Category: Journal

Books, Food For Thought, Journal, Myself

The Old School Life

Sanjay Sabarwal

LifeAnother Monday, the memory of the Jassi Sidhu party and the Spartan run already fading away as well as my cold and the aches and pains that came with it. It’s funny when you are in the thick of things, it all seems to important, so urgent, but when it’s done, it’s just another task.  I am proud of myself for once not getting myself overly anxious about the party or the run. Perhaps it comes with experience or my daily meditation.  But really it comes from the realization all this will pass. That nothing is ever really an emergency. There is absolutely no reason to ponder things that you cannot control. It can be tough not to wonder, I admit.  Yet, more than that it just is accepting that what’s happens is gonna happen no matter how much you stress about it.

I rediscovered reading again. In the past 2 weeks, I have managed to read 3 books already (Think Like A Freak. The Son by Jo Nesbo, The Book Thief), and now starting The Sleep Doctor by Stephen King. I forgot how much I love reading a few pages, and then putting the book down and truly just enjoying the satisfactions one gets from the imagery presented the authors.  It is probably one of the few times that I know I am truly enjoying myself. I am already looking forward to getting a new stack of books. Although I have a Kindle and the first generation Ipad, nothing is quite like holding a book in your hand or putting that CD in.

Yep, I am officially old school. I still buy CDS. I am still buy hard cover books. I still make my own playlists, and download (mostly) legally. I still promote events to people I actually know rather than just bombarding it on social media. It’s funny but what once was cutting edge is now just quaint. A very big eye opener.

Food For Thought, Journal

Missed Opportunities

Sanjay Sabarwal

missed opportunityI love walking Bella in the mornings. It’s probably the only time of the day when I let my mind fully wander. Some days, I process what I watched the night before, but more often than not, I reflect on the missed opportunities I had to be better. I rewind conversations, moments and interactions with people and I wished I had done them differently. This is not to say my response was bad, but that it could be better. I imagine saying better things, going one step further, not being lazy, etc. I cringe at my inability to remember to stay present. Try it.

Being present is one of the hardest things in the world. I am either in the past or wondering about the future. It’s what causes me to be on auto-pilot. Where I respond automatically without thinking.  But when I do remember, my brain steals the part of the soul for writing. Each word I write is based on what I experienced in some ways. And it’s scary. How much of my soul can I carve out before I completely hollow out? Yes, I love the morning air, the passing conversations, the neighbor’s dog running around in a frenzied circle as it sees Bella (not sure how it doesnt get dizzy), and I think of missed opportunities while all the while trying to be present.

I do wonder if I making my life harder than it is but then remind myself it’s not about me. What I give is what I will get. So I take a deep breath and promise to make better use of those missed opportunities.

Journal

Tough Mudder

Sanjay Sabarwal

I have to admit, I am more nervous than excited about the Tough Mudder I am about to take on Saturday.  We did a dry run of sort two weeks ago, and as one of the last people to come up the hill at the Top of the Mountain Trail, it suddenly it hit me that I am not very athletic.  Even in Junior high, I signed up for the Volleyball team, only to spend all my time on the bench except for the one time where the coach made me come in for a play, and I was able to block the spike. So five months of after school practice came down to one play. Then I also joined the track team, where I signed up to do the mile and I consistently came last.  I was so slow that the guy who won was one whole lap ahead of me.  Then in high school, I joined the wrestling team, and managed to lose every single match. Thank God. I never tried for the basketball team. That’s probably because I can’t dribble and run at the same time. Coordination has never been my strong suit.

So as I walked that final hill, it hit me that really what am I good at is finishing. It won’t be pretty. It definitely won’t be fast, but I will finish. I am going to lumber up and down the 10 miles that the Tough Mudder has laid out for me, but one thing is for sure. I don’t know the word give up very well.  I do wish that I am not last. As I told my best friend Jemal, it’s not that I want to be first, I just am a bit tired of being last. Yet he reminded me that a year ago around this time approximately, I had undergone surgery.  I concede that point, but part of me doesn’t want that crutch when I know my lack of athleticism well.

I also know I am my own biggest critic. That negative self talk of mine has been back full force. I constantly forget that I began doing this because  I didn’t want to be 230 pounds anymore. And really the races are a way to switch things up so I don’t use the excuse of being bored. So as Franklin Covey says, “Keep the End in Mind.” I need to look for the finish line, and not for whose behind me.

Journal, Myself, Preeti

The Stench of Self-Pity Part 2

Sanjay Sabarwal

BK Shivani said that just like you don’t yell at others constantly, we also need to be gentle with ourselves. Take a moment, think of all the negative sub talk that is going on in your mind. I know I am guilty of it. There was a constant river of berating myself for not being focused, not working out, not writing, not working, not being good enough, not eating well, not keeping up with friends, not being better and on and one.  This was the soundtrack of my daily life.  And I am pretty sure it’s yours.  We are constantly beating ourselves for what we are failing to do.  Yet we don’t take the time to be grateful for what we do have and what we are doing. I know I was guilty of that. I also know how silly one can feel being grateful for what we have. It just seems natural. It’s there. I want what I don’t have. We have this need for what we cannot ever grasp in our hands, yet each moment that we pass without thinking of what we have, we move further away.

Two years ago, I was perhaps the furthest I have ever been from writing and reading. Two very simple things that I have done most of my life, and at first I dismissed them as simple things that I would get to. Then I became addicted to social media, constantly checking and rechecking other’s updates about images, stories and things that in the long run did not add much value in my life. Don’t get me wrong. I am not bashing social media, but for me what I thought were simple things to ignore allowed me to use shallow posts to become my crutches.

So I began reading, then writing every day. Now I struggle with how much I can do each day with me adding learning Spanish, Meditation, and working out. I say all this not to brag, but that instead of the negative self-talk, I accept who and what I am.  Yes. there are days, many of them  infact, that I don’t get to all that I want to get done, but you know what? Its OK. I give myself a break. I now see that even when I dont get to do all that I want, I still get something wonderful, like an hour long phone conversation with a great friend, or getting to know something about Preeti that I didn’t know, or doing something completely new.

In a nutshell, be gentle with yourself. Stop the negative talk. Enjoy the moment. Take a breath. And then keep moving.

Journal, My Past, Myself

Oversharing

Sanjay Sabarwal
Image representing Facebook as depicted in Cru...
Image via CrunchBase

I talk too much. I post too much. I tend to do everything too much that pleases me, and when I do something that pleases me, I like to share it. I never thought much about how it affects other people. I just know how I feel, and when something moves me, I like to forward it to people who I think would benefit from me.  A friend of mine advised that perhaps of just blindly forwarding, I explain why I am forwarding to that particular person, because to some it may just look like over sharing.  I know I am struggling with things personally, and I have an inkling that others are too. I just read something that hit me, we are all bozos on a bus.  We all pretend that we are OK when we talk to each other, saving our real feelings only for a few or none.  I lived that life, and it got me an unhappy life.

Yet, my friend has a point. If I quietly forward an email or share on Facebook, what will that person get out of it?  I guess I am afraid of offending them. “Does he really think I need help with exercise?” or “Who does he think he is telling me about depression.”  I create their response in my head and so I forward in silence because I am too afraid to really tell the person what I feel.  It’s also because I am afraid of being rejected if I reach out to the person.  Or it could be that I have this tendency to want to tell people how to live their lives.

I don’t know when I became so afraid when before I would blurt out whatever came to my head.  That also got me in trouble because I usually ended up revealing something about someone that probably shouldn’t have been shared.  That’s been my problem my whole life. I either over share, don’t share enough, or not at all.  I am struggling with my own thoughts and feelings on a constant basis. I realize how whiny this post may seem to some, but I’d rather share than err on the side of not really being myself.  So you’re gonna have to bear with me while I share because I’d rather been seen as a oversharer” than someone who did nothing.

That does not mean I will forward blindly, but if you do happen to get a forward from me that’s not a joke, perhaps, just perhaps I am trying to say something to you politely, or just reach out to you in my way.  If its unwelcome, tell me, but no matter what, tell me something, anything rather than the deafening silence I continually face in my forwarding marathons.

0333-2

Related articles

 

Brownness, Journal, Myself, Random, Writing

Indian

Sanjay Sabarwal
shalimar the clown
shalimar the clown (Photo credit: dltq)

 

Cover of "Bombay Time: A Novel"
Cover of Bombay Time: A Novel

 

Cover of "Junglee Girl"
Cover of Junglee Girl

 

 

I still cannot believe the words that come up on this screen.  My cup of tea steams, waiting for me to drink it down.  The dog watching my every move, believing any second now I will take her for walk.  The quietness of the morning, interrupted only by rare passing cars or the random barks of dogs who think they can take on the cars, seems loud.  The hardness of the chair I am sitting on, digging into my butt deeper and deeper as if looking for something inside me, makes me realize how much effort it takes to put on these tiny words onto this screen.

 

The remnants of a dream come to me just now. An old couple I am visiting insist I take the 2 books I was admiring in their library. I don’t know who they are, but I confidently tell them to feel free to come borrow anything from mine. I also brag that mine is bigger (Freud anyone).  At that, I look around and see what I have.  There’s Bharati Mukherjee‘s The Holder of the World right next to by Bombay Time by Thrity Umrigar.  Then there is Junglee Girl by Ginu Kamani, overwhelming Love from Punjab by someone named Dhillon. My Indian collection is a source of pride for me.  I used to visit the book store, and look for any Indian authors because I believed it was important to have them in my library.  I don’t know when my enthusiasm waned, or when I stopped buying any books.  Perhaps it happened when I realized that I had more more than I could possibly read in 6 months or maybe it came when I look at the titles, and most of their stories don’t come to me.  Lately, my memory is not what it used to be.  It is a fact that I am painfully aware of, and makes me want to reread all the books in my library especially the Indian ones.  Salman Rushdie‘s Shalimar the Clown beckons me, and does the anthology Our Feet Walk the Sky. But then I realize it’s not just about the Indians, it’s about all the words that surround me.  They all are staring at me, almost wishing for me to create my own. Silence…

 

Related articles