Resisting Autopilot Mode
Using transition space with fresh eyes
Transitions open a doorway to pay attention with fresh eyes. Last night at 10:30 pm, my husband and I returned home after two weeks of workcation (aka working remotely in a beautiful warm place). We rushed into the door to escape the chilly damp air since we didn’t have proper jackets on.
I rolled the suitcases in and off to the corner to be unpacked tomorrow. I put my backpack down on the floor. Took off my sneakers and placed them in their cubby spot off to the right. With my mini purse crossed strapped around me still, I flung right into doing mode. I grabbed a pitcher of water and said hello to our 12 plants. I knew they’d be thirsty!
I briefly rummaged through our mail—making personal piles while discarding the endless credit card offers and junk that fills our mailboxes. I could feel myself trying to settled back into our space as quickly as possible. Sort of like a dog sniffing, digging and peeing on territory. The goal was to get to bed asap, yet we ended up staying up for another hour continuing to unpack and arrive in an effort to feel as landed as possible before the Monday morning begins.
Here I am 6:30 am on a Monday, sitting on my meditation cushion. I notice the motions of my morning rituals carrying me, yet I ask myself, “how present am I truly?” I feel disoriented. I sense the familiarity of my soft robe against my barre skin. I feel the thick knitted blanket beneath my feet and knees, cradling my criss crossed legs and protecting them from the cold ground. Yet, there is a little voice chirping up asking, “Is this my life?” It feels familiar, yet not sure it is me. The house smells musty. Unused. Lack of airflow and life.
My mind wants to jump into control mode. It wants to find the familiar to hold onto. To help navigate the transition moment. More like power through the transition. Based on past experience, it always takes a few days to fully arrive home after a trip. There is a natural knowing and acceptance that this is part of the travel rhythm, however, when it arrives it feels uncomfortable.
My eyes scan our space, looking for anything interesting, out of place or alarming. I drink a sip of water from my favorite white rimmed glass. My lips smack together as my taste buds get reacquainted with our tap water. I say to myself, “Is this what our water has always tasted like?” I feel like I am looking at my life through a fresh lens.
When I slow down, this transition moment is unique and special. If I speed right through it because it feels uncomfortable, I will miss an opportunity to re-adjust and reacquaint myself. I can’t assume what worked for me a few weeks ago is what works for me now.
How often do we get to examine our lives with a fresh perspective? Even though I am a daily examiner, coming back from a longer trip is a rare opportunity to notice life from a bird’s eye perspective. It’s a moment to exam what works for you about your space, your routines, your life and what doesn’t.
Traveling is one of the biggest gifts I give myself because I learn so much about the world and about myself. What do I truly need to feel grounded and at home wherever I go? What supports me feeling healthy? What supports me functioning at my best? How can I live my purpose wherever I am? What person and cultural values do I want to express?
Instead of getting sucked into the discomfort of needing to power through the transition moment, I want to tap into my curiosity in a kind way to notice what works and what doesn’t for me. I stare at my closet—overflowing with hangers. Piles of sweaters stacked on shelves. “Do I really need all of this?” I think to myself. I feel overwhelmed just by looking at it. Mentally, I make a note to myself, “clean out closet.” I notice our bedsheets and pillows. “Hmm, these are starting to look a little ratty. Maybe it’s time to finally get new pillows.”
My morning ritual even needs to be adjusted. Now that the sunrise is occurring 30 minutes earlier, I need to get up 30 minutes earlier. I open our fridge and look at the barre cleaned out shelves. Glee bubbles inside at the thought of re-stocking our fridge and cooking in our space again. I notice how my husband and I dance around our space. A traffic jam occurs as we both prepare food in the right corner of our kitchen, smacked between the sink and toaster oven.
“Pay attention,” I say to myself. Notice what works and what doesn’t. Resist the urge to flow right back into autopilot mode.
Prompts to explore:
When you arrive home from a longer trip, what do you notice about your space? About your rhythms and patterns? What works for you and what doesn’t? Share your insights below.