The Only Lesson

Yesterday I committed to a new spiritual path, one on which I would explore the more pleasant side of the journey.  Already I am finding that isn't so easy.

Earlier this week I watched an episode of "The Late Show" from the first week of January.  Oprah Winfrey was Stephen Colbert's guest.  They were talking about resolutions, and Oprah said she'd stopped making them because they always got complicated.  She would resolve for something that was something she wanted, and then as the year progressed she discovered the more difficult sides of that wish.

Every topic I've ever taken on as a major writing project has similarly gotten complicated.  A book about courage resulted in my facing every major fear in my life.  A book about living consciously sucked me into a chaotic period when I lost whole years without really choosing me.

Night before last I enumerated a long list of desirable spiritual lessons.  Then in my meditation I discovered that if I only accomplished being present and being conscious of my choices--and those demanded that I do them together, I would accomplish the others.

Immediately, as if I'd been writing with ink it wouldn't have dried yet, I found myself facing a relatively easy test.  The Skype pop-up message that tells me when a friend is online popped up as I was writing.  At about midnight an old friend, who shares my strong tendency for "nightowlness" (my word) signed on, and I got the message.  I really wanted to talk to the friend with whom I hadn't spoken for about a year, and I really wanted to write.

I had just committed to being in the present and making conscious decisions. Normally, I would have kept writing, and I was conscious of that habit.  That would not have been a conscious choice: it would have been a habitual one.  I also knew that in the past I'd let myself be distracted from writing by fun diversions, and I made a commitment at the beginning of the year that I was going to write every day.

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and knew that I should reach out. I did.  My friend and I had a great conversation.  We laughed a lot.  I felt lighter and more energized.  And, what self-respecting nightowl is going to let herself be held back from writing because of a relatively early midnight conversation?  I wrote afterward, easily.  I had made the right decision.

Today I must admit that I was neither conscious of my decisions or in the present much of the day.  I had several things that I "needed" to do, and I set about doing them until I discovered in the late afternoon that I had really missed the day. I prepared dinner and ate consciously, choosing foods that I liked and that were healthy.

Then about mid-evening I checked my email, and there was an invitation to do something after church tomorrow.  It is something that is definitely way outside my comfort zone, and I had already made plans to do something I've been wanting to do for weeks at the same time.  The invitation was to do something relating to one of my "things to explore."  I really don't know which I will do, but I know two things for sure.  First, I am glad that I am being conscious of the decision.  Second, I probably won't know which I will choose until I "check in" and am present to what my heart wants after church tomorrow.

This is what Oprah was talking about, and it is what I experienced with my books.  When we nod to the Universe that we are holding the intention to learn a particular lesson, we will very quickly be given the lessons.  I have had hints of a couple other opportunities to learn this lesson on the horizon.i am being present to what is in front of me now. When I said that I was ready to learn the more pleasant spiritual lessons, I should have been clear that I don't expect them to be easy.  Just different. For now, I am holding on for whatever my "only lesson" has in store.

Turning My Spiritual Journey Upside Down

My normal sequence is to write, meditate, and go to bed, so I get the privilege of meditating and  "sleeping on" whatever bubbled up in my writing.  So it was last night after having written that I'd like "at the very least to allow the spiritual lesson to be to learn to enjoy these wondrous moments."

I really unleashed something. When I was meditating, I "got" that there are spiritual lessons in the good stuff...and I really need to learn them.  A whole list of potential lessons spilled out:  learn to

• Be conscious of all the choices I make during the day
• Be fully present
• Have fun
• Be in joy: enjoy life more
• Find peace in whatever is occurring
• Laugh
• Find humor 
• Love
• Receive love
• Be grateful
• Appreciate

....There were many more. I clearly have a lot of work to do. But, as I continued to meditate, I kept coming back to the first two.  I cannot be conscious of all the choices I make during the day if I am not fully present.  If I am fully present, I will be conscious of all the things I normally do on autopilot and start making those choices consciously. I expect that if I do those two things, the others will take care of themselves.  And, that concept has turned my spiritual journey upside down...in a good way.

This Could Be Fun

Yesterday afternoon I conducted two research projects for my health coaching class.  Either of them could have been completed in under an hour, but I luxuriated over them for six or seven.  I love to learn!  I just kept jumping from website to website, learning more and more about each of the topics, including one about the heart health of the District of Columbia.  It was something I would never have thought of.  "Golly, gee, I think I'll spend an afternoon that I almost never have free researching the heart health of my city," is something that has never crossed my mind.  AND, it was fascinating.

When I finally looked up, a bit bleary-eyed and starved, I sank back into my chair and laughed out loud.  This was so much fun.  Then it occurred to me that learning has been pretty much under the gun for most of my life.  With so much to complete before the end of the term, I always felt like I was behind from the first day of class in college and graduate school.  When I have taken classes while I was working, the being-behind-as-I-started feeling was notched up a bit, compounded by the hope that I might have five minutes for myself before the class ended.

For the first time, I can really enjoy learning as a quest where the knowledge is a reward in itself. Suddenly, my mind shifted from what I had to do before the class met at noon on Wednesday to what I would like to add to the studies.  I identified books on the shelf of books purchased but not yet read which I wanted to get into.  I also learned that Dr. Andrew Weil has a new healthy eating cookbook, and my experience with his recipes in the past is that they are great. That reminded me that when I started this program, I wanted to have delicious healthy food be an objective. But, I have hardly cooked anything that wasn't required from this class, and, for a foodie, I've found the recipes depressing.

If I haven't finished this research by the end of the class, so what?  I can take all the time I want on this part of my exploration.

In the roughly 28 hours since my discover that I could have fun learning, more and more things have occurred to me that I could have allow to be fun.  I used to relish getting home to run and really enjoyed lifting weights three times a week. In the pressure cooker that has been my life, the things I've loved have been sandwiched into progressively smaller morsels of time. I've felt as if checking something I chose off my list to prove that I would not give up thing I loved was more important than savoring the time I've spent doing them.

I've written a lot in this blog about being present to our lives, and it is a struggle for me.  I think I am turning a corner...far from there, but I always like to say that awareness is 90 percent of the battle. Each time I identify an impediment to being present, I can focus my intention on what I'd like my life to be life.  I can take as much...or as little...time as I want, but if I am going to do something, I am going to throw myself in it completely.

Today I needed to walk to the bank for cash.  This afternoon was lovely in Washington--sunny, bluebird skies, and 60 degrees.  I am a brisk walker, but I really enjoyed the sun on my cheeks and my mobility.  I noticed that a foot, which has been bothering me, was better.  I decided to continue on to the Whole Foods to pick up a few things that I needed.  I enjoyed stopping and pondering some personal philosophy on a lawn sign.  I just enjoyed the beautiful city in which I live.  I was shocked when I got to the store to learn that I'd only walked 10 minutes from the bank, but I'd allowed myself to drop in a time warp where time didn't exist.  I enjoyed myself.

I really want to be of service, but I don't need to make that be hard labor.  In the end, enjoying my life and my service is the point.  As has been said, this isn't a dress rehearsal, so why not have fun with it?

Play...woohoo!

Sunday afternoon I found a table poolside and sat and colored for an hour or so.  I didn't check the time, so that is just a guess.  I just got lost in the endeavor.  When I did need to look at the clock to go pack a bag for business travel, I felt amazingly relaxed.  And no small amount of pride in my evolving work.

The three- and six-year olds in my life about whom I've written previously sent me a set of 24 (yes!) placemats to color.  The mats were collages of scenes from 24 different cities. Sunday I lost myself in London and daydreamed about a visit there over 20 years ago.  I just drifted along in timelessness.

My reverie, which continued long after I stopped coloring, reminded me of a time in my adult life when I was truly playful.  I loved coming up with playful schemes.  I just let my inner kid spontaneously let me and those around me laugh...mostly.  I remember someone who once questioned, "Aren't you ever going to grow up?"  At the time, I was in my early mid-40s.  I pondered for only a second before responding, "I hope not!"

So what exactly is play?  Stuart Brown, head of the non-profit National Institute for Play, said in a 2014 interview for NPR** "Play is something that is done for its own sake....It's voluntary, it's pleasurable, it offers a sense of engagement, it takes you out of time. And the act itself is more important than the outcome."

As I read this definition, I connected the dots with one of the places I am really able to play--the dance floor.  I am a good dancer, as are most of the people I dance with.  What I really enjoy most is dancing with someone who is good but isn't dancing to prove something.  A partner who brings an element of reckless abandonment...with good technique...flips my switches.  I love it when I walk off the dance floor with both of us laughing.

I recall being in Seattle with a friend years ago.  Pre-GPS, we got lost.  The more we tried to find our way to the right freeway, the more lost we seemed to become.  Somehow, we got started giggling, and within a few minutes, we were laughing so hard that we had to pull over and stop.  A nice man offered help, but we were laughing so hard we could hardly get the words out about what road we were attempting to find. Our playfulness about getting lost took us out of time, and the fun we were having certainly was more important than finding I5.

It also seems to me that play brings to us that most spiritual of qualities--being present.  I am not sure it is possible to really truly play and not be in the present.  If the mind is wandering or we get too caught up in the win and lose, whatever we are doing ceases to be play and becomes some other sort of endeavor.  Many years ago during a personal growth seminar, my former partner and I discovered that all the things that we said we did for fun had really become work.  While it was great exercise, I cannot imagine any definition of play that includes climbing 18 miles up a mountain on a 100-degree.

One internet source* explains there are five key benefits for adult play:

• Relieve stress
• Improve brain function
• Stimulate the mind and boost creativity
• Improve relationships and connection to others  (Apparently, there is a lot of play in durable marriages.)
• Keep you feeling young and energetic

I once had a client who, in presenting the problems his office faced, said, "The administrative support professionals laugh a lot."  I queried, "And, that would be a problem how?" I have several games that I facilitate with adult teams at work.  Always, the relaxation and laughter break down walls and open communication.  Laughter and humor, in and of themselves, have been demonstrated to generate creativity and increase innovation.  

Play is apparently also effective at healing emotional wounds.  That may be why I so used to love to play. Notice I said, "...used to love to play?" I used to have a fun kit.  Among other things it included bubble to blow, three kites to choose from to fly, a full set of 64 crayons and a coloring book. I usually still have a bottle of bubbles and blower on my balcony, just in case I feel the need to blow bubbles, but somewhere along the way journey of surviving two gigantic financial crises and a business failure, the kit disappeared.

Like so many pleasures of life, play seems to have slipped away from me.  Brown says that "Adults without play are not much fun to be around."  I have found that...about myself.  I am delighted to say that the little ones are coming to visit in just over two weeks, and I am sure that I will play with reckless abandon.  I hope they will help me rediscover my funny bone and bring play back into my life.

*http://www.helpguide.org/articles/emotional-health/benefits-of-play-for-adults.htm

*http://www.npr.org/sections/ed/2014/08/06/336360521/play-doesnt-end-with-childhood-why-adults-need-recess-too

Digital Detox

There is an expression, maybe from the I Ching, "when the student is ready the teacher will appear." My last post on "Digital Addiction" was hardly stalled in my iPhone, when it seemed that everywhere I turned, I was encountering something about the deleterious effects of digital addiction.  I hadn't even realized that there even was such a thing as digital addiction until about six weeks ago.  Now I am bumping into it everywhere.

First, though, I owe a report about how well I did, or more precisely didn't do, during my effort to walk away from my devices for one day.  I found that every few minutes I would start to do something that involved one or another device. I would catch myself at least half the time, but that suggests that half of the time I mindlessly turned to the radio, iPhone, notebook, or television.  Most of the time, I noticed within seconds, but at 5 p.m., I abandoned the experiment and decided that I would wait until my staycation.  My little experiment has been a good lesson in not being present.

I am now six days into my annual vacation at home, and I realized two things going into my leave. First, I really needed to be off devices more. Second, going cold turkey was not going to work for me since I did want to arrange lunches, coffee, or drinks and other outings with friends, and doing so would require one or more of my devices. So, rather than shutting down all devices for 10 days, I took an approach we might call mini-withdrawals.

With my mini-withdrawals, I have brought more conscious to my use of electronics. That allowed me to actually choose when I wanted/needed to use by devices and be aware of how much of the time I was turning to them out of pure habit...and addiction.  It has also allowed me to choose more consciously what I will watch or listen to.  I quickly discovered that I often had something mindless on in the background just to fill space rather than because I really wanted to watch or listen.

How has this actually worked? When I was cooking for a dinner party Friday night and Saturday, I normally have had NPR, a podcast, Spanish lesson, or audiobook in the background.  I made the decision to cook in silence.  My cooking became a meditation.  I was able to really be present. My guests arrived and I was relaxed and present to them.

This evening I walked about 20 minutes to the hardware store to pick up some things, and again normally, I would have been listening to something.  I made the conscious decision to just leave the iPhone in the charger.  I ended up having a leisurely shopping trip during which I was able to just enjoy looking...and a little buying.

I took a book to read on my commute to a lunchtime concert at the Library of Congress rather than my usual practice of catching up with email and reading The Washington Post on my phone, while listening to podcasts or TuneIn Radio.  I was enjoying the book so much that I just left my phone in my purse until I got home, and when I was present, I decided to have a lingering lunch rather than putting myself on autopilot and jumping on the Metro to return home.

When sitting by the pool yesterday, I didn't check anything on my iPhone, but I do confess to loving the "Ocean Waves" soundtrack in the background while I read.  I was able to actually get into the book I was reading and with which I had been struggling for two weeks while reading a couple paragraphs before checking some device.

While I do find the level of my descension into this addiction distressing, given the number of places I've been bumping into media coverage of the problem, I am not alone.  Last night on the shuttle from the Metro to the Kennedy Center, where we can safely assume everyone is going to enjoy a live performance, a woman was totally freaking out that she'd forgotten her iPhone.  I was glad that I'd decided to turn mine off until I was headed home.  It ended up that I was so relaxed from not looking all evening, that I didn't even look at the phone until I was home.

In the last two weeks, I've discovered a Digital Detox Boot Camp in the jungles of Costa Rica, where they take people's devices and lock them up for a week, while providing lots of physical activity to distract participants during withdrawal.  In the coverage about the event, I learned that the average American looks as his/her smartphone every 4 minutes!  Given that I do often go hours without looking at mine, I felt some righteous relief with that data point.

During a conference that I attended last week, I learned that there is actually a name for what happens to people who spend too much time on their devices: Cognitive Capacity Overload.  The symptoms are the same as ADHD--Attention Deficit/Hyperactivity Disorder, including inability to focus and really be present to what one is doing.

Just this evening on a Freakonomics Podcast--yes, I am still listening, but I have been much more judicious and have deleted about 3/4 of the podcasts to which I would normally have listened. Anyway, the podcast was exploring the health concerns related to lack of sleep, and you guessed, it all of our screens contribute to difficulty falling asleep and the quality of sleep once we do.

I love my iPhone, and it does provide me with efficiencies and effectiveness that I otherwise couldn't enjoy.  (Thank you, Google Maps.) I am sure even those who will sojourn to Costa Rica for serious cold turkey withdrawal will pick their devices up again when they return. However, I have learned enough from my little experiment into mini-withdrawals to know that I will do them more frequently. The quality of my relaxation and the relaxation in my work is dramatically improved.  And, I am able to embrace that most difficult of spiritual lessons: being present...in the present.

I am NOT too busy to...

A couple weeks ago I sat having a deliciously lingering lunch with a friend.  The last time I saw her was last summer, probably at least 9 months ago. As we shared stories and reflections, I found myself lamenting that my work has so grabbed hold of my life that I no longer had time for things that were truly important, like connecting with friends and having such relaxed conversation.

In the course of our conversation, I discovered that my friend hadn't even been to my "new" apartment since I was still moving in.  I've settled in, painted, remodeled, and been in it now for 2-1/2 years.  How could I let that happen?  I love cooking and having guests in my home. I realized that, except for one friend who comes over 3-4 times a year, I haven't had people over except during the holidays.

Last week I had my annual physical, and my blood pressure, which has always been on the low side of normal, had jumped 20 points.  My doctor asked about exercise, mediation, and other stress-relieving practices that he knew had been part of my routine for years.  "My work allows for little except work and sleep.  When I try to meditate, I fall asleep," I explained.  It felt like a pitiful excuse.

Several weeks earlier, our assistant rector talked about the unpleasant reality for many of us of being too busy to do things we enjoy or think we would enjoy.  She encouraged us to catch ourselves each time we started to say we were too busy to do something and correct ourselves, by saying, "I am NOT too busy...."

In each of the situations above, I found her words echoing in the back of my brain.  While I have not developed the I-am-NOT-too-busy muscle yet, the haunting consciousness is there.  I always say that awareness is 90 percent of the battle.

Instead of cleaning my apartment, which really needed it, last weekend, I curled up with a book I had been enjoying, and then on Thursday I went to a new-to-me book club to discuss it.  I used to read a lot. Last weekend I reminded myself that "I am NOT too busy" to read.

Today after church I walked to the DuPont Circle Farmer's Market, one of the best in the nation, to buy my favorite gluten-free ginger chocolate chip scone.  Doing so was a treat in which I hadn't indulged myself  since last fall.  After two weeks of rain, we have a splendid sunny day.  I sat on a bench, lingering over each and every bite of the scone, and just drank in the sun, as it warmed my face.  "I am NOT too busy for this," I reminded myself.

While I have found it difficult to make doing things that I treasure a priority in recent years, I do like to think that when I do them, I am pretty good at really being present.  I will almost never check texts or email on my smartphone while with a friend, as many now make a regular practice.  When my friend and I had lunch, I was totally focused on our connection. When I was reading, I was in the book. When I was enjoying my scone, I savored every bite. While I'd like to bring the mastery of being present to the whole of my life, for now, I will be grateful that when I bring intention to doing so, I really can be present.

When I entered my door this afternoon, I headed to the kitchen to start my list of things I had to do before another busy week got ahead of me.  Instead, I caught myself.  Remembering the assistant rector's words, I said to myself "I am NOT too busy to write a blogpost," not only something I really enjoy, but a spiritual practice for me that keeps me headed in the direction I want my life to go.  So, I put down the list-making paper, made myself a cup of coffee, and here I am writing.

Although all those things still need to be done before the week takes off at warp speed, instead of doing chores and tasks, I think I will now change clothes and go for a walk on this first gorgeous spring day in a while.  At least for this day, my priorities feel like they are in order.

Zen and the Art of Massaging Kale

"Zen and...." whatever you fill in the blank in has become an expression of the practice of mindfulness through that given activity.  Mindfulness is the practice which has grown out of Buddhism of really being totally present to any activity.  The expression "Zen and..." evolved from the popular  Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, the 1974 book by Robert Pirsig which has been called one of the most important books in the last half century.

This afternoon I practiced Zen and the Art of Massaging Kale.  About two years ago I discovered a delicious and ultra-nutritious salad--Winter Kale Slaw*--in the pages of O Magazine. Preparation is quite time-consuming but has big pay-off from the wonderful flavors and nutritional value. The foundation of the salad, as you might guess from the name is kale, that hard, coarse, bluish leafy vegetable which is professed to have countless health benefits.  I'd never been a fan of kale before discovering the recipe, but my commitment to healthy eating enticed me to try the recipe.

The recipe starts by asking the preparer to massage the kale with lemon juice and olive oil for five minutes.  Five minutes! Really?! In the beginning I would watch the clock through every painfully slow second. It seemed interminable. Most of those early times, somewhere around two minutes, I would decide that was enough.  What more could be accomplished in the last three minutes that hadn't in the first two.

The answer: a lot. But, it didn't have much to do with the kale.  I really can hardly tell the difference to the kale between the two-minute massage and the five-minute massage, but similar to my bodywork earlier this week, I can really tell the difference inside me between my 60-minute massage and a 90-minute one.  That extra time is internally transformative.

As preparing the salad became a weekly ritual, I got into the kale massage more and more.  I stopped watching the clock so much.  At some point I stopped watching the clock at all and started to just enjoy it until a timer that I had set signalled that my five minutes had passed.  Now I just enjoy it.  No timer. Just allowing my fingers massaging the kale.

A remarkable thing has occurred.  When I stopped watching the clock and was just present to my activity, time fell away.  I began to feel the leaves transform in my fingertips, the unyielding leaves softening in my hands.  Then, I could notice the kale started to massage me--really giving back to me, especially two knuckles that have a little arthritis in them. Somewhere between the beginning and five minutes, my shoulders soften and drop.  Rather than attacking the kale, the exercise has truly become a mutual massage.

Last summer when I was taking the Psychology of Happiness class, I wrote a number of times about the importance of mindfulness to our happiness.  What better experience than that my vegetables had started giving me a massage.  I'd been in bed sick since about 9 last evening when I retired early.  The Art of Massaging Kale erased the discomfort from my experience and filled my mind instead with a desire to write.

Spiritual teacher Carolyn Myss has said that our most important spiritual work is learning to be present.  As long-time readers will acknowledge, being present has been a major lesson for me to learn, and what a gift this afternoon to learn that being present to my kale could have such a wonder impact on me.  Thankfully, I may never approach making the salad in the same way ever again.





*http://www.oprah.com/food/Winter-Kale-Slaw-Recipe

When they've achieved every goal...

Today was a beautiful chilly day in Washington, and since I had the day off, I decided to walk my errands and appointments.  I relished the wind blowing in my hair and walking through several different neighborhoods, each with its own distinct character, as I wended my way through the city. From the dentist to coffee to brunch at the gluten-free bakery and then to a massage and eventually home, I revelled in the present.

Yet even as I was in the present, I think there were reflections playing unconsciously in the back of my mind.  In the complete relaxation of the massage and the peaceful, sunny walk home, the ideas made their way into consciousness.  What started as a seed from yesterday's blog post "Celebration" had sprouted into a fully formed thought.

Goals rob us of the present. They leave us feeling as we don't have enough or aren't enough. Implicit in having goals is the dissatisfaction with where we are. If we just reach that goal, then everything will be wonderful.  At least, until we reach it, and then we will need another goal to chase. If I'd been trying to achieve something today, I would have missed the wonder of the day.

Almost as I had the thought, I recalled a conversation that I'd had with a marketing consultant in the depths of the dot.com bust, who was trying to help me jump-start my consulting firm after the devastation that the economy had wrought on it.  When we were attempting to define the "sweet spot" of my coaching to communicate what made my work different, I'd said, "My clients have achieved every goal they ever set and still feel empty."  That was just not a suitable response with which she could work.

"Why," she asked, "would someone want to hire a coach if they've achieve every goal they ever set?"

Smiling to myself, I replied, "Because they feel empty."

I'm sure I've had similar thoughts before, but today they connected differently.  I'm not certain that I've ever communicated that I coach people on being present, but I believe that is what I do.  As I look back over my intentional living intensives, three-day coaching intensives that I guided in the 1990s and early 2000s, every unique activity designed for each client was somehow helping him or her come home to the present.  To be happy in the "just being."

Suddenly, I wanted to do the happy dance.  At once I knew why I've often so bristled at goal-setting, even when clients often expected goals.  My sweet spot is helping people be present to the miracles that present themselves when we are just being in the present. I want to help them, and by extension, myself, be awake to what the Universe is offering up when we let go of our goals.  Today I was delighted that I had no goals.

When I have a relatively unstructured agenda, gorgeous weather, and no expectations of me, I am really pretty good at being in the present and taking in the everyday miracles.  My spiritual journey at this point in my life seems to be learning how I do that when I have a half dozen very senior executives with expectations on my time and back-to-back meetings for eight to nine hours in each day. But, that is for another day.  Today I loved the miracle that was my day.

Time

Assuming that the snowstorm, which has pretty much laid low the nation's capital and much of the East Coast and South doesn't prevent it, next week will be my last week at my temporary job assignment.  I've enjoyed my time there enormously.  I've delighted in being part of a team that really pulls together toward one whopping big, positive goal--raising $50 million for charity in three months.  I've loved knowing that I am making such a difference for thousands in need, not just for the year ahead but perhaps for the rest of their lives.  I fully admit to feeling good when two of my agency campaign managers told me on the same day that I'd been the best person in my role that they'd ever worked with and, because of that, their teams had exceeded their goals.

My nature is to reflect on transitions, and this one is no different.  The things that I've just mentioned are the standard fare, and it is also my nature to reflect beneath the standard fare options.  What has been the spiritual consequence of these four months?

Almost since the beginning of my assignment, one individual has impacted me in a deeply personal way. Almost every encounter with her has been a learning experience.  Let's take, for instance, what happens when she is walking in during the morning, racing toward her desk as most of us do, and I ask the common question, "How are you?"  She will almost stop in her tracks, take a deep breath, get a huge smile on her face as she exhales, and say something like, "Thank God I am fine," or "I am really blessed with health."  The responses are rarely the same so as not to have become rote.  She assessed where she is and answers gratefully.

When I stop by her cube to talk with her, she stops everything, looks me in the eye, and stays totally present to our conversation.  We occasionally share a table over our brown-bag lunches, and she has some minusculely small containers.  When I once remarked about them, she says she is usually full when she finishes.  After that, I notice that she really eats very slowly and gives each bite of food the same attention that she give the "How-are-you?" question in the morning. I've noticed something similar during Lent when I give more studied attention to eating; I am almost always full half-way through my meal.

This colleague seems to get the "being present" and "being grateful" qualities of personal spirituality to which I aspire, and I've been privileged to have spent these months in her "classroom."  There is another quality of "being present" that I've learned from her as well. I am not quite sure how to describe it except to say that it has to do with recognizing how important boundary control is to "being present."  Maybe it could be described as being present to the consequences of not being present.

Almost all of us on the campaign are extremely busy and often simultaneously working on several deadline projects for different agencies, each one of which thinks its need should be Priority One.  If a colleague walks up to me at a time like that, I am embarrassed to admit that I forget my "being present" goal.  At times, I try to continue working while talking to the person, which means that I give neither the project or the person the attention each deserves.  Sometimes I will say, "I'm on a deadline, and I really don't have time to talk right now."  Even as the words come out of my mouth they feel rude and piercing. In my heart I hate that I felt like I cut the person off.  The times when I do stop and talk, I know I am not present; I am totally distracted by what I think I "should" be working on.

My colleague, who I am certain was sent to this assignment to be my spiritual teacher, has taught me a lot about that, as well.  In a similar circumstance, she stops, connects with me visually and spiritually, and looks me in my eye as she says something like, "I would really like to talk with you, but I want to give my full attention to the task I need to complete for Agency A by noon.  May we talk later?"  To be sent away by this woman feels like a privilege.  I have never felt slighted in the least.  Just the reverse, I feel like she is saying that our connection is so important that she doesn't want to give it short-shrift while she multi-tasks or is distracted.

Since the first of the year, I've sometimes been physically ill when I thought about going back into the pressure cooker that is my "real" job.  I've feverishly looked for other opportunities, without success. I even bought a lottery ticket toward the $1.2 billion jackpot, something that was so foreign to me that I had to ask someone how to do it.  Now that my return seems inevitable, and I am in my reflective space, I am being completely grateful for the opportunity to have worked with such a fine spiritual teacher.

I am also keenly aware that there is no finer place in the world to practice the spiritual lessons that my colleague has taught me than to go back into the pressure cooker and practice them, where I will really be tested.  I have already written reminders on the white board in my usual office, which I think will keep me on track.  They are at the top and marked as priority items.

I truly believe that life is a series of big spiritual lessons.  We get stuck in them until we learn them, and then almost magically, we are able to move on.  I don't want to get stuck in this one any longer.  I've been to spiritual school for four months.  I know what to do.  That means to remember the job isn't about customer service or earning a paycheck, although both are important.  This job is about proving I can do what I used to do and what I know to be the right thing to do.  Now, all I must do is have the spiritual will to do what I know to be right for me.

Getting in the Way of Better Things

Sometime in the last month, I heard an interview with comedian and now dramatic actor Bill Murray. In it he related that he had lost his smart phone recently and described how liberating it had been.  He said, "The things you usually do get in the way of better things you could be or should be doing."

I am not sure I could live with out my smartphone, and yet, I really understand what he was saying. I love reading The Washington Post on my phone on the way to and from work.  It is great to catch up on my email on the train so when I get home, I can devote my attention to other endeavors.  The reminders of birthdays and special events have prevented me from missing landmarks.  My calendar gets me where I am "supposed to be" more often than not.  The My Fitness Pal app has helped me lose 15 pounds this year.  I've even been learning Spanish as I walk and ride about.

Yet while there is immeasurable value in my smartphone, so much is lost along the way, and I think that is what Murray was relating.  Pre-device days, I used to actually have conversations with strangers on the train.  Some would share funny stories or new pieces of music they had discovered. When I was looking for a job, a man once told me about one in his agency that might be a good fit. Now, everyone is hunkered over their device with ear buds in place.  With the exception of an occasional pair that get on the train together, I almost never see anyone talking these days.  So among those better things we could or should be doing, connecting with our fellow humans might be one.

The concept of my book Choice Point was to be totally present in the moment and choose second to second what we should be doing in that moment.  While there are days, like this one, when I unplug most of the time, when I find myself doing what Murray described, I stop letting the things I usually do get in the way of what I could/should be doing.  I just listen...to my body, to my heart, and to my inspirations.

As I went to bed last night, I had several things that I wanted to do today, beginning with going to church.  Generally, on the weekend, I don't set my alarm, and most of the time I wake up after about eight or nine hours of sleep.  I find it delicious to wake up on my own though, even if I am not sleeping a lot more.  Last night I slept 10-1/2 hours, which meant that I missed church. It also meant that my body must need more rest. I allowed this day to be one of those days in which I did what I could/should be doing--what I knew in my heart, instead of what I usually did--what was programmed into my schedule.

I did enjoyed time in the kitchen, something that I usually do, but also something I love.  Then I turned my schedule upside down and meditated for a couple of hours, gaining clear insight on something with which I've been wrestling.  I dug out my hard copy of Choice Point because I haven't read it in a while, and in my meditation, I got that it was time to revisit the book.  While I know there is rewriting needed, my sense is that this visit is for my personal spiritual learning I need.  So the day is some, but not earth-shatteringly different.  Yet, I feel so much freer by having listened to my internal compass as opposed to responding to reminders and habits driven by my smart phone.

Engaged

Jose Carlos was the evening desk clerk at the small hotel where I stayed in Madrid.  Late one evening I went down to ask him for some directions that I needed for the next day.  He was so gleefully into whatever he was working on that I just stood and watched for a few minutes.  Now I want to clarify that this wasn't the situation which I've often encountered where someone is on their email or having a person conversation.  Jose Carlos was doing work.  I think he was working on something so unglamorous as charges for those checking out the next day.

Finally, I said something, and it was immediately apparent that he had no awareness that I had been standing there.  As soon as he saw me, he shifted his focus completely to me and my question. Whatever he had been consumed by was instantly a million miles away, and there was nothing in his attention except me and my need for directions.

Over the few days that I was stayed in the hotel I witnessed Jose Carlos being completely engaged in what he was doing a number of times.  Sometimes it was helping other guests. On a couple of occasions he was helping me.  But, always he was completely engaged in whatever he was doing.  In an era of multi-tasking, he was a sight to behold.

Since taking the psychology of happiness class this summer and being reminded of the "flow" state, I've increasingly been aware of how rarely I am fully engaged in activities.  I am doing a Spanish class on my iPhone while making dinner.  I am talking on the phone while checking email.  I am taking calls and responding to emails and people stopping by my office while attempting to design a session.  As research on multi-tasking has been proving, when we multi-task, we don't do anything well. I know that I don't do my best at anything when I am multi-tasking.

When I think about times when I was really into designing a session or writing a book, nothing else crept into my mind.  I was totally focused and extraordinarily creative. Work flowed through me. Time stopped.  At the end of the day, often I felt more energized than I had at the beginning.  And, it has been a long time since I worked like that.

For four months I am working out of a different office and doing a different job.  It is a job I've done before, but a long time ago and in a different setting.  I do have to pay attention to new particulars to the job, but it is still familiar enough that I can do a lot on autopilot.  What I've noticed in my first nine days on this job is similar to what I wrote about on September 29 in "The Accelerator is Stuck." I've been in a situation that has required multi-tasking for so long that I've forgotten how to focus.

My friend Amy who is a frequent contributor the this blog recently was guest on the "Transformation Cafe" radio program.  She spoke of finding God in the messiness of our lives.  I've known for decades that is where the real spiritual learning and growth occurs.  If, as spiritual teacher Carolyn Myss has said, "being present" is our most important spiritual lesson, then the ability to be fully engaged in what we are doing at any given moment is an essential aspect of that lesson.

Like taking my foot off the gas pedal of my life, being engaged might actually be more of an exercise in learning to say "no" to things that are less important so that I can focus on what I consciously choose to be really important in any moment.

A little bit ago, I received a phone call from someone while I was working on this blog post.  I really didn't want to talk on the phone. In looking back I was so disinterested in the conversation that I am certain that message came across.  I might even have been perceived as rude.  What I really wanted was to write.  I've missed it, and I actually had a 30-45 minutes in which I could write, and I'd been interrupted.  But, the truth is that I didn't have to answer the phone.  I could have stayed focused on the writing.

That was when it occurred to me how important it is to say "no".  Just because my phone rings doesn't mean that I have to pick up.  I can say "no" to it, let it roll to my voice mail, and return the call later when I could be fully engaged in the phone conversation.

I recently took samurai training.  We learned to live by a set of values, and the lines aren't always clear.  How to I choose between loyalty and compassion or commitment and compassion.  I need to say "yes" to both.  How do I do that?  At the end of the day of training, I wrote that to make this work I need to stay centered and stay present.  I need to be fully aware of what I am choosing and as importantly to what things I choose to say "no."

Jose Carlos was such a wonderful example of being engaged and choosing to be fully present to whatever has his attention.  I can imagine remembering his model as I choose to find God in the messiness of everyday life.  If I don't, God could be talking directly to me, and I might just miss it.

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.

The Pursuit of Happiness

I've had time to write this weekend, and I really wanted to do so.  To my consternation, nothing would come, and that almost never happens. On Friday, I'd been taking medication for pain associated with a toothache, and I couldn't focus. I watched a couple of movies, attempted to read, and had lunch with someone with whom I'd been "matched."  (It wasn't.)

This morning I went to church a little early.  Often when I sit and reflect, something will come.  It didn't.  When I got on the train to come home, a religious leaflet from the Church of Scientology was on the seat beside me.  In large letters with a blue background was a quote from the Church's founder, L. Ron Hubbard, "No man is happy without a goal, and no man can be happy without faith in his own ability to reach that goal."

In that instant, I knew what I'd write.  One of the movies I'd watched was "Hector and His Search for Happiness." The movie is based on a book by the same name  by Francois Lelord, about a man who's pretty much achieved his goals, but knows he isn't happy.  British psychiatrist Hector takes off on a months-long journey of Asia, Africa, and America to find out what makes people happy.

During the course of his journey, he comes up with 23 rules or principles for happiness.  However, the line that sticks in my mind comes from a lecture Hector attends on the Pursuit of Happiness. The happiness lecturer says something like, "It is not the pursuit of happiness that counts but the happiness you find in pursuit." Although Hector finds 23 guidelines for happiness, it is clear that most boil down to being present and finding happiness in the possibility of the moment, whatever is occurring.  At the end of the movie, we see Hector back with the same home, office, and partner just being delighted at the same life through which he used to move mindlessly.

In the 1990s when I coached primarily physicians and C-Suite executives, most of whom had achieved all their goals, I found that neither the goals nor the pursuit of them brought happiness, peace, or joy.  In fact, one said to me, "As soon as I set a goal, I know I will achieve it.  Even the pursuit has lost it's joy."

With all due respect to any Scientologist readers, I am pretty confident that Hubbard was wrong.  Hector, the lecturer in the film, my clients, and my own life bring me back to a common theme in this blog: being present and finding joy in whatever is occurring is the path to happiness.

Feelin' Alive

An odd thing happened about 8 p.m. last evening: I started to feel.  Not emotionally; I seem to do well with that.  What I started to feel was alive. 

I had pledged for months that, as soon as I was through Thanksgiving, I would begin to work "normal" hours.  Until that point, I was boxed into long-term commitments with clients.  For months, I had been very judicious about accepting new work so that I would continue to dig my hole deeper. 

Yesterday was one week since we went back to work after Thanksgiving.  Last week I did work shorter hours but I was in training two days, so I did attend to things before and after class.  Yesterday was the first "regular" work day since Thanksgiving and my first "regular" work day for over a year.  I actually worked the number of hours I am scheduled to work. 

What was even better is that I could work at a sane pace.  For months, I'd felt like I was juggling so many glass balls that I couldn't possibly keep them in the air, but also couldn't let any drop.  I could feel the tension mount in my shoulders even as I would be walking toward my office in the mornings.  Yesterday, I just took on one task after another and completed each, allowing myself to be totally absorbed in what I was doing--being present. 

I did stay 15-20 minutes late last night, time that I actually relished, because I was relaxed and just pulled a couple things off the stack on my desk that has been mounting for a year.  This morning I continued, sorting through a stack of rolled up chart pad pages that have been accumulating, and I was able to almost empty that corner of clutter of the room.  I am astounded at how relaxed I have been the last two days...and what a difference that has made in how I feel.

That brings me back to what I felt last evening.  I got home 2-1/2 hours earlier than usual.  I had a nice dinner that I could actually enjoy because I wasn't falling asleep in my soup.  Then I paid a few bills and balanced my checking account.  This may all sound pretty mundane, but I haven't had energy or focus to do anything that required thought for months.

All that, and it was still before the time I normally got home.  :-)  I almost didn't know what to do with myself, but that was the point when I realized what I was feeling.  The deep exhaustion that had worn on me for so long was gone.  I had energy.  My head was clear enough to concentrate, and I actually had time, energy, focus, and enthusiasm to plan a weekend trip with a friend.  None of this would have been possible even a week earlier. 

Today I began to feel glimmers of optimism.  I actually volunteered to help a colleague on something, and I'm contemplating assuming a responsibility that a different colleague has been urging me to take for some time.  I am doing so with a view not to overload myself again, but I delighted to have the option to choose to take on something else.  I've felt so buried for so long that I didn't have the choice.  Now I do.  Choice is a powerful intoxicant, and I am dizzy with joy for being back in the driver's seat in my life.

Now, one step at a time forward....

Noticing

Since my trip to Greece, which ended in early October, I haven't been eating as healthfully as I'd like.  After eating way too much on Thanksgiving, I knew I had to do something different.  I decided to do a cleanse that I'd read about in The Washington Post.  The eating regimen isn't that differently from how I try to eat most of the time. No dairy, but that's no biggie.  I don't eat much dairy any way.  Most importantly, however, is no sugar.  After just a couple of days of having sugar out of my system, I felt much better, and I know I am much more relaxed.

The interesting thing about this cleanse is not just what I eat or don't eat, but also how I eat.  Specifically, I am not to do anything while I eat except eat. 

I didn't realize until I attempted to comply with this part of the regime how I'd slipped big time into multi-tasking while I eat, and everywhere else. I know that multi-tasking has become a fact of life in this decade, but I am not even aware how or when I slipped into the multi-tasking habit.  Eat my breakfast fruit while doing my makeup in the morning.  Catch up on my email while I eat lunch at my desk.  Watch Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert while I have dinner. (I watch it the next day, when it airs at a time that allows me to view without literally losing sleep over it.) Snacks are even worse, often they're eaten "mid-flight" while running to my next meeting.  As much as giving up sugar, giving up whatever else I am used to doing while I eat has been harder.

One of the first things that I noticed was that most of the time, I eat about half as much. I eat more slowly.  When I am only concentrating on eating, I actually notice when I am full, probably because I've taken enough time to let the messages reach my brain and register that I'm full. Or maybe the messages have been there, and I haven't been noticing.  And funny as it may seem, I actually feel more full than when I am eating more but not being mindful. 

I'm sure that I was a rabbit in a past life, because I love eating the crunchy greens.  Most often, dinner is a large salad.  When I am actually paying attention to my eating, I notice that I get tired of chewing about half-way through the salad, and I'm kind of bored with the chewing, too.

Little cues, like being full, tired of chewing, and bored, have just gone flying by without me noticing.  So, now I am noticing. 

Curious about what else I've been missing, I've tried little single-tasking, focusing-on-what-I'm-doing experiments. (I wouldn't want to go full throttle.)  Tonight, I turned off radio, music, TV, and Greek lessons and focused completely on preparing my salad.  While it is not uncommon for me to nibble as I cut and chop ingredients for my salads, since I wasn't multi-tasking, tonight I had to actually stop what I was doing and enjoy the grape tomato that I'd popped in my mouth.  What an experience! 

I could hear and feel my molars breaking the skin of the tomato.  I could feel an explosion of the juices as the tiny fruit sprayed my mouth.  The taste was delicious. I just stood there for 20-30 seconds, leaning against the counter,  totally absorbed into the experience of one solitary grape tomato.  One grape tomato!  Something similar happened when I stopped my preparations to eat one of several pecans that I was chopping for my salad.

The exquisiteness of being totally in the moment with my dinner preparations didn't stop with oral experience.  I noticed cutting a wedge of lemon how I noticed the different textures on my fingers and how my knife moved differently through the skin/rind than through the inner recesses of the fruit and the juice. 

And, all of this in less than the 20 minutes it took to make a salad...just because I was noticing.
I've written a lot in this column about being present.  I've quoted spiritual teacher Carolyn Myss as saying "being present" was the most important spiritual lesson that we have to learn.  I know it is hard, but in such a short time this evening, I really "got" what that means on whole different level.

I will continue my cleanse because I know how much better...how much mellower...I feel when I don't eat sugar, and it seems that the only thing that can keep me away from the white stuff is something like this cleanse or Lent.   Yet, I am certain the spiritual lessons that I have to learn from this focus are to be present, to do one thing at a time, and to truly notice all of the dimensions of experience that can be had from even the simplest of things, like popping a grape tomato or pecan in my mouth while cooking. 

Lesson 2 -- This is the Day the Lord Hath Made

The second spiritual lesson that I am undertaking for the year ahead as a result of my retreat in Greece is to celebrate each and every day in its perfection.  Those who read "Coveting" (10/2/14) will recall that I was deeply moved by the concept that any time we wish for anything in our lives to be different than what it is, we are "coveting." We miss the value of what is because we are caught up in what it might be. 

During my reflective time I pondered, how would I word an intention for growth that meant "loving what is."  Each time I would think about it, a single scripture would immediately come to me:

"This is the day the Lord has made; we will rejoice and be glad in it." Psalm 118:24

If I was not going to wish my life to be different than the gift God had given me, that scripture captured what I needed to do.  I must be aware that God had made this particular day expressly and intentionally for me.  This day is God's gift to me, whatever it is.  My job is to rejoice and be glad about the gift, not to complain about what God had chosen not to give me in this day.

I will be the very first to say, this is a very difficult lesson.  First, I have to keep myself conscious each and every day that this day is God's gift to me.  That is the really hard part.  When I remember that the day is God's gift, I find that being intentional about rejoicing in what is happening is easier.  That old thing about being conscious is the hard part. 

You will recall that my intention for the year ahead is to open my heart, find intimacy, and create connection.  I cannot do any of those without being conscious.  Even more important though is that if I am wishing to be somewhere else having some other kind of experience, I will be guarded and defensive.  If I am guarded, how will I ever open my heart, and without an open heart, I am hopeless for find intimacy or create connection. 

Today celebrating the day God had made for me was easy.  It was the most perfect blue sky, sunny autumn day imaginable.  I had almost nothing I had to do.  I just completely enjoyed everything I did: you might say I was rejoicing and being glad.  The challenge will come tomorrow when I am thrust back into my work environment.  This is my spiritual lesson, and it will be work.  And, I will rejoice and be glad about learning this important lesson.

Temporal Free-fall

(This was supposed to be posted on 9/28.  I didn't do something right with the technology and just found it in "drafts" for the blog.  It may add continuity to my posts from Greece.)

Sometime between 8 and 9 last night when I attempted to charge my iPhone, I discovered that I'd left my cable in Athens. I was at 57% charged, which meant that I really needed to conserve energy. This was my only timekeeping device. It was also my writing device, GPS, currency converter, and metric converter.

What would I do?

Immediately, I powered off my device. Then I went into a temporal free-fall. I am still in my first 48 hours in Greece, and I am jet-lagging badly. Despite pharmaceuticals, I was up much of the night. I can't tell you how much because I was powered down.

As the hours passed, I wondered: what time is it? I knew that it was passed the normal Greek coming in time of midnight; I'd heard people coming in earlier. Lights were on and off several times as I would almost read myself to sleep, only to be wide awake when I turned the light off. I had no idea if it was 1 a.m. or 5 a.m.

Then, what difference did it make? I didn't have to be anywhere for over a week.

Breakfast was served in my hotel until 10:30, so I knew it was before 10:30 when I cut into an exquisite Greek peach. I am certain they are the best in the world. I've been salivating for months just thinking about them, and at last I was embracing the succulence of this divine creation.

I climbed 999 (maybe 890, depending on who was telling) steps to the ancient fort. I stopped and chatted in cobbled Greek with an ancient Greek woman, who showed me the way when I became confused. I came back into town and sat on a bench at the water's edge, almost drifting to sleep after my short night. I kept wanting to know if it was "time to eat," rather than whether I was hungry. Several times I caught myself going for the phone to check the time only to stop myself. Each time I was aware that I was not hungry.

When I walked through the narrow streets back to my hotel to dispose of acquisitions, cafes were packed, but I resisted: I was not hungry. Some time later when I was hungry, I meandered back into town. Cafes were now empty.

By this time, I'd borrowed a charger, but I'd also become aware how much of my life has occurred based on the clock, rather than my wisdom, so I have resisted looking.

Like my meditational retreats at home when I tape over the clocks, I am choosing a temporal free-fall. How can I have become so out of touch with myself? I find myself drifting to what I will do tomorrow, only to catch myself with: "Does it matter?" I don't have to be anywhere for over a week.

I resist the American tourista in me to see as much as I can in a few days, and instead, I choose to just be...in this moment. What else is there? After a long lingering lunch, followed by an iced espresso, I will wander back to the waterfront with my book for who knows how long. And, does it really matter?


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Celebrating Presence

In the middle of the chaos that is my work life, I just stopped the other day.  I have no idea what made me do it, unless, of course, reducing my hours significantly allowed me to actually be conscious in my life.  Actually, that is what stopped me.  I suddenly realized that in the chaos, my mind couldn't drift anywhere.  I had to be totally present.

As I thought about it, I smiled and a sense of peace washed over me.  I have struggled to be present, and I have to admit that my mind does buzz more than a bit when I am not in the chaos.  But, what a miracle to notice that the chaos actually forced me to be present. 

I move through the day going from client meeting to client meeting and coaching sessions with a little instructional design and functionary work sandwiched in.  I could not do my job if I couldn't totally let every little thing that was going on in my work just fall away so I could lend my total attention to the person/people in front of me in that moment.

While it seems a little thing, for me the realization was huge.  I believe I've quoted spiritual teacher Carolyn Myss before, but please allow me to repeat.  Myss has said our biggest spiritual challenge is to be present.  At the end of many days, they just feel like a blur, but I now know that, moment by moment, I was actually almost totally present. 

What is odd about this is that I've been thinking the chaos was what was keeping me from being present, and now I discover it is just the opposite: in order to do what I need to do, I must transcend everything else and focus on what is before me. 

I feel like skipping, doing a happy dance, and screaming to the world, "I just discovered I can be present."

Now the question that I am sitting with is: "Was this the purpose for this chaos?"  Did I need this craziness to learn how to let everything but what I am doing in that moment just drop away? And, now that I know how to do it, can I do it without the chaos?  Those questions linger, but for now, I am celebrating this remarkable discovery.

A Season for Everything

When I headed out on my errands this afternoon, I found my usual brisk walk falling into a jog.  I felt great.  It had been so long.  I used to run seven miles a day seven days a week...for years.  I can remember saying I couldn't imagine a day without running. 

A man was running behind me one day, probably 25 years ago. I could hear him moving in on me.  Soon, he was pacing me. He said he was 72, and he'd been running since his 20s.  He said he had every pair of running shoes he'd ever worn out.  Later, I saw an article about him in the paper, and there he was with all those shoes.  After chatting a bit, he left me in his dust.  That, I thought, is how I want to be 72, running every day and leaving the young ones in my dust.

Then there was an injury, and I had to switch to swimming for a few months.  I swam every day, and I was liberated from the pool just two weeks before a half-marathon that I had entered.  The swimming had maintained my aerobic fitness, and I was able to complete the race. 

Later a protracted illness sidelined me.  Always, my goal was to get back to pounding the pavement.

A number of years ago, dance came into my life.  I danced almost every evening.  I had never been so joyful as when I danced.  Time stood still.  I'd dance three or four or seven hours straight, and it would feel like a blink. When my partner lifted me in the air, I felt like I was flying...maybe I was.  Once he said I giggled throughout the whole lift.  I don't remember that, but it doesn't surprise me. I could never imagine not dancing almost every day.

While I was dancing, I still ran several times a week.  Both fed something in me that sparked an aliveness.  During my first week living in Washington in late 2006, I was crossing the street, and I was hit by a car.  In the days after the accident the pain was intense, but with the help of an awesome chiropractor and a massage therapist, purported to be the best in Washington, gradually the pain subsided, as long as I was reasonably sedentary.  I could do some dancing, but not the Latin dances--the hip motion hurt too much. Eventually, I was able to do all dances, even if not with the panache I once had or with nearly the frequency or duration.  I was never able to run after that...until today.

I didn't want to stretch it today.  I ran a couple of blocks then walked a couple more. Then I'd run a bit more.  My venture back into running was a spontaneous one: I had bags so I was not attempting a personal best.  I was just feeling the rhythm to flow with my body's movement again.  What joy! I felt so alive.

As the evening passed, I pondered my foyer back into running.  Just yesterday I had talked with a man who did a half-marathon after being sidelined from an injury for an extended period.  Do you suppose...maybe...could the running in me still be wanting to come out?  Or was that for a different time in my life...?

One of my favorite biblical passages is from Ecclesiastes 3.  It starts "There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens..."  I had it read at my wedding.  I had it read at my father's funeral.  I found it appropriate for both.  In fact, I have found solace in it at every passage of my life.  Later in the chapter, it says, "I have seen the burden God has laid on the human race.  He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the human heart; yet no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end."

At any moment, we only see where we are now.  We cannot see the context of the world around us or how events, which have passed in our lives, relate to those that will occur later. We cannot fathom what God has done from beginning to end.  I cannot know why running made me feel so alive or why it had to stop so abruptly.  Or why dance was such a daily presence in my life, and it also has hobbled almost to a halt.  Each was a season, which may or may not have passed. 

Later the Ecclesiastes passage speaks of our work.  "I know that there is nothing better for people than to be happy and to do good while they live.  That each of them may eat and drink, and find satisfaction in all their toil—this is the gift of God."  Finding satisfaction in my toil.  Just as with running and dance, there have been many years during which the satisfaction from my work has brought me overwhelming joy--it was not even the slightest stretch to know that my toil was a "gift of God."

In recent years, not so much.  Yet I remind myself that there is a season for everything: running, dancing, joy in my work, what feels like drudgery in my work.  I do not see the bigger picture. I cannot know what God has done from beginning to end. Today, I am reminded that if I can run again, even if just for a couple blocks at a time, that I may find great joy in my work again.  I am reminded that on Monday, I will be coaching almost all day; coaching almost always brings me great joy.  One day of joy in my work may be like running two blocks.  I am not running a marathon, but I am able to gratefully experience joy in that moment.

There is a time for experiencing joy in a passing moment.  That time is now.

The Gift of Self

I had a delightful afternoon.  This was my last recuperation day, and a dear friend, whom I haven't visited for a while, came to visit and to encourage my healing.  We had a simple soup and bread...and chocolate...lunch. Then we talked and talked...about all manner of things past, present, and future.  We were relaxed, and until we felt rush hour encroaching at the end of the afternoon, we existed in a wonderful timeless space. Ah!

Unlike the typical rush to fit a quick visit in before the next appointment that seems to run much of my life, when she left, I felt happy and satisfied. What a rare and wonderful gift she had given me: a gift of herself.  I like to think I carve out special times for these suspended times of connection with friends, like half-day into the evening play dates with one friend a couple times during pool season. But, I felt so rich today that I think I will do this more often. 

It is such a precious thing to be able to give to another while receiving from that person...and having fun, too.  Somehow I think we did this more when we were younger, or maybe the world wasn't spinning quite so fast when we were younger.  I do recall the ends of afternoons of yard work, which inevitably ended with several neighbors convening on someone's porch for popcorn, chips, and libation.  There was a timelessness about those moments as well.  The thing about those times is that I remember them in much more detail than finely planned and orchestrated parties and dinners that involved the same people.

In the slow-motion of recovery, it is easy to commit to intentionally making more of these times. When the world begins spinning faster, I fear that time will slip by too quickly.  Yet, if I do not commit to doing so, I risk losing something way more important that whatever else I would have done when I was racing through life.  Who knows? Maybe making time for these special moments will slow time as well as quality of life.  I hope so.