Hey You! You're Special! Now leave a comment!

Hey You!  If you're reading this, then you are special.  Why?  Well, you're special because you're one of the few that actually reads this blog.  That does make you special, right?  Right?

There are typically 10 or so people who read my blog posts.  The views rise to around 20 when I post to the  Digging Deeper Facebook Page.

Occasionally, I feel the need to publish the post to my personal Facebook page JimmyJames S Butler at which time the views rise to somewhere between 40 - 50.

So, you see, my audience is small and my fan base even smaller. One of my friends who has a blog has mentioned on more than one occasion how few people read his blog but his reader numbers dwarf mine.  And he regularly gets comments.  I rarely get comments.  In fact, I just checked and the last time there was a comment from a reader on this site was in April of 2015.  I do get comments on the Digger Deeper Facebook Page from one very special person but pretty much everyone else remains silent.

But, that's not so bad.  Especially for the type of blog that this is.  This blog is some type of weird, unorthodox hodgepodge that meanders between motivation and confession.  In one post you may get a well thought out inspirational topic.  In the next you may get a stream of consciousness depicting my thoughts at the given moment.  In still another post, you may get a cathartic venting session.  In another, a narrative.  In another, an exploration of belief and philosophy. etc. etc.

So, again, it's not so bad that there aren't a whole lot of folks reading this stuff.  There is some comfort at times knowing that.  Especially when I really open up, bare my soul and become vulnerable.  There are times when I debate whether or not to post something that is particularly raw.   If I decided that the importance of sharing outweighs the possible public awkwardness of revealing the inner me, it helps to know that, in reality, not that many people are going to see this.

So, for those of you who regularly check in, have signed up for notifications or have liked the Facebook page and take the time to read the posts, I sincerely thank you.

I'd like to make a request.  If you do read this, can you make some type of comment to this post.? Any type of comment.  Even, "Hi.  Yes, I'm still here and reading"  Comments can be left either here or on the Facebook page.

Also, if you are a regular reader (or even if you're new), I suggest that you sign up for email notifications if you have not already done so.  It's easy and that way you get an email every time I publish a new post.  Just scroll down a bit and directly under the cover photo on the right side of the page there will be a "Follow Digging Deeper by Email" field.  Enter your email and you're all set.

For new readers or if you just happen to find your way here on a google surfing expedition, feel free to sign up for email notifications, like the Digging Deeper Facebook Page, or if you're looking for cyber friends, add me on Facebook at JimmyJames S Butler.

Until next time, Peace to you all!

In the Dark of Night: Overcoming The Mood-Altering Effects of Darkness

Last night was one of those nights.  I was awakened around 2am and then couldn't get back to sleep.  The dark of night overwhelmed my senses and took me to a lonely place.  Even though Joy was sleeping right next to me, all I could do was lay there questioning if I am really all alone in life, if I really have any friends, if there is any hope. etc.  Fortunately, I don't have as many of these nights as I used to but they still come from time to time.  And when they do, the darkness brings feelings of alienation, hopelessness and vulnerability.  It's not rational.  It just is.  Luckily, I recognize that this phenomenon is mainly brought on by a combination of me being a Highly Sensitive Person (HSP) and the power of darkness to alter one's mood.  Because of this recognition, I have learned to intellectualize the situation, reminding myself that when the morning light arrives, I will be much more hopeful and optimistic.  I reaffirm to myself that I am not alone, that I do have friends and people who care for me and that the darkness is simply playing tricks on my thoughts and emotions.

I'm not naive enough to think that there aren't others of you who have experienced the same exact feelings and the resulting insomnia that accompanies them.  I'd like to share just a couple of things that have helped me in these situations and may or may not help others:

First, realize and remind yourself that the darkness has a mood-altering power.  At times it can be calming.  For example, if you are sitting on the deck with friends after dark just talking and relaxing.  Unfortunately, it can also me distressing.  For example, the situation I wrote about above in which you wake up to overwhelming darkness and deafening silence.  There may be a house full of people.  You may even have someone next to you, but you still feel a deep sense of isolation and loneliness and all of life's struggles come rushing into the forefront of your mind.   In these situations, realizing the mood-altering power of darkness is key.  Rationalize to yourself how the darkness is amplifying things and remind yourself that this amplification will decrease in the light of day.

Second, in order to get back to sleep and essentially hasten the coming of the morning light, there is a method that I learned a long time ago to help simultaneously distract and "turn off" the mind.  I actually learned this in one of my college classes and I have used variations of this method ever since.  I recognize that it will not work for everyone but it can help many, even when it feels like it shouldn't work.  Take a category and start at the end of the alphabet, thinking of a word from that category that starts with the letter of the alphabet.  It doesn't matter what the category is, although a category that is a little more challenging seems to distract the mind more and shut it down more quickly.
For example, you could think of breeds of dogs.  Start with the letter Z and try to think of a breed of dog that starts with  Z.  Concentrate for a few minutes on trying to think of a dog breed that starts with Z.  If after a few minutes you can't (and you won't be able to with this category), just relax and move on to the next letter, Y.  You may think of Yorkie.  Then move on to the next letter X. and so on and so on.  Like I said, it doesn't matter what the category is.  It could be models of cars.  Colors.  Cities.  Whatever category you choose.
This process taxes the mind and distracts it.  You have to concentrate a little to try to pull something from memory that will fit the letter.  This also makes the mind tired.  It's a little like trying to read a boring textbook.  It makes one fall asleep.  The benefit to this is that you don't have to engage any lights (as you would have to with a book) which could cause you to be more wakeful.
I think you may find that even if you don't believe this will help, you will grow tired and will fall asleep without even realizing.  If you make it through the alphabet (I'm not sure that I ever have) just start again, either with the same category or a different one.

These are just a couple of ways to help you through those dark and lonely nights when sleep is elusive.

Until next time,

Peace and rest to you all.

                                                    By My Side - INXS

What Dreams May Come

I've been thinking a lot about dreams lately.  Not the kind that you have at night while asleep.  Instead, the kind that give life purpose and meaning.  So much about my current existence has become utilitarian and mundane. (Hey, it happens to us all at times)
 I dream of art, music and writing.  To be more exact, I dream of being an artist.  Being a musician.  Being an author.  I use the word dream because I have had an inner desire to be each of these things for a very long time and each has been elusive to me.   Merriam-Webster defines this aspect of dreaming as:  "something that you have wanted very much to do, be or have for a long time"   These are the dreams of which I speak.
But, as for many, Real Life has taken over and made me feel ashamed for even having these dreams.  Real Life constantly reminds me that it's foolhardy and irresponsible to dream.  Real Life has beaten me down to a place in which I have resigned myself to settle for life as it is.  Settle.  I hate that word.  There is so much disappointment, defeat and failure wrapped up in that word.  At least for me.
So, where do I go from here?  How do I reignite the passion to follow my dreams.
I'm still figuring it all out. But I know that I need to figure it out and that's a start.   Right?

Fortunately, there is a light at the end of the gray walled, bleak, utilitarian tunnel that Real Life has led me into.  A light put there by a universe that wants to bring things back into balance.  And I intend to forge on and embrace that light.

An old high school friend of mine recently wrote a book which has been somewhat serendipitous for me.  It's a book about the power of balance and how balance can help turn our dreams into realities.
It's volume 1 in a book series and it's called Greater Balance, Greater Reward: Five Steps to Better Health, Productivity and Work Life Balance by Jeff Kooz.

The part of the book that made the biggest impression on me thus far is when he speaks of the important role that our subconscious mind plays in the process of realizing dreams.  Throughout our time on this earth, our subconscious minds have been conditioned to believe a number of things, many of which are negative affirmations.   Because of fears we have that have taken root due to a number of Real Life factors, negative affirmations such as these have become embedded:  I'm not talented.  I don't have the determination to achieve.  I don't have the energy.  I'm less valuable than other people.  People will make fun of me.  (This list could go on forever, couldn't it?)
In the book, Jeff writes about how the visualization of a different reality is "critical in enlisting the subconscious mind as an ally.  If the mind believes in a reality, it will begin supporting it, even if that reality hasn't fully manifested."
Does the idea of negative affirmations in the subconscious and conscious mind strike you as "New-Agey claptrap"?
Well, here is a brief online article that it might be helpful to read about negative affirmations and self talk.  How do negative affirmations affect my life?

You see, what we believe in Real Life, is often not reality at all but instead, a bunch of falsities we have begun to believe are reality.

In light of this, I've decided that my first step toward pursuing my dreams of being and artist, musician and author is, though it may sound absurd, seeing myself as already all of those things.  Again, I know it will sound like wishy-washy positive thinking but I sincerely believe that a reframing of the way one thinks is essential to succeed in this process.

 I am an artist.  I am a musician.  I am an author.  I am all of these things and the presence or absence of artwork, recorded music or written work will not add or detract from my identity as any of these things in my own mind.  After all, the art, music and writing all already exists inside my brain.  It is there and it will come out as my subconscious mind is conditioned to believe that it can and will and as I replace negative affirmations with positive ones.

This is the beginning of actually living out our dreams and, Oh, what dreams may come!

Childhood Stories: A Blunt Knife

It occurred to me recently that many of us spend the first 15 to 20 years of our lives receiving emotional and mental scars and the remaining 50 to 60 years trying to heal.  This post is a recounting of the first scar that I can remember receiving.  Based on the substance of my childhood, there were likely other similarly scaring events that preceded this, shaping me, even without my cognizance or permission.  If so, they still remain buried, far beneath the reaches of my current memory.  


I was 4 years old when I received this scar and it was given to me by my mother.  Although the first of its kind, it would not be the last.


Even now as I contemplate the simplicity and relative minuteness of this incident, I sometimes question if I'm really justified in saying that it hurt me.  Such is the way of abuse in any form.  It often leaves a person dangling somewhere between victim and victor.



It was a winter day, cold and overcast.  All of my siblings who lived at home at the time were at school and I was at home alone with my mother.  I remember that I was playing in the living room when I heard my mother in the dining room becoming agitated and mumbling to herself.  The mumblings soon turned to angry rantings which grew steadily until I was summoned to the dining room.

By this age, I had experienced this side of my mother's temperament numerous times and so I was quite apprehensive.  Nevertheless, I hesitantly obeyed and made my way into the dining room, only to find my mother standing over a piece of chewing gum that had been smashed onto the wood floor.  My mother continued with her tirade and now I could hear the specifics of her ranting: How horrible, ungrateful and useless we all were.  How she was the only one who ever did anything around the house.  As I stood paralyzed and speechless, she continued on for a a few minutes (which felt like an eternity) and then abruptly instructed me to go into the kitchen to get a blunt knife from the drawer.  I hesitated and looked at her uncertainly: I had no idea what a blunt knife was.  This blunt knife that she spoke of sounded unique and special and the only knife I could think of that might meet this criteria was the little wooden handled knife with the bent tip that I had seen my mother use to remove grapefruit from the half peel.  As my mind raced, trying to work out exactly which knife my mother intended for me to retrieve, my hesitation served only to agitate my mother further.  Misinterpreting my hesitancy as procrastination (perhaps even defiance), she impatiently and angrily scolded me to get moving and get the knife.

I moved cautiously but deliberately into the kitchen and opened the silverware drawer, scouring my little mind for any inkling of what the word blunt might mean and coming up entirely blank.  I examined each of the knives and finally settled on the one serrated edge steak knife that just happened to be mixed in with the rest of the table knives.  I can't remember if I grabbed this knife randomly out of haste, in an attempt not to invoke even more of my mother's wrath for dawdling, or if I thought that perhaps this was the special type of knife that my mother wanted.  Maybe at that moment, I reasoned that this must be what she meant by "blunt."  After all, this knife was different than all of the other knives in the drawer and surely this instrument with a sharp tip would work much better to scrape the gum off of the floor.
Whatever the reason, I headed back to the dining room and handed the knife to my mother.
I am still perplexed to this day, why my mother snatched the knife from my hand and began to scrape at the gum, consequently putting scratches all over the surface of the already worn wood floor.  Perhaps her aggravation and anger had temporarily overridden all external input.  Whateverthe case may be, after a few moments of scraping, she suddenly exploded at me and began to berate me for bringing her a steak knife when she clearly asked for a blunt knife.  I cannot remember if I voiced that I didn't know what a blunt knife was or if my mother just figured it out but she continued to castigate me by letting me know how stupid I was for not knowing.
"I ASKED YOU FOR A BLUNT KNIFE!  You mean that you don't even know what a blunt knife is?  You don't even know that? At your age?"  She went to the silverware drawer, yanked it open, grabbed a table knife, shoved it in front of my face and said, "THIS IS WHAT A BLUNT KNIFE LOOKS LIKE!  THIS!"
For a few minutes, she continued to rail against the general inadequacy of my intelligence level until there was a lengthy enough pause for me to feel like it was time for me to slowly slink away.



I learned at least two of things that day.



First, I learned what a blunt knife looked like; Although, I still wasn't sure exactly what the word blunt meant.


Second, and more significantly, I learned that I was stupid.
That I  didn't know things that I should know at my age.  Things that a "normal" kid would know.
That I was lacking.
That I was less than.
That I had little to offer.

And just like that, in the space of 20 minutes, a seed was planted.  It was a tiny seed, but one that would set its roots deep, sprout and then flourish.



The Bible speaks of  the kingdom of God being like a tiny mustard seed which, when sown upon the soil, grows large and treelike so that even birds can come and rest in its branches.



Ironically, inferiority is also like a tiny seed, only when it is sown upon the soil of a little one's psyche, it grows into a twisted, ugly, crippled tree which provides no shelter but instead, an overwhelming sense of darkness and hopelessness.

And so began my crippled tree.  It would be cultivated and nourished by many different factors throughout my childhood, but as far as I can remember, it was planted on that cold winter day.

 Sometimes, I look back on that day and all of the days that followed and I think about the affect it all has had on the way I interact with my children.  I have many times heard the voice of my mother as I'm scolding and regretted my words the moment they've passed my lips.  I'm a lot like my mother and on many levels, I understand her frustration and her volatile temper.  However, I've tried to communicate to my children that I'm not perfect and I've always made a point of apologizing when I've lost it.  This is something that my mother never did when I was growing up.  She never said sorry for any of her actions.  Her pride would not allow the possibility of admitting wrong because being right was far more important to her than anything or anyone. To be fair, my mother had her own childhood issues which affected the way that she treated my siblings and I.  Still, at some point the chain must be broken and we each have a responsibility to take part in making that happen.

I suppose one positive that came out of the way that my mother treated me when I was a child is the ever present recognition that I am not always right as a parent.  I'm human and I make mistakes and when I make them with my children, I openly and directly acknowledge it with a sincere apology.  I'm certainly not perfect at this process, but I try and that's more than my mother ever did.

I just hope that the scars I've produced in my children are few and that my affirmation of their value is enough to heal whatever damage I've caused.