Doing My Part

An interesting week has just passed: following another eye surgery, I've holed up in a dark apartment, protecting my eye from painful light. I am someone who craves light, so this was a stretch. Furthermore, a woman of words, I could not read, and I could not write.

What was I to do? I recognized that my surgeon had done his part; now it was time for me to do mine.
I've slept a lot. I've prayed and meditated some. I've watched missed episodes of TV shows and movies. As often occurs, two themes emerged from them all. One was about timing: the Universe has it's own time schedule. The second was about knowing our part and doing it.

Knowing our part, however small, and doing that part is a concept I've addressed many times over the last 25 years. For that theme to come up this week shouldn't have been a surprise, and come up it did, over and again, perhaps most poignantly this afternoon.

Movie viewing this afternoon was the Oscar-nominated documentary, "20 Feet From Stardom," which profiles a handful of back-up singers who performed on many hit songs recorded by a wide range of groups and artists over 40 years. Although most of us couldn't name any of them, anyone who has listened to any popular music genre during those years knows their contributions.

Few have broken into their own stardom, notably Sheryl Crowe and Darlene Love. Their talent is a different one: support and blending is what the stars and producers for whom they performed described. That is a unique contribution to that of the lead singer.

Most of us can think of a number of people in our lives who support us in accomplishing our own roles. Similarly, we should probably be able to think of others for whom we have provided support. Each role is important, and knowing what role we are to play at any time, and performing it flawlessly, defines our success.

A play I saw last week featured half a dozen roles that most of the audience will recall. Yet, those actors comprised only a quarter of the cast. Without the whole cast, the performance would have been shallow and lacking the depth of the message the play was to deliver.

An orchestra which features only first-chair performers is no longer an orchestra: it is a quintet or ensemble. Without second and third-chair musicians and rhythm instruments, the richness of the symphony is erased. Those supporting parts add complexity and fullness.

Oscar season is upon us. A handful of stars will be recognized for spectacular performances, but without dozens of people who support them in getting to the screen, we may never have noticed.

Olympic season has just passed, and for each medal performance there are many others who supported getting the medalist to the platform.

Whether I am performing my role as either a coach or an organization development consultant, my role is a supporting one through which leaders and teams perform more perfectly because of what should be my almost-invisible role. There are times when the trainers get accolades (at performance and rewards season especially,) and my contribution is looked over, that I wish someone would notice what I had done. But that is not my role. My role is to help others succeed and look good.

Each and every role is important. Without each and every one of them working together to create a seamless whole, all others would be less effective.

I would like to think that the world could be a more loving place, and I wonder if each of us is playing our part, however small it may be. There is something magical in how things come together when we are pulling together to the same end. If all if us pull together, could something as daunting as world peace really be achievable? I'd like to think so, but I suspect that there are a lot more supporting roles to be performed to make it happen. If we can pull together to produce a symphony, a pop recording, a play, or an Olympic performance, why not work together for peace? We may not have center stage in global affairs but each of us can play a supporting role in our families, our communities, and in our nations.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

What Do You Want To Be Remembered For?

I was watching an old movie with friends this evening, and sandwiched in between some other dialogue, the question was posed, "What do you want to be remembered for?" Although the action of the movie hardly paused for the unanswered question, it penetrated me at my core.  What do I want to be remembered for?

In an almost instantaneously quick life review, I knew that how I've lived in recent years was not the answer to that question.  It's not that I've been doing anything so bad in recent years. I've survived in a world which focuses on surviving.  Almost as quickly, I felt that longing for the days when I made my decisions, based on thriving. I don't want to be remembered for racing through life like everyone else.  I want to be remembered as someone who was special.

I am mostly proud of my life until recent years.  I delight that I wrote several books that have changed people's lives around the world and especially their work lives. I am proud of the company I ran and the executive coaching work I did. I find satisfying the contribution I made to companies in which I consulted.  I am humbled by the contribution that I have made to humane globalization. I smile thinking of the young minds that I touched in both the classroom and one-on-one coaching as a university teacher.

But, I am reminded of the phrase, "What have you done for me lately?"  What have I done for my legacy in the last eight years? I've been so focused on paying the bills and refunding my depleted retirement that I've forgotten the two things that are most important.  What have I done to nurture a better world around me? What have I done to nurture my own soul?

I believe that those contributions are made in the moment-by-moment decisions that we make about how to live our lives, but what I've been leaving out of that calculus have been the questions, "What do I want to be remembered for?" It's not just about what is the right thing to do in this moment to survive, but if the act I am making in this moment were the headline on my tombstone, is it what I would want to be remembered for?

I want to be remembered for a generous heart--not just monetarily generous, but was I remembered for being generous with my time and attention? Were others able to feel my caring, not just hear caring words? Was the love I felt for others love that radiated from my heart and not just a thought from my head?

After my last post about giving, I compiled a daily gratitude list.  What stood out to me on both the "gifts received" list and the "gifts given" list was that I hadn't felt the gifts in the moment. I hadn't been a gracious receiver or an intentional giver. I was only intellectualizing them several hours later.

As I think about what I want to be remembered for, perhaps that is it: I want to be remembered for feeling my interactions with others. How can I have a generous heart if I don't feel what I am giving? How can I feel love, if I am not actually feeling? I want to be remembered for being a feeling person who was really present to the people and relationships around me. In my busy life, that will be a stretch, and if my legacy is to be the one I choose, if will be absolutely essential.

Paying It Forward

This afternoon I dutifully met with a friend of a friend, who was interested in talking about her job search.  I did so only as a courtesy to my friend. This week had been a killer at work, and I had scheduled something each evening after work.  By Friday afternoon, I was ready to head home and chill.
I wanted to go home, but I remembered how many people that I didn't know who had kindly met with me when I was new to Washington to talk to me about my job search. I really didn't want to do meet this woman.  However, I was richly rewarded with a delicious treat at the end of a hard week--a treat that perked me up dramatically and left me reaching my home feeling full of energy instead exhausted.

My delicious treat was an energetic conversation with a woman I hope will be a new friend and at the very least a professional colleague.  I find it interesting how I seem to "click" with some people so quickly.  Although the expressed intention of the meeting was to discuss a particular job for which she was applying, our conversation meandered all over the map.  It was fluid and lively.

There is a concept, known as "paying it forward," popularized by the 2000 movie of the same name.  It the movie instead of paying someone back for doing something nice for you, a youngster comes up with the idea that we should pay it forward--do something for someone else.  Actually, his idea was for every time someone does something nice for us, we should do three nice things for someone else.  In the movie, the ripple effect of paying it forward spreads across the country, each good deed tripling itself.

Today's meeting really started me thinking about that idea again.  When I thought about all the people who had helped me as I was settling in to the city, I should be meeting and talking to someone new every night for at least a couple of years.  Yet I have let my life get so busy that I don't do that.  I often remark about one of my work colleagues who has two children and seems always to be volunteering for this or that.  I don't know how she does it. Yet she always has lots of energy.

Perhaps tonight I had a glimmer of understanding. When I gave a very little, I was richly rewarded, not only with a delightful conversation, but literally with more energy. I had to question if I hadn't been so stingy in giving of myself if I might have as much energy as volunteering colleague.

Tomorrow I go to volunteer at a theatre here in Washington.  I go about once a month.  I do feel good when I do it, but honestly, I do it so that each month I can see a play for which I couldn't afford to purchase tickets.  That it is "pay it back" arrangement.  I give my time to the theatre, and the theatre gives me a seat in the performance.  Paying it forward is just giving to three strangers without allowing oneself to be paid back.  But, I was paid back today...by the conversation. Even when I didn't try, I was rewarded.

I recall again a gratitude practice that I wrote about some time ago, whereby a person attempts to give more gifts each day than they get.  "Gifts" might be letting someone in front of you in traffic, opening a door, or giving a compliment--anything which amounts to doing something for someone else. I've played this game before, and at the end of the day I make a list of gifts given and gifts received.  I am never able to give more gifts than I get.  I've have had days in which I set out with the express intention to see if I could actually do more than I would get: I believe it is impossible. When I gave more, I always got more.

This realization isn't a new discovery for me: I've discovered it many times, but I always seem to let this universal law of giving and receiving slip from my consciousness.  Then something happens to remind me again.  I am not sure how I get this in my psyche on a cellular level so that it will always  be in the front of my consciousness, but I really want to do that. I want to live from a place of giving and generosity. I will hold that intention, and I will reflect on how I can ensure that it doesn't slip away for yet another few months.

For now, I am reminded of one of my favorite quotes from Sir Winston Churchill: "We make a living by what we get, but we make a life by what we give." I am ready to make a life.

Expecting the Unexpected

There is a corollary in physics that order is always implicit in chaos, and chaos is always implicit in order.  Most of us have probably had a time in our lives where things were going great, and all of the sudden something unexpected totally upended our lives: chaos being implicit in order. Most of us can probably also remember a time when things just seemed so crazy that they made no sense at all and then suddenly like pieces of a puzzle, everything fell into place, revealing a new reality that couldn't have been imagined just before.

My day started with almost back-to-back reports of massive protests and violence in the Ukraine and Venezuela. A report followed shortly thereafter that Mississippi seems to have reverted back 60 years with a noose incident on the statue of James Meredith, the first black student at the University of Mississippi.  Of course, the incident generated protests there as well. Violence continues in Syria, the Central African Republic, and South Sudan.

When I went to bed, I had been watching stories from the Winter Olympics where the Canadian son of a Chinese immigrant trains for men's figure skating in Detroit, while the winner of the gold in that event was a young Japanese man who trains in Toronto.  Then, of course, there was the Kazakhstani son of Korean parents, who has trained in Russia and now lives and trains in California.  I cannot neglect to mention the Russian hockey player, who is star of the Washington (DC) Capitals, who is competing for Russia, or the Russian snowboarder whose parents took jobs in Switzerland when he was young. In Vancouver, he competed for Russia; this time he wore Swiss colors.  Not only did the world seem orderly, but I felt the coming together, which I believe is our destiny to claim.

How my consciousness was jarred this morning with chaos on my clock radio even before I was out of my bed. Was this the same world that put me to bed? All day I've felt a sense of spiritual confusion.  Yet, I know that chaos has been the vehicle for a global outpouring of love before.  I recall the week in which we lost Princess Diana, Mother Teresa, and Sir George Schulte.  For a few days the world stilled, grieved, and loved. Millions wept together. And can anyone who was alive and over 10 forget the daily crumbling of the former Soviet Bloc.  That chaos, which preceded the order of new states emerging, has often been followed by more chaos, such as in the Ukraine today.

I cannot forget, personally, how the chaos of a spontaneously breaking neck led me to finally realize my passion for dance nearly 20 years ago.  I am most grateful for the pain that brought me to dance.

Maybe expecting the unexpected should be the order of the day every day.  If God is mystery, perhaps any time that we begin to think we know how things are is just the time God shows us that we really don't know. We are reminded to reach out. Certainly at times of change in either direction are times that we often utter prayers, either of gratitude or pleas for help and mercy. Tonight as I say my prayers, I will offer both: a prayer of gratitude for peace, order, and sanity in Sochi and another prayer for help and mercy in places plagued with violence all around the world.

Intention and Inspiration

I don't particularly like sports.  I rarely go to live sporting events.  I've taken in a Nationals game each of the last two summers, but before that it had been 23 years since I walked into a sports venue.  The time before that was another 20 years earlier. My alma mater played in the national championship football game a couple years ago before I even realized they had a winning season.  (That was a non-occurrence when I was there.)  I am personally active, although I've usually preferred solo sports--running, biking, hiking, and cross-country skiing--except for dance of course.

Yet there are two interesting curiosities about my relationship with sport: I love sports movies, and I love watching the Olympics, especially the Winter ones.  (This two weeks is nirvana.)  As I was hall-walking tonight, I played with those curiosities.  Why would someone who doesn't care about sports love sports movies and the Olympics?

I think the answer is that, at least to me, neither is really about sports.  Sports movies are inevitably either a David-and-Goliath story or about incredible obstacles that must be overcome--racial intolerance, gender bigotry, a poor, ill-equipped athletic department, or even an airplane disaster.  The team must totally focus their intention on what they know they can become, despite the odds. They not only face external obstacles but often self-doubt as well. Of course, they always win the big one, but then those who don't win the big one don't inspire movies. 

(I have to confess this passion for finding-your-passion-and-pursuing-it-against-all-odds stories is not limited to sport, unless you call spelling a sport: I loved "Akeelah and the Bee.")

Similarly, the Olympics are also hundreds of stories about personal passion, commitment, perseverance, and determination--intention turned to inspiration.   Once again, there are often incredible obstacles to be overcome. Speed skater Emily Scott's mother is "back" in prison. On food stamps, she couldn't afford to pursue her dream until she went to a crowd-funding site, where she found a bunch of strangers who believed in her dream enough to sponsor her. One skier wept openly remembering the recent death of his brother, while still another mourned the loss of his father--the man who got him into his sport. This is truly an inspirational lot of people.

Tonight, Lauryn Williams inspires me.  After the first two heats, she and her partner are in the top spot in women's two-person bobsled.  Williams already has a gold medal...from the summer Olympics in a track and field event--4 x 1000.  If she is successful in winning the gold in bobsled, she will be the first Olympian in 82 years to capture gold in both a winter and summer Olympics...and the first woman.

There are days when I think that I have persevered and have overcome incredible obstacles. Then I watch the Olympics or a sports movie, and that really puts things in perspective.  I wonder what my life could have been or maybe might still be if I had that kind of focus and fortitude. I like to tell myself that Olympians are cut from a different fabric, but are they? Or, are they just more willing to get up at 4 a.m. to train before the rest of their day or to train late at night after a day as a busy mom of two, like Noelle Pikus-Pace has done for the last two years? I don't want to diminish the natural talent that these athletes have, but talent alone would not have gotten them to the medals podium. Intention and hard work reveal that path. 

Think Outside the Box

The expression "think outside the box" is used a lot these days, but most of the time the thinking is only on the edge of the box and not really outside it.  Today, I thought outside the box, and I hope that I accomplished my goal.  But first a little back story.

As I was finishing graduate school 23 years ago, the deck on the back of our house decided it was almost time to collapse.  We hired a contractor, who informed us of code requirements, as we designed the replacement. The deck of our home was probably the most used room of our home if you count waking hours.  Making it just what we wanted was important. 

Because I am pretty short, I wanted to make sure that I could see over the rails, and the way the code is usually interpreted the top rail would have hit right at eye level for me.  That just wasn't going to cut if for me.  One nice spring Sunday afternoon, we sat on the deck, playing with the rules of the code.  Our goal was to find some combination that met all the rules, but allowed me to see over the deck.  Finally, we came up with an answer.  We consulted our contractor. He agreed that we met all the requirements. Eventually, the city inspector also agreed.  Our deck rails just looked different than most others.

The reason that I tell that story is that for two days every time I thought about a current dilemma, the picture of us on the deck, playing with the rules 23 years ago kept coming to mind.  Since I probably haven't thought about that endeavor for 22 years, it seemed odd to me--odd enough that I couldn't let go of it, but didn't really know what to do with it.

My current dilemma has to do with the rules of a writing contest that I've been preparing to enter.  About a week ago, I discovered a flap on the web about the rules of the contest.  They appeared to take the rights to publish and/or change and publish works that were not winners; not only that but entrants appeared to be giving up the right to publish their own work if it had been submitted.  Of course, the winner had the prize, but if an entrant lost, he or she would lose the rights to their work with no compensation. Two attorney friends advised against entering.

I was 95% of the way to deciding not to enter the contest, but when I was meditating this morning, I kept getting the picture of the deck-rail planning project and hearing "Read what's on other websites." I spent a couple hours this morning reading several websites where people were in a stew about the contest.  Several had "we could do this..." and "we could do that..." suggestions.  None of them seemed to be good solutions to me.

Literally falling backward on my couch at mid-day, I contemplated the right course of action, but every time I did so I thought about the two obvious choices: 1) enter and lose rights or 2) don't enter and lose the opportunity.  As I lay there, that picture of deck planning popped into my head yet again. "What does the deck rail have to do with anything?" I thought. Almost the second the question passed through my consciousness, I knew the answer.  I should do what we did with the rails: 1) know what I wanted in the end (enter without losing rights) rather than what I didn't want (either lose rights or lose opportunity) and 2) figure out how to meet the rules. 

Playing with the suggestions of several bloggers, each of whom had part of the answer, I think I figured out how to meet all of the rules without losing rights to something I might want to publish.  Then I wrote feverishly, working almost nine hours in the zone until I was bleary eyed, hungry and thirsty. Off my entry went.

I do not know if I will win.  As much interest as the contest has stirred, I expect I will have a lot of competition, and some of it appears to be from quite experienced professional writers.  What seems more important to me at this point is what I learned along the way, coming in the form of a memory about thinking outside the box.

In the short bit since I finished my submission, I've been contemplating where else in my life that I might be served by looking at rules in a new way.  One of the leaders with whom I have been working recently said to me , "Often rules are used to tell people what they can't do; I'd like to use them to tell us what we can do," emphasizing the "can." 

I think this is the lesson of thinking outside the box: let the constraints fall away and ask "What can we do?"

Peace

While not without a couple more computer bumps, this has been a good day. I slept until I awakened naturally, remembering several dreams. I wrote for several hours, and I took a walk in our beautiful 50+ degree day as our snow rapidly melted.  It felt good to move, and after a month of bitter cold, I loved being able to walk comfortably in a short jacket with the sun on my face. I ate a delicious healthy dinner, and then I watched the Winter Olympics.  I am an Olympics junkie, and I am particularly fond of the ice skating events in the winter games, part of tonight's program.

When I sat to write, I was totally still.  My mind, which races so much of the time, was quiet.  It was quite remarkable, as if I were ending a meditation rather than starting one. The white stillness is quite a gift, and while I truly relish the exquisiteness, I was also curious.  Why so still tonight?

I believe that just BEing all day opened the door.  I flowed effortlessly through the day without thinking or planning, just following my inspiration, moment to moment.  I was being me.  This seems to me how it should be all day, every day--the way we were meant to be.  I cannot think of anything more important to say than being at peace is truly heaven on earth, and today I am most grateful to be there.

Post script: The morning after I wrote this post, NPR reported on a new study done on "happiness."  Participants in the study were given an app to report when they felt most happy.  After reporting their happiness, they were asked what they had been doing.  Activities in which people were totally engaged generated the most happiness.  I called it "peace" but I sure was happy too.

The new "normal"

Last week I posed the quandary, if everything is a gift, then what is the value of a cold? (2/5) After struggling with this "gift" for over two weeks, today finally, I have the answer.  When it is all over, it feels so good to just feel "normal."  Most of the time, I don't even think about how I feel when I am "normal." Today I did, and I really liked it. 


I didn't bound out of bed feeling great, but "gained speed" as the day moved on.  My snow day allowed me a full night's sleep, and being home alone rested my voice that was mostly absent by the end of a day of facilitating yesterday. I struggled with computer problems all morning, but like a cold, a computer that works make "normal" remarkable. 


I started hitting my stride by early afternoon and took a long lunch break for hall-walking again (2/6,) putting in a full hour.  I got my heart rate up enough to cough out the last of the remaining congestion.  That's not all it did, though.  For 30 years, I've been an athlete.  My body responds well to movement.  Yet, I haven't moved regularly for a long time.  Between injuries and long hours, exercise has taken the back seat in my life.  Like the end of colds and working computers, the feeling of movement was a great "normal."


All afternoon, I felt supercharged as I plowed through the rest of the afternoon of teleworking like a breeze.  When I finally stopped at 6:30, I could hardly believe how quickly the time had flown.  This isn't new for me.  Whenever I pull myself away from my desk to exercise at noon at the office,  the afternoon always goes faster, I am more productive, and to me even more important, I am more creative.  I am "in the zone," and exercise is the trigger.  So, why have I let everything else come first?  That shall remain among life's great questions, but I suspect it has something to do with thinking the work is more important than I am.


As soon as I got moving today, my body ached to move more.  When I contemplated a cookie for dessert, it said to me, "If you eat it, you want to work it off!"   Not "have" to work it off, but "want" to, and I did.  I got out my stop watch and walked five floors before eating my cookie.  And, I ate the cookie, I really enjoyed it. But unlike other times when one cookie makes me want another and another, this time I was satisfied.  Instead of wanting another cookie, what I really wanted was more movement.  I flipped on the Olympics and lifted some light weights and did 115 crunches while watching some free-style skiers give "movement" all new meaning. 


Today was rich with Aha! moments. None of these were really new Aha! moments, but perhaps the biggest Aha! was recognizing how quickly I forget what I know in my heart to be true.  You see, I believe that our intentions don't come from our brains, but they are born in our hearts.  We don't make them up, but we hear them pleading for us to re-member who we are through our intentions. We choose to listen moment-by-moment, all day, every day.


Although no one who knew me as a child, or a teenager would believe it, when I started listening to my heart three decades ago, one of the first things I learned about me was that I am a healthy person. I just needed to find the healthy person, and I did, soon running 50 miles a week and bringing consciousness to my eating for the first time.  For much of those 30 years, I have eaten very healthfully and exercised regularly.  Today I listened to my heart again, and what it was saying was "Please remember to move! I want to me 'normal' again." Yes, there is something most remarkable about "normal."

Ah! That's Nice!

About 45 minutes ago when I sat to write this post, my body was fatigued, and my mind was busy. When I closed my eyes and took several deep breaths to focus my attention on today's message, as I often do, all I could hear was busyness.  More breathing.  Finally, my mind quieted a bit. "Take a bubble bath!"  I know better than to resist my guidance, but I did say, "Really?"

"Take a bubble bath!"

"OK. I get it."  I have to say the thought was delicious.  Today was my first day back to work after three days in bed with a cold and a couple not in bed when I should have been. My stamina lagged. A cold wind cut into me on the way home, so I raced for my front door instead of doing what I would have preferred: taking a long relaxing walk.  Not tonight.  I tried one of those new recipes, and it was definitely not a keeper. It filled but definitely didn't satisfy me. Even the Colbert and The Daily Show were repeat episodes.  I did need a pick-me-up, and the bubble bath filled the order. 

I keep some inexpensive bubble bath for just such emergencies, and as the steam wafted upward, the fragrance of "English Garden" filled the bathroom with a reminder that spring will come.  As I slipped my weary bones into the warm water, every ache seemed to melt away with the steam rising from the bubbles.  "Ah! That's nice!"  I said out loud.

Many times I've reminded coaching clients, usually but not always women, that on the airlines the safety advisories at the beginning of flights caution that if we are travelling with young children we should put the oxygen mask on our own faces before doing so with the little ones.  Especially for people working in service professions, we tend to give all day and then often give to families in the evening.  We forget to put the metaphorical oxygen mask on ourselves. 

This evening my message is that sometimes we just need self-care, slipping into relaxing warm water to the fragrance of spring and allowing ourselves to feel cared for.  That's nice!

Earned Arrogance

I have just listened to commentators discuss a performance by Russian figure skater Yevgeni Plushenko. He gave a flawless performance in his fourth Olympics.  At 31, he is an "old man" in this physically demanding sport, and he's had multiple surgeries to allow him to compete after serious injuries.  The commentators spoke of his "arrogance" but then, as they listed the extremely difficult figures that he had performed exquisitely, they added that his arrogance had been well-earned.  Should I mention that he is competing against 18- and 19-year-olds. 

Plushenko is not the only "old guy" in these Olympics.  Several events today featured competitors in their third and fourth Olympics, including the grueling distance cross-country skiers and biathletes.  A number of times commentators spoke or arrogance and cockiness in these athletes.  None of the ones that I heard interviewed seemed unduly boastful.  I wonder at what point "earned arrogance" simply reflects the grit and confidence that it takes to compete at a global level for over a decade.

In "Having Heart" (2/3/14) I wrote about having the heart of a champion, but in that post, I was speaking of a teenage champion in her first Olympics.  I think it takes something more to endure year after year after year not only the physical toll that competition takes but the sacrifice, commitment and focus which are demanded.  Freestyle skier Hannah Kearney, who had hoped to win back-to-back Olympic gold in Sochi, but was disappointment with bronze, seemed to be considering another go four years from now in her post-race interview.  She talked about having a "broken heart," which she said she'd really never had because her primary relationship had been with her sport.

Although it is impressive to see the commitment these athletes bring to what they do, it is easy to overlook the enduring commitment that many ordinary people bring to day-to-day life without fanfare. Facing incredible odds because they believe in something, they too sacrifice as they persevere in face of incredible odds. Some work with individuals with mental health or addiction challenges. Others fight to end the use of chemical weapons,.  There are international aid or refugee workers, who face almost impossible odds to help those facing even more impossible odds. Still others work tirelessly to end human trafficking.  There are millions of people who work tirelessly to teach children all over the globe just because they believe in the value of learning.  Just as the long-time athletes, the commitment, focus, and endurance these people bring to what they do allows them to persevere over decades.

Whether it is on the Olympic stage, in the classrooms of our cities, or in a harbor in Syria attempting to collect chemical weapons, our world is a better place because of those who have the grit and confidence to stay focused on what is important.  And, if the confidence they display about what they know is right can be described as arrogance, then, like Plushenko, let's say that it is arrogance earned by awesome performance. 

Hall-Walking

I have just engaged in the new Olympic sport of Hall-Walking.  (Just joking, of course.)  When it is very cold or wet, I choose to get my workout by walking the lengths of the hallways and stairways up to the 16th floor and back.  I get my heart rate up and work up a little bit of a sweat. 

The hallways were refurbished in the fall with fresh paint and paper, as well as new carpet and furniture being installed.  It's not such a bad place to exercise.  Although the nature of living in a high-rise apartment building is that we have consciously chosen unanimity, tonight I found myself noticing how many of us have chosen to personalize our doors.

There are many mezuzahs. There was a seasonal teddy bear in a red and white sweater with a heart on it and a primitive set of red hearts. A blue heart greeted me with the Norwegian "Velkommen." I saw a hand-carved wooden owl and a Mardi Gras mask. A premature wreath of dogwood blossoms did remind me that spring will come. And, I must mention the door mat that said, "A wine snob and a normal person live here."

I couldn't help but find my mind making up stories about the people who lived behind each door.  Of course, they were pure works of fiction because I have no idea who lives behind each door, even age or gender of the resident.  Yet, I couldn't help but create characters.  Maybe the fact that my mother-in-law liked owls made me think that an 80ish female lived behind that door, and my friend of Norwegian ancestry who had lived in Norway for a while suggested such features of the resident behind Velkommen.  I thought of my dance instructor who had some splendid Mardi Gras masks when I passed that door.  As someone who loves good wine, but doesn't think of herself as a snob, I had to wonder which the owners of the mat would think I was.

My neighbors' doors made me want to know these people.  I could almost imagine myself sitting in the lobby watching people come and go, wanting to ask "Are you the wine snob?"

I've lived in these towers for almost seven years, and there are some fascinating people who live here.  Not long after moving here, I met a woman who must be well into her 90s now.  She was one of the first women in the OSS, the predecessor to the CIA, and she was still as perky as I was even though I was much younger.  I was fascinated by another woman who took off to live in several European cities when she was in her 50s.  She, too, has tales to tell. I would be remiss if I didn't mention the retired NASA librarian, born in Chile who now lives part time in Italy. On the younger end of things is the woman who runs the grants program for the National Endowment of the Arts and a man who is an administrative law judge at the General Accounting Office (GAO.)

What stories the people behind these doors could tell. I would love to knock on a door and ask about the person. Since people have chosen unanimity, would that be rude? Maybe I could just push myself out of my comfort zone and go to some social events in the building.  Now that's a thought. I always have too many excuses: I worked hard, I'm tired, I need to get lunch and coffee ready for tomorrow, blah, blah, blah. I may miss meeting some really interesting people if I don't go.  So nudged by these fascinating and inviting doors, I vow to attend the next social event...no matter how tired I am.

Everything's a gift, right?

Many spiritual traditions have some tenet of faith about everything being a gift from God. Most of the time I believe that. Today I am prone to ask, does that include colds?

I'd been a long run--26 years, I believe--without a cold until last year. My first after that long spell really flattened me. Then, I visited that sweet baby, which I wrote 10 days ago, and she was coming down with a cold. You can guess the rest of the story. It's been a week now, and it seems like I am worse instead of better.

What's the gift here? I came up with the truth that this makes me appreciate how healthy I am most of the time. There was also the passing thought that I push myself too hard, and the cold is to slow me down. It is very busy time at work, and I am a key single point of failure in several endeavors. I only slowed down to the extent that I came in three hours late, but I ended up staying late. Hardly seems like it counts.

So, what is the gift in a cold? I think I'll sleep on that--literally.

If you have thoughts, I'd welcome them. I think my prayers of gratitude would be more heartfelt if I had a clearer idea of what it am grateful for.


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Sisyphus?

In Greek mythology Sisyphus was a king who was known for deceitfulness.  His punishment in the afterlife was to push a huge boulder up a steep hill, and just as he was about to reach the pinnacle, the boulder would slip, and he would be forced to follow it down.  Then, the process of pushing the boulder up the hill would start all over again. 

For whatever reason, sometimes my life seems like I'm living out Sisyphus' punishment.  There have been a number of periods in my life during which I really struggled financially. Just when I would be able to see the light of day, something unexpected (usually a shift in one market or other) would occur, and I'd be starting over. 

I've encountered Sisyphus in my health as well.  "Health" isn't really the right word.  My overall health is excellent, but I've struggled with pain issues for 23 years.  In recent months, the annoyance has been the sight in my right eye.  If it's not one irritation, it's another. 

I'm tired.  I am ready for life to be easier.  So far, no magic easy pill has appeared.  Somehow I just keep on keeping on...and being pretty happy along the way.  The way I figure it, I can be cross pushing that boulder up the hill, or I can be happy.  Both those around me and I enjoy life more when I choose the latter.

I was talking to a friend the other day about my memoir, and she spoke to how resilient I had been.  I guess I have.  As I sat to write this, I googled "resilience."  No shortage of material on resilience out there, but the description I love the best was from Psychology Today:  "Resilience is that ineffable quality that allows some people to be knocked down by life and come back stronger than ever." 

What I liked most about it was the word "ineffable."  I just liked the sound and feel of the word; it has a happy feel to it.  I looked that up, too.  "Too great or extreme to be expressed or described in words."

Put together, we get "That too great or extreme quality to be expressed in words that allows some people to be knocked down by life, and come back stronger than ever."  How cool!  That reminds me of a song I learned as a youngster, "Get yourself up, dust yourself off, and start all over again."  I like that my friend thinks of me that way. 

A couple days ago I was recovering from a challenging week, facing taxes and paying bills, a writing deadline in front of me, as a cold was settling in for a stay.  I wanted to go to bed and sleep for a few days.  I didn't.  I wrote instead.  The more I wrote, the better I felt. 

When I start doing something I love, things just magically get better. In the painful days after a break-up, I ran.  I'd take off with tears running down my cheeks, and by the time I was home, I always felt great.  Sometimes I dance.  Other times I garden.  Still other times, I cook.  This weekend, I wrote. 

I think resilience must be a bit of a chicken and egg thing.  Is resilience what makes me do the things I love, thus allowing me to bounce back? Or, is doing what I love what gives me resilience? Or, does it matter? I think not.

Life has thrown me a curve ball or ten, and I have always bounced back.  I always learn something along the way, and most of the time I make new friends on the journey.  Most of the time I don't even whine much any more.  Maybe I've developed my resilience muscle. 

Although the definition implies that only some people have resilience, I wonder if resilience isn't something we choose.  Let's say I bring the intention that this next trip up the hill is going to be an adventure, and I will meet some interesting new people along the way. Odds are on that I will appear to be resilient, but not because I have a special mysterious quality.  I will appear to be resilient because I choose to be.  I've written many times that everything in life is a choice point. I've just chosen to be resilient, and that makes magic happen.

Having Heart

Last night I watched "The Gaby Douglas Story," a movie about the gymnast who won both individual and team gold in the London Olympics.  She is the only woman to hold that distinction. She trained with famed gymnastics coach Liang Chow for almost two years before he told her he was going to share "the secret to being an Olympic champion." 

Before he told her, she indignantly asked, "Why didn't you tell me two years ago?"

"You were not ready to hear it," he said.  "The secret isn't in muscle or speed.  The secret to being an Olympic champion is heart."  Then, he asked,  "Do you have the heart of a champion?" (I wasn't taking notes while watching the movie; these quotes are paraphrased, but fairly close.)

This was the last day in my long  weekend of writing.  This afternoon I sat and read 20 pages.  "Not bad," I thought.  It actually sunk in for perhaps the first time that I've had a pretty interesting life and that other people may enjoy reading my memoir.

Yet, as I thought about it, I wondered what Chow would tell me about being an author of successful books.  Each of my first two books won minor recognition.  Leading from the Heart was an alternate selection of Book-of-the-Month Club, and The Alchemy of Fear was chosen by The Executive Club as its monthly selection.  (It also won a similar award in France, but since my French is non-existent, I don't remember the exact name.) Each was out in multiple languages. Each has a following which says the books have changed their lives. 

My royalties were small, and foreign language rights were negligible.  I never came close to making back what I lost in consulting fees when I was working on them.  And, they were my financially successful books.  Would Chow tell me that I didn't have the heart of a successful author? If so, where do I find that heart because I want it in this book?  As I wrote today, I wept.  In fact, I've had to retrieve a box of tissues more than once on this writing project. Does that mean that this book will have more heart?

Just months before Douglas would distinguish herself with the double-gold accomplishment in London, she was ready to give up. Chow's words reminded her that she had the heart of a champion, and remembering that drove her through those last difficult months.  In running, it is called "hitting the wall," when a marathon runner runs out of steam with only one or two miles of the 26 remaining. Pure will and heart are what keeps her on the course. 

In the voice-over at the beginning of the movie, Douglas says that she tried giving up but she found that was harder than winning.  In the last few years when I've pretty much walked away from writing, I've been miserable. I know what Douglas means when she says that giving up is harder than winning. Fighting one's very nature must be harder than following it. 

When I started this blog, I had two purposes: 1) to provide an outlet for my writing that might serve others and 2) to share the spiritual journey with other pilgrims.  I said, "I don't claim to have the answers, but often the questions are informative...."  Some days I feel like I have more of the answers than others.  Today is not one of them.  Today I am squeezed between knowing that I must write and not-knowing how to have the "heart of a champion" writer. Today I am sharing the questions. Not only "How can I not do what I must?" but also "How can I do it well enough to really make a difference?"

As a youngster Gaby Douglas precociously proclaimed that she wanted to go to the Olympics: she went, and she won.  I want my words to make the world a better place...and I hope they will.  I may not know the answers, but I do know that intention is a powerful thing.

Five days ago when I walked to the Metro the wind-chill temperature was -9 degrees Fahrenheit.  Even though earlier on this Ground Hog Day Punxsutawney Phil predicted another six weeks of winter, this afternoon it was 63 when I decided to take a break from writing and go for a walk.

I saw lots of runners and dog-walkers and almost as many bicyclists.  There were lovers holding hands and walking, and a group of junior high school aged girls giggled together.  I saw mothers with babes in strollers and watched a man get a good workout pushing a double-wide stroller up a hill.  There were old men walking with canes, and I saw one young mother helping her four-year old ride his first bicycle with training wheels.
 
As I walked, I was reminded of an Albert Einstein quote: "There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle."  After three periods of bitter cold this winter, it is hard for me not to think about everything being a miracle today, and judging from all the company I had outdoors, I am not the only one seeing miracles.

Transitions

Former Today Show host and herself an aging Baby Boomer Jane Pauley has a new book, entitled "What's Your Next Move?" She says the average mid-life transition takes three years. She describes a process of trying different things until we hit the right thing.

I know that each of my own transitions has taken time. For me, each has included a period of restlessness, followed by impatience as I know something isn't right but don't quite know where I'm going. Finally, and surprisingly easy, is the just-do-it stage: I know what I must do, and taking action is all that is left.

I wrote today with fervor. I was only jarred back to full consciousness after about four and a half hours of writing by my phone when an incoming text set it vibrating. I've been discontented with my work situation for some time now. These several weekends of writing have confirmed where I am going, but I haven't quite seen the way forward.

So to Pauley's question about what my next move is, I don't quite know the final chapter of this transition, but being back in touch with the writer in me has been deeply satisfying. Wherever I land, the ability to sink deeply into my passion for effortless hours must be part of it. If there is a way of being one with God in the here and now, this must be it. This I truly know in my heart.





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