Obey My Blog

It’s my last day at Tassajara and I’m washing 30 carrots. 30 big huge carrots! The scrub brush and the water have turned orange and all I can smell is their fresh, crunchy aroma. I honestly can’t think of a better way to spend the morning.

Okay, I can think of a few others, but this definitely ranks up there.

This trip to Tassajara was not a typical vacation. Yes, it was a break from my daily routine, but there was no escaping reality or life on this trip.

In fact, I was thrown right into it.

In a community like this you have very little privacy, there are rules for when you can talk and when you can’t talk and while you have some choice in the matter, the jobs you’re assigned are chosen for you.

There are good reasons for this (cultivating mindfulness being one of them), but when I first arrived, I didn’t understand and couldn’t comprehend why anyone would willingly take up this kind of life.

Be told when I can talk? Peesh! Be told what to do? Ha!

This is the exact opposite of how I’ve constructed my life so far. I’ve worked very hard to make sure I’m not dependent on anyone. I’ve made sure I know how to survive on my own without anyone’s help. When things got tough, I wanted to know that I could make it without having to trust anyone at all.

Put me in a community where this is completely turned upside down and…voila!

Major panic attack.

But I survived it. And by depending on other people, no less.

This is how I found myself delightfully washing carrots. My friend Vicki was kind enough to switch jobs with me on our last day, because she knew how much it meant to me to be in the kitchen for at least one shift.

How awesome is that?

Tassajara itself is a small place, tucked away in a valley in the Ventana wilderness. After the flight from Austin to San Jose, our group rented two vehicles and began the long trek in – about 3 to 3 1/2 hours. Or maybe it was longer, I can’t remember. Anyway, the mountains get increasingly taller and rockier the further you drive. Many of the trees that had been scorched by the fire here about 2 years ago were, sadly, still scarred black.

The mornings here begin early and I found myself waking up at 5:15, sometimes 5:00, in order to make it early to zazen in the meditation hall. Which is huge by the way. The clack of wood and the sound of bells and bowls became my early morning soundtrack from Monday to Friday. I listened to my ipod once the entire week – once!

Luckily, I managed to sneak away for one afternoon to practice Tai Chi. I only got to practice once during my stay, but in my Tai Chi class Sunday night, I noticed I felt much more focused and relaxed. I guess a week of meditation will do that!

I had very few expectations when I first started this trip. I really didn’t know what to expect, to be honest. For some reason, it never occurred to me that a trip like this would change me or challenge me even.

Isn’t it odd that the thought wouldn’t even cross my mind?

But what a nice surprise, to find that I could do things I didn’t think possible before. Like completely trust the people I was with, work in a kitchen, slow down enough to appreciate and notice even the tiniest gestures of kindness (of which there were many), tolerate nature (mosquitos, anyone?), share a bathroom with five women (!) and survive with only the light of the sun and a kerosene lantern.

It kind of makes me wonder, what else can I do that I didn’t think possible before?

I took a break from practicing Tai Chi.

And then I took a break from writing.

Scandalous!

My Tai Chi class has started up again though and I’m (almost) back in my regular routine. After Master Chen’s workshop several weeks ago, I realized I was a wee bit worn out. I needed to stop and catch my breath. Plus, my body was all like, okay dood. Dooooooood. We like, really need a break in here, do you mind?

And so I decided to take a break.

Now that I’m back though, I have a calmer, more focused approach to my Tai Chi (sort of). I’m not anywhere near mastering the forms of course, but I take correction better than I did before. I don’t get as discouraged as I did before. And I don’t worry as much either.

Master Chen’s workshop pushed me to my absolute limits and challenged me much more than I realized. It was really tough, but it also put things in perspective. I’ve put so much energy into worrying and stressing over how I’m doing the forms, how awkward I feel – how awkward I must look. When really that doesn’t matter.

YES. You are going to look awkward. You are going to FEEL awkward. That’s just a given.

But who cares?

I also seem to have a lot more fun in class (I know – how could Tai Chi be any more fun than it already is??). Granted, my legs feel like they’re on fire and sweat drips down my forehead in class (ewwwww), but I love it.

I’m also relieved.

Less fear – fear of failure, fear of pain, fear of looking stupid or whatever fear you are faced with – is always a relief.

In this same spirit, I am planning, packing and prepping for a week long trip to the boondocks of California.

Next week I’ll be traveling over the mountains and through the Austin and San Jose airports and up a very long and steep dirt road to the Tassajara Zen Monastery where I’ll be staying with my Zen teacher and several other friends and members of the Austin Zen Center.

I’ll be meditatin’ y’all!

At 5:30 in the morning. Every morning.

Um…

But I’ll also be doing some other zen-like activities like slaving away in the kitchen (I hope, maybe?) and/or doing other Tassajara-y things like attending talks and taking hikes and of course just enjoying the change of pace (not a small thing for me I must tell you).

I’m starting to think that taking a break is a good thing sometimes…

I attended an informal talk a few months ago, where it was suggested that I encourage others to meditate. I raised my hand and immediately expressed my concern and unease with this.

I don’t talk about Zen stuff very often. Well, okay, in this blog I do, but that’s different. Much of the time though, in my daily life, I try to completely avoid talking about Zen Buddhism or Zen meditation altogether.

There are several reasons for this.

1. A lot of people think meditation is weird. I’m not really interested in trying to convince people otherwise. Even though it’s probably the simplest thing a person can do. In Soto Zen, it involves sitting and staring at a wall. But this still seems to weird some people out.

2. I get the impression that a lot of people already think I’m kind of weird.

3. Before last year, I thought Buddhism was really, really, really boring. Really. I absolutely had no interest in it whatsoever and could not relate to it at all. Knowing this, I do my best not to waste my time – or other people’s – jabbering on about Zen stuff. The people who are genuinely interested, ask. The people who aren’t, just get defensive anyway.

4. I am not a Buddhist. I’m not sure I want to be a Buddhist. And yet it’s the closest I’ve come to feeling like I’m “home” in a very long time. I don’t know how to reconcile that, but that’s okay. But with this in mind, I do my best not to preach.

5. There are already enough people jabbering on about Zen and Buddhism. People much more qualified at it than me. But then there are those who like to jabber on and on and on…about nothing! I’m a writer – maybe not a great writer, but a writer nonetheless  – and I love words. But Jesus Mary Mother of God, I don’t want to sit around and argue with some jackass with something to prove about the intricacies of the Vinaya. Snore! I have a life to live. So do other people.

Zen is such a strange, strange thing. And yet it’s so boringly normal. I don’t know how to express this experience to other people. I just have to live it. Or try to.

It is also very, very personal.

In my Zen class this week, my teacher asked us all why we come to the Zen Center.

The people who responded had really wonderful and touching replies.

I was not one of them.

I couldn’t answer. I knew if I opened my mouth to speak it would be waterworks all over the place.

So I bit my lip and made a joke instead.

Because I mean, how do I even begin to answer that question?

It’s unfathomable to me. Extremely personal. Absurd. Ridiculous. Serious. And yet, not serious at all.

I can’t even imagine not going to the Zen Center now. I can’t even imagine not meditating. How’s that for an answer?

p.s. Yes, I made up the word “jabbery.”

You’ve met her. THAT girl. The one who is always smiling. Real sweet-like. The one who tries to keep everything together. To make everyone happy.

Then one day this sweet, smiling girl flips the fuck out when someone asks to simply borrow a pen.

Yep.

Been there. Done that.

I’ve been that girl.

To a certain extent I still am.

Being the good girl SUCKS. You don’t say what you really want to say. You say yes when you want to say no. You smile when you actually feel like punching someone in the face (well, I have actually punched someone in the face. Not that I’m advocating punching people!). And you end up exhausted, angry and confused.

During the Zen meditation (zazen) class I took last fall, my teacher asked everyone in the room if they wanted to be a good person. Most people, of course, raised their hand. Who doesn’t want to be a good person?

ME.

I most definitely DO NOT want to be a good person.

I know where that road goes. Every time I’ve attempted to be the good girl, I’ve gotten myself into trouble.

So then, what is the point of being a good person?

When I was in graduate school I took a conflict resolution class. Because, well, at the time I wanted to be a diplomat and I thought, rightly, that conflict resolution might come in handy.

I thought to myself – I’ll learn how to foster peace between warring nations, I’ll learn how to listen with thoughtfulness and care and then help enemies put aside their differences. Palms will meet. Hands will shake. Doves will be released…

What I learned instead was that conflict resolution is not about making peace just for the sake of making peace. Or because it is the “good” or “right” thing to do. It can be a hard and sometimes dirty business. Granted, it can be extremely rewarding and done in the right way it actually CAN foster peace between enemies. My former professor, Dr. Marc Gopin is an inspiring example of this.

But this does not happen by prancing into a war zone and gleefully dismissing all the hate, anger and violence that has occurred and almost assuredly still exists. It’s only by acknowledging it – and honoring the wounds created on both sides – that healing and peace can begin (That is if, as a peacemaker, you can avoid ending up bitter and jaded by the whole heart-wrenching process.).

But that’s the aftermath. Identifying (and identifying with) certain things as good or bad is what gets people into conflicts in the first place.

It is the same with individuals.

If you consider yourself a “good” person, then that means other people must be “bad.” Not you. Never.

In an effort to prop yourself up as “good,” you will attempt to call out and crucify others who you believe contain the very “bad” qualities you deny in yourself. You will create enemies, point fingers, blame others and get mad. If along the way, other people join you, you can all call yourselves good and others bad – solidified in self-righteousness and in your total denial of ever doing anything bad or wrong.

I’m exaggerating a little bit here, but this is how wars start. This is how conflict begins.

As a martial artist, it is prudent to recognize and learn to accept all aspects of yourself. By doing so, you learn how to defend yourself. You learn your weaknesses and your strengths. You learn when it is appropriate to act and when not to.

In essence, you learn how to become a whole person – not a “good” person.

Because being good and bad are never separate. They are just two sides of the same coin. Trying to deny your “bad” side is like trying to chop yourself in half. I should know. I’ve tried (well, not literally of course).

Which is why there really is no point in being a “good” person.

In reality, there really isn’t such a thing. And in reality, when you accept and embrace what you think is bad in yourself – all those things you criticize yourself for on a daily basis – a surprising and unthinkable thing happens.

You begin to accept these things in others. You stop trying to project your crap onto others. You stop seeing people as others and you start seeing them as human beings.

Suddenly, being a “good” person is no longer important. Just being a person is.

My Qigong teacher liked to emphasize paying attention to subtle queues. For example, if you find yourself just a little bit thirsty, go get a drink of water. Don’t wait until you are parched. If you are feeling just a little bit stressed, take a break. Don’t wait until you’re on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Waiting until the last minute can cause harm to the body.

I understand this completely. It makes perfect sense. But I personally tend to push myself and go to extremes. When I work, I WORK and then some (okay, aside from my occasional bouts of laziness). When I relax – or try to – I relax in relatively small, extremely focused amounts of time. If I feel something – happiness, sadness, insecurity – I have a tendency to take it to the absolute extreme until I’m utterly exhausted.

I don’t know how I developed these habits, but it is why I am now practicing Tai Chi and Zen meditation (zazen).

These extremes scare me a little. So much so that in the past I’ve preferred to retreat into numbness rather than endure another erratic train ride on the emotional choochoo.

But over the past couple of years, I’ve started to wonder if it’s really necessary for me to take things so far.

And for God’s sake, why?

One of my theories is that extremes make me feel more alive. They make most people feel alive, obviously. Who hasn’t experienced the tingly thrill of a new infatuation? Or the absolute high of accomplishing something you once thought impossible?

There’s nothing wrong with that.

It’s when you find yourself constantly running from one extreme to the other in order to feel alive. That’s when things seem to get messy (and destructive).

And as it turns out, I have never been more disconnected and out of touch with my own sense of aliveness than when I have chased extremes.

Perhaps that sounds bizarre. But in reality, when I am chasing an extreme, I am running away from something else. From discomfort, pain, fear, boredom, etc.

What I’ve learned through the martial arts and zazen is how to stop running and to stay with whatever it is I am experiencing.

Which is probably one of the hardest frickin’ things I’ve ever done in my life.

I’m not kidding.

Because I kinda thought when I got into these practices – no matter how much I may hate to admit it – that they too would offer me some sort of escape. I thought, yes! I am going to face all of my fears, my stress, my pain and my suffering head on! And then of course, I will move on!

To what I’m not entirely sure…I don’t think I got that far.

But saying you’re going to face your fear and suffering is one thing. Actually facing your fear and suffering is a whole other ballgame. One that isn’t, uh, always that fun.

So why do I do it?

Because there is no escape. There never was! So if that is the case, and this is the only game in town, I might as well figure out how to play it and play it well. Without causing further suffering for myself and other people.

I’m sitting. Half-lotus. Staring at the edge of my shadow in front of me on the wall. Millions of thoughts come at me and I can barely keep my bearings, let alone remember to follow my breath. I know the bell that marks the end of meditation is coming soon. I can sense it. I wait. And wait. Okay maybe not. Hmmmm… Now? Nope. Not coming. Okay…thoughts, thoughts, thoughts. Oh yeah – my breath! Thoughts, thoughts, thoughts – and ohmygod breath! Pay attention! Thoughts, thoughts, thoughts…

DING!

AH! What the @#%?!

This is a typical evening sitting for me at the Zen Center. It’s just me and a wall (quick – staring contest!). It can’t get much simpler than that. And that’s kind of how I like it.

But in the past few months I’ve been trying to attend some of the Saturday morning sittings and events.

The larger ceremonies still elude me, however.

I stayed for the Bodhisattva Ceremony once. I’d been helping set up the meditation hall a few times, but never could bring myself to stay for the actual ceremony. It’s about renewing the Precepts – the Vows. I haven’t taken the Precepts. I’m not even officially Buddhist (which, by the way, you don’t have to be to practice). I don’t take ceremonies like this lightly though. At least I try not to. I am highly intimidated by formal ceremonies. And quite frankly, formal situations like this tend to make me laugh inappropriately.

In the Czech Republic one wintry evening many years ago, my friend Dan and I decided to stop in and take a peek at one of the local cathedrals. It was dark, silent and empty but for a handful of people. We sat towards the back so as not to disturb anyone and started looking around. All of a sudden I noticed a digital device up near the front that displayed numbers in bright red, like some weird alarm clock. I asked Dan what it was.

Me: Hey, what is that?

Dan: I don’t know.

Me: Maybe you take a number…

Dan: For confessions??

Me: Maybe it’s like the Returns department at Target.

Dan: *giggle*

Me: *teehee*

Dan: *muffled laugh*

Me: *muffled laugh*

Me: People are looking at us.

Dan: I know, but it’s so funny…

Me: I know!!!

Me and Dan: Bwaahahahaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaawww!

This is sort of why I tend to shy away from highly formalized ceremonies. Other people have no problem at all with this kind of stuff. And in a sense, my behavior could probably be viewed as rather immature. But, let me tell you, I am keenly aware of my social anxieties and do my best not to inflict them on others.

I also don’t want the focus of my practice to get lost in ceremonies. To an outsider, the meditation part can look quite dull (What? You mean, I just have to sit there?). The ceremonies, on the other hand, can look exotic and shiny. Chants, incense and prostrations…oh my!

But they’re meant to pay respect and acknowledge important and sacred events. They are not the meat of practice (Although, I’m sure someone out there could argue with me.).

Oh yeah, and when you see people bowing to the Buddha? They don’t really think that the Buddha is alive in that statue, saying, yes, yes, my children bow to me.

No.

Bowing to the Buddha is bowing to you and to me and to the Buddha. And to every other being, living or dead. It is a sign of respect. Not subservience.

If it were a sign of subservience, you can bet I would have excused myself from the world of Zen Buddhism months ago.

But anyway…

All of this was to say that one of the members of the Austin Zen Center was recently ordained as a priest after 18 years of study and practice. I didn’t attend his ordination ceremony (see above) but was impressed and humbled by his commitment. Even though he barely knows me and probably doesn’t even remember the fact that he taught one of the introductory zazen sessions I attended, (and the story he told about how when his Zen teacher asked his children how they’re father was different, they both said he was less angry. WOW.) I wish him all the best.

Another day, another Best of 2009 Blog Challenge article. Yippee!

Today’s topic: Word or phrase. A word that encapsulates your year... For me this would be feeling. Yeah, that’s right. I said it – FEELING. I’m talking about feelings, man.

…

“Congratulations.”

“On what?” I reply, with astonishment.

“On feeling!”

I’ve just explained to my Zen teacher (who is not officially my Zen teacher since I haven’t taken any Precepts, but for all intents and purposes, is my Zen teacher) that I feel more emotional than ever since starting Zazen and I don’t know how to deal with that.

He doesn’t see this as a problem.

But I do.

I also confess my irrational fear of the bell at the end of meditation and how embarrassed I am by this.

I wait in anticipation for his reply. I’m not really sure what to expect from him, but I do not expect this:

“So?”

So?! But I’m not supposed to be scared of a stupid little bell! It’s not Zen to be scared.

Or is it?

I find it amusing that I got into Tai Chi and Zazen thinking they would help me deal with emotions that I saw as problematic. And that I believed these emotions were something to be dealt with. When I had dealt with these emotions properly, I thought, things would be peachy.

Umm, no.

Not exactly.

While Tai Chi and Zazen have helped carry me through the ups and downs of my emotions, they have not eliminated them. In fact, I am faced with more emotions than ever.

But why in the world did I ever think this was a bad thing?

When I first began reading about and practicing Zen, I’ll admit that I kind of had this ridiculous notion that being Zen meant being emotionless or at the very least, completely in control of one’s emotions at all times. This was initially appealing to me because I consider myself a rather emotional person (although a friend of mine recently referred to me as “laid back and cheeky-smiled” and nothing remotely resembling the “spastic stresspile” I sometimes claim to be… huh!).

But to practice Tai Chi and Zazen is not to become some emotionless zombie, impervious to pain and pleasure. Very few people can do that. And honestly, who would want to?  As Grace Schireson points out in Zen Women (I should probably not recommend books I haven’t finished yet, but I am so excited to have this in my hot little hands that I am going to tell you to go get it right now!),

“Zen practice means finding the mind of meditation in times of fear, anger, and desire, rather than trying to banish fear, anger, and desire from our consciousness.”

This is not easy. But something about returning to that cushion every day and going through my Tai Chi routine every morning brings me back around and returns me to my center.

I still kind of  fear the bell at the end of meditation and every once in a while, it still makes me jump. But now I almost welcome it. Now it is not a problem. I feel (almost) everything. And in a strange sense, it is a relief.

A few weeks ago I moved into a new place. It was stressful! I experience a lot of anxiety when moving, despite the fact that I’ve moved a lot in my adult life. Weird. But anyway, I was feeling stressed and wanted to partake of a frosty beverage and a cigarette (my sister talked me into it – it’s all her fault!).

I couldn’t even finish it. I got halfway through and had to put it out. I used to smoke all the time when I was younger and now I can’t even finish one lousy ‘ol ciggy. I’m not sure if this is because I am getting older or healthier. Hmmmm…

But it got me thinking about my breath. I spend a lot of time focusing on my breath these days. It’s what I focus on when doing Zazen and it helps guide me as I practice Tai Chi.

Just this morning, as I grew increasingly frustrated over a move I haven’t been able to get down, I remembered my breath. The whole room suddenly got quiet and I was able to do the move flawlessly. Okay, not really, but I did it without being frustrated. Which is a plus for me! I kind of got excited and jumped up in the air a little.

How is it that we pay so little attention to such an important thing? It’s not even a thing really – it just is. You breathe. Period. Otherwise you wouldn’t be reading this right now.

Then again, what’s the big deal? Is it really necessary to be aware of something that is just a natural part of life?

In Tai Chi we do breathing exercises where we stand with our palms facing our abdomens and exaggerate pushing and pulling our hands with the movement of our bellies (It’s a bit unnerving to look over and see my belly fully extended, but I don’t get any points for looks in class. So there.). This is meant to strengthen and cultivate awareness in the abdomen or dantian.

But it’s also meant to cultivate an awareness of the breath.

If you think about it, breath is pure action, without thought (wait, then maybe you shouldn’t think about it). When you breathe, you are automatically connecting the mind and body.

Sometimes, as Jan Diepersloot points out in Warriors of Stillness, students are told not to worry about the breath. They are told simply to focus on the movements and the breath will follow. But many students – myself included – find it useful to use the breath as a way to integrate the body and mind and the upper and lower torso. What one can discover later, Diepersloot explains, is that it is possible to just use “yi, awareness or intention, directly to achieve integration.”  This method, colorfully coined as, “suck and tuck,” amounts to “tucking the pelvis under, forward and up and sucking the abdomen in.”

Many beginning students are so stiff and frozen, though, that attempting to use yi, or awareness, can simply result in more tension. Thus, Diepersloot finds it more beneficial to emphasize the conscious use of the breath before introducing the more direct method.

Personally, I’m still not quite ready for such a direct approach. And honestly, I kind of enjoy focusing on my breath (is that weird?). But the more natural my breathing becomes in my practice, the more relaxed I become.  And the more relaxed I become, the easier it is for me to just be aware.

But I still have a long way to go…

This time last year I was a mess. Okay. Not completely. But I was seriously stressed out.

I look back and I realize how incredibly hard I was on myself. I also look back and realize that I had no earthly idea what I was getting myself into as far as Tai Chi and Zen were concerned. No clue!

Well, sort of…but not really.

I was trying so hard. I really was. Getting into Tai Chi and Qigong and then Zen was supposed to help me. They were supposed to help me become the person I wanted to be – stable. Or at least just not insane.

And they have definitely helped me accomplish this. But what I didn’t realize at the time was that I wasn’t insane. I was actually stable (sort of). And I was actually okay. But I thought I was supposed to be something I wasn’t. I thought I was supposed to be someone else. I thought I was supposed to be this ideal I kept in my head – this perfect, unattainable ideal comprised of god-only-knows what.

How wrong was I! Well, as it turns out…very!

And so I set out for ways to reach this. And I ended up -

Right. Back. Where. I. Started.

Apparently I’m just supposed to be me. Nothing else. Nothing more.

Really??!

I try not to write too much about zazen here, because that’s not what most of you come here for. You come here to read about Tai Chi (I think). But I learn so much from zazen and I have found it helpful to bring what I learn into my Tai Chi practice and vice versa.

Many times I have stood in Standing Meditation and been overwhelmed with an emotion I had been trying (in vain) to suppress. Many times I have come home from a Saturday morning at the Zen Center utterly exhausted and in tears.

These activities are not to be taken lightly. And yet they are some of the gentlest ways to get back into your body – to become aware of the things you’ve kept buried in the muscles of your back, shoulders, neck and head. Move these things around a bit and you start noticing things come up. Sit or stand in meditation with nothing else but you and your never ending thoughts and see what you find. It is amazing, horrifying, humorous, delightful, scary, pleasant, gorgeous and sad.

This article was supposed to be about the breath. Uh…whoops! I do still want to talk about breath and Tai Chi. Next week then. I’ve been thumbing through Warriors of Stillness by Jan Diepersloot and it is quite interesting…

Never let your persistence and passion turn into stubbornness and ignorance.
Anthony J. D’Angelo

…

I have finally emerged from a work and web design cocoon. In the past few weeks I’ve had to choose between writing and sleeping. Considering this is my first post in two weeks or so, I guess it goes without saying that sleep won…

This is what happens when you try to work 50 hours a week, take a Tai Chi class, take a Zazen class, practice both Tai Chi and zazen on a regular basis, try to have a social life and participate in a web design competition.

Actually, I don’t think I had a choice … sleep chose me!

Anyway, I have been doing a little reflecting on my Tai Chi practice and I realize that I’ve been doing everything all wrong! This doesn’t surprise me, but I am amazed at how being stubborn and remaining loyal to my first Tai Chi teacher has kept me from moving forward. When I first learned Tai Chi, I just didn’t pay attention to the subtle things like oh, I don’t know, posture, leg strength and the fact that the force was coming from my arms and not my center.

Kind of important stuff!

The more I practice though the more I realize that there is a method to this stubborn madness of mine. I cling to my old ways of doing Tai Chi because it is safe – because it is familiar. Even though it’s all wrong! But it is so much harder to let that go and accept new ways of doing things. Even if these new ways are better for me.

Oddly enough, I developed this stubbornness as a way to protect myself. And that’s okay – there’s nothing wrong with that. But this stubbornness has turned into a hindrance and has actually made my ability to learn much more difficult.

This is not to say that my first Tai Chi teacher didn’t know what he was doing. He was actually quite good. But without really knowing what I was doing, I attempted to copy him. Which is perfectly normal for a beginner, but I see the limitations of this now.

And it’s not something that I developed because of Tai Chi or anything like that. I actually brought this with me when I first started practicing. Seeing this now in my Tai Chi class has made me more aware of other aspects of my life where I’ve been too stubborn to move forward or just accept something the way it is (funny how that happens…).

This makes me wonder – what else have I been missing? What other subtleties have I completely overlooked simply because I’ve been too stubborn to notice?