Sifting Through Old Patterns In Your Basement

You might not have known this, but I’m a creative genius. So much so, that my father held onto a paper-mache craft I made in school for over 40 years. It was a fashion-forward, stylish man in a tuxedo, with flowing luscious hair. Or it was a man with a white shirt, black tie, and inexplicably black jacket sleeves, not the rest of the jacket, just the sleeves. To top it off, the flowing hair was six pieces of string. 

It was prominently and tragically displayed in my father’s house, then mercifully, and appropriately, placed in a box in a closet for decades. 

Sounds a lot like my emotional patterns.  

In my former business life, I used to get upset, mad, and anxious. Those energies would permeate my being. My mind raced and I’d get consumed. I would self-sabotage and subversively take myself off my path.  I would consistently vent, and consciously point my finger at everyone but the mirror. It was cathartic, or so I thought.  

Now, it’s not to say other people didn’t have a role, however, as always, there’s only one participant who was constant time and again. The truly brutal subterfuge is that my unconscious never stopped pointing my finger at the mirror, making the box of my patterns and emotions bigger and bigger.  

I was too scared, lazy, or ignorant to cull through ‘my stuff.’ 

Over the past couple of months, I’ve been caught in this pattern I’d hoped I’d sent packing. An appropriate post-mortem is revealed.  The details are irrelevant, but like any pattern, even when we work on them to not be constant, they can still rear their ugly stringy head. 

Now, I see a therapist from time to time, and I work on myself, so yes, I’ve made inroads on this and other patterns. But like a box of old crap, things can be out of sight, but even under the best of circumstances, not out of mind and body. 

Over the past several years, I was optimistic that I had tossed this pattern. I was naively optimistic, that when I’d go into the depths of my unconscious basement it would be gone, clean and I’d be free. Nope. There it was.

What’s the difference now? 

It doesn’t feel like much. But now when I stop and meditate or contemplate, I am more aware of my feelings and trends. Plus, those around me are open to discussing and giving me feedback about my actions and my feelings.