Summary

The author reflects on their experience with a Lakota sweat lodge ceremony, their struggle with social anxiety and the fear of settling down, and the journey towards personal growth and finding the right community.

Abstract

The author describes their participation in a traditional Lakota sweat lodge ceremony, emphasizing the intense and transformative nature of the experience. Despite feeling like an outsider at times, they appreciate the healing aspect of the ceremony and the connection with others seeking growth. The author reveals a pattern of engaging in new experiences but hesitating to form deep roots in a community due to social anxiety and fear of unmet expectations. They express a preference for solitude and a deep connection with their spouse, questioning the societal pressure to have numerous social ties. The author acknowledges the health risks associated with isolation but also recognizes the importance of choosing the right environment for personal growth, advocating for a "white belt mentality" approach to learning and life.

Opinions

The author values authentic experiences and learning opportunities, as demonstrated by their active participation in the sweat lodge ceremony and their appreciation for the "white belt mentality."
There is a clear internal conflict between the desire for solitude and the societal expectation to form numerous social connections.
The author views their tendency to avoid deep community involvement as a defense mechanism against the anxiety of unmet expectations and the fear of getting stuck.
They see the process of personal growth as akin to finding the right soil in which to grow roots, suggesting that the right environment is crucial for development.
The author is critical of their own habit of "should-ing," or overthinking what they believe they ought to be doing, recognizing it as a source of suffering and something to be released through mindful effort.
Despite the challenges, there is an underlying optimism that with consistent effort, they will be able to let go of unhelpful habits and embrace change.

A Fear of Growing Roots or a Journey to Find the Right Soil?

A choice between “should-ing” all over myself or opening to life’s journey.

Photo by Author (Country Road Outside Tucson)

Recently I participated in my first sweat lodge. To the best of my knowledge, it was run like a traditional Lakota ceremony (neither 23andMe nor Ancestry.com says I have a lick of Native American blood). It was hot, sweaty, dirty, intense, loud, beautiful, dark. The leader, Nick, was very welcoming and seemed very sincere.

The sweat lodge was a framework covered first in blankets and then canvases. They had fit a max of 30 people before in the lodge. That night there were 28 of us; it was very tight. A pit was dug in the center for the heated stones. With so many people and the bare earth turned into the mud from the heat and humidity, I was worried the front row might actually slip into the stones.

I spoke to a few people but mostly kept to myself. Technically, the ceremony starts as soon as you make an offering of tobacco to the fire when you first arrive. It felt right to keep small talk to a minimum.

I jumped in to help where I could with the preparation chores. There were several first-timers that night. I was the only person who didn’t know anyone else.

It was so dark inside the lodge there was no difference between eyes open and eyes closed. Nick suggested that we keep our eyes open because sometimes interesting things can be seen. I tried but found it difficult to keep my eyes open when I wasn’t focused on it.

I was surprised by the number of people who seemed to know the words to the songs sung in Lakota, considering our location on the east end of the midwest. Or, maybe it just seemed that way in the close, hot space; a few sound like a chorus in complete darkness, given spine by the thumping drum.

At the end of the ceremony, we had to crawl out on our hands and knees. At the threshold, as I was instructed, I stopped and asked the spirits to be reborn into the world as my new self as I exited the lodge. It was a solemn and meaningful way to end such a special experience.

It was a blessing to participate in the ceremony with a group of people looking to heal and help others heal.

Once the ceremony was over, people did what they could to clean off most of the mud and went inside to share food and talk. I walked inside, looked around, walked back out. It wasn’t that I felt unwelcome, I just wasn’t up to the task of inserting myself into a group conversation. I felt pretty raw from the experience in the lodge.

The cars were packed in so I could not get out. Note to self: next time, park down the street.

It was an on-again, off-again rainy night. The trees kept the rain to a bearable minimum. The fire used to heat the stones was down to embers, but still generating a lot of heat. I found a log and sat comfortably alone by the fire, biding my time until enough people left that I could get my car out.

Comfortably Alone.

Back when I walked to Seattle, WA. from Ohio to raise money and awareness for a local food bank, it was perfect; I was the outsider on a noble quest. I was young, articulate, well-mannered, clean (as much as possible on the road), and smiled a lot. (You can read more about that trip here and here)

I was accepted enough by the people I encountered to keep me safe (even at gunpoint or the back of a police cruiser), but my constant state of just-passing-through kept me on the outside, where I was comfortable. There was a built-in social distance to those relationships decades before social distancing was a thing. (And yet I like hugs…go figure)

My life is full of jumping into new things, which can be scary. But, the really scary part for me is sticking around, joining a group, growing roots. The few times I tried, the build-up of social anxiety and fear of unmet expectations (all on me, all in my head) were just too much for me.

To avoid “getting stuck” (aka growing roots), I typically swoop into new situations, focused, attentive, participative, open (-ish), kind, pleasant, self-deprecating, curious, appreciative. This is all authentic on my part.

I like learning, and feel everything and everyone can teach me. I like the term “white belt mentality” to describe that mindset (the first paragraph of the linked blog is the best description I could find).

Then, once the class/session/event/workshop is over, I run for the hills. No growing roots. No community.

Believe it or not, I am not a complete loner. I am blessed to be married to my best friend. This is possibly the exception that proves the rule; until I met my wife I believed in my bones that I would always and forever be more comfortable alone. With her, I feel both loved and accepted, a euphoric elixir for sure.

Outside of my wife, I have less than a handful of friends I feel some level of comfort with, being able to share more than just pleasantries. Is my preference for solitude really unhealthy?

Inundated with the results of research showing how dangerous being alone can be to our health. Social animals are meant to be sharing connections in close proximity with others. Should I be forcing myself to develop more ties to people?

I have a terrible tendency to “should” all over myself: the round-and-round mental loops spent uselessly speculating “should I be doing XYZ instead of ABC?” The “should-ing” can get so loud it drowns out everything else. Crazy making.

As with all the stuff that causes me the most suffering, this is another opportunity to let go, surrender, and trust. I am choosing to believe the roots will grow when I find the right soil. There is nothing wrong with me valuing depth of connection over quantity.

Unfortunately for me, the “should-ing” is a deeply ingrained habit that has to be released through consistent, mindful effort. I wish it was a switch. I would really, REALLY, like more switches to flip in my life. Go from thinking and/or acting one way, flip the switch, now instantly thinking and/or acting in an entirely new way.

Instead, I find layers of behavior that have to be sanded away to allow for change. Grinding away with that mental/spiritual sandpaper can be so tiring and time-consuming.

Maybe someday I’ll be wise enough to trade in my sandpaper for switches. But, not today.