looking closely

I read a short essay today (9/3, NY Times, editorial page) about looking closely at the small details of life. Of course, this isn't possible when a person is going fast or going with their eyes so directed inward they s/he can barely keep attention focused on their own, singular steps or isolated manuevers on the road.

My confession du jour is that I have been very inwardly focused of late, seemingly preoccupied, as soon as I become conscious in the morning, of the vulnerability of my physical body and so I spin into anxiousness. If I think about it past the morning newspaper (I am starting with the Sports and Lifestyle sections lately, and skimming the dour news sections only after I have eaten some protein), my awakening anxieties have been triggered, this past ten days, by disturbing dreams.

These dreams are about either my mom's last months of life or the projection of my dad's death. Not surprisingly I suppose, this started last week with my dad's appt. for a diagnostic mammogram and ultrasound. His dr. thought he had breast cancer but it wasn't; instead, his mass is a reaction to one of his daily medications. My fears about his death were interlaced with my yearly fear of breast cancer. This year his appointment coincided with news I had of a much younger work colleague who is now undergoing breast cancer treatment. So I think I have reached my tipping point on fear.

If, as the book on Positivity claims, in order to keep my head above the waters, I need to have a 3:1 ratio of positive versus negative thinking, I am not at that level. I have to work hard to keep it up to 2:1 (skipping sour national, local, international news is a must) and that's just not enough. [NOTE: I just did the 2 minute text at: http://www.positivityratio.com/single.php and scored lower than I thought I would 1:1--so that confirms my downward spiral direction.]

So I am trying to get my eyes turned outward a bit and the cooler mornings these last two days helps me linger longer as I water my plants. I am hoping that our planned trip to Phoenix will also redirect my attention. First, on the white uniforms against a green diamond at a baseball game and second, on the slanted roofs of a village scene at a Cezanne exhibit. In the meantime, of course, like the essayist, I can look at the wings of a butterfly, the iridescent glimmer of a hummingbird's throat. Even as I take time to gaze the at one brown eye-one blue eye of my faithful dog, Lia, I can absorp the attention and love she shines back at me.
I can do these simple acts of seeing outward, looking closely and maybe the scale will tip toward curiousity, hope and awe. That's my goal for the day.