Tithing. The practice of giving away one-tenth of one's income. Some people say it must be given to the church or a religious organization. Others think it can be given to any charitable cause. Some debate whether the ten percent is before tax or after tax or even if the tax is part of the ten percent.
For a very long time, I "religiously" gave away my ten percent. I fall in the camp of any charitable cause. On the last time my client and I were together during an intentional living intensive before the client went home, we would talk about my tithe. I always shared half of it with a charity of my client's choosing. That was a rich experience. My dollars went off to many wonderful causes that I would never have known about otherwise. During the summer when many North Carolinians were thrown from their homes by Hurricane Floyd, I explained my sharing approach, and then I would ask if they minded if both halves went to the storm victims. They always said "yes."
When I first moved to North Carolina from Oregon, one of the first things I did was research potential local recipients because I felt it was important for me to know where my tithes would go before I started earning money in my new home state. In recent years, giving has been an important part of my budget, but I've never had enough that I felt I could make a full tithe. Whenever I received a bonus or a tax refund, a large part of it went to making up some of the gap.
When I was in the fifth grade, my teacher had us write a paper about what we would do with a million dollars. Most of my classmates wrote about what they'd get for themselves. I wrote about the good work I would do in the world with it. Perhaps that is the result of a firm spiritual foundation early in my life. I was taught to tithe, even when I received a dime for an allowance; I would give a penny to my church. There is something about seeding my money to worthy causes that makes me feel complete. I truly am happier giving than receiving.
This pay period I received a promotion. For the first time in five years, I have the flexibility to actually choose where I spend rather than trying to figure out how I will be able to pay the bills. My financial planner says it should all go to my meager retirement fund, and some will. However, in my heart of hearts, I know that much of it needs to go to causes I feel strongly about. I am excited about being able to choose who I will share with, not that what I am able to give will make any meaningful difference to those organizations. Inside me, there is a 3 or 4-year-old taking a penny of her 10-cent allowance to give away...and feeling almost giddy about doing so.
A friend of mine once was angry because she felt her father supported worthy causes because it made him feel good rather than just doing good. Frankly, I think it is wonderful to feel good about doing good.
Generally, I've identified several causes that were aligned with my goals for giving, and then I have given an equal amount each month. Yet as I write this, what is coming to me that rather than being thoughtful about my new giving, this time I should be more prayerful about it. My guidance is that each pay period, I should sit and pray about where to send the money. I like the idea, and I am guessing that it will end up going places I couldn't have anticipated...and once again, I am feeling almost giddy about it. I have no apologies about feeling good about doing good with my money.
Monday, July 28, 2014
Saturday, July 26, 2014
The Cycle of Life
My Saturdays in the summer have almost always started with a trip to whatever Farmers Market is near for almost 30 years. I love it even when my refrigerator hasn't even been emptied from last week's visit, as was the case today.
Just walking among the stalls, seeing the splashes of color like still life paintings, and absorbing the variety of smells that waft from the fresh fruits, vegetables, and especially the herbs is worth the trip.
Today I could hardly restrain myself until I got home, rinsed the huge fresh blackberries and peeled the peaches that dripped with sweet juices to savor a combination that is among my favorites. Yum!
The cycle of nature is like the cycle of our spiritual lives. In a few weeks the very fruits that are at their prime today will fall to the ground, rotting away from their seeds to plant the beginnings of next summer's larder.
In mystical traditions, it is the same with our lives and our spiritual growth. In the fall, more precisely around the time during which the Jewish Calendar begins a new year, we plant spiritual seeds for what we want to learn and how we want to grow. During the winter we have the opportunity to nurture those intentions, and if we have been faithful to them, about this time we should begin harvesting the fruits of our labors.
As I ate my delicious, peak-of-the-season fruit today, I wondered what I will be harvesting this fall. After a brutal work year, I recently received a promotion for which I am grateful, but I am more concerned about reaping the spiritual fruits of my labors.
Last fall I recommitted to my writing, and I started writing this blog fairly regularly. I hope that I've planted some spiritual seeds as I've encouraged us to come together through a ribbon of love, play the Grocery Store Game, and most recently encouraged making miracles. I've written several chapters of my memoir, and very slowly made progress at getting The Game Called Life available as an ebook. I still have two months to make progress on those projects.
I've kept with my commitment to get to know my neighbors, and after three eye surgeries, I have much improved eyesight.
As I reflect on this cycle of life, I know there are things that could benefit from more attention, like more exercise and dance, and being more open to love. At this 10/12 of the way through my spiritual year, I still have time to reflect on my intentions and redirect where I've slacked on my intentions. That assessment will be the focus of my Sabbath practice tomorrow, as I attempt to be all that God would have me be in this life...one year at a time.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhonetge
Just walking among the stalls, seeing the splashes of color like still life paintings, and absorbing the variety of smells that waft from the fresh fruits, vegetables, and especially the herbs is worth the trip.
Today I could hardly restrain myself until I got home, rinsed the huge fresh blackberries and peeled the peaches that dripped with sweet juices to savor a combination that is among my favorites. Yum!
The cycle of nature is like the cycle of our spiritual lives. In a few weeks the very fruits that are at their prime today will fall to the ground, rotting away from their seeds to plant the beginnings of next summer's larder.
In mystical traditions, it is the same with our lives and our spiritual growth. In the fall, more precisely around the time during which the Jewish Calendar begins a new year, we plant spiritual seeds for what we want to learn and how we want to grow. During the winter we have the opportunity to nurture those intentions, and if we have been faithful to them, about this time we should begin harvesting the fruits of our labors.
As I ate my delicious, peak-of-the-season fruit today, I wondered what I will be harvesting this fall. After a brutal work year, I recently received a promotion for which I am grateful, but I am more concerned about reaping the spiritual fruits of my labors.
Last fall I recommitted to my writing, and I started writing this blog fairly regularly. I hope that I've planted some spiritual seeds as I've encouraged us to come together through a ribbon of love, play the Grocery Store Game, and most recently encouraged making miracles. I've written several chapters of my memoir, and very slowly made progress at getting The Game Called Life available as an ebook. I still have two months to make progress on those projects.
I've kept with my commitment to get to know my neighbors, and after three eye surgeries, I have much improved eyesight.
As I reflect on this cycle of life, I know there are things that could benefit from more attention, like more exercise and dance, and being more open to love. At this 10/12 of the way through my spiritual year, I still have time to reflect on my intentions and redirect where I've slacked on my intentions. That assessment will be the focus of my Sabbath practice tomorrow, as I attempt to be all that God would have me be in this life...one year at a time.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhonetge
Friday, July 25, 2014
A Good Belly Laugh
Twice this week I've caught PBS reruns of earlier presentations of the Mark Twain Award for American Humor. Earlier this week the recognition was for Tina Fey, and tonight Carol Burnett was the object of the salute.
I laughed at the earlier show, but tonight as I watched old skits from The Carol Burnett Show in the 1960s and 70s, I had several serious belly laughs, which, on more than one occasion, brought me both to stitches and tears. Now on extremely attractive octogenarian, neither Burnett's quick wit nor her singing voice had lost their edge. What a talent!
Good belly laughs are seriously under-valued most of the time, and, at least in my world, they are preciously rare. A good laugh relieves stress and relaxes us, and research shows that people learn better and are more creative after laughing. What's not to like about a good belly laugh?!
I like to think that God has a sense of humor. In fact, I am fairly certain that is the case. If we step back and look at the things that we try willfully to control, only to discover later that the very thing we resisted is the best thing that ever happened to us, can't you just hear divine laughter. And there are the times when I've laughed so I didn't cry only to discover that a chuckle was the perfect response.
One of the things I've discovered (and lamented) about living alone and working in a job that is sobering is that I just don't laugh enough so I've set about being intentional about bringing some serious laughs into my life every day. They give me perspective and help me unwind...and help me see the world a bit more like I think God sees it.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
I laughed at the earlier show, but tonight as I watched old skits from The Carol Burnett Show in the 1960s and 70s, I had several serious belly laughs, which, on more than one occasion, brought me both to stitches and tears. Now on extremely attractive octogenarian, neither Burnett's quick wit nor her singing voice had lost their edge. What a talent!
Good belly laughs are seriously under-valued most of the time, and, at least in my world, they are preciously rare. A good laugh relieves stress and relaxes us, and research shows that people learn better and are more creative after laughing. What's not to like about a good belly laugh?!
I like to think that God has a sense of humor. In fact, I am fairly certain that is the case. If we step back and look at the things that we try willfully to control, only to discover later that the very thing we resisted is the best thing that ever happened to us, can't you just hear divine laughter. And there are the times when I've laughed so I didn't cry only to discover that a chuckle was the perfect response.
One of the things I've discovered (and lamented) about living alone and working in a job that is sobering is that I just don't laugh enough so I've set about being intentional about bringing some serious laughs into my life every day. They give me perspective and help me unwind...and help me see the world a bit more like I think God sees it.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Thursday, July 24, 2014
The Spiritual Sweet Spot
I find it interesting how sometimes variations in a theme repeat throughout the day. Today the theme was about being comfortable with not knowing. In a coaching session, an executive wrestled with planning for five years from now in a world so dynamic that no one could really know what that world would be like.
Later in the day I met with another executive, who knew his organization needed to change, but how it needed to change was unclear.
Over dinner before my tango class I received an email from a friend, who related a tumultuous summer during which she has continually had changes thrown on her path over which she's had no control... and all have left her hanging without answers. I found myself responding, "Ah! The spiritual sweet spot!" I've written a lot about not-knowing "as a way of life," but I don't believe I've ever used that term. Yet, it seemed just right.
I googled "the sweet spot," and it said the sweet spot is "the point or area on a bat, club, or racket at which it makes the most effective contact with the ball." It added that the sweet spot was "an optimum point or combination of factors or qualities." Just the right term. The spiritual sweet spot is that point in our relationship with All That Is where we make most effective contact--an optimum point or combinations of factors to allow us to really connect with God.
My intention in my comment was that most traditions have some dimension of "God," which is mystery. The times when I feel closest to God are the moments during which I am conscious that what happens is really out of my hands, so I might as well surrender to divine wisdom rather than attempting to control the uncontrollable. To be "the sweet spot," I believe we really must be conscious that we are out of control but be both available and vulnerable to divine inspiration.
When I've written about "not-knowing as a way of life," my message has been that we choose to embrace life from a place of knowing that we never really know, so we allow ourselves to always be available and vulnerable to divine inspiration. It is about consciously holding the intention to allow ourselves to be guided--to live in sweet surrender.
I related yesterday that this evening I would walk to my dance class, take the class, and then perhaps write this post on my smartphone on the way home on the train. As I walked from class to the Metro station, I puzzled over what to write. I was tired, and nothing seemed to be there. Quite appropriately, the moment I sat down and took out my phone, the thought of "the spiritual sweet spot" came to me. That is often how these posts happen. I just sit in "receive mode," and something always comes. So, this article on the "spiritual sweet spot," was born from the spiritual sweet spot. What could be truer?
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Later in the day I met with another executive, who knew his organization needed to change, but how it needed to change was unclear.
Over dinner before my tango class I received an email from a friend, who related a tumultuous summer during which she has continually had changes thrown on her path over which she's had no control... and all have left her hanging without answers. I found myself responding, "Ah! The spiritual sweet spot!" I've written a lot about not-knowing "as a way of life," but I don't believe I've ever used that term. Yet, it seemed just right.
I googled "the sweet spot," and it said the sweet spot is "the point or area on a bat, club, or racket at which it makes the most effective contact with the ball." It added that the sweet spot was "an optimum point or combination of factors or qualities." Just the right term. The spiritual sweet spot is that point in our relationship with All That Is where we make most effective contact--an optimum point or combinations of factors to allow us to really connect with God.
My intention in my comment was that most traditions have some dimension of "God," which is mystery. The times when I feel closest to God are the moments during which I am conscious that what happens is really out of my hands, so I might as well surrender to divine wisdom rather than attempting to control the uncontrollable. To be "the sweet spot," I believe we really must be conscious that we are out of control but be both available and vulnerable to divine inspiration.
When I've written about "not-knowing as a way of life," my message has been that we choose to embrace life from a place of knowing that we never really know, so we allow ourselves to always be available and vulnerable to divine inspiration. It is about consciously holding the intention to allow ourselves to be guided--to live in sweet surrender.
I related yesterday that this evening I would walk to my dance class, take the class, and then perhaps write this post on my smartphone on the way home on the train. As I walked from class to the Metro station, I puzzled over what to write. I was tired, and nothing seemed to be there. Quite appropriately, the moment I sat down and took out my phone, the thought of "the spiritual sweet spot" came to me. That is often how these posts happen. I just sit in "receive mode," and something always comes. So, this article on the "spiritual sweet spot," was born from the spiritual sweet spot. What could be truer?
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Wednesday, July 23, 2014
Doing Unimportant Things
Over three days, I've been sharing three major take-aways that I've had from reading the children's book The Phantom Tollbooth by Norton Juster (Random House Children's Books.) First, I explored becoming a Miracle Maker, and I challenged all of my readers to go make a miracle. Yesterday, I learned to notice what is often missed. Now, I will look at doing unimportant things. Today's lesson is particularly stinging for me. It is one that I am certain I am better at than I was 20 years ago, but I mastery is a long way off. On his quest, our young protagonist Milo is challenged to only do unimportant things. Here is the conversation in which he asks why he should only do unimportant things.
"But why do only unimportant things?" asked Milo. The answer: "Think of all the trouble it saves...If you only do the easy and useless jobs, you'll never have to worry about the important ones which are so difficult. You just won't have the time. For there's always something to do to keep you from what you really should be doing, and...you'd never know how much time you were wasting."
What I "really should be doing" is writing more--writing this blog more regularly again, finishing the memoir I started during the winter, and placing The Game Called Life on Amazon as an ebook, a process begun last fall. What else I should be doing is exercising more. Why don't I what's important to me? My answer is always that I don't have time. More truthfully, the answer might be I am doing unimportant things. I had almost two hours to watch a movie last night, and I've had time at least two nights in the last 10 to watch mindless (truly mindless) television. Those are unimportant things.
But, the answer to the "Why don't I?" question isn't as straight-forward as it may seem. I work long hours, and I come home so brain-dead that making dinner, making lunch and coffee for the next day, and falling on the couch to watch something mindless are the extent to which my brain will function. That, however, is an easy-out, and it begs the more probing question, "Why do I work so many hours?"
I'd like to say that it is because I care about my customers, and I want to make sure they get the services they need in a timely manner. That is absolutely true. I'd like to say it is because my boss has no clue what she has assigned me, and it is way more than any human could handle in the 40 hours that I am supposed to work. That is absolutely true. Yet, while both are absolutely true, there is more to the story.
I am a recovering work addict. Maybe back-sliding work addict is more accurate. Like all addictions, once an addict, always an addict. A person who isn't a work addict would have gone to my boss and put all the stuff on my plate in front of her, and then asked, "What don't you want me to do?" I haven't because I am afraid the answer will (in other words) be, "Don't take care of the customers," and instead do some meaningless task that someone will never notice.
Are the things that I do at work unimportant? Some are. Could I work smarter to eventually get ahead of the curve? Certainly, but my bosses can't see the strategy beyond today's demands. So in order to protect my important work, I do way too much. I work this way because I am a work addict. While I have made progress over the years, I have a long way to go. I totally own it.
(I gave up fall and spring housecleaning, a Midwestern practice where every inch of the house is cleaned within a few days twice each year, decades ago. You'll probably find the same dust bunnies under my bed that were there a year ago. I am now OK with friends visiting and seeing my almost-always-cluttered desk, which would have mortified me a few years ago. I've learned to live with the cracking paint on my balcony instead of repainting it, so that I have time to sit and contemplate the forest a few feet further away.)
Approaching life so that the writing, which feeds my soul, and the exercise that physically reinvigorates me drop off my plate is ripping the soul from me. Sacrificing these essential activities for lower priority activities just isn't working any more. When I read Milo's question and his collaborator's answer over the weekend, it pierced me. You will notice that I have written three nights in a row. Yeah!!
Tonight has been difficult. I had to choose between exercise, writing, getting the fob which allows me to enter the building validated, and helping a neighbor during his vacation. Exercise ate it tonight. Tomorrow evening it will most likely be writing that will slip, but I will get exercise walking to my dance class and light exercise in the class. I am making peace with that and even contemplating that I might write on my iPhone app on the train when I am coming home.
What is really important about making these hard choices is that I am really making them. That is what living with intention is really about: making conscious choices, based on my important priorities. I am not doing unimportant things like falling onto the couch to watch mindless TV. I am looking at my priorities and choosing among them. If I do this every day, who knows one day I might actually get that memoir done and The Game Called Life may soon be available for your Kindle. Better yet, one day I might actually ask the boss to take something off my plate.
"But why do only unimportant things?" asked Milo. The answer: "Think of all the trouble it saves...If you only do the easy and useless jobs, you'll never have to worry about the important ones which are so difficult. You just won't have the time. For there's always something to do to keep you from what you really should be doing, and...you'd never know how much time you were wasting."
What I "really should be doing" is writing more--writing this blog more regularly again, finishing the memoir I started during the winter, and placing The Game Called Life on Amazon as an ebook, a process begun last fall. What else I should be doing is exercising more. Why don't I what's important to me? My answer is always that I don't have time. More truthfully, the answer might be I am doing unimportant things. I had almost two hours to watch a movie last night, and I've had time at least two nights in the last 10 to watch mindless (truly mindless) television. Those are unimportant things.
But, the answer to the "Why don't I?" question isn't as straight-forward as it may seem. I work long hours, and I come home so brain-dead that making dinner, making lunch and coffee for the next day, and falling on the couch to watch something mindless are the extent to which my brain will function. That, however, is an easy-out, and it begs the more probing question, "Why do I work so many hours?"
I'd like to say that it is because I care about my customers, and I want to make sure they get the services they need in a timely manner. That is absolutely true. I'd like to say it is because my boss has no clue what she has assigned me, and it is way more than any human could handle in the 40 hours that I am supposed to work. That is absolutely true. Yet, while both are absolutely true, there is more to the story.
I am a recovering work addict. Maybe back-sliding work addict is more accurate. Like all addictions, once an addict, always an addict. A person who isn't a work addict would have gone to my boss and put all the stuff on my plate in front of her, and then asked, "What don't you want me to do?" I haven't because I am afraid the answer will (in other words) be, "Don't take care of the customers," and instead do some meaningless task that someone will never notice.
Are the things that I do at work unimportant? Some are. Could I work smarter to eventually get ahead of the curve? Certainly, but my bosses can't see the strategy beyond today's demands. So in order to protect my important work, I do way too much. I work this way because I am a work addict. While I have made progress over the years, I have a long way to go. I totally own it.
(I gave up fall and spring housecleaning, a Midwestern practice where every inch of the house is cleaned within a few days twice each year, decades ago. You'll probably find the same dust bunnies under my bed that were there a year ago. I am now OK with friends visiting and seeing my almost-always-cluttered desk, which would have mortified me a few years ago. I've learned to live with the cracking paint on my balcony instead of repainting it, so that I have time to sit and contemplate the forest a few feet further away.)
Approaching life so that the writing, which feeds my soul, and the exercise that physically reinvigorates me drop off my plate is ripping the soul from me. Sacrificing these essential activities for lower priority activities just isn't working any more. When I read Milo's question and his collaborator's answer over the weekend, it pierced me. You will notice that I have written three nights in a row. Yeah!!
Tonight has been difficult. I had to choose between exercise, writing, getting the fob which allows me to enter the building validated, and helping a neighbor during his vacation. Exercise ate it tonight. Tomorrow evening it will most likely be writing that will slip, but I will get exercise walking to my dance class and light exercise in the class. I am making peace with that and even contemplating that I might write on my iPhone app on the train when I am coming home.
What is really important about making these hard choices is that I am really making them. That is what living with intention is really about: making conscious choices, based on my important priorities. I am not doing unimportant things like falling onto the couch to watch mindless TV. I am looking at my priorities and choosing among them. If I do this every day, who knows one day I might actually get that memoir done and The Game Called Life may soon be available for your Kindle. Better yet, one day I might actually ask the boss to take something off my plate.
Tuesday, July 22, 2014
Noticing What Often Escapes the Eye
Yesterday I mentioned that I'd just finished reading The Phantom Tollbooth*, Norton Juster's delightful children's book that I think should be required reading for every adult over 35. I am not sure that I had realized until I started writing this post that the challenges, which are faced by young protagonist Milo on his quest, might be viewed as the tollbooths, or impediments, that stop us from doing all that we might do on the highway of life.
That's why I think the book should be required reading for adults because in the process of becoming adults and getting us ready to succeed, we are often cautioned out of living the life that might be ours to live. How is it that we can learn and gain wisdom without being stopped on the miraculous journey that is ours to live? Milo "pays the tolls" and learns to embrace the challenge the proverbial "tollbooths" along the way stop him.
Almost every page of The Phantom Tollbooth carries a lesson that I needed to learn...again and again. While I appreciate that I may be projecting, I think many of my adult friends could also benefit from the lessons. I won't burden you with 250 lessons, but yesterday, today, and tomorrow I will share ones that I know in my heart I need to learn. Yesterday was on accomplishing the impossible. Today, I will write about noticing what often escapes the eye. Tomorrow will be about doing unimportant things. By that point, if I haven't tantalized you into reading this book, I will dangle the carrot of Jules Feiffer's wonderful illustration as added incentive.
On Milo's quest, he encounters a number of characters, some of them help him on his journey, and others--the demons--impede his progress. As he is parting from a visit with Alec, a most unusual boy of Milo's own age, his new friend gives him a present for his journey. It is a very special telescope. As Alec presents Milo with the glass, he says,
*The Phantom Tollbooth, Norton Juster with illustrations by Jules Feiffer, Random House Children's Books, 1961.
That's why I think the book should be required reading for adults because in the process of becoming adults and getting us ready to succeed, we are often cautioned out of living the life that might be ours to live. How is it that we can learn and gain wisdom without being stopped on the miraculous journey that is ours to live? Milo "pays the tolls" and learns to embrace the challenge the proverbial "tollbooths" along the way stop him.
Almost every page of The Phantom Tollbooth carries a lesson that I needed to learn...again and again. While I appreciate that I may be projecting, I think many of my adult friends could also benefit from the lessons. I won't burden you with 250 lessons, but yesterday, today, and tomorrow I will share ones that I know in my heart I need to learn. Yesterday was on accomplishing the impossible. Today, I will write about noticing what often escapes the eye. Tomorrow will be about doing unimportant things. By that point, if I haven't tantalized you into reading this book, I will dangle the carrot of Jules Feiffer's wonderful illustration as added incentive.
On Milo's quest, he encounters a number of characters, some of them help him on his journey, and others--the demons--impede his progress. As he is parting from a visit with Alec, a most unusual boy of Milo's own age, his new friend gives him a present for his journey. It is a very special telescope. As Alec presents Milo with the glass, he says,
"Carry this with you on your journey...for there is much worth noticing that often escapes the eye. Through it you can see everything from the tender moss in a sidewalk crack to the glow of the farthest star--and, most important of all, you can see things as they really are, not just as they seem to be. It's my gift to you."
"...see things as they are..." I've been accused of being a wide-eyed optimist and believing in magic, even miracles. (See yesterday's post.) I proudly cop to it all. A former partner even cut out an old Peanuts cartoon strip, which suggested that my head was in the clouds, and I needed someone to keep my feet on the ground. While I am flattered that he recognized that my head was in the clouds, I am not sure that our feet are supposed to be on the ground--I know mine aren't. Where's the fun in that?
Yet, having achieved a graduate degree in business, I have been well-schooled in looking for the potential flaw or the impediment to a plan and then planning for the problem. By necessity, focusing on flaws or impediments causes us to miss "what often escapes the eye"--the miracles. as it were.
Yet, having achieved a graduate degree in business, I have been well-schooled in looking for the potential flaw or the impediment to a plan and then planning for the problem. By necessity, focusing on flaws or impediments causes us to miss "what often escapes the eye"--the miracles. as it were.
Even as I finished reading this book, what I recall is all the impediments and demons Milo overcame. What? There were a lot of helpers on the journey, not least of which is the fact that "time flies," and could carry Milo and his companions over the demons, making it possible to accomplish the impossible. Now how often do we think of "time flying" as a facilitator of miracles?
In a world focused on identifying and mitigating risks, it seems to me that we each need to have one of these special telescopes to help us "notice what often escapes the eye." I can sit and count dozens of personal miracles in my life--times when things just worked out almost as if "by magic," but my graduate school training did not teach me to mitigate risks by planning on miracles. However, miracles have saved my skin at least as much as my planning for risk mitigation.
The truly remarkable thing is that when I focus on the risks, I miss the miracles, the gratitude, and the joy that come from feeling supported in life. I miss the feeling of being in the middle of a miracle, and it is an awesome feeling at that--a giddiness unlike any other. I am not sure when the tide in my life happened. I know I focused on the miracles long after graduate school, having my books published in multiple languages, and even having doors to global consulting magically open for me.
Even after the combination of the dot.com bust and 9/11 sucked the life out of my publishing, coaching, and consulting life, I retained my joy in miracles. I remember feeling intense gratitude as I sat to write The Game Called Life, at that time. I'd been hungry for the time to write, and during what I thought was a pause in my business, I had time to write my first piece of spiritual fiction. I was giddy. I was giddy a week later with the first draft done to receive a significant financial gift from former clients. I said the Universe was paying me for writing. I was giddy when I walked in a dance not long after that and learned of a university teaching job that I was hired for three days later.
I certainly saw the miracle in an unsolicited job offer just when the lack of integrity of a former employer was making my work environment intolerable. And the offer was for more international work: how much more of an miracle could I have asked for? I even saw the miracle in the ease of my hiring for my current position at an Agency which had been the focus of study and writing for 20 years. Could I neglect the delight I felt when a significant cash gift arrived from my father's estate 28 years after his death...on the very day I had closed on the purchase of a real "fixer-upper" home?
Somehow, I've recognized these small miracles when they happened, but along the way, the focus on the flaws has robbed me of my optimism and with it my ability to see that, by and large, things are working pretty well in my world. Yeah!
Tollbooths slow our journey, usually for a fraction of a minute. (Maybe less with EZPass.) They are not intended to stop us. All of the snags which Milo encountered slowed him a bit, but they didn't stop him. He remained focused on his intention--to succeed in his quest. I think I've allowed the tollbooths in my life to slow me to a halt, rather than being a minor impediment. My intention is and has always been to help the world to connect through love. It is time for me to move through this tollbooth that I've allowed to become a semi-permanent stop.
I wish for myself and everyone out there who has been tainted by graduate school, the business world, project management tenets, the media, and every other beast our modern world has created to distract us from seeing the truly miraculous world in which we live one of these special telescopes. It is time to make some miracles. Wishing you a day of noticing what often escapes the eye...
In a world focused on identifying and mitigating risks, it seems to me that we each need to have one of these special telescopes to help us "notice what often escapes the eye." I can sit and count dozens of personal miracles in my life--times when things just worked out almost as if "by magic," but my graduate school training did not teach me to mitigate risks by planning on miracles. However, miracles have saved my skin at least as much as my planning for risk mitigation.
The truly remarkable thing is that when I focus on the risks, I miss the miracles, the gratitude, and the joy that come from feeling supported in life. I miss the feeling of being in the middle of a miracle, and it is an awesome feeling at that--a giddiness unlike any other. I am not sure when the tide in my life happened. I know I focused on the miracles long after graduate school, having my books published in multiple languages, and even having doors to global consulting magically open for me.
Even after the combination of the dot.com bust and 9/11 sucked the life out of my publishing, coaching, and consulting life, I retained my joy in miracles. I remember feeling intense gratitude as I sat to write The Game Called Life, at that time. I'd been hungry for the time to write, and during what I thought was a pause in my business, I had time to write my first piece of spiritual fiction. I was giddy. I was giddy a week later with the first draft done to receive a significant financial gift from former clients. I said the Universe was paying me for writing. I was giddy when I walked in a dance not long after that and learned of a university teaching job that I was hired for three days later.
I certainly saw the miracle in an unsolicited job offer just when the lack of integrity of a former employer was making my work environment intolerable. And the offer was for more international work: how much more of an miracle could I have asked for? I even saw the miracle in the ease of my hiring for my current position at an Agency which had been the focus of study and writing for 20 years. Could I neglect the delight I felt when a significant cash gift arrived from my father's estate 28 years after his death...on the very day I had closed on the purchase of a real "fixer-upper" home?
Somehow, I've recognized these small miracles when they happened, but along the way, the focus on the flaws has robbed me of my optimism and with it my ability to see that, by and large, things are working pretty well in my world. Yeah!
Tollbooths slow our journey, usually for a fraction of a minute. (Maybe less with EZPass.) They are not intended to stop us. All of the snags which Milo encountered slowed him a bit, but they didn't stop him. He remained focused on his intention--to succeed in his quest. I think I've allowed the tollbooths in my life to slow me to a halt, rather than being a minor impediment. My intention is and has always been to help the world to connect through love. It is time for me to move through this tollbooth that I've allowed to become a semi-permanent stop.
I wish for myself and everyone out there who has been tainted by graduate school, the business world, project management tenets, the media, and every other beast our modern world has created to distract us from seeing the truly miraculous world in which we live one of these special telescopes. It is time to make some miracles. Wishing you a day of noticing what often escapes the eye...
*The Phantom Tollbooth, Norton Juster with illustrations by Jules Feiffer, Random House Children's Books, 1961.
Monday, July 21, 2014
Becoming a Miracle Maker
Yesterday I wrote about time travel, and one of the challenges of traveling backward in time is that we can't change history. While time travel forward does carry some challenges--we don't know what will be possible in the future, by that very "limitation," we are freed to create a world where all things are possible.
Forward time travel is actually something that we do frequently in coaching. Using the vehicle of visualization, we lead our clients to imagine their heart's desire. The imaginings are true in future time. By being able to strip our world of constraints, the intention is set for the future. Nothing is impossible. Marching back to the present--its own version of time travel as we "go back" from future time to today--we can map steps to our intended future.
Just think: all thing are possible. With passenger planes full of AIDS researchers being shot down by guerillas, and yet one more war starting in the Middle East, the weekend that has just passed felt to me like the world was unwinding at its seams. But that is now. I can imagine a world at peace five or ten years from now, and it is so. "All I need to do" is to time travel back to today and do what I must do to set the wheels in place to enable world peace. Nothing is impossible.
When I used to do professional speaking, I would ask my audiences to think deeply about the single most important thing that each of them would have to do to create the world of their desired future. Then I would challenge them to do it...consciously and consistently...until they had changed the world.
The whole world doesn't need to change, I would say to them, just a critical mass to pull the rest of the world with it. Some believe that critical mass may be as small as one percent of the world's population. None of us is superfluous. What we choose to do, or not do, can literally change the world.
I've just finished reading The Phantom Tollbooth, Norton Juster's delightful children's book, which I truly believe cannot be at all appreciated until adulthood, maybe even years into adulthood. In the book the protagonist is Milo, a boy who is sent off on a great quest by King Azaz, who says that there is one thing that he cannot tell the lad until he returns. The secret is that everyone "knows" the quest is impossible, but they don't want him to know until he tries it. Of course, the predictable occurs: Milo accomplishes the challenge through a serious of harrowing encounters with demons. It is only when he returns that Azaz tells him that the quest was an impossible one.
If each of us traveled forward in time and created a world that we'd like to live in, what impossible quests might we take on? As I write, two pictures come to my mind's eye. The first is of Mother Teresa walking onto the battlefield during one of the several Middle Eastern wars that have occurred during my lifetime. It is said that this little sprite of a woman fearlessly walked onto the battlefield, and the guns stopped. Most everyone would have thought that impossible, but she didn't know it was impossible. Like Milo's quest, Mother Teresa's was possible because she decided it was possible.
The other picture that comes to mind is that of Jody Williams, a housewife turned activist, who was appalled by all the people who were killed or maimed by landmines left from wars. For several years before her death, Diana, Princess of Wales, became an eloquent spokesperson for a coalition promoting an international treaty to disable the landmines. Since its enactment, the treaty has been responsible for the disabling of over 46 million landmines. An impossible task? Of course, but neither Jody Williams nor Princess Diana knew it was impossible, so it wasn't.
Instead of calling Forward Time Travel by that name, perhaps the term we should really use is stepping into our ability to make miracles. Whether in our personal lives or on a global scale, when we travel forward in time and envision the world in which we'd like to live in the future, we step into miracles. When we set about doing our parts to make them possible, we become Miracle Makers.
I don't know about you, but I can't imagine anything I'd rather have in my obituary or on my headstone than "She was a Miracle Maker." Today, just as each of us does, I begin etching that phrase by the acts--large and small--that I choose.
Only once have I asked readers to forward a blog post, and that was December's "Could we Change the World in 30 Days?" which launched the Grocery Store Game. Today, I am asking it again. Each of us knows "Miracle Makers" who need encouragement. Each of us knows someone(s) who needs to live in the future where all things are possible so that they can change the world. Please share this post and every bit of encouragement you can render. There is so much we can do...when we choose it.
Forward time travel is actually something that we do frequently in coaching. Using the vehicle of visualization, we lead our clients to imagine their heart's desire. The imaginings are true in future time. By being able to strip our world of constraints, the intention is set for the future. Nothing is impossible. Marching back to the present--its own version of time travel as we "go back" from future time to today--we can map steps to our intended future.
Just think: all thing are possible. With passenger planes full of AIDS researchers being shot down by guerillas, and yet one more war starting in the Middle East, the weekend that has just passed felt to me like the world was unwinding at its seams. But that is now. I can imagine a world at peace five or ten years from now, and it is so. "All I need to do" is to time travel back to today and do what I must do to set the wheels in place to enable world peace. Nothing is impossible.
When I used to do professional speaking, I would ask my audiences to think deeply about the single most important thing that each of them would have to do to create the world of their desired future. Then I would challenge them to do it...consciously and consistently...until they had changed the world.
The whole world doesn't need to change, I would say to them, just a critical mass to pull the rest of the world with it. Some believe that critical mass may be as small as one percent of the world's population. None of us is superfluous. What we choose to do, or not do, can literally change the world.
I've just finished reading The Phantom Tollbooth, Norton Juster's delightful children's book, which I truly believe cannot be at all appreciated until adulthood, maybe even years into adulthood. In the book the protagonist is Milo, a boy who is sent off on a great quest by King Azaz, who says that there is one thing that he cannot tell the lad until he returns. The secret is that everyone "knows" the quest is impossible, but they don't want him to know until he tries it. Of course, the predictable occurs: Milo accomplishes the challenge through a serious of harrowing encounters with demons. It is only when he returns that Azaz tells him that the quest was an impossible one.
If each of us traveled forward in time and created a world that we'd like to live in, what impossible quests might we take on? As I write, two pictures come to my mind's eye. The first is of Mother Teresa walking onto the battlefield during one of the several Middle Eastern wars that have occurred during my lifetime. It is said that this little sprite of a woman fearlessly walked onto the battlefield, and the guns stopped. Most everyone would have thought that impossible, but she didn't know it was impossible. Like Milo's quest, Mother Teresa's was possible because she decided it was possible.
The other picture that comes to mind is that of Jody Williams, a housewife turned activist, who was appalled by all the people who were killed or maimed by landmines left from wars. For several years before her death, Diana, Princess of Wales, became an eloquent spokesperson for a coalition promoting an international treaty to disable the landmines. Since its enactment, the treaty has been responsible for the disabling of over 46 million landmines. An impossible task? Of course, but neither Jody Williams nor Princess Diana knew it was impossible, so it wasn't.
Instead of calling Forward Time Travel by that name, perhaps the term we should really use is stepping into our ability to make miracles. Whether in our personal lives or on a global scale, when we travel forward in time and envision the world in which we'd like to live in the future, we step into miracles. When we set about doing our parts to make them possible, we become Miracle Makers.
I don't know about you, but I can't imagine anything I'd rather have in my obituary or on my headstone than "She was a Miracle Maker." Today, just as each of us does, I begin etching that phrase by the acts--large and small--that I choose.
Only once have I asked readers to forward a blog post, and that was December's "Could we Change the World in 30 Days?" which launched the Grocery Store Game. Today, I am asking it again. Each of us knows "Miracle Makers" who need encouragement. Each of us knows someone(s) who needs to live in the future where all things are possible so that they can change the world. Please share this post and every bit of encouragement you can render. There is so much we can do...when we choose it.
Sunday, July 20, 2014
Time Travel
Earlier this week I heard a commentary on time travel. In it the commentator remarked that most time travelers seek to go back in time; going backward, she said, creates a host of challenges that nothing can be done to change history. One of my favorite rom-com films is Kate and Leopold, and in that film Kate is charged with time traveling to enable history. If she doesn't go back and marry Leopold, then their children and grandchildren won't exist and can't accomplish the things that history tells us that they have accomplished.
Going forward in time could be easier since we don't have to worry about upsetting history, but what we are stepping into is of necessity much more mysterious and possibly problematic. I will write more about forward time travel tomorrow.
This weekend several media accounts have marked the 45th anniversary of the Lunar Landing of Apollo 11. The stories have made me a bit nostalgic and wishing just a bit that I could time travel. I don't want to be overly idyllic about the late 60s and early 70s because there was a lot of turmoil, but there was also a sense of hope in this country that has steadily dwindled since that time.
As I recall my big eyes as a young person, glued to the television joining the rest of the country (maybe the world) in watching the landing on the moon, I believe I thought there was nothing we couldn't accomplish. The Greatest Generation, who had won World War II, was still relatively young, and they'd come home to change the world on the home front as they had in Europe and Asia.
We had a civil rights law that meant, as a young woman, I could pursue careers that had only been open to women previously when the men were at war. President Nixon had declared war on cancer, and little could we know that what then was a certain death sentence would by now, in many cases, become a chronic or curable condition. The end of the 1967 war in the Middle East left us hopeful for peace in the region.
So, if I chose to travel backward in time, it would be to this day 45 years ago. I wouldn't want to change anything but to just experience that sense of hopefulness again. To remember on a cellular level what it felt like to think there wasn't anything either I or we collectively couldn't accomplish if we put our heads, hearts, and intention to it.
Going forward in time could be easier since we don't have to worry about upsetting history, but what we are stepping into is of necessity much more mysterious and possibly problematic. I will write more about forward time travel tomorrow.
This weekend several media accounts have marked the 45th anniversary of the Lunar Landing of Apollo 11. The stories have made me a bit nostalgic and wishing just a bit that I could time travel. I don't want to be overly idyllic about the late 60s and early 70s because there was a lot of turmoil, but there was also a sense of hope in this country that has steadily dwindled since that time.
As I recall my big eyes as a young person, glued to the television joining the rest of the country (maybe the world) in watching the landing on the moon, I believe I thought there was nothing we couldn't accomplish. The Greatest Generation, who had won World War II, was still relatively young, and they'd come home to change the world on the home front as they had in Europe and Asia.
We had a civil rights law that meant, as a young woman, I could pursue careers that had only been open to women previously when the men were at war. President Nixon had declared war on cancer, and little could we know that what then was a certain death sentence would by now, in many cases, become a chronic or curable condition. The end of the 1967 war in the Middle East left us hopeful for peace in the region.
So, if I chose to travel backward in time, it would be to this day 45 years ago. I wouldn't want to change anything but to just experience that sense of hopefulness again. To remember on a cellular level what it felt like to think there wasn't anything either I or we collectively couldn't accomplish if we put our heads, hearts, and intention to it.
Saturday, July 12, 2014
Clouds
When Washington turns steamy, as it has this week, my workout turns to swimming laps, instead of walking, biking, or running. I put in my 35 minutes today, and then, as I often do, fell onto a lounge chair to dry off and read a bit before heading indoors again.
As usual, the air that had been stifling 40 minutes earlier was quite pleasant when I am dripping wet. When I finished my magazine, I lay back and looked upward. What I saw nearly took my breath away with its beauty: cobalt skies generously clouded with puffy white and light gray clouds. My first thought was: is the sky this beautiful all the time, and I've been so nose-down that I've forgetten to look up?
As I lay there, the movement of the clouds was both mesmerizing and tranquilizing. A thicker layer of lower clouds parted occasionally to reveal whispier, higher ones. I have no idea what the distance between them was--maybe 50 feet, maybe 500, maybe more. They held their own mystery.
The heavier, lower ones appeared to be moving north while the whispier, higher ones were moving southward. I don't think that is possible, but that is how it looked. As I contemplated their mysteries, I became consciously aware that I was totally relaxed. What a rich feeling--relaxed and conscious of it.
My eyes drifted shut, and I relished the relaxation. When I opened my eyes again, the heavier clouds had disappeared, leaving a sea of cobalt, simply decorated by what appeared to be 1,000 dandelions gone to seed and sent scattering by a giant puff from a mysterious source. I've been here for awhile now, alternating between watching and closing my eyes. Each time I open them, a new skyscape awaits.
I like to think I am pretty good about observing beauty in the natural world about me, but this afternoon I've decided that I don't look up nearly enough.
Sometimes in the midst of the crazy pace of my daily work world, I sneak off for 10 minutes to the patio in the roof of our office building: it always relaxes me, but I think I've almost never looked up at the clouds. Today I believe they might be nature's antidote to the chaotic world in which I find myself. I feel a bit wicked to have discovered such a decadent secret, which I can use at my choosing to mellow out. And, I will, grateful once again for all the gifts that are ours for the choosing.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
As usual, the air that had been stifling 40 minutes earlier was quite pleasant when I am dripping wet. When I finished my magazine, I lay back and looked upward. What I saw nearly took my breath away with its beauty: cobalt skies generously clouded with puffy white and light gray clouds. My first thought was: is the sky this beautiful all the time, and I've been so nose-down that I've forgetten to look up?
As I lay there, the movement of the clouds was both mesmerizing and tranquilizing. A thicker layer of lower clouds parted occasionally to reveal whispier, higher ones. I have no idea what the distance between them was--maybe 50 feet, maybe 500, maybe more. They held their own mystery.
The heavier, lower ones appeared to be moving north while the whispier, higher ones were moving southward. I don't think that is possible, but that is how it looked. As I contemplated their mysteries, I became consciously aware that I was totally relaxed. What a rich feeling--relaxed and conscious of it.
My eyes drifted shut, and I relished the relaxation. When I opened my eyes again, the heavier clouds had disappeared, leaving a sea of cobalt, simply decorated by what appeared to be 1,000 dandelions gone to seed and sent scattering by a giant puff from a mysterious source. I've been here for awhile now, alternating between watching and closing my eyes. Each time I open them, a new skyscape awaits.
I like to think I am pretty good about observing beauty in the natural world about me, but this afternoon I've decided that I don't look up nearly enough.
Sometimes in the midst of the crazy pace of my daily work world, I sneak off for 10 minutes to the patio in the roof of our office building: it always relaxes me, but I think I've almost never looked up at the clouds. Today I believe they might be nature's antidote to the chaotic world in which I find myself. I feel a bit wicked to have discovered such a decadent secret, which I can use at my choosing to mellow out. And, I will, grateful once again for all the gifts that are ours for the choosing.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Monday, July 7, 2014
My Millennial Friends
I have three Millennials that I have mentored over the years. I consider all of them friends now. I love the general optimism and enthusiasm for new things that they reflect. I try to lunch or coffee with each if them at least 2 or 3 times a year. Today I lunched with one. The other two are on my calendar for the next two weeks. After today, I am almost giddy with anticipation.
As always, today's lunch was a two-way exchange. Although she has had limited exposure, this young friend enjoys trying different foods, and she always asks me to pick something she's never tried. Since I enjoy different cuisines, I delight in the task. We ate Belgian today at Washington's Belga Cafe. I cannot even begin to share what a treat it was to watch her eyes light up with each new flavor treat, and there were some good ones.
I always like to think that I enjoy good food, but when I watched her, I realized how much I take for granted. Thanks to her example, I will focus my intention on paying attention to my food in the future.
Her life has been busy since we were last together. Really busy. I think I am too busy, but since she was a child, this young woman has cared for a disabled mother, who recently died. As her water broke, and she was in child labor, her mother had an episode which required 911. There she stood timing contractions while assuring that EMTs had her mother in the ambulance before she headed to the hospital herself. She's helping a friend who has been having serious health issues, parenting a two-year old, and applying for readmission to graduate school, which had been back-burnered due to aforementioned challenges. I've always respected her ability to deal with personal challenges in her life; now even more than ever.
Really! And I think I am busy? Note to self: whatever I am doing, I could do at least three times as much, especially when what I do is motivated by love.
Next week's lunch promises a full report on MOOC participation. (Massive Open Online Courses). Both that lunch and the one the following week will teach me at least one thing I haven't known how to do with my technology.
So what is the message here? There are several. To start with, every GenXer or Boomer should have at least one Millennial friend. I don't think kids count because I believe parents interact differently with their children than they do as friends.
Second is about the value if cross-generational friendships. Again, I don't think family members--grandparents, parents, aunts and uncles--count. As I reflect, the difference is probably about power and respect, which are different with family members than friends. There may also be something about assumptions. Often times we are concerned with making sure family members are making good decisions to take care of themselves. We tend to respect the judgment of friends or think it isn't our business. I think everyone should have at least one friend in a generation ahead and at least one in a generation behind.
Next is certainly about the opportunity to learn from everyone. Whatever I've shared in mentoring with these three has been returned many times over...and I was never counting.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhonehe
As always, today's lunch was a two-way exchange. Although she has had limited exposure, this young friend enjoys trying different foods, and she always asks me to pick something she's never tried. Since I enjoy different cuisines, I delight in the task. We ate Belgian today at Washington's Belga Cafe. I cannot even begin to share what a treat it was to watch her eyes light up with each new flavor treat, and there were some good ones.
I always like to think that I enjoy good food, but when I watched her, I realized how much I take for granted. Thanks to her example, I will focus my intention on paying attention to my food in the future.
Her life has been busy since we were last together. Really busy. I think I am too busy, but since she was a child, this young woman has cared for a disabled mother, who recently died. As her water broke, and she was in child labor, her mother had an episode which required 911. There she stood timing contractions while assuring that EMTs had her mother in the ambulance before she headed to the hospital herself. She's helping a friend who has been having serious health issues, parenting a two-year old, and applying for readmission to graduate school, which had been back-burnered due to aforementioned challenges. I've always respected her ability to deal with personal challenges in her life; now even more than ever.
Really! And I think I am busy? Note to self: whatever I am doing, I could do at least three times as much, especially when what I do is motivated by love.
Next week's lunch promises a full report on MOOC participation. (Massive Open Online Courses). Both that lunch and the one the following week will teach me at least one thing I haven't known how to do with my technology.
So what is the message here? There are several. To start with, every GenXer or Boomer should have at least one Millennial friend. I don't think kids count because I believe parents interact differently with their children than they do as friends.
Second is about the value if cross-generational friendships. Again, I don't think family members--grandparents, parents, aunts and uncles--count. As I reflect, the difference is probably about power and respect, which are different with family members than friends. There may also be something about assumptions. Often times we are concerned with making sure family members are making good decisions to take care of themselves. We tend to respect the judgment of friends or think it isn't our business. I think everyone should have at least one friend in a generation ahead and at least one in a generation behind.
Next is certainly about the opportunity to learn from everyone. Whatever I've shared in mentoring with these three has been returned many times over...and I was never counting.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhonehe
Sunday, July 6, 2014
Getting to Know My Shadow
This morning's speaker at church was a young woman, who is a seminarian. I believe she has delivered the homily once before, but she is clearly new to the pulpit. I always find interesting the sources of inspiration that the seminarians call upon. She chose Thurber and Jung, two of my favorite sources as well.
As she spoke of Jung and his description of our need to get to know our Shadows, I admit my mind drifted. My mind floated off to yesterday's post about being back in my groove, my post on Emotional Intelligence and Intention (4/9,) and to conversations about Jung and the Shadow over the past 25 years. Many years ago a speaker on the topic described that we all have all possibilities within us. Whatever is the opposite of how we usually are is our Shadow. He continued, "Even Mother Teresa had an axe-murderer within her, and," he continued, "even the axe-murderer has a Mother Teresa within." That was a startling concept, but if we do all have all possibilities, it must be true.
When I've written about the self-awareness and self-management aspects of emotional intelligence, it has usually been from the perspective of what holds us back or what are we afraid of, but if we are honest with ourselves, Jung would say we do have darker places within us. I blame my Irish heritage for an occasional outburst. (I get "my Irish up.") Thankfully, probably because of self-awareness and self-management over the years, those outbursts have become more and more rare, shorter in duration, and blow over very quickly. I still don't like it when it happens, but I seem not to be stop it completely.
The passage of scripture upon which the seminarian's remarks were based was from Romans. Paul was wrestling with his own Shadow, wondering why he did things that he knew were "evil" and neglected doing things that were "good." (Romans 7:18-19)
I have written before about being introverted and having a job that requires me to extravert 90 percent of my days. When the evening and weekends come, in the words of the Greta Garbo in film classic Grand Hotel "I want to be alone."* Yet as I contemplated my Shadow this morning, I remembered times when I had more introverted work when I had done more volunteer work in my community. I've even been considering volunteering for something I would love to do but it happens on Friday evenings--the absolute low energy point for any introvert who extraverts at work. Has my introversion become my Shadow, or am I just listening to my inner knowing? Where do we draw the line?
As much of an advocate as I am for listening to our hearts and going/doing what they guide us, today I am keenly aware of the consequences of some of those decisions. The consequences are like the Shadows for our hearts. Until we look at them, they pop up unexpectedly just like my little outbursts.
I've lived several different places around the country and have friends and "adopted families" from Coast to Coast, but the truth is that most of those relationships are not the deep and abiding kind that result from having spent a lifetime in the same place and decades building relationships. Mostly on holidays and special days, I am alone, just as I was on the most recent one. Where did following my heart and my desire to "be alone" become my lonely Shadow?
Just a few days ago I was having a conversation with a relatively new friend about my life choices and their consequences. I said, and I meant, "There is nothing that I would have wanted to miss. Even when the consequences were not the most desirable, often those are the times I have grown the most."
I said when I started the blog that it was about the questions I wrestle with and the answers I am seeking. I'd love to say I have an answer for my spiritual dilemma, but I don't. Yet one thing about which I am certain, if we don't consciously and intentionally examine our Shadows, they will drive us. At least most of my decisions to follow my heart have been conscious ones, often made with great deliberation.
*From "Grand Hotel" http://www.tcm.com/mediaroom/video/582338/Grand-Hotel-Movie-Clip-I-Want-To-Be-Alone-.html
As she spoke of Jung and his description of our need to get to know our Shadows, I admit my mind drifted. My mind floated off to yesterday's post about being back in my groove, my post on Emotional Intelligence and Intention (4/9,) and to conversations about Jung and the Shadow over the past 25 years. Many years ago a speaker on the topic described that we all have all possibilities within us. Whatever is the opposite of how we usually are is our Shadow. He continued, "Even Mother Teresa had an axe-murderer within her, and," he continued, "even the axe-murderer has a Mother Teresa within." That was a startling concept, but if we do all have all possibilities, it must be true.
When I've written about the self-awareness and self-management aspects of emotional intelligence, it has usually been from the perspective of what holds us back or what are we afraid of, but if we are honest with ourselves, Jung would say we do have darker places within us. I blame my Irish heritage for an occasional outburst. (I get "my Irish up.") Thankfully, probably because of self-awareness and self-management over the years, those outbursts have become more and more rare, shorter in duration, and blow over very quickly. I still don't like it when it happens, but I seem not to be stop it completely.
The passage of scripture upon which the seminarian's remarks were based was from Romans. Paul was wrestling with his own Shadow, wondering why he did things that he knew were "evil" and neglected doing things that were "good." (Romans 7:18-19)
I have written before about being introverted and having a job that requires me to extravert 90 percent of my days. When the evening and weekends come, in the words of the Greta Garbo in film classic Grand Hotel "I want to be alone."* Yet as I contemplated my Shadow this morning, I remembered times when I had more introverted work when I had done more volunteer work in my community. I've even been considering volunteering for something I would love to do but it happens on Friday evenings--the absolute low energy point for any introvert who extraverts at work. Has my introversion become my Shadow, or am I just listening to my inner knowing? Where do we draw the line?
As much of an advocate as I am for listening to our hearts and going/doing what they guide us, today I am keenly aware of the consequences of some of those decisions. The consequences are like the Shadows for our hearts. Until we look at them, they pop up unexpectedly just like my little outbursts.
I've lived several different places around the country and have friends and "adopted families" from Coast to Coast, but the truth is that most of those relationships are not the deep and abiding kind that result from having spent a lifetime in the same place and decades building relationships. Mostly on holidays and special days, I am alone, just as I was on the most recent one. Where did following my heart and my desire to "be alone" become my lonely Shadow?
Just a few days ago I was having a conversation with a relatively new friend about my life choices and their consequences. I said, and I meant, "There is nothing that I would have wanted to miss. Even when the consequences were not the most desirable, often those are the times I have grown the most."
I said when I started the blog that it was about the questions I wrestle with and the answers I am seeking. I'd love to say I have an answer for my spiritual dilemma, but I don't. Yet one thing about which I am certain, if we don't consciously and intentionally examine our Shadows, they will drive us. At least most of my decisions to follow my heart have been conscious ones, often made with great deliberation.
*From "Grand Hotel" http://www.tcm.com/mediaroom/video/582338/Grand-Hotel-Movie-Clip-I-Want-To-Be-Alone-.html
Saturday, July 5, 2014
Back in the Groove Again
I just finished my first tango class is almost 10 months. Wow! Was that ever tedious for a bit? I started with an intermediate class. Even though I'd been doing tango weekly for two years before, it felt like the hard drive between my ears had been totally erased as I danced with the first couple partners.
Then, magically, when it was my turn to dance with the instructor, it all came back almost in an instant. Now anyone who has danced with a professional knows that he/she can make even a rank beginner feel competent. But this was more than that: I was getting my groove back. Once I felt how my body was supposed to feel, I couldn't imagine how I hadn't been able to remember even minutes before. I had dusted off my muscle memory, and suddenly everything felt right.
Earlier this week I went back to the gym for the first time in several months. Our work gym had been being remodeled, and although I did some easy weights and floor exercises at home, mostly I'd been depending in my normal life aerobic activity to keep in shape. Much like the tango class, getting into the routine was stilted at first, but soon it began to flow.
I've also recently gotten back to a more regular meditation routine. I'm not sure when that began to slide, but it was like coming home to spend a few minutes in stillness each day before work.
Those of you who are regular readers have noticed that after slipping during some very long work hours during the spring, I've been getting the writing habit back. Not unlike the tango class and the gym, the first post or two felt laborious and forced, but by yesterday it was flowing. For me, the biggest difference has been my attention to the little things in life that have suggested themselves to me as subjects for a post when my intention to get back to writing has been clear. For several months, I'd been so nose down that I'd just sleepwalked through those inspirations. Writing is both centering and energizing to me. I am glad it is back, or I am back, or both.
The tango, the gym, the meditation, and the writing are all important parts of keeping me in balance, and what each of these resets has taught me is that, when I find my groove, body, mind, and spirit collaborate to shout to me: "This us where you should be."
As I've gotten these aspects of my life in balance, I've also started sleeping better, remembering my dreams, and this morning awakening with a creative inspiration that is quite exciting. It is almost as if our personal spiritual programs knows when we are where we should be and cheers us on. How did I lose touch with that core of my being? I do not know, but I am glad I am back in the groove again.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Then, magically, when it was my turn to dance with the instructor, it all came back almost in an instant. Now anyone who has danced with a professional knows that he/she can make even a rank beginner feel competent. But this was more than that: I was getting my groove back. Once I felt how my body was supposed to feel, I couldn't imagine how I hadn't been able to remember even minutes before. I had dusted off my muscle memory, and suddenly everything felt right.
Earlier this week I went back to the gym for the first time in several months. Our work gym had been being remodeled, and although I did some easy weights and floor exercises at home, mostly I'd been depending in my normal life aerobic activity to keep in shape. Much like the tango class, getting into the routine was stilted at first, but soon it began to flow.
I've also recently gotten back to a more regular meditation routine. I'm not sure when that began to slide, but it was like coming home to spend a few minutes in stillness each day before work.
Those of you who are regular readers have noticed that after slipping during some very long work hours during the spring, I've been getting the writing habit back. Not unlike the tango class and the gym, the first post or two felt laborious and forced, but by yesterday it was flowing. For me, the biggest difference has been my attention to the little things in life that have suggested themselves to me as subjects for a post when my intention to get back to writing has been clear. For several months, I'd been so nose down that I'd just sleepwalked through those inspirations. Writing is both centering and energizing to me. I am glad it is back, or I am back, or both.
The tango, the gym, the meditation, and the writing are all important parts of keeping me in balance, and what each of these resets has taught me is that, when I find my groove, body, mind, and spirit collaborate to shout to me: "This us where you should be."
As I've gotten these aspects of my life in balance, I've also started sleeping better, remembering my dreams, and this morning awakening with a creative inspiration that is quite exciting. It is almost as if our personal spiritual programs knows when we are where we should be and cheers us on. How did I lose touch with that core of my being? I do not know, but I am glad I am back in the groove again.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Friday, July 4, 2014
Freedom
It is the Fourth of July. After torrential downpours and strong winds, Washington is welcoming a splendid day. Sunshine has broken through and brought non-humid temperatures in the 70s with it. (Thank you, Hurricane Arthur!)
I love being in Washington on the Fourth of July. When we aren't having a tropical storm, people begin to whoop it up a full day in advance and often wear the red-white-and-blue for several days in advance. There's a true sense of celebration. It really is difficult for me not to spend some time in reflection about the nature of freedom.
Of course, what we really are celebrating today is a system of government. Some would even say we are celebrating a system of economics, but I am not sure that is what our Founding Fathers had in mind. But I look to personal freedom on this day. While I will quickly admit that we may have more options in one system of government than another, personal freedom is something any of us can have without regard to what structures others have assigned to us.
Since I first read Viktor Frankl's Man's Search for Meaning over a quarter century ago, I have believed the treatise to be the ultimate work on personal freedom. For any who may not be familiar with the transformative little book, Frankl spent a significant period of time in a Nazi concentration camp during World War II. Yet, even in that environment, he found personal freedom.
He says, "...there were always choices to make. Every day, every hour, offered the opportunity to make a decision which determined whether you would or would not submit to those powers which threatened to rob you of your very self, your inner freedom....Even though conditions...may suggest that the inmates were bound to react in certain ways, in the final analysis it becomes clear that the sort of person the prisoner became was the result of an inner decision, and not the result of camp influences alone."
Frankl continues, "...any man can, even under such circumstances, decide what shall become of him--mentally and spiritually. He may retain his human dignity even in a concentration camp."
Even as I read those words again on the yellowed pages of my first copy, they move me.
I am an adventuresome traveler. People have often said after hearing tales of my adventures, "I couldn't do that." Well, of course, they could. They have just chosen to believe they cannot.
I love to dance but have only had a regular partner for maybe a year of the almost 20 years I have danced. I just go and take my chances that there will be people with whom I can dance. Sometimes, I am bored and leave early, but certainly in excess of 90 percent of the time, I dance...a lot. A number of friends have said they'd like to dance but don't have a partner. When I tell them my story, they say they couldn't go to a dance alone. Of course, they could. They are choosing to stay at home, and I choose to go and take my chances.
Over the years, I have moved from the Midwest to the West Coast without a job because I wanted to. Later I moved the other direction to the East Cost without a job because I knew that I was fundamentally an East Coast person...and because I hated the weather in the Pacific Northwest. Eight years ago last month I pulled up roots in North Carolina and moved to Washington, again without a job, because I was drawn to the city and the desire to be a public servant. Many have told me they couldn't have done what I did. Of course, they could. I don't have any magic fairy dust that makes outcomes materialize perfectly. Maybe I just have a higher tolerance for being very uncomfortable for months during the transition, but what I am willing to tolerate is also a choice.
Last week at work someone asked if I was going to apply for a program available to potential leaders of our Agency. The program requires a "continued service agreement," which means if I enter the program I have to promise to work for the Agency for several more years. I did sign such an agreement a few years ago, and I described it as "legal slavery." Now as I look back at my attitude at that time, or even just this last week in my conversation about the new program, I know that my words were not true. Those agreements are only "legal slavery" because I allow them to be. I need to do a reset.
What we believe we can or cannot do is only determined by the extent of personal freedom we choose mentally and spiritually.
My life clearly works better when I have chosen to be free of mentally confining limitations. On this day of freedom, I am choosing to reassess where I have chosen freedom and where I have spurned it. Who knows I really might jump out of an airplane before summer is over, and I may even find myself back in graduate school next year. Or maybe not. I don't have to do something just because I can, but allowing myself to weigh all the options before deciding what I really want is, well, freeing.
Happy Independence Day!
I love being in Washington on the Fourth of July. When we aren't having a tropical storm, people begin to whoop it up a full day in advance and often wear the red-white-and-blue for several days in advance. There's a true sense of celebration. It really is difficult for me not to spend some time in reflection about the nature of freedom.
Of course, what we really are celebrating today is a system of government. Some would even say we are celebrating a system of economics, but I am not sure that is what our Founding Fathers had in mind. But I look to personal freedom on this day. While I will quickly admit that we may have more options in one system of government than another, personal freedom is something any of us can have without regard to what structures others have assigned to us.
Since I first read Viktor Frankl's Man's Search for Meaning over a quarter century ago, I have believed the treatise to be the ultimate work on personal freedom. For any who may not be familiar with the transformative little book, Frankl spent a significant period of time in a Nazi concentration camp during World War II. Yet, even in that environment, he found personal freedom.
He says, "...there were always choices to make. Every day, every hour, offered the opportunity to make a decision which determined whether you would or would not submit to those powers which threatened to rob you of your very self, your inner freedom....Even though conditions...may suggest that the inmates were bound to react in certain ways, in the final analysis it becomes clear that the sort of person the prisoner became was the result of an inner decision, and not the result of camp influences alone."
Frankl continues, "...any man can, even under such circumstances, decide what shall become of him--mentally and spiritually. He may retain his human dignity even in a concentration camp."
Even as I read those words again on the yellowed pages of my first copy, they move me.
I am an adventuresome traveler. People have often said after hearing tales of my adventures, "I couldn't do that." Well, of course, they could. They have just chosen to believe they cannot.
I love to dance but have only had a regular partner for maybe a year of the almost 20 years I have danced. I just go and take my chances that there will be people with whom I can dance. Sometimes, I am bored and leave early, but certainly in excess of 90 percent of the time, I dance...a lot. A number of friends have said they'd like to dance but don't have a partner. When I tell them my story, they say they couldn't go to a dance alone. Of course, they could. They are choosing to stay at home, and I choose to go and take my chances.
Over the years, I have moved from the Midwest to the West Coast without a job because I wanted to. Later I moved the other direction to the East Cost without a job because I knew that I was fundamentally an East Coast person...and because I hated the weather in the Pacific Northwest. Eight years ago last month I pulled up roots in North Carolina and moved to Washington, again without a job, because I was drawn to the city and the desire to be a public servant. Many have told me they couldn't have done what I did. Of course, they could. I don't have any magic fairy dust that makes outcomes materialize perfectly. Maybe I just have a higher tolerance for being very uncomfortable for months during the transition, but what I am willing to tolerate is also a choice.
Last week at work someone asked if I was going to apply for a program available to potential leaders of our Agency. The program requires a "continued service agreement," which means if I enter the program I have to promise to work for the Agency for several more years. I did sign such an agreement a few years ago, and I described it as "legal slavery." Now as I look back at my attitude at that time, or even just this last week in my conversation about the new program, I know that my words were not true. Those agreements are only "legal slavery" because I allow them to be. I need to do a reset.
What we believe we can or cannot do is only determined by the extent of personal freedom we choose mentally and spiritually.
My life clearly works better when I have chosen to be free of mentally confining limitations. On this day of freedom, I am choosing to reassess where I have chosen freedom and where I have spurned it. Who knows I really might jump out of an airplane before summer is over, and I may even find myself back in graduate school next year. Or maybe not. I don't have to do something just because I can, but allowing myself to weigh all the options before deciding what I really want is, well, freeing.
Happy Independence Day!
Wednesday, July 2, 2014
Falling in Love...
I went to the movies this evening with friends, and at the end of the movie, we had a discussion about what the ending really meant. Did the female star leave her former boyfriend? Did he leave her? I had another thought. I didn't think that it was about him and her. I thought the star had found herself, and instead of walking away from him, she was really following her own heart. She wasn't falling out of love with anyone. She was falling in love...with her own heart.
The traditional model of male-female relationships is one of either going toward each other or going away from each other. Far more rare, and harder, is it to listen to those quiet rumblings in our hearts and move toward them. That may take the woman toward her lover or away, but the compass is her heart, not the man.
I know. I did that 20 years ago. I will be the first to say that following one's heart is not any faster route to happily ever after than when the woman marries the handsome prince. There are no guarantees of happiness or prosperity. And, I have been sad...often about leaving my prince when I followed my heart. How much sadder it would have been though, if I had not listened to those rumblings. Almost every day has been an adventure: some adventures were fun and exhilarating; others not so much.
What I have lived and learned in that 20 years has made me the woman I am: the sum total of those experiences. I am glad that I fell in love with my heart and that I had the courage to follow where it has led me. Some of those less than wonderful adventures have had the tendency to make me less brave over the years, yet I still listen and many of the times I follow. And, almost every time I haven't followed it, later I was certain that I missed the boat when I didn't.
The traditional model of male-female relationships is one of either going toward each other or going away from each other. Far more rare, and harder, is it to listen to those quiet rumblings in our hearts and move toward them. That may take the woman toward her lover or away, but the compass is her heart, not the man.
I know. I did that 20 years ago. I will be the first to say that following one's heart is not any faster route to happily ever after than when the woman marries the handsome prince. There are no guarantees of happiness or prosperity. And, I have been sad...often about leaving my prince when I followed my heart. How much sadder it would have been though, if I had not listened to those rumblings. Almost every day has been an adventure: some adventures were fun and exhilarating; others not so much.
What I have lived and learned in that 20 years has made me the woman I am: the sum total of those experiences. I am glad that I fell in love with my heart and that I had the courage to follow where it has led me. Some of those less than wonderful adventures have had the tendency to make me less brave over the years, yet I still listen and many of the times I follow. And, almost every time I haven't followed it, later I was certain that I missed the boat when I didn't.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)