In Search of the Northern Lights

When object impermanence gets in the way of hope

When I first started learning about object impermanence it was always in terms of tangible things, the ones that were just in your hand, but that cease to exist as soon as they’ve been put down. It explained the clothes that I am always surprised to rediscover in the back of my wardrobe, or the book I forgot that I read, or the 15 tins of chopped tomatoes I’m always shocked to see at the back of the cupboard.

What it took me a while to realise is that it can apply to so many other things in my life as well. Friends who I don’t think to contact, social media that I don’t check for months, food that I forget I enjoy, and knowledge that I used to have.

All things I care about and am excited to remember when my memory is jogged, but which cease to be something I think about as soon as my attention is elsewhere. More recently I’ve been thinking about how this can also make it difficult to remember that how I am feeling in the moment (and what feels possible) is not static.

Despite spending most of my time talking about fluctuating capacity and the way that our level of (dys)regulation can impact on this, I can completely forget this when I’m in it. This means that when I am at my most dysregulated and overwhelmed, I can struggle to remember that it can get better, or why I should do the things that help. And, of course, the inverse is true, when things are going well and I feel the most regulated with an abundance of capacity, I can struggle to fathom that there will be a time when I struggle.

My self-care and compassion can easily become the impermanent object in my life, and down that path lies hopelessness.

I was reminded of this over the summer while I was somewhere off the coast of Norway and one evening as I was settling down to sleep, my wife burst into our cabin and announced ‘The northern lights are visible’.

Having missed the recent display in the UK and keen to make up for it I throw on some clothes over my PJs and impatiently waited for the lift to take us up to the top deck. However when I got there I was met with dark skies and no amazing display.

But that didn’t mean they weren’t there.

After playing around with the camera settings on my phone (including many I didn’t know existed) I was able to capture a picture, that my brain wasn’t able to process from the information sent by my eyes. Suddenly I could see that the empty sky was lit up by a swathe of pink and orange, I’d just needed the right support to make it visible. Just like, those times when I need help to see the value of self care and compassion.

This is why I often talk about the importance of sustainability planning with clients (and share lots of ways to support this in my training). This means intentionally taking time when things are going well and we have capacity to spare to put in place systems, structures and resources that will help if things start becoming more difficult.

This means that when things are hard, the me that is struggling and finding it hard to imagine that it can get better has a breadcrumb trail she can follow to find her way back to balance.

It includes the boring things, like spending an afternoon preparing a few weeks meal plans and shopping lists that can be recycled when inspiration and executive function are far away.

It’s about batch cooking when I can so there’s ‘something’ in the freezer that’s a step up from my go-to pot noodle when I’m low on spoons.

It’s the weekends that already have KEEP FREE written across them in my diary so I have time to rest.

It’s the pandas that seem to be everywhere in my house, reminding me that self-compassion is important.

It’s photos of those I care about ,lego sets that give me joy, playlists of songs I want to sing to, and a hundred other small glimmers and reminders that life can be good, even when it’s feeling pretty tough.

It’s about having some tangible proof that things can be better, a reminder that it has been before.

The picture I took of the northern lights, is far from perfect, it is blurry and crooked, but it has become another reminder that just because we can’t see something straight away, doesn’t mean it isn’t there.

A reminder to have a little faith that in the things I ‘know’, even when I don’t ‘feel’ that they can be true.

A reminder that it can be worth the time and energy it takes to find the right settings to see them again.

Thank you for reading until the end!

I’d love to know if any of this post resonated with you, please leave a comment, share or restack.

And let me know how you keep hold of the things that aren’t always obvious at first glance.