Labor vs. Ease and Flow

Labor Day has come and gone. Most years the extent of its significance is a day-off that marks the end of summer. This year is different. Weeks later, I continue to reflect on what it means to “labor” vs. be in ease and flow.

Why is this occupying my mind?

About two weeks before Labor Day, I found myself at the height of spinning out (or grinding down, depending on which gear I was in) into a spiral of overwhelm that took on a life of its own. You know that overwhelm. Waking up early – before 5am – a number of days in a row. Mind racing through everything that needs to happen that day. And the next. And the next. And a hollow pit in my stomach from not knowing where to begin in the complexity. And knowing there won’t be enough time in the day before I even start. 

What is going on?

I talked through my overwhelm and anxiety with my girlfriends, Lonnie and Cecilia. They listened patiently, quietly, as I listed all the things I had to do for my startup, my confusions. Then Lonnie looked right at me, asked point blank: “Do you think there is anything going on here that has to do with being a Chinese daughter?” 

I was stunned. Where did that question come from? I paused for a moment. 

Growing up, home life was a wreck, my parents fought as early as I can remember. I imagine the stress of being Asian immigrants in a mostly white town was a huge factor. I started piano lessons when I was 3 years old, had a first piano recital when I was 4. By the time I skipped my senior year in high school and went to Stanford, I had thoroughly mastered the art of coping with pain and disappointment by focusing on achievements. And was fully rewarded for it. 

I thought to myself, “Yup. Bearing down had everything to do with being a Chinese (oldest) daughter.”

It took about 20 years to recover from this dutiful daughter syndrome and begin to live out my own life story instead of the one that was expected of me. It was sobering to see how buried I could still get in a relentless drive to “get it done.” It, being whatever I had unconsciously decided I “had to” make happen. I was aware of my overwhelm, yet while in it, unable to see I was on the hamster wheel of self-imposed pressure and expectation, let alone get off it.

Even though I knew what Lonnie had named was absolutely true, what came out of my mouth was an astonishing defense. “But I’ve already set the dates so the next events are already in motion.”

Lonnie: “So what’s the problem?” 

“I can’t cancel after setting the dates….”

Lonnie: “Who made up that rule?” 

Cecilia: “It sounds like there are a bunch of “shoulds” driving you. No one is going to care if you cancel and come up with new dates. No one is even going to notice.”

Lonnie: “And even if they do, it has to work for you.”

Thank you girlfriends, who tell it like it is. 

Ugh. This stuff is so deep. In the month leading up to Labor Day, I was relentlessly holding myself to an impossible standard based purely on…my own mind?! An old “story” from early life that I have to be better than my best. My effort is necessary to make a difference. Survival is at stake.  An internalized pressure that I thought had deflated long-ago. What was it doing, rearing its head again now?

Then it hit me. In an instant, sobs heaved up from my belly up into my chest, the back of my head, out my throat, my eyes. 

Three months earlier, I had to put my beloved cat to sleep. Daniel, my cat companion of 15 years. I had raised him since he was abandoned right after being born. I grieved for a few weeks after I buried him in my garden. I missed him in waves but generally felt ok these days. But now, all the energy of my sadness and loss came surging up and out in one rushing wave of heartbreak after another. 

What I discovered is it wasn’t just grief from Daniel that released. I’ve also been holding grief for what’s happening in the world. Growing divides and violence. Refugees fleeing home to seek food, water, safety. Animals and eco-systems in stress. Violence, war, hate crimes.  

It’s too much to let that in. So I compartmentalize, focus on my immediate life, and find ways to distract myself with busyness.

With each release, I could feel the energy driving me on that hamster wheel, subside. What felt like grinding labor and effort gave way into ease and flow. Breath opening, muscles relaxing. So I stumbled my way into a new practice. When I notice constriction begin to tighten in my body, when feel myself bearing down into pushing and effort, I’m getting in the way. 

I pull back, breathe, and utter the words, “Ease and Flow.” 

Somehow voicing these words into existence helps me find my way back to spaciousness. And in that spaciousness I am able to notice what feelings I might be holding just beneath the surface. In that spaciousness I can remember to trust that it’s not all about me and it can’t just come from me. I’m merely channeling purpose and energy from a much bigger source. 

This doesn’t mean sit back and hang out and do nothing. As I play around with this practice, I’m discovering the place where effort (and getting a lot accomplished) co-exists with ease and flow. It’s a place where I don’t “need to” make something happen. But I can and do make stuff happen from a place of spaciousness and empowerment. Which makes all the difference. It’s not a matter of life and death, even though it can feel like it is. I can pause to take rest and step away. My breath and body can soften. I can lighten up and open. 

Until the next ride on the hamster wheel…and the next opportunity to practice. Which will inevitably present itself. Sooner than later. 

In memory of Daniel (the Tiger), a most beloved and inspiring embodiment of ease and flow.