Are you itchy right now? No?

(I’m hoping not.)

Appreciate that. The absence of an itch.

That’s what poison ivy taught me last week.  That, and a few other helpful tips.

I’d like to share of those lessons with you.

Wonderful lessons, all itch & pain free.

Poison ivy lessons

I was working in the yard a couple of Fridays ago.

I was raking up leaves from what I not-so-affectionately call “the second fall in Austin” – a bunch of overachieving trees in my yard like to drop an extra set of leaves in the spring.

So there I was, raking up all these leaves.

Pulling up handfuls of lush green spring sprouts.

Putting things in their proper place.

And it’s all fine.

And the next day, I have an itch. On the inside of my left wrist.

It’s a little bit annoying. I’m having lunch with a friend, and it’s distracting. I scratch it a bit. I cover it with a long sleeve. It looks a bit red.

And then the itch went for a walk to my other wrist.

And then to my legs.

And before I knew it, I looked like a big ol’ splotchy. red. balloon.

Why am I regaling you with the story of my uncomfortable rash? I’ll tell you.

We can learn all kinds of interesting things in the midst of discomfort and pain.

And the first interesting thing I want you to appreciate right now is that you aren’t itchy.

(And if you are itchy, sorry. Pick another unpleasant sensation.

You aren’t nauseated.

You aren’t fatigued.

That sort of thing.  Just notice.)

That’s my first poison ivy lesson for you.

1.) Delight in the absence of pain.

Observe your lack of a headache.

Isn’t that nice?

It’s nice to feel good. And often we’re so busy feeling good, or just ok, or not-something, that we don’t notice.

It’s how our body works, like a thermostat—pay attention when there’s a problem, we need to do something!!—but otherwise, just heading along at cruising altitude, not noticing.

So notice when you’re feeling good. Notice when you’re feeling not bad. Not feverish or flu-like. Not itchy.

Notice the absence of pain, when it’s absent. Appreciate that.

(Yes, this is a form of mindfulness.)

And what about when you don’t feel good?

That was the second lesson I got last week.

I had plenty of practice noticing how uncomfortable I was, how impatient I felt with the whole annoying, itchy process.

At one particular moment, I was sitting in the car–feeling itchy of course— and I took a few mindful breaths and declared out loud,

2.) “I can be happy and itchy at the same time.”

(Also known as “happiness waits for no itch” – to leave, that is! Happiness is just there.)

And when I said it, it was true.

Did this miraculously mindful moment cure my itch?

No. No, the itch was still there.

The heavens did not part. It didn’t go away. The sensation didn’t ease a little bit, even.

But I was less bothered by it.

I stopped putting so much value and focus on it

—when will this thing go away?

How long do I have to keep treating it?

And damn it, why didn’t I wear gloves when I was doing that yard work?? –

I stopped all of that, noticed the itch like I was a scientist studying a unique & interesting problem, not a person being slowly driven mad with discomfort and impatience.

Some of this may seem lighthearted to you. But truthfully, mindful practices like these can help a person cope with a great deal, such as serious medical conditions, & chronic pain.

And lessons three and four that the poison ivy vine taught me…

3.) Take this opportunity to care extra, double, for yourself.

A cupcake prescription is not necessarily a bad thing, unless it becomes a regular habit, of course.

Getting sick, to me, is like getting a memo from the universe to focus more on me and less on everyone else.

So, I had a bit of ice cream.  I slowed down and stopped worrying about being productive.

I let myself indulge in some “guilty pleasures” sans guilt.

I had me more than a few ice cream bars to soothe myself. I didn’t try to tackle my to-do list, or housework, or really much of anything.

It’s not an everyday habit I want to cultivate, certainly, but it had its place in the middle of itch-town.

Someone even “prescribed” me cupcakes.  I enjoyed that particular prescription very much.

And I didn’t guilt myself over it, just gave myself some ice cream or cupcakes, and some room in my own life, felt better, and went on with my week.

Everything did not come to a grinding halt. In fact, everything went just fine, if a bit itchy.

4.) It’s fine until it’s not. And then it’s still fine, somehow.

I went to two different doctors. The first one saw the poison ivy in its early days.

“It doesn’t look too bad,” she said. “—try this ointment and see how it does.”

Two days later, I saw how it went. Not good.

I went back again and was told I was having a very bad, systemic reaction.

In fact, that doctor gave me a two week course of steroids to clear it up.

And she told me to avoid the yard at all costs until the ivy was located and destroyed.  (This, I could handle.)

That’s the thing about a lot of life’s hassles and pains.

They’re small until suddenly they’re not.

They’re a nuisance until they’re a nightmare.

It’s all manageable until it somehow isn’t.

So, check in on your nuisances. Are they still manageable?

Sometimes the shift between okay! and whoa–no–not–okay is sudden—we’re careening off to one side, off the tracks.

But sometimes the tipping point is quieter, sneakier. Sometimes we really have to reckon—“How bad is it?” Because we don’t want to end up on the side of how did it get this bad in a month or a year.

And even if we end up on that bad side of things?

I can be happy and itchy at the same time. (See lesson #2)

And sometimes I’ll be sad and mad, too.

If I can meet all of these feelings with the same sort of kind, open-hearted approach I’d want to offer a sad friend, I’m doing well for myself.

Itchy lessons

Hopefully all this talk of itching hasn’t made you itchy.

But even if it has, notice your full tummy. Or notice that you’re comfortably clothed. Notice if the temperature is nice. Notice the absence of pain.

Just notice all the nice, non-itchy things happening at this particular moment.

Is it a weird form of gratitude practice? Perhaps. But it might just turn your day around. Give it a try!

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Last year:  Give yourself a plate of praise

Two years ago:  Go away (so you can come back)

Three years ago:  Five tips to gracefully embrace your inner k(no)w