I’m a big fan of daily meditation (I use Headspace). I think it’s a means of fostering mental health and as important as diet and exercise. The time I take for myself isn’t just for me. It impacts everyone around me.

One of my favorite visualizations is about Blue Sky.

Picture the Blue Sky, which represents your mind. It has a calm and clarity that are always there. This is your mental baseline.

Sometimes clouds obscure the Blue Sky.

Clouds can be anything… from the cluttered thoughts of a busy life to something that’s been bugging you that you haven’t yet acknowledged to blatant grief.

These are things that might block us from seeing the Blue Sky. Temporarily.

What’s important is to remember that even when the Blue Sky isn’t visible, it’s still there. That peaceful mind, that calm and clarity, is a constant, even when we can’t see it.

The Blue Sky Mind is the underlying foundation of everything. Calm, clear blue sky. All of the other things are just passing through. Some clouds may stay longer than others. Sometimes we’ll experience devastating storms. But behind it all, the Blue Sky remains.

I’ve been asking myself why this particular visualization appeals to me so much. It’s more than just the idea of a Blue Sky itself, though I love all that it implies: open, endless, peaceful, constant.

Before I started meditation, before I began looking at my own behavior and emotions on a different level, I had an unconscious fear that whenever I was in a negative state (fill in the blank: anxious, angry, depressed), maybe there was a danger that the negative emotions could take over and become the norm. Maybe they WERE my norm.

But with the Blue Sky analogy, I can see that isn’t true and not worth the worry. The Blue Sky mind is my baseline.

None of this is new or innovative. It’s a different version of a million other techniques. This one, for whatever reason, appeals to me. It’s my version of deep breaths or refocusing or taking a moment. Or employing a bit of perspective when the moment at hand seems overwhelming. Or remembering that “This too shall pass.”

I’m always opening to learning new techniques. What works for you and why?

If you want to check out Headspace, here’s an invite: http://www.headspace.com/invite/ED7cp

Most of the time Mike and I do our workouts together. Even when we’re not at the same pace (he can complete his 5K up to 7 minutes faster than mine), we typically still struggle through the challenge at the same time.

On previous 5K days, we’ve driven down to the Greenbelt together, set out on our separate paths, and met back at the car when we’re finished.

That wasn’t the case today. Mike had a full schedule and had to do his run before the sun was up, during which time I had to be home helping the kids get ready for school.

When Mike first set out, I felt bad for him. He had to run in the dark, in the cold, on the track at our local high school.

Poor guy. (Sucker!)

I would get to run along the Boise River in warmer weather.

When Mike came back from his run, still at o’dark thirty, I asked how it went.

“Amazing!” he answered, “My fastest run ever. There’s something about the dark, about not being able to see in front of you.”

He did admit that he’d pushed himself to the point of dry heaving at the end of his run. (TMI?) But still, the experience and his performance at least left him dry heaving on cloud nine.

A few hours later, with the kids launched for the day and some basics tasks handled, I set out for the Greenbelt around 10am, only to find that the skies were ominously dark.

Much of my run took place in the rain. I forgot my gloves, my pants kept falling down (more TMI?), and why was I struggling so hard to breathe?

Twice I had to walk to catch my breath, sure that I was about to keel over. I still finished in under 30 minutes, which is what I was aiming for, but it was hard.

I did not feel on cloud nine.

I felt on cloud… whatever the really sucky opposite of cloud nine is.

At the end of the run I sprawled out in the grass and watched a scenario play out in my head…

…a concerned stranger sees my sprawl and is sure that I have, indeed, keeled over. They call an ambulance. It arrives and I explain that I’m simply resting after a difficult run and that I’m refusing treatment. They pressure me and I refuse further, which they take as belligerence, and then the cops are called and before you know it I’m being taken away in handcuffs.

None of that happened.

But it got me thinking about assumptions. How we guess at the outcome of something instead of just letting it play out.

After all, there have been plenty of times when I was sure I wouldn’t be able to complete something, only to surprise myself. And then other times when my arrogance leaves me far short of my goal.

If you think about it, there’s a certain measure of relief in letting go of predictions, moving forward, and seeing what happens. Come what may. Even if it may involve a little bit of dry heaving.

Most of us are very hard on ourselves. We’re wired to focus on our negatives, so congratulating ourselves feels weird.

Yes, there’s a case to be made for not being so hard on ourselves.

It’s fashionable now to throw around the phrase “self-care.”

Though I see a lot of people bastardizing this – they need an excuse for something so they call it “self-care.”

Exercise, reading, rest = good examples of self-care.

Hurting someone out of spite = no, you don’t get to justify that by calling it self-care.

Eating a pound of Skittles while sitting on the couch and letting “reality” television destroy your last remaining brain cells = also not self-care.

While I don’t think it’s good to constantly focus on the negatives, what we didn’t get done, what we could have done better…

I also think there’s VALUE in being our own worst critics. If you can’t be critical of yourself, you take away your ability to identify areas for improvement.

When I admit what I don’t know, I figure out what I need to learn.

I think the key is using criticism to formulate a plan for change.

(Just wallowing in it doesn’t do any good, because you’ll never improve and you’ll be a miserable bastard.)

But listening to criticism and genuinely trying to understand it is a huge gift. Our inner critic isn’t something that needs to be constantly battled or silenced. I’d argue that our inner critic is actually one of our greatest allies.

Praise feels great. But if we’re not also willing to be honest with ourselves about our own shortcomings, we might as well turn on The Bachelorette and pass the Skittles.