Forty Days

Although it feels like light years, it has just been a year ago since I marched into my boss's office and told him I couldn't do that job any longer. I handed him a copy of this cover of Family Practice Management, the journal of the American Academy of Family Physicians. The mostly black and white cover shows the remains of a forest after a fire, only charred twigs of trees sticking up through lingering smoke and clouds.  In the foreground is a single daisy, sticking its blossom up through the ashes.

This journal cover was designed to accompany one of two cover articles the Dr. John-Henry Pfifferling and I coauthored in the late 1990s about burn-out and compassion fatigue, a concern that we encountered with physicians we met in our work together at the Center for Professional Well-being. In the cover article, John-Henry and I said that it took six months to recover from long-term burnout. We knew, and more importantly I knew, that there were no short-cuts.  I desperately needed that six months to recover.

I assured my boss that I would put in the five months that I expected it would take to complete open projects and leave my clients in a good place, but I just couldn't do it any more.  I explained that this picture reflected how I felt after giving too much for too long.  I needed time to nurture the little ray of color left in my life.

Yet, even though I knew it would take six months, when the end of my extended notice arrived, I immediately took another job. I gave myself many reasons why I was ready to go to a different job. They were all lies that I told myself because it was a good opportunity.  I knew I needed the time to heal. A few months later when I finally admitted that I needed the time, it was an admission of something I'd known all along: I needed to heal.

In some recent posts, I've bragged that I'd knocked a lot off of my "to-do list," lamented that I hadn't discovered my new purpose, and complained that I had a hard time hitting the ground running like I used to.  These are all signs that I haven't been adequately healing from my burn-out.  As I crawled into bed last night after yesterday's post, the image of this journal cover occurred to me. About the same time, I recalled that today would be Ash Wednesday, which marks the beginning of the 40-day Lenten season, a time of intense spiritual reflection and fasting leading up to Easter.

Although the 40-day Lenten season coincides with the 40 days that Jesus spent praying and fasting just before his crucifixion, that number is probably not happenstance.  Since almost the beginning of time, 40 has been a spiritual number which symbolizes "time needed to totally recharge, renew the body; change to a higher perception."* Moses was on Mt. Sinai for 40 days before returning with the Ten Commandments, and he led the Israelites for 40 years before he acknowledged that they had the understanding of God that they needed. Rain fell on the earth for 40 days and nights, creating the flood from which Noah saved the animals in his ark.  It occurred to me that the seven weeks of vacation that I had accrued and was going to use to "cover" my recovery was just a hair over the 40 days.

Since I had really given myself less than a week to recover from burnout before charging into a new class and book and cupboard cleaning, I think I need a restart, and what better time than this designated period of Lenten reflection?  I didn't worry about when I woke up this morning. I went to church. I spent the afternoon reading a book I wanted to read and plan to go back to it when I finish here. I didn't even turn my computer on until almost 10 tonight, and that was to write this blogpost.  (I did make one quick email check on my iPhone on the way to church this morning, and then I closed the mail app.)  I turned the news on this morning, and just as quickly turned it off. I spent time in the kitchen, trying a new recipe.

I don't know what this 40 days will bring.  I think that is the point. I am going to make every effort to stay out of my head, avoiding all but the very essentials of anything that smacks of planning and productivity. My 40 days will not be the six months that I know I need to heal from burn-out, but, with God's help, at the end of the 40 days, I will know what I need to do next.  I think that is all I need to do. Be as present as I can be and allow myself to be led.  Ah, that quintessential spiritual lesson...again!









*Bethards, Betty, The Dream Book--Symbols for Self-Understanding, Element, 1983, 1995, P. 140.

Self-Care

When I sat down to write this evening, I asked myself, "What is the most authentic thing that I can write about tonight?"  The answer: self-care.

I am now halfway through my staycation.  I started with two days of meditation.  I read a lot on Monday, had a job interview, and then planned a couple dinners for friends.  Tuesday was my "spa day"--not at a real spa, but I allowed myself to be pampered at my usual nail salon with a couple extra services.  On the tail of a visit to my chiropractor, it was delicious.  I had no idea how long I was in the place until I left and was shocked at how quickly the time had passed.

This morning I walked to a gluten-free bakery, and my freezer is now nicely stocked with treats for times when I don't have 40 minutes to walk from the Metro to the bakery and back.  As I treated myself to a chocolate croissant in the shop, I was reminded of a section in Authentic Happiness when author Marty Seligman described habituation and how we could enrich our lives by practices that help us avoid being habituated to special pleasures in our lives.  That's a fancy term for learning how to be really present to life's pleasures.

The idea is that the more we experience a pleasure, the less pleasurable it becomes.  The first wonderful bite, being completely present to the sensation and even the sound of my teeth breaking through the crispy layers of buttery pastry is the most pleasurable.  That is especially true for me since it has been 8-9 months since I've made the journey to the bakery.  (My wheat allergy limits the sources from which I can acquire such treats.)

Perhaps it is because I have been waiting for three-quarters of a year to experience a chocolate croissant, but I really let myself savor every decadent bite.  Quite frankly, I was distressed at how much of the time I just snarf my lunch down in a rush between meetings, and I fail to derive real pleasure from my food. Add to the to-do list: really enjoy my food.

This afternoon I indulged myself with a 90-minute massage.  When I arrived, my massage therapist and I remarked about how long it had been.  How long had it been, I wondered?  I think it was my birthday in 2014, which is 14 months ago.  Really?!  I think so.  However long, it has been too long.

Sue is a real artist with my body, and she nursed me back to mobility a few years ago when I was struck by a car when I was crossing the street.  She had her work cut out for here today. Even after five days away from work, my body was clinging to tension like a long lost friend.  Sue had her way with every bit of it.  My knees were like Jello as I made my way the short half-block home.  When I did, I fell onto a lounge chair, and I was asleep instantly.  I don't think I slept all that long, but I awakened I energetic and alert.  I felt great.

I should not have been surprised, then, when I got "self-care" as the topic for today.  Partially because the time in which we live, and in part because we are Americans deeply steeped in the Protestant work ethic, many of us aren't comfortable taking care of ourselves.  If we aren't being productive and multi-tasking several activities, we feel we are falling short. I am definitely one.

I totally own the Protestant work ethic thing.  If it isn't in my genes, I was socialized to it from infancy long before smartphones and the expectation of constant productivity.  Yet, today I was reminded that it is really important to take some time every now and then and just indulge and renew ourselves...in the way that Seligman would have us experience pleasures--being present and savoring every minute, while avoiding habituation.

And, I shouldn't have to be taking a vacation at home to allow myself to do so.  Before I sleep tonight, I will put several reminders on my calendar over the next few months to schedule time with Sue.  I probably shouldn't need to put reminders on my calendar to take care of myself, but if that is what it takes to assure self-care, reminders it is.

Intentions or Resolutions?

We are now several days after most people have made...and many broken...their New Year's Resolutions.  I have been very intentional about not making New Year's Resolutions for many years because of the meaning that intention has for me.  Yet, each year at this time, I do soul-searching about that decision. I was in the final pages of proofing The Game Called Life, a book about living with intention, when the New Year turned over, so the internal debate took on new meaning.

First, I should probably clarify what living with intention means to me.  I believe that our souls chose certain spiritual lessons to learn in this life before we are conceived.  Those spiritual lessons are as much a part of our spiritual DNA as the color of our eyes or skin is to our biological DNA. Although we may not be consciously aware, we know in our hearts what those lessons are. 

When I speak of living with intention, I mean that each of us tunes in and listens to our hearts in a moment-by-moment choice point about what to do.  This process must bypass our brains which are programmed by the culture around us.  Our hearts will never ask for a Mercedes, for instance; those kind of wishes are based on externally-driven mental models.  The heart is about learning the lessons that are the purpose of our lives--those that serve the evolution of humankind. 

By definition, we should be checking in moment-by-moment to ask our hearts what will serve our heart's intentions or what will serve the evolution of humankind.  In that context, January 1 is no different than 5:20 p.m. on September 6, 4:28 a.m. on March 10, or any other moment on any other day of the year.  We are starting over every second.  For that reason, I have been intentional about not making New Year's Resolutions because, when I am being conscious, being intentional about a new start should be something I do hundreds of times every day.  If I fail, I don't wait to January for a new start, I just wait for the next breath.

I am aware that if we write down resolutions (or probably intentions), we dramatically improve the chances that we will keep them.  If we tell someone, we increase our success rate even more, and if we enlist someone to support us in keeping our pledges, odds of achievement are even greater.  That all leaves me pondering, "Shouldn't I be able to live my intentions from a place of consciousness and spiritual commitment?"  Theoretically, I suppose that should be the case.

Yet, over and over again, I slip from my heart's intentions, and, over and over again, I climb back up and refocus.  I tune in and start over.  This year, I have been wondering if I could reduce the amount of slip and slide, if I wrote my intentions down, shared them with someone(s,) and enlisted their help in holding me accountable.

One of the challenges of living with intention instead of setting goals or making resolutions is the complexity involved in tuning in to the heart.  Instead of three or four resolutions, there are literally thousands of combinations in any moment.  Only the heart understands what is the most important one at any given time.  Without the spiritual True North of our hearts, all the conflicting goals are simply a jumble of "shoulds." 

With all that said, I sit here at this moment, knowing that my heart wants me to be more regular about writing, my heart has the intention of creating health which involves exercise, and it also wants me to be more responsible about maintaining relationships.  At least two people are waiting to talk with me and I would like to talk with a third.  Even as all those intentions compete for these few minutes on a Sunday afternoon, I am really tired.  Chronic pain has exhausted me.  I can hardly hold my eyes open.  As I take a deep breath and exhale, while asking for guidance, the answer about what I am to do is clear. 

My mind struggles with how to get that kind of clarity from mental model resolutions, even if they deal with the same activities. Asking for help is key to living with intention.  Even though I've usually written about asking for help with our soul's intentions in the context of asking God for help,  this year I will enlist a couple close friends to help me with some intentions with which I've struggled. (Can we ever have too much help?) I don't know how this will work, but I hope that just having someone who reminds me to be conscious and to ask for help will be what I need.

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.

The Forgiveness of All Humankind

Almost three months ago, I adopted a new set of eight spiritual statements upon which to focus my spiritual growth during this dark half of the year.  At least several times a day, and sometimes many times a day, I say and reflect upon these affirmations.  Something shifted yesterday.  As I was saying them, suddenly one took on new meaning.  I've had this happen before.  My understanding has to get deep enough for me to truly "get it." I find it a bit like looking at something, which has been in the shadows, but which the sun has finally reached: wow! all the color, dimension and intricacies that I missed when it was in the semi-darkness.

Yesterday, the statement  "My work is the forgiveness of all humankind" shifted. Since I write, speak, and coach, I have been thinking that I was supposed to encourage people with whom I come in contact to forgive people in their lives.  The idea, I thought, was that if enough people forgave enough others that eventually all humankind would be forgiven.

As I've sunk more and more deeply into this spiritual learning, a different meaning has revealed itself to me.  To paraphrase, sometimes it is all about me.  Yesterday's revelation was that I am supposed to forgive everyone with whom I have ever come in contact, no matter how big or small their grievance.  At first doing so didn't really seem like such a big deal.  I regularly "purge" myself of grudges, resentments, and anger with forgiveness.  I don't think that I harbor much.  People in my life who have committed egregious offenses have not only be forgiven but forgotten as well. I even forgive myself from time to time, although I admit that I am not nearly as good about self-forgiveness.

Consequently, I am not sure why forgiving all humankind seems like such big deal, besides the fact that "all humankind" is a whole boat load of people.  As I've meditated on this, the spheres of influence on forgiveness have broadened.  Not just people who have done things to me, but resentments I may carry about violations of others are included.  Then, there was the wave about people who have committed destructive acts to the planet and even crimes against humanity. Of course, with my personal interest in politics, there are plenty of politicians that could do with some forgiving. There are also the historical violations of our individual and collective ancestors, such as slavery, the treatment of Native Americans in the US, and the near extinction of many species.  You get the idea.  The more I sit with it, the more I am able to see just how much in the world is to be forgiven. 

I am certain that this forgiveness of all humankind is the work of a lifetime.  I expect that in the time during which I forgive one or two that a dozen more acts will have been committed to be forgiven.  If I really think about it, I am overwhelmed, so I just don't think about it...at least not in a worrisome way.  If I did, I'd have to forgive myself for worrying.  I am still trying to just be with how this plays out, but I sense that at the end, I will be back in that most alluring spot: being present.  With nothing to pull me into the past or the future, here I am...now...present.

I believe I've mentioned before that spiritual teacher Carolyn Myss has said our most important spiritual work is to be present.  As I explore the many dimensions of spiritual growth and learning, all roads seem to lead back to being present.  It makes sense that if we get to the place where we can truly be present in the present, we would have mastered many other spiritual lessons along the way.
For now, it seems to me that the dimension of being present with which I am currently engaged is to forgive...and forgive...and forgive some more.

Actually Being Still and Knowing

This morning I did what I said yesterday I was going to do: "be still!" and "know!"  Well, actually, I spent a good bit of time attempting to "be still!" but actually very little time doing so.  I've often quoted Yoda, "There is no try.  There is do or no do."  I guess the truth  is that "being still!" was a "no do" for much of the two hours during which I dedicated myself to that activity.

As a bit of background, I went with a friend to the movies last night.  The movie my friend picked was "About Time," a time travel film, which ended with the message to fully live each day as if it were your very last.  As often as I've written variations on "being present," you might imagine that the movie's message resonated with me, and it did.  Except...

For whatever reason, instead of following the film's message, I spun off into a totally different place.  Instead of using the precious moments I had with my friend in the present, I went into quite a pity party about how I'd squandered my life (the past.)  It's not as if I took my inheritance and went off in prodigal fashion for a life of partying and waste.  Most of the time, the decisions I've made have been the best in the moment.  I probably haven't been as prayerful about all decisions as I might have, but I am still "in lesson" on that.

As I bounced like a Ping-Pong ball from the past to the future and back, I painfully looked at my life from judgment of where I thought I should be.  Everything that most of us have been told about life planning is that I should be at the pinnacle of my career with assets and relationships accumulated to carry me through the rest of my life. I really don't have much to show for what our society would describe as a life well lived.

I tell that story because history drove my "be still!" time this morning.  As I struggled to be still, my pity party continued.  I replayed decision points in my life which had led to this point in time. Then, I beat myself up about it.  This wasn't "be still! and know! that I am God." And that is what I heard when I was finally still.

"Be love! Experience joy! If God accepts my life with love, why can I not find that a place in my heart for me to love my life?"  Almost as an after-thought came a parting message: to remember what I've written about "forgiveness." 

I booted up my computer and looked at what I'd written about forgiveness (10/3/13.)  The gist of it was that how I "be Love" is through forgiveness, including forgiving myself. My job isn't judgment of my life: it is loving kindness and compassion.  That is what I know when I "be still! and know! that I am God."

Joy to the World

I've had a earworm today.  "Joy to the world...to all the boys and girls...joy to the fishes in the deep blue sea...joy to you and me."  Then it starts over again.  I've always loved the Three Dog Night class rock hit, but why it is spinning over and over again...today...I don't know.

Even though the song recalls the initial theme of the Christmas carol about a time long ago, this joy to the world is about being joyful in the here and now and celebrates all of life around us.  Maybe that is why the song has been playing for me.  I've been noticing life around me today and mostly being joyful about it. 

Enough leaves have fallen from the trees in the park behind my apartment that I noticed seven deer just below my apartment the first thing this morning.  I thought how fortunate that I can live in a city and still have the deer almost close enough to touch.

Then, I went to the Farmers' Market. Harvest is a rich bounty at this time of year.  I love the smells of perfectly ripe tomatoes, fresh lettuce and peppers, and I was so tantalized by the smell of fresh basil that I brought a bunch home and placed it in a vase in my kitchen.  The fragrance has filled my kitchen all day.  And, I noticed.

I had no more than finished washing and storing my vegetables when it was time to have my periodic conversation with a friend in Canada.  We talk every four to six weeks, and I always delight in the connection we have.  We studied together a couple years ago, and because we both lived in the Eastern time zone, we often ended up partnering on assignments.  I have never met him, and yet,  I have felt blessed to have him in my life since we first talked.  When we ended the call, I just sat and was grateful to have him for a friend.

When that reverie passed, I could not resist creating wonderful foods with the bounty, so I puttered in the kitchen off and on all day.  The flavors are so intense when the vegetables are this fresh. 

So, yes, this has been a joy-to-the-world day.  All of them could be, if I just took time to notice.  I remember a line from a movie about an "angel" who has just passed over.  She says to her transition partner that she never took time to notice when she was alive.  I would hate to think that when my time comes that I haven't taken time to notice all the joy that is in my life. I've loved my joy-to-the-world day.  Joy to the world!

Surrendering the Past

 A couple weeks ago I wrote about "being present"--really being awake in our lives and fully conscious of our spiritual growth opportunities.  Ever since the other "being present" has been gnawing at me: being in the present.    Being in the present means not being in the past and not being in the future, but being in the moment--in present time.

One of the affirmations I'm working this six-month cycle is "I surrender the past, leaving only the present."  Surrender is an interesting word.  Surrender implies that we are willing to fight till we have nothing left to prevent giving something up.  For many, if not most, of us, we go to the mat to hang on to what has been.  Hanging onto the past robs us of the present, and the present is the only place that we can make change in our lives.  Hanging onto the past prevents us from moving forward.

Spiritual discipline is the very act of choosing to be present...again, and again, and again.  Spiritual discipline--being the student--means choosing to try something that is hard that we've tried before in the past and maybe failed at once or many times.  But today, we can start new.  Today we have a clean slate.  Today is the day that we can rewrite our stories to be the person that we are becoming.

In The Alchemy of Fear I wrote that our "has been" engage in all out battle with  our "becoming."  As who we are becoming gains strength, our "has been" fights to retain who we have been in the past. The present is uncharted territory.  In the present we can start afresh each day.  Our "becoming" in the present holds out the lure of success.  Only if we lose sight of what we are becoming can we slip backwards into the past. 

I said yesterday that I finally had recaptured the vision of the author, spiritual guide/coach, and professional speaker that I was for so many years.  That is what I am "becoming" again.  Even though that was a life I had before, I know it will be different this time--even better than I can imagine.  I eagerly surrender who I have been  to embrace who I AM "becoming" in the present.