift, seven day cleanse and joint health online courses are, I suppose, forms of physical self-improvements that could lead to a more meaningful life spiritually. But as they say, nothing’s ever truly free, especially online. Someone’s got to pay for all the sage advice being pumped out to thousands of loyal subscribers. So now I mostly skim over the first few sentences, then hit delete.
This morning however, the subject line caught my eye: Intent. Something meaty and useful. I eagerly read the email in its entirety. The gist of the message was that we should focus and do things each day, one at a time, with intent, instead of multitasking and mindlessly going through the motions. All good, right? Being mindful and present in all situations big and small, important and mundane – the hallmark of Zen Buddhist practice. In fact, the author claims that intent has the power to transform seemingly mundane tasks into profound experiences. Well sign me up for that!
The concluding paragraph offered a simple tool to use throughout the day to practice intent. Simply say over and over to yourself: “I am aware that I am …..[insert action or thing]…”. So you’d say, “I am aware that I am awake,” “I am aware that I am breathing,” “I am aware that I am making breakfast,” and so on. Easy enough. I had a lot of errands to run that morning, and I was determined to do them with the utmost intent.
Away We Intentionally Go!
So off to the Lotto international market I go. I hop in my car and I am aware that my car is really, really filthy. When was the last time that I drove to a carwash? 2018 was it? Some time before the Covid shutdown, I think. Good grief.
Pulling out of the garage, I am aware of a most foul stench. It’s not emanating from my poor unwashed car, I don’t think. Or is it? Did I forget to take out that takeout bag of leftovers on the floorboard again? Looking around, I am aware that there is a big dead frog on the driveway. It looks mangled, probably by the resident fox or hawk, and I am aware that I feel sad for the expired uneaten frog. I’m also aware that I feel relieved that it was not flattened. That meant that I didn’t run over and killed it, which would make me feel even more terrible. It would also make my car even that much dirtier.
I’m acutely aware that the dead frog carcass smells really, really acrid. Maybe my hubby will take care of it before I return home, if he is aware of it, that is. I’m aware that I haven’t even left home yet and I’m already starting off my morning with negative attitudes, and I vow to myself to be more aware of my sarcasm and to try to be more positive, like my blood type. Hey self, B-positive, ok? I’m aware that I’m relieved that my blood type is not B-negative, because, well, you know…. I’m aware that there is no proven correlation between blood type and attitude, but my irrational monkey brain disagreed.
Driving along, I am aware that I have no cell coverage in my neighborhood. I’ll have to text hubby about the stinking dead frog when I get to the store. I am aware that I have impaired short term memory so I’ll probably forget to text him when I get there. I hope that he notices the stench and disposes the dead frog carcass before my return. I’m expecting a package today and the Fedex guy will find any excuse not to timely deliver, including bad traffic and road construction and the war in Ukraine, according to his text. Seriously? At least this time the smelly frog is dead unlike the last time when our resident, very alive, rat snake Speedy G was sunning on the sidewalk. That’s no excuse though, he could have just stepped around the snake or left the package by the gate. I am aware that I am getting annoyed at the *possibility* of being annoyed by the Fedex guy, and I pause to mentally swat at my monkey brain.
Cresting the hill, I am aware of a flock of bluebirds that seem to always fly out in front of my car whenever I pass by. I am aware of the joy in my heart and I break into a grin. I slow down my car and greet them and I wonder if they do the same for everyone who drives by, like a welcome committee of sorts. Maybe next time I’ll remember to ask them.
Weird
Looking ahead, I am aware that the weird neighbor down the road has a flock of sheep in his front yard. Whaaaat??? That’s weird. Well come to think of it maybe not so weird for Great Falls. People in this town have chickens, horses and goats in their yards, so why not sheep? The former neighbor behind our house used to keep zebras and gazelles in his backyard, after all, in the same space as his helicopter that he buzzes over our house and pilots into town for lunch. Ok that’s weird too. I stopped my car and scanned for more farm animals. What happened to the chickens in the kiddie playpen by the fire pit? I am aware that they are missing. I am also aware that there are many foxes, coyotes, and hawks in our woods. Perhaps the hens are safely tucked inside his garage. Or wandering around the neighborhood with the local gang of wild turkeys. Perhaps he got the sheep to protect his hens. Regardless, weird neighbor.
Leaving our neighborhood, I am aware that I am annoyed that the turn lanes on Seneca Road are blocked again. I am aware that this is out of my control and that I should not be annoyed, but I continue to be annoyed anyway. I am aware that honking the horn of my dirty car at the offending fancy car will not make him move up and out of the way, because there is nowhere to go until the light turns green, but I blare the horn anyway. I am aware that I feel a lot less annoyed.
I am aware that people drive way too fast on Route 7. I am aware that I am *occasionally* one of those people. I slow down. I am aware that the sun is shining. I am aware that I am smiling but my head is hot from the sun and the chemo pill and the other pill that blocks the side effects of the chemo pill but has its own side effect of sun sensitivity. Sigh. I am aware that there are cops hiding in the median. I’m glad I slowed down.
My car comes to a stop at the red light at the end of the exit ramp. I am aware that the adjacent black muscle car with pointy shiny spikes on the tire rims is pumping out really loud rap music, and the deep groovy bass is making my dirty car windows vibrate. I intentionally roll down my dusty window to fully appreciate his tricked out audio amplification and sub woofers. I am aware that I, in fact, know the lyrics to this broadcasted tune with the naughty words! I begin to nod my head to the thumping beats and sing along joyfully, cuss words and all. I am aware that the machismo brother in the muscle car appeared to be absolutely mortified that the grey haired housewife Asian lady in the adjacent unwashed SUV is rocking her head and singing along. In sync and in tune, I might add. Perhaps his choice of music was not as tough and offensive as he thought? Perhaps did I just make him feel uncool? Awww too bad. I am aware of a little smirk creeping up the corner of my still rapping mouth. The light turns green and he hurriedly roars off. I hope he doesn’t get a speeding ticket. I wonder if he is aware that there are a lot of traffic cops out today. He would have, if only he was more intentional in his driving. Just saying, hehe.
Holiday?
The trip continues mostly on autopilot. Nothing really interesting or uninteresting to be aware of, despite my best intentions to be more intentional. I pull my grimy car into the bustling shopping center and am immediately aware of the absolute mayhem in the Lotto parking lot. A dizzying array of cars. Vans. Unattended shopping carts. Squabbling kids. Angry parents. Grandparents with canes. All in the middle of the road. Moving haphazardly or not at all. Oh good grief. Why did I go shopping on a school holiday? Because I was unintentional and thusly unaware, that’s why. Shame on me.
Stuck in the chaos, I am aware of my rising tension. I suppress my urge to shout something snarky to the hombre in the unmarked beat up white van blocking the fire lane in front of the store. Like he is just sitting there without a care in the world listening to mariachi and blocking traffic! I mutter something about this ain’t no eff-ing Guadalajara under my breath but then I feel guilty and insensitive. My guilt lasts a few seconds, until the big dark sunglasses woman in the clean black Mercedes behind me honks her horn. Like where am I supposed to move my car, beetch? I’m blocked on all sides, give me a break! You run over that old geezer in the middle of the road if you’re in such a hurry.
I’m aware that I’m feeling annoyed yet again, and that awareness further annoys me. I am aware that I get annoyed at irritable things. A whole lot. But that’s because there are a lot of irritable things in this world – that’s not my fault is it. I vow to try to be less annoyed and to try to avoid things that annoy me. I reason to myself that even if I did say something and mouth off, the rude dude in the traffic blocking van in front of me and the impatient wench behind me would probably pretend that they don’t understand English anyway. And I’m aware that I know that they do. And that just pisses me off. It’s *so* annoying.
I finally get out of the logjam and find a parking space far away from the madness. As I approach the store, I am aware of a group of helmet haired proselytizing ladies prowling the parking lot. Uh oh. They are handing out free brochures to everyone they accost. I tried to avoid them but I am stymied by the triangulation of the beat up unmarked mariachi white van still blocking the fire lane on one side, Mr. Magoo in stylish tunic and sandals hacking up a storm (Covid? Hookah addict? Tuberculosis? Avoid! Avoid!) on the other side, and a row of unattended grocery carts directly in front of me. Gaaagh! Trapped!
I am aware of the familiar feeling of claustrophobia spreading in my tightening chest, and I am also aware of my…. what’s that? Oh, annoyance. I try to let it roll off. I take a deep calming breath but this momentary panic attack caused me to become unaware and cornered. One of the helmet haired ladies cracked a Cheshire smile before offering me a brochure, but I clasped my hands behind my back before she could shove it my way and then I politely declined. No. Thank. You. Followed by a meek smile. Before I could make my getaway another proselytizing helmet haired lady blocked my path and asked me if I had found Jesus? I told her that I wasn’t aware that Jesus was missing, but that if I ran into him I will be sure to tell him that she was looking for him. I am aware that she seemed at loss for words, and I took advantage of her confusion to quickly wave “bye!” before darting toward the store.
Signs, Signs
I am aware of a neatly printed sign prominently taped in front of the entrance to the store. I feel surprised that I have never noticed this sign before. Perhaps I was not as intentional in my previous shopping forays. The sign read: “We are not responsible for injuries resulting from the wearing of sandals on the premises.” Well that certainly gave me pause. That’s some pretty good legalese right there. I am aware that I am wearing flip flops and that, in fact, I wear flip flops most days. I like my little piggies free. I am aware that being run over by a grocery cart or hand truck while wearing flip flops may cause grave injuries. I wonder what kind of lawsuits must have triggered such a warning sign, and what kind of sandal wearing individual would file such a claim. I was never aware that wearing sandals while shopping was such a bold risky move, but here we are.
As I entered the store, I am aware that James Brown is singing loudly over the piped music system. Ow! I wonder what bored but bold and underpaid assistant manager selected the music for this particular store. What was he or she thinking? Was it intentional? Does upbeat music make people shop faster and buy more? Like how they play high bpm music in restaurants to turn the tables faster? I began to laugh and smile and bop and sing while pushing my grocery cart. Get up, get on up! Get up, get on up! Other customers join in, dancing and nodding their heads – little kids, a bald corpulent middle eastern gent, a distinguished old Indian lady in a gorgeous blue sari. I am aware that they are probably not aware that the other chorus to JB’s ‘Get Up’ is: “stay on the scene like a sex machine.” In fact, I don’t think that they understood the lyrics at all, except for the counting off part, when they happily counted per JB’s prompt: go ahead, “one two three four!”.
I am aware of a little baby in a stroller staring at me dancing with my cart. I wink at her and she giggles while I sang away. I got mine (dig it!), he got his… At that moment I am aware that music is a universal language, and that it’s hard to resist a really tight horn section, no matter who you are.
Bouncing left past the French-Vietnamese bakery run by Korean and Hispanic bakers, I am aware of the myriad seasonal fruits and veggies and just piles and piles of foodstuffs everywhere on the floor, in no particular order. I am aware of my ADD brain going haywire, and I try to focus on the nearest table to regain my bearing. The table was stacked high with bright yellow papayas labeled “Hawaiian Papayas”. The country of origin on the label was Mexico. I am aware that this Mexican grown Hawaiian papaya is probably not really Hawaiian if it’s grown in Mexico, but I don’t bother complaining to anyone about it. I intentionally refused to be annoyed by it.
I head over the the rows of vegetables, intentionally picking through a pile of wilted watercress looking for a decent bunch. A handwritten sign that I have never noticed before was taped overhead. It warned shoppers, “for sanitary reasons”, not to pick up vegetables with bare hands. We are to put the provided plastic bags over our hands before touching the vegetables. I am aware that absolutely no one, including myself, was following this rule. I wonder if this sign had been here since the massive scare when we all thought we could catch Covid and die from touching contaminated produce, and I’m aware that I’m glad that I didn’t. It would be terribly embarrassing (in the afterlife), after surviving all these catastrophes and deadly illnesses, only to perish from something seemingly benign like touching lettuce. Besides, it’s hard to disinfect produce with Lysol. Ruins the taste completely. Not that that has stopped some people. Just saying.
Memories
Across the aisle, I spy a huge pile of shiny purply fruit, and I am aware of my racing heart and total excitement. Muscadines! In Virginia! In October! What miracle is this? The purple muscadines were mislabeled as “muscats” (which are primarily yellow, by the way, and not purple), and I am aware that the store struggles with signage. I began stuffing my bag with this ambrosial wonder, picking the biggest and firmest fruits. I filled one bag and began filling a second. I am aware that this borders on gluttony but I do not care.
I am aware of two curious ladies and a grandpa intensely watching me bare handedly prod, probe and intentionally select the plumpest and purplest muscadines from the pile. I wonder if they are upset at me for not wearing the plastic bag gloves as the sign directed. One of the ladies asked me in broken English what muscats taste like. I told her they weren’t muscats but muscadines, and that the signage was wrong. I wanted to tell her that they taste like my childhood in Georgia, traipsing in my red dirt stained rubber flip flops through scratchy briars in the humid late summer with my bff, scanning the scrubby pine forest floor for fallen purple marbles of slightly sweet and bracingly tart wild muscadines. I wanted to say all that, and how special this humble little fruit was to me because of all the warm memories it conjures up in my heart, but I am aware that they probably wouldn’t understand and conclude that I’m weird. So I told them it tasted like grapes. Muscat grapes, to be precise, just like the sign said.
The old man picks out a plump muscadine and pops one in his mouth. He chews and winces and then swallows, peel and seeds and all. He pronounced them grapes. Sour grapes. Both ladies sampled too then nodded in agreement. A lot of people sample in this store. It’s wrong, but it’s normal. I am aware that none of them took a shine to the thick skinned, bitter seeded “muscat”. But that’s ok – that means more for me haha. I am aware that I failed to mention to them that you are supposed to spit out the peel and seeds. I feel a little guilty about withholding this tidbit of vital information on proper consumption of muscadines. The peel is tough and tart and the seeds are tannic and nasty. I am aware of my ulterior motive. I didn’t want to see them spit, especially when there was no trash can nearby. I was afraid that they’d toss the masticated peels and seeds back onto the fruit pile or onto the slick floor, where sandal wearing folks like me might slip on them and become gravely injured like we were warned at the entrance. I am aware that I am making some pretty bad assumptions about people I don’t even know, and I vow to be more open minded next time. But spitting out chewed up fruit is just gross and unsanitary, so intentionally withholding information was really not as bad as it seemed and was indeed my intention all along, and I’m sticking to it, judgy or not.
Lessons Learned
I’m aware that I’m not even half way through my first store, and already all this intentional shopping is quashing my monkey brain and making my head hurt. I decide to wrap it up and call it a day. I texted hubby about the dead frog but he was already aware of the stench and had already tossed the poor stinking thing into the woods with a shovel without my asking him to do so. I am aware that my hubby is such a gem, and I vow to generously share my hoard of muscadines with him.
On my drive home I reflected on the awareness exercise. It’s really hard to be intentional about every. single. thing. It’s just exhausting to sustainably focus that long, especially with an ADD brain that is constantly distracted by every little stimuli. I understand now why monks spend their entire lives working on this one practice of doing each task with singular intention. The heightened awareness that comes with being so keenly focused on doing everything with intention amplifies both the good and the bad, the highs and the lows, the emotional and the sublime, and exposes hidden biases and tendencies. It’s been eye opening, for sure, and I thought I was pretty good with mindfulness, but I was wrong. I still have a lot to learn. With daily awareness practice I hope to become better at noticing and acknowledging my inner feelings and regulating them to lessen my self-induced stress that some has labeled as OCD. I can focus on intentionally spreading more joy and happiness too. For now though, I intend to do some serious bingeing on that pile of luscious muscadines, and then go wash my car. With much intention, of course.
