I caught myself holding my breath while I paint. I know there’s a problem with that – no need to unpack that metaphor. Now that I’m paying attention, I’m sure I’ll discover I hold my breath during a lot of things other people find pleasurable. I’ve tried being more mindful and maybe some practice will help, but right now it feels like patting my head and rubbing my tummy. Surely the amount of concentration it takes to accomplish it undoes whatever “letting go” is supposed to happen?

What if, instead of judging this habit, deeming it undesirable, I try to understand it?

The moments I catch myself not breathing – through a brush stroke or creating a tiny detail – all of my attention is poured into that action. My mind is quiet, my focus is singular. And when the moment passes, I find I breathe more deeply than usual, as I take in what I’ve just done, watching the colors merge or settle before I dive in again.

Perhaps I can think of painting like swimming. My breathing has to change while I do this, be more controlled, even held when necessary, so I can move through the process. It’s not wrong or bad, just different.

There are so many aspects of my life that feel like they’re under water right now. If I want to access them (and me) I have to hold my breath. So, I think I’ll embrace this learned behavior, thank it for helping me move through the hard parts, and be grateful for the ability to hold my breath when I need to.