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Tom Ford, a Chestism

3 comments | January 7th, 2012

We'll admit it unhesitatingly; we're crushing on Tom Ford big time.  Someone flipped us the documentary OWN (that's Oprah's network in case you were wondering) did and it's amazeballs.  In it Tom says this:

A few times in my life I've had moments of clarity; where the silence drowns out the noise and I can feel rather than think.

We thought it was so simple – yet so elegant and profound…to say nothing of an acknowledgment of how hard it can be for all of us to feel…truly feel and just BE…rather than think.  But enough about Tom…let's talk about you. Can you remember moments of real clarity in your own life (you like how we worked "own" back into it)?  What did it FEEL like?  Where did it lead you?  Let's #discuss.

3 comments

  • Tina

    Posted on January 7, 2012

    I was in an unhealthy relationship for a long time. Then one day I came home and my BF started screaming at me and grabbing me in a rough way (not the first time). It was if i suddenly woke up. I told him I was done. I walked out, and that was the end of a really bad chapter in my life. I felt very powerful in the moment. Later I was afraid and sad, but proud. Luckily I had lots of support around it.

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    • Eva@OOC

      Posted on January 7, 2012

      Good for you, Tina. Just wondering what it was that changed for you in that moment. Do you know? Sure most have us have waited too long to make healthy decisions in some way. Thanks for sharing and inspiring.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted on January 10, 2012

    When I knew that my painful relationship was over, it was as if I were empty; I had tried so hard, but I had no more energy to pour into it. I was just blank.

    When I connect with how I feel, though, it’s different. I *notice* so much! I notice how my ankle feels a little funny, how my wrist hurts, how the back of my neck is chilly.

    I open my ears and hear the whirr of the ventilation system, the animated discussion across the room, the typing from all around. Including the clicking of my own words. I can find the highway sound underneath all of that, mixing with wind and electronics to form the static white noise of my office space.

    I pause and notice that I don’t really smell much of anything. I sit with that and give my full attention to my nose and realize that I smell the scents I forget because I have them all the time; the scents of me. Shampoo, sweat, pheromones. I smell the faintest hint of sweetness from the remains of lunch.

    It’s easier to find this nowness with my eyes closed, because my visual space is cluttered with Things. I focus instead on a single Thing: the pen on my desk. I was fiddling with it and I have stood it up on its cap. It is proudly standing erect after at least half an hour; stable. It is black and has a kind of halo of reflected light on the edges; it has two shadows, blurring away into softness across my white desk. I can see all the details of its surface, and I can almost feel with my mind the gravity that holds it down and the tenaciousness of its balance.

    The silence is *in* the noise, when I stop to notice what my senses tell me. Then I can choose to stop noticing them and bring my focus onto my breath, or even my heartbeat. I am always moving, always living, but sometimes there is an instant where my breath turns around at the same time as the pause between heartbeats, when I am relaxed and calm — and for a tiny instant, I am still.

    In the stillness, I listen for the things I do not tell myself, that I ignore or tolerate or repress. They come out and I calmly look at them, the way I look at the pen, and just notice what they are.

    …and then a few seconds later I am distracted by something and the moment passes.

    So for me, what’s healthy is not when silence drowns out the noise, but when I stop to hear the silence within the noise.

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