When I was a girl, my mom and a neighbor would sit on the front porch with stew pots full of freshly picked green beans at their feet, snapping the ends off and breaking them for canning. They would sit and talk and snap for hours. I recall once stumbling onto five old women sitting in a circle of rocking chairs and doing something similar in the shade of a big oak tree when I was in North Carolina. I wandered over and spoke to them, recalling how it had brought back my childhood memories.
Today I traveled about 50 minutes out of town to make tamales with a friend. We both love to cook, and she has a bigger kitchen and better food prep equipment, so I go to her. We don't get to visit often but this tradition started several years ago. We both worked for NASA but different locations. We emailed or talked by phone about food discoveries. We felt like good friends even though we had never met face to face. One day she suggested that we take our days off and make tamales together. I had never been wild about tamales and certainly never made them, but I wanted to get to know her better. I knew she'd lived in Mexico for several years, so "Why not?" I wondered.
(Well, first off as an aside, the only reason I'd never liked tamales is that I had never had her tamales.)
In the beginning we did this about every 6-8 months, but she's been as busy as I have over the last year or so, and today we recollected that it had been almost two years. Since I drive, she does the food prep, then we sit and roll tamales: first spreading the maize/cornmeal paste onto the moist corn husks, then adding a spicy filling, and finally, rolling and tying the little packets of flavor. As soon as we have one pot full, the steaming begins; they cook for an hour while we roll more tamales. Eagerly, we wait for the first batch to finish cooking so that we can taste them. You know, just so we can make sure they are "OK."
We spent close to five hours on today's project. Like my mother and her friend and similar to the women in their rocking chairs under the oak tree, our conversations meandered all over. Recent employment. Next career steps. Relationship histories. How she found her house...or it found her. Her grandfather's refugee history and the contribution of four generations of his progeny had made after landing on the shores of the U.S. Scientists, teachers, business people and entrepreneurs, and even the seemingly inevitable immigrant restaurateurs. We agreed that probably his family was not that different from many refugee experiences.
Absent our devices, what amazes me each time is the level of intimacy that we develop just rolling tamales. I realize that part of what has been lost in potlucks is the intimacy of cooking together. Maybe that is only true of cooks, but I know for me there is something quite wonderful about preparing food over conversation. Today I am happy to report on wonderful connected time...and a bin of homemade tamales...to warm my heart and my soul this evening.
Showing posts with label connection. Show all posts
Showing posts with label connection. Show all posts
Monday, February 13, 2017
Sunday, October 5, 2014
Connecting Against All Odds
My retreat launched with three intentions. One was to create connection. As my journey drew to within three days of its ending, I regretted the failure to connect as I have in the past when I've traveled, feeling more like I was a target for a sale than someone to know and care about.
Over my several days in Santorini, I kept running into a couple that I would guess were of about my age. We would smile, they in Greek and I in English, but the magic is that we could understand the smiles perfectly. We were connecting.
When we all returned to our lodging last night, they offered to let me go up the stairs first. I motioned for them to go ahead, signaling that my chronically aggravating hip was slowing me down. She said, "knee." We limped up the stairs in file with her husband, pulling up the rear. We were connecting.
I found myself needing a piece of information about the Athens Metro, and none of the English speaking travel folks seemed to know the answer. Emboldened by one word--knee, I wondered if the couple was from Athens and might answer my question. I approached them after our file up the stairs. They didn't know the answer, but first thing this morning they were able to.
Two times we ran into each other in town and "chatted," each time me braving to use a little more Greek and she more English. We road to the port together, and they invited me to coffee while we waited for our ferry. Given the extent of our common language, the hour we had could have been painful. Instead, it was delightful.
For most of the hour, we each stretched ourselves, my Greek more than her English, which was much better. I learned about her profession: she had been a high school science teacher, as had her husband. I learned about her two sons. (Thank goodness for the Greek lessons that taught me about family members.) I shared some about myself. Rarely did we stop. Occasionally, her husband jumped in to bridge our gaps in vocabulary.
As we approached the ferry gate, where we would part, I was pointing to the hawkers of hotel rooms, and saying the Greek word for hotel, and she answered in English "rooms to let," as we both laughed. What a special moment of connection! And it had all begun with her single word--knee--and both of our willingness to be vulnerable.
As I think about it, what more is there to creating connection than looking for a bridge and allowing ourselves to be vulnerable. What a nice way to learn that lesson.
As an interesting post-script, Amalia found me on the ferry, and we exchanged Facebook addresses. Through the modern miracle of technology our connection can continue.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Over my several days in Santorini, I kept running into a couple that I would guess were of about my age. We would smile, they in Greek and I in English, but the magic is that we could understand the smiles perfectly. We were connecting.
When we all returned to our lodging last night, they offered to let me go up the stairs first. I motioned for them to go ahead, signaling that my chronically aggravating hip was slowing me down. She said, "knee." We limped up the stairs in file with her husband, pulling up the rear. We were connecting.
I found myself needing a piece of information about the Athens Metro, and none of the English speaking travel folks seemed to know the answer. Emboldened by one word--knee, I wondered if the couple was from Athens and might answer my question. I approached them after our file up the stairs. They didn't know the answer, but first thing this morning they were able to.
Two times we ran into each other in town and "chatted," each time me braving to use a little more Greek and she more English. We road to the port together, and they invited me to coffee while we waited for our ferry. Given the extent of our common language, the hour we had could have been painful. Instead, it was delightful.
For most of the hour, we each stretched ourselves, my Greek more than her English, which was much better. I learned about her profession: she had been a high school science teacher, as had her husband. I learned about her two sons. (Thank goodness for the Greek lessons that taught me about family members.) I shared some about myself. Rarely did we stop. Occasionally, her husband jumped in to bridge our gaps in vocabulary.
As we approached the ferry gate, where we would part, I was pointing to the hawkers of hotel rooms, and saying the Greek word for hotel, and she answered in English "rooms to let," as we both laughed. What a special moment of connection! And it had all begun with her single word--knee--and both of our willingness to be vulnerable.
As I think about it, what more is there to creating connection than looking for a bridge and allowing ourselves to be vulnerable. What a nice way to learn that lesson.
As an interesting post-script, Amalia found me on the ferry, and we exchanged Facebook addresses. Through the modern miracle of technology our connection can continue.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Sunday, June 29, 2014
Owning a Piece of the Whole Darned Thing
I took a few minutes by the side of the pool this afternoon to read, and it was lovely. Then came a time when I felt like I wanted to write a blog post. I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths. What should I write? "Look around" was my guidance.
As I opened my eyes, I found myself gazing at the balcony guard on an apartment of an adjacent tower. Mine is one of four almost identical towers, which were built in the 1960s. Originally, they were all rentals. One remains such. Over the years, one was sold off into condominiums (condos,) meaning that each person owns their apartment and pays for use of common spaces. The one I occupy is a cooperative (coop,) meaning that each of us owns a piece of the whole building.
Two years ago when I was shopping for a place to buy, I noticed that coops seemed to be better managed, which meant that maintenance was planned and budgeted for so that the collective investment was cared for and fees were pretty stable from year to year. Being able to plan my budget was important to me, so I focused on finding an apartment in a coop building. Since I've been here, I've noticed that when we all have a vested interest in the condition of the whole building, it seems to be better taken care of, too.
This afternoon when I looked at the condo balcony, it looked pretty shabby, even though it was the same age as the other towers. The rental was slightly better looking, but not much. However, the building where we all owned a piece of the whole darned thing definitely looked the most cared for.
I am not writing a real estate column, but what I was observing on our balconies seemed to be a good metaphor for the world. When we think about our responsibilities as only to those things we "own," that is where our energy and attention are focused. Is my house cared for? Do I have safe roads and bridges? Is my retirement planned for? Are my children getting a good education? Do I have healthcare? Is my neighborhood safe?
But when we feel ownership of all of our communities, schools, churches, and the world, then we begin caring and planning for the whole darned thing. Even though I have no children, I am concerned about the quality of education that young people in my community and across my country receive. Even though I take the Metro most places, I am concerned about the number of sub-par bridges and highways that might tumble at any time. I know that it is not just my retirement that I should be concerned about, but a whole generation of Americans who are living longer than anyone expected and a Social Security system that will run out of money when most of us are in our late 80s or early 90s, even though 25% of the Boomers are expected to live to 100.
Owning a piece of the whole darned thing isn't just true on a national level, but globally as well. We should all be concerned that we have clean air and water and about the impacts of climate change, because if we don't, we all suffer, like that shabby balcony that hangs over the pool that all of us use. Unleashing a whole generation of young people in the Middle East who are well educated but can't find jobs, is destined to unleash forces of discontent which will impact all of us. Yet, many Americans seem to notice little and care less that we are all on this planet Earth together, and, for good or ill, and whether or not we act like that we own a piece of the whole darned thing, we do.
We are all connected. We cannot stick our heads in the sand and pretend that if we are comfortable in our nice house, educating our children well, and tending our own healthcare and retirements that all will be well. Like it or not we are in this thing together. If all of us don't do well, none of us will in the long run.
As I opened my eyes, I found myself gazing at the balcony guard on an apartment of an adjacent tower. Mine is one of four almost identical towers, which were built in the 1960s. Originally, they were all rentals. One remains such. Over the years, one was sold off into condominiums (condos,) meaning that each person owns their apartment and pays for use of common spaces. The one I occupy is a cooperative (coop,) meaning that each of us owns a piece of the whole building.
Two years ago when I was shopping for a place to buy, I noticed that coops seemed to be better managed, which meant that maintenance was planned and budgeted for so that the collective investment was cared for and fees were pretty stable from year to year. Being able to plan my budget was important to me, so I focused on finding an apartment in a coop building. Since I've been here, I've noticed that when we all have a vested interest in the condition of the whole building, it seems to be better taken care of, too.
This afternoon when I looked at the condo balcony, it looked pretty shabby, even though it was the same age as the other towers. The rental was slightly better looking, but not much. However, the building where we all owned a piece of the whole darned thing definitely looked the most cared for.
I am not writing a real estate column, but what I was observing on our balconies seemed to be a good metaphor for the world. When we think about our responsibilities as only to those things we "own," that is where our energy and attention are focused. Is my house cared for? Do I have safe roads and bridges? Is my retirement planned for? Are my children getting a good education? Do I have healthcare? Is my neighborhood safe?
But when we feel ownership of all of our communities, schools, churches, and the world, then we begin caring and planning for the whole darned thing. Even though I have no children, I am concerned about the quality of education that young people in my community and across my country receive. Even though I take the Metro most places, I am concerned about the number of sub-par bridges and highways that might tumble at any time. I know that it is not just my retirement that I should be concerned about, but a whole generation of Americans who are living longer than anyone expected and a Social Security system that will run out of money when most of us are in our late 80s or early 90s, even though 25% of the Boomers are expected to live to 100.
Owning a piece of the whole darned thing isn't just true on a national level, but globally as well. We should all be concerned that we have clean air and water and about the impacts of climate change, because if we don't, we all suffer, like that shabby balcony that hangs over the pool that all of us use. Unleashing a whole generation of young people in the Middle East who are well educated but can't find jobs, is destined to unleash forces of discontent which will impact all of us. Yet, many Americans seem to notice little and care less that we are all on this planet Earth together, and, for good or ill, and whether or not we act like that we own a piece of the whole darned thing, we do.
We are all connected. We cannot stick our heads in the sand and pretend that if we are comfortable in our nice house, educating our children well, and tending our own healthcare and retirements that all will be well. Like it or not we are in this thing together. If all of us don't do well, none of us will in the long run.
Monday, June 23, 2014
Connection
Our world has been described as "connected." Certainly a wide range of devices allows us to communicate in real time all over the world. Yesterday I saw the movie "Chef," in which a tech savvy 10-year-old propels his father's food truck business into national prominence, using a wide variety of applications that I really wish I understood. Most surely, technology has redefined what it means to be connected.
Yet in the more conventional sense, I wonder if we aren't less connected. From the Latin, "connect" means to "bind together" or to "be united physically." However, on Google, seven out of ten definitions of connect come before "to form a relationship or feel an affinity" and "provide or have a link or relationship with (someone or something)." Earlier definitions have to do with electrons, connecting to utilities, and relating events.
On a bicycle outing near Georgetown last week, I was struck with the lack of connection that our devices have created. I saw two coeds walking together, each having conversations with others on their phones. They may each have had an electronic connection with someone else, but they had lost forever the opportunity to "bind together" with each other in that moment.
Several others had conversations on their digital devices and missed the beauty of the day, spring flowers blooming, the rush of the creek below, or probably even the cool air wafting up from the creek to refresh and slightly chill the hot summer day. Lost forever were those opportunities to connect with nature, some would even say God, in that moment.
For someone who hasn't had a significant other in her life for over 20 years, tears came to my eyes at the young bride who ignored her new husband while chattering about meaningless trivia during a phone conversation with someone else while he forlornly looked on. What a lost moment that will never occur again.
I have been spent time with people who kept texting others. That sure tells me how important our time together is to them.
During the eight years that I have lived in Washington and used the Metro daily, I have noticed a change in connection between strangers. When I first came, strangers actually talked and shared the ups and downs of their days with each other. I learned about things going on in the city and even got a lead for a potential job from someone I didn't know moments before. Synchronicities could actually happen. While I do still occasionally see people who get on the train together and continue to talk, more often I see people on their devices and in their own worlds. Even walking down the street, people have their ear buds in listening to music or podcasts or are talking or texting, oblivious to what is going on around them.
I've said before that I believe God is in that space that connects us one to another--what "binds us together," as it were. I cannot help but wonder if we aren't cutting ourselves off from God and each other when we choose electronics over true connection with a loved one, friend, or even a stranger, who is actually present with us.
A few months ago, I posed the possibility of living each day as if it were our last in a blog post. (11/28/13 and 3/15/14) I think that question might well be extended to our "connections." While I am certain that if this were my last day, there are some people that I'd want to "reach out and touch" digitally, I also know that if I'd been that young bride mindlessly talking about the weather and where she'd been shopping, instead of looking into the eyes of my her husband, I would have chosen differently.
One definition of an addiction is when we use an activity--drinking alcohol, taking drugs, overeating., sex, work...or using electronics--to keep us from connecting with those around us. While I love my devices as much as the next person, I think the use of our devices all boils down to the intention we bring to our connections. Is my intention to bind me together with God and people around me? Is my intention to use my device to connect or am I using it to keep me from connecting?
Last winter I introduced the Grocery Store Game (12/1/13) as a way to connect with people around us, and it does work. However, making connection is much harder when the people around us have their ears blocked off or their eyes and brains engaged in other activity. I am not quite sure how to start the connections again, but I am pretty certain that if I take out my ear buds and put my device in my pocket, I will be closer to having an answer. So I did that today. I can't say that I made any great connections, but I know that I am closer than when I am plugged in and tuned out to my immediate world.
Yet in the more conventional sense, I wonder if we aren't less connected. From the Latin, "connect" means to "bind together" or to "be united physically." However, on Google, seven out of ten definitions of connect come before "to form a relationship or feel an affinity" and "provide or have a link or relationship with (someone or something)." Earlier definitions have to do with electrons, connecting to utilities, and relating events.
On a bicycle outing near Georgetown last week, I was struck with the lack of connection that our devices have created. I saw two coeds walking together, each having conversations with others on their phones. They may each have had an electronic connection with someone else, but they had lost forever the opportunity to "bind together" with each other in that moment.
Several others had conversations on their digital devices and missed the beauty of the day, spring flowers blooming, the rush of the creek below, or probably even the cool air wafting up from the creek to refresh and slightly chill the hot summer day. Lost forever were those opportunities to connect with nature, some would even say God, in that moment.
For someone who hasn't had a significant other in her life for over 20 years, tears came to my eyes at the young bride who ignored her new husband while chattering about meaningless trivia during a phone conversation with someone else while he forlornly looked on. What a lost moment that will never occur again.
I have been spent time with people who kept texting others. That sure tells me how important our time together is to them.
During the eight years that I have lived in Washington and used the Metro daily, I have noticed a change in connection between strangers. When I first came, strangers actually talked and shared the ups and downs of their days with each other. I learned about things going on in the city and even got a lead for a potential job from someone I didn't know moments before. Synchronicities could actually happen. While I do still occasionally see people who get on the train together and continue to talk, more often I see people on their devices and in their own worlds. Even walking down the street, people have their ear buds in listening to music or podcasts or are talking or texting, oblivious to what is going on around them.
I've said before that I believe God is in that space that connects us one to another--what "binds us together," as it were. I cannot help but wonder if we aren't cutting ourselves off from God and each other when we choose electronics over true connection with a loved one, friend, or even a stranger, who is actually present with us.
A few months ago, I posed the possibility of living each day as if it were our last in a blog post. (11/28/13 and 3/15/14) I think that question might well be extended to our "connections." While I am certain that if this were my last day, there are some people that I'd want to "reach out and touch" digitally, I also know that if I'd been that young bride mindlessly talking about the weather and where she'd been shopping, instead of looking into the eyes of my her husband, I would have chosen differently.
One definition of an addiction is when we use an activity--drinking alcohol, taking drugs, overeating., sex, work...or using electronics--to keep us from connecting with those around us. While I love my devices as much as the next person, I think the use of our devices all boils down to the intention we bring to our connections. Is my intention to bind me together with God and people around me? Is my intention to use my device to connect or am I using it to keep me from connecting?
Last winter I introduced the Grocery Store Game (12/1/13) as a way to connect with people around us, and it does work. However, making connection is much harder when the people around us have their ears blocked off or their eyes and brains engaged in other activity. I am not quite sure how to start the connections again, but I am pretty certain that if I take out my ear buds and put my device in my pocket, I will be closer to having an answer. So I did that today. I can't say that I made any great connections, but I know that I am closer than when I am plugged in and tuned out to my immediate world.
Sunday, May 4, 2014
Ubuntu
I grew up in an insular part of the United States. People were considered "different" if they participated in another denomination of Protestantism that we did. Teenagers were banned from dating outside our church. No one could understand why I could possibly want to learn Spanish when we all spoke English.
Concern about the rest of the world seemed to end at the edge of my dinner plate, where my mother seemed to be quite concerned about starving children in China or India, who would apparently be even more malnourished, if I didn't eat my overcooked-to-slimy spinach. Actually, that isn't quite true. Our church was concerned about sending missionaries out into the world who would convert the rest of the world to be just exactly like us. No one ever question whether that would be a good or moral thing to do.
The ways of my home turf never quite "fit" me. Almost as soon as I was old enough to do so, I bolted to the coasts--first the west coast and later east--where, as I had been taught when I was younger, people were much more "liberal." "Liberal" meant anyone that didn't 100% agree with our inward-looking ideas. They were right. Some people, even a lot of people, had different ideas.
I have just learned about the word "ubuntu." "Ubuntu" is South African, and it is used to describe the desire God created in us to need each other. Archbishop Desmond Tutu describes it further as "my humanity is caught up and inextricably bound up in yours."
Ubuntu has come into my vocabulary today because this month marks the 10th anniversary of a partnership between my church in Washington and a school in South Africa. There are many kinds of sponsorship relationships in our world. This one is an interactive partnership, not just a matter of a writing-checks relationship. At least once a year, a relatively large group of people from our church go to the school to work. They get to know the people, and they listen to what is important to them. Occasionally, as happens this month, some people from the school come to spend time in our parish.
Our lives have become inextricably bound in each other. We care what happens there. We know our lives and our world is richer because of the relationships we have.
I am fortunate to have a number of people in my life that interacts regularly globally. We have all come to understand the concept of Ubuntu, even if we may not know the word. A work colleague of mine, who did international development work for many years, is concerned with the growing popularity of quinoa in the United States. Quinoa is a grain, which contains protein. It has been cheap source of high nutrition in many poor countries. As Americans have been discovering quinoa, the global price has increased significantly, making it hard for those people to afford. She understands that her actions at the grocery store in the Washington Metro area are impacting poor people all over the world. Her world is inextricably bound to theirs. She knows it, and her grocery cart reflects her conscientious.
Another friend of mine, a surgeon, goes for several months each year to teach surgery in many poor countries. For the 15 or so years that I've known him, he has been adamant that he not go to do surgery, but that he go to teach surgery. That way the impact of his time it these poor continues long after he has left a country. He understands how his world is inextricably bound to his students and their patients.
A retired judge friend of mine travels for many months at a time to countries that are new to democracy and the rule of law to work with new judges who are attempting to learn how to administer the rule of law. As he's bounced from country to country, I find myself more attuned to events in those countries. Last year, he was in the new South Sudan working. I am sure that my heart has ached more keenly during the current humanitarian crisis in that country because of the awareness he has brought me about the struggles there. My work is inextricably bound to theirs as it wouldn't have been before he brought new awareness to me.
Ubuntu was not a concept that most of my family could have understood. I know 2014 is a different time, but I am not sure that, if we went back to my old neighborhood in 2014, things would be much different. I am sad about that and for the richness those people miss by not being aware of how we are all inextricably bound to one another.
At the same time, I am grateful that I do have Ubuntu in my life and that I now have a word for it. I have known almost forever that we are connected, and I have frequently written about it in this blog. However, I am concerned that I have done so in a passive way--we recognize the connection. I sense that Ubuntu is more proactive. We are not only connected, but the decisions that we make in our daily lives are made with the awareness that even the smallest decisions that we make in our lives, like what grain to buy at the grocery store, have huge consequences in the world.
I've been environmentally aware of the impact of my decisions for years, and I am proud of the decisions that I've made, like moving into a high rise, getting rid of my car, and refusing to eat most meat that is raised in "food factories," all of which have significant consequences on the environment.
Yet, I know that there is more I can do. It is funny how such a simple thing as having a word for something has shifted my thinking. Although the description of Ubuntu that I read is for a noun, I am challenging myself (and others if they choose) to turn it into a verb. Ubuntu (the verb) could become the action we take because of the understanding of the noun. Ubuntu (the verb) becomes an intentional shifting of my consciousness so that I act in adherence with the understanding of Ubuntu (the noun.) I like that. I am about to head to the grocery store where I hope I will discover how I can Ubuntu (the verb) more actively and not only have an impact on the rest of the world, but to actually realize and choose what impact I will have.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Concern about the rest of the world seemed to end at the edge of my dinner plate, where my mother seemed to be quite concerned about starving children in China or India, who would apparently be even more malnourished, if I didn't eat my overcooked-to-slimy spinach. Actually, that isn't quite true. Our church was concerned about sending missionaries out into the world who would convert the rest of the world to be just exactly like us. No one ever question whether that would be a good or moral thing to do.
The ways of my home turf never quite "fit" me. Almost as soon as I was old enough to do so, I bolted to the coasts--first the west coast and later east--where, as I had been taught when I was younger, people were much more "liberal." "Liberal" meant anyone that didn't 100% agree with our inward-looking ideas. They were right. Some people, even a lot of people, had different ideas.
I have just learned about the word "ubuntu." "Ubuntu" is South African, and it is used to describe the desire God created in us to need each other. Archbishop Desmond Tutu describes it further as "my humanity is caught up and inextricably bound up in yours."
Ubuntu has come into my vocabulary today because this month marks the 10th anniversary of a partnership between my church in Washington and a school in South Africa. There are many kinds of sponsorship relationships in our world. This one is an interactive partnership, not just a matter of a writing-checks relationship. At least once a year, a relatively large group of people from our church go to the school to work. They get to know the people, and they listen to what is important to them. Occasionally, as happens this month, some people from the school come to spend time in our parish.
Our lives have become inextricably bound in each other. We care what happens there. We know our lives and our world is richer because of the relationships we have.
I am fortunate to have a number of people in my life that interacts regularly globally. We have all come to understand the concept of Ubuntu, even if we may not know the word. A work colleague of mine, who did international development work for many years, is concerned with the growing popularity of quinoa in the United States. Quinoa is a grain, which contains protein. It has been cheap source of high nutrition in many poor countries. As Americans have been discovering quinoa, the global price has increased significantly, making it hard for those people to afford. She understands that her actions at the grocery store in the Washington Metro area are impacting poor people all over the world. Her world is inextricably bound to theirs. She knows it, and her grocery cart reflects her conscientious.
Another friend of mine, a surgeon, goes for several months each year to teach surgery in many poor countries. For the 15 or so years that I've known him, he has been adamant that he not go to do surgery, but that he go to teach surgery. That way the impact of his time it these poor continues long after he has left a country. He understands how his world is inextricably bound to his students and their patients.
A retired judge friend of mine travels for many months at a time to countries that are new to democracy and the rule of law to work with new judges who are attempting to learn how to administer the rule of law. As he's bounced from country to country, I find myself more attuned to events in those countries. Last year, he was in the new South Sudan working. I am sure that my heart has ached more keenly during the current humanitarian crisis in that country because of the awareness he has brought me about the struggles there. My work is inextricably bound to theirs as it wouldn't have been before he brought new awareness to me.
Ubuntu was not a concept that most of my family could have understood. I know 2014 is a different time, but I am not sure that, if we went back to my old neighborhood in 2014, things would be much different. I am sad about that and for the richness those people miss by not being aware of how we are all inextricably bound to one another.
At the same time, I am grateful that I do have Ubuntu in my life and that I now have a word for it. I have known almost forever that we are connected, and I have frequently written about it in this blog. However, I am concerned that I have done so in a passive way--we recognize the connection. I sense that Ubuntu is more proactive. We are not only connected, but the decisions that we make in our daily lives are made with the awareness that even the smallest decisions that we make in our lives, like what grain to buy at the grocery store, have huge consequences in the world.
I've been environmentally aware of the impact of my decisions for years, and I am proud of the decisions that I've made, like moving into a high rise, getting rid of my car, and refusing to eat most meat that is raised in "food factories," all of which have significant consequences on the environment.
Yet, I know that there is more I can do. It is funny how such a simple thing as having a word for something has shifted my thinking. Although the description of Ubuntu that I read is for a noun, I am challenging myself (and others if they choose) to turn it into a verb. Ubuntu (the verb) could become the action we take because of the understanding of the noun. Ubuntu (the verb) becomes an intentional shifting of my consciousness so that I act in adherence with the understanding of Ubuntu (the noun.) I like that. I am about to head to the grocery store where I hope I will discover how I can Ubuntu (the verb) more actively and not only have an impact on the rest of the world, but to actually realize and choose what impact I will have.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Friday, April 11, 2014
The Amazing Human Spirit
Recently, I wrote a post about "My Amazing Machine," a look at how remarkable our human bodies are. (3/30/14) Almost as quickly as I published that post, I had the thought, "What about your amazing spirit?" Hmm. I wrote a note that has been on my desk for two weeks: My Amazing Spirit. Well, what about it?
First of all, my spirit isn't the only one that is amazing. One of the remarkable things about us as human beings is the human spirit. I've written a lot about intention, listening to our hearts, and aspiring to do what we know is right in our hearts. When we have the spark of something in us, we seem to be driven to do it. A few months ago, I wrote about Olympic gold medallist Gaby Douglas, who was vaulting across her front yard as a pre-schooler. I recall seeing a movie about jazz singer Billie Holiday; she was singing with jazz records as a tween. If we listen, the "code" is within us, as much as our DNA.
Writing has been in me since I could hold a pencil. I have a knot on the side of my middle finger that I can remember forming probably by junior high school. I can't imagine what it would look like if computers hadn't come along 25 years ago. Well, maybe I could. My grandmother had the writer gene and had a knot on her middle finger that got gnarly as she grew older, suggesting there was something interesting to learn from this 92-year-old woman.
Our ability to experience wonder sets the human spirit apart among species. Whether when I walked on errands this afternoon amidst all the beautiful flowering trees, perfuming the air with their fragrance, watched the first sprout of a tulip breaking through the soil this week, or upon waking this morning noticed that bright spring green begin to show on budding trees behind my apartment, our ability the gasp in wonder is emblematic of the human spirit.
We also have an incredible capacity to feel connection. Sometimes I feel connected to a friend half a world away, remembering times spent together. Other times, I feel connected to those I don't even know, like this evening when I watched an interview with the United Nations High Commissioner on Refugees, as he shared the plight of those impacted by war in several African locations. On truly remarkable days, I feel connected to all that is--God, nature, humanity: I can feel a ribbon of love that moves through all of us.
Closely related to connection is our ability to experience community. Community may be experienced in our families, churches or synagogues, schools, or neighbourhoods. Even our workplaces can allow us to feel the connection of common purpose. I've worked in newspapers, hospitals, and now a space agency, and in each there was the experience of pulling together to do something important.
Over the last several weeks, as the collegiate basketball season wrapped up in the United States, we had the opportunity to observe that sense of community that is team many times.
I am sure there are many ways in which our spirits are amazing, but I am often astounded at the resilience of the human spirit. I literally lost everything and somehow found the will to bounce back. I have had a couple of significant health challenges, but through will, and with the help of capable medical professionals, I fought my way back.
This evening I watched "The Book Thief," a remarkable story of a young woman in Nazi Germany, who lost two families--her biological one and then the one into which she'd been adopted, her closest friend, and her home. Literally out of the ashes she found her way to a fulfilling life.
I have reflected many times about former U. S. President Jimmy Carter, who suffered the worst defeat of any sitting president and resurrected himself to be author, humanitarian, Nobel Prize winner, and human rights advocate. The past 40 years of remarkable world service have been the result of his resilience in the face of that defeat.
So my "still small voice" within me that whispered, "What about your amazing spirit?" was right. The human spirit is pretty remarkable. Now that I think of it, I'll bet part of what is written on the back side of our hearts is how to be human, and, if we listen closely, how to fully experiencing the wonder of the human spirit.
First of all, my spirit isn't the only one that is amazing. One of the remarkable things about us as human beings is the human spirit. I've written a lot about intention, listening to our hearts, and aspiring to do what we know is right in our hearts. When we have the spark of something in us, we seem to be driven to do it. A few months ago, I wrote about Olympic gold medallist Gaby Douglas, who was vaulting across her front yard as a pre-schooler. I recall seeing a movie about jazz singer Billie Holiday; she was singing with jazz records as a tween. If we listen, the "code" is within us, as much as our DNA.
Writing has been in me since I could hold a pencil. I have a knot on the side of my middle finger that I can remember forming probably by junior high school. I can't imagine what it would look like if computers hadn't come along 25 years ago. Well, maybe I could. My grandmother had the writer gene and had a knot on her middle finger that got gnarly as she grew older, suggesting there was something interesting to learn from this 92-year-old woman.
Our ability to experience wonder sets the human spirit apart among species. Whether when I walked on errands this afternoon amidst all the beautiful flowering trees, perfuming the air with their fragrance, watched the first sprout of a tulip breaking through the soil this week, or upon waking this morning noticed that bright spring green begin to show on budding trees behind my apartment, our ability the gasp in wonder is emblematic of the human spirit.
We also have an incredible capacity to feel connection. Sometimes I feel connected to a friend half a world away, remembering times spent together. Other times, I feel connected to those I don't even know, like this evening when I watched an interview with the United Nations High Commissioner on Refugees, as he shared the plight of those impacted by war in several African locations. On truly remarkable days, I feel connected to all that is--God, nature, humanity: I can feel a ribbon of love that moves through all of us.
Closely related to connection is our ability to experience community. Community may be experienced in our families, churches or synagogues, schools, or neighbourhoods. Even our workplaces can allow us to feel the connection of common purpose. I've worked in newspapers, hospitals, and now a space agency, and in each there was the experience of pulling together to do something important.
Over the last several weeks, as the collegiate basketball season wrapped up in the United States, we had the opportunity to observe that sense of community that is team many times.
I am sure there are many ways in which our spirits are amazing, but I am often astounded at the resilience of the human spirit. I literally lost everything and somehow found the will to bounce back. I have had a couple of significant health challenges, but through will, and with the help of capable medical professionals, I fought my way back.
This evening I watched "The Book Thief," a remarkable story of a young woman in Nazi Germany, who lost two families--her biological one and then the one into which she'd been adopted, her closest friend, and her home. Literally out of the ashes she found her way to a fulfilling life.
I have reflected many times about former U. S. President Jimmy Carter, who suffered the worst defeat of any sitting president and resurrected himself to be author, humanitarian, Nobel Prize winner, and human rights advocate. The past 40 years of remarkable world service have been the result of his resilience in the face of that defeat.
So my "still small voice" within me that whispered, "What about your amazing spirit?" was right. The human spirit is pretty remarkable. Now that I think of it, I'll bet part of what is written on the back side of our hearts is how to be human, and, if we listen closely, how to fully experiencing the wonder of the human spirit.
Friday, April 4, 2014
A Walk On The Beach
After our second long day of design work, several of our team raced for planes. I wasn't able to make connections for tonight, so I decided to walk on the beach behind my hotel that had been seducing me since I arrived three days ago.
Heaven! If there is anything that will more instantly unwind me after several days of hard work than a walk on the beach, I certainly don't know what it is. This was a nearly perfect day for beach-walking: sunny, comfortably warm without being hot, and a slight breeze. As I hit the beach, a large tug boat with a cruise boat in tow pulled her far enough that she was able to carry her passengers on under her own power. Soon I spotted the tug returning without her precious cargo.
At one point, I stood and looked at the ocean on wonder. There was a timelessness about my gaze. Before me flashed all the other beaches I've walked on and other oceans, seas, and, as a girl, even the Great Lake Michigan. The children building sand castles, boogie boarders riding the small waves, and even the two white-haired women enjoying body surfing could have been on any of them.
What is it about any and all beaches that so mesmerizes me? There certainly is a magic of the ebbing and flowing of the tides, which so mysteriously, yet so predictably that there are tide tables, come and go twice a day. OK. I understand about the gravitational pull of the moon, but even how something on the moon changes the flow of the water on Mother Earth is a bit of a wonderment to me.
Yet as I continued my long walk, I thought what was the most wonderful and mysterious thing about beach-walking to me is that as I walked along the western edge of the Atlantic Ocean at that very moment on the other side of these waters there were black, brown, and white people, speaking many languages also walking o beaches. There were undoubtedly children building sand castles and old women body surfing just as those around me. Somewhere on the other side of these waters there were young lovers and old couples holding hands and lingering for a kiss just as those around me.
I think that is a wonder: that as different as our looks, clothes, and tongues, we are probably more alike than different, and we are connected by this massive and timeless body of water.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Heaven! If there is anything that will more instantly unwind me after several days of hard work than a walk on the beach, I certainly don't know what it is. This was a nearly perfect day for beach-walking: sunny, comfortably warm without being hot, and a slight breeze. As I hit the beach, a large tug boat with a cruise boat in tow pulled her far enough that she was able to carry her passengers on under her own power. Soon I spotted the tug returning without her precious cargo.
At one point, I stood and looked at the ocean on wonder. There was a timelessness about my gaze. Before me flashed all the other beaches I've walked on and other oceans, seas, and, as a girl, even the Great Lake Michigan. The children building sand castles, boogie boarders riding the small waves, and even the two white-haired women enjoying body surfing could have been on any of them.
What is it about any and all beaches that so mesmerizes me? There certainly is a magic of the ebbing and flowing of the tides, which so mysteriously, yet so predictably that there are tide tables, come and go twice a day. OK. I understand about the gravitational pull of the moon, but even how something on the moon changes the flow of the water on Mother Earth is a bit of a wonderment to me.
Yet as I continued my long walk, I thought what was the most wonderful and mysterious thing about beach-walking to me is that as I walked along the western edge of the Atlantic Ocean at that very moment on the other side of these waters there were black, brown, and white people, speaking many languages also walking o beaches. There were undoubtedly children building sand castles and old women body surfing just as those around me. Somewhere on the other side of these waters there were young lovers and old couples holding hands and lingering for a kiss just as those around me.
I think that is a wonder: that as different as our looks, clothes, and tongues, we are probably more alike than different, and we are connected by this massive and timeless body of water.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Thursday, December 12, 2013
Smile!
On my way out of the building after work this evening, I caught a glimpse of someone from the corner of my eye, and I literally turned in place to go back and speak to him. This man has the best smile in the building. I know his job is demanding, but I have never once seen him when he wasn't
smiling and pleasant. He is one of those people who can brighten my day, and those of everyone he sees, without saying a word.
Since I hadn't talked with him in a while, I decided that I would make a conscious connection. As I turned to walk into the galley where he stood by a vending machine, I started to say, "Your smile brightens my day!" just about the time he was saying something similar to me. We laughed and talked briefly about how a good smile could just brighten the day.
Then he said the name of a work colleague, a man with developmental delays, who has a great smile. He does, and I think the man knows almost all of our 1,000 people. He always has a pleasant smile and a funny word. What he may lack in other abilities, he more than gives back with his smile and humor.
The day had evolved differently than I had expected. A very long meeting that I had expected to be unpleasant played out with humor, and in a group that had been working together for months, we actually got to know each other a bit. Our work was still onerous, but much more enjoyable than other days during which humor had been absent.
While my day was enriched by people who smiled, laughed, and connected pleasantly, occasionally someone walks through my life who brings a negative shadow. They always have an unpleasant word to say, and when I see them coming, I often try to avoid them. No matter how I try to be pleasant, they resist. While the smilers make my day, those who are dour can kill it. The way I see it, we always have a choice. If we have the intention of making the world better, then we bring the smile and the laughter. Why not? It is way more fun than leaving a wake of negativity around us.
This round of the Grocery Store Game (12/1/13) continues to surprise me as I make connections in ways that surprise me. Today's connections were with people with whom I've been interacting, but today was characterized by humor and interest that usually isn't part of the interaction. What seems to be a consistent part of The Grocery Store Game is that when I reach out to connect with others to honor them, each person brightens my day. Give a little with the expectation of giving and surprise! I get a lot back.
smiling and pleasant. He is one of those people who can brighten my day, and those of everyone he sees, without saying a word.
Since I hadn't talked with him in a while, I decided that I would make a conscious connection. As I turned to walk into the galley where he stood by a vending machine, I started to say, "Your smile brightens my day!" just about the time he was saying something similar to me. We laughed and talked briefly about how a good smile could just brighten the day.
Then he said the name of a work colleague, a man with developmental delays, who has a great smile. He does, and I think the man knows almost all of our 1,000 people. He always has a pleasant smile and a funny word. What he may lack in other abilities, he more than gives back with his smile and humor.
The day had evolved differently than I had expected. A very long meeting that I had expected to be unpleasant played out with humor, and in a group that had been working together for months, we actually got to know each other a bit. Our work was still onerous, but much more enjoyable than other days during which humor had been absent.
While my day was enriched by people who smiled, laughed, and connected pleasantly, occasionally someone walks through my life who brings a negative shadow. They always have an unpleasant word to say, and when I see them coming, I often try to avoid them. No matter how I try to be pleasant, they resist. While the smilers make my day, those who are dour can kill it. The way I see it, we always have a choice. If we have the intention of making the world better, then we bring the smile and the laughter. Why not? It is way more fun than leaving a wake of negativity around us.
This round of the Grocery Store Game (12/1/13) continues to surprise me as I make connections in ways that surprise me. Today's connections were with people with whom I've been interacting, but today was characterized by humor and interest that usually isn't part of the interaction. What seems to be a consistent part of The Grocery Store Game is that when I reach out to connect with others to honor them, each person brightens my day. Give a little with the expectation of giving and surprise! I get a lot back.
Sunday, December 1, 2013
Could We Change the World in 30 Days?
December is officially upon us with the long dark days it brings on either side of the Winter Solstice. I've been thinking: what better time of the year to bring more light into our days than December? And, even better, what if we could change the world in the 30 days that remain? I just think it might be possible. Here's what I have in mind.
A little over a month ago, I wrote about The Grocery Store Game (The Grocery Store Game, 10/25/13) and then on Friday I shared conversations about the need of each of us to be treated with human dignity (Being the Change, 11/29/13.) I started thinking about what if everyone who reads this blog commits to playing The Grocery Store Game for the month of December. For those who didn't read the 10/25 post, the short version is that we use every interaction with others as an opportunity to create connection. The game gets its name from its origins with grocery store checkers and clerks. Look them in the eye, see their human dignity, and create a connection. You can do this with people on the phone, as well, just allow yourself to be present to the human being on the other end of the line.
Opportunities are literally everywhere. I had a brief conversation with a homeless man today, in which I connected. However, I failed to connect with a man who looked through me at church as he shook my hand while looking elsewhere. I was successful with the cashier at Bed, Bath, and Beyond. I can see treating co-workers, spouses, and children with human dignity. It doesn't cost anything. It really takes negligibly more time. All it takes is the intention to connect and respect our fellow human beings.
Of course, it would be great if we could spend the month of December connecting with the human dignity in everyone we interact with, but if that is a stretch, if we would just agree to connect with at least three people each day, what a difference we could make. Even better is to enlist others in the game. I suspect that there will be a multiplier effect during this month when many are so busy because we will be reversing a trend of non-connection.
When I am playing the game, I find it helpful at the end of each day to keep track of who I really connected with. (You don't need names. The produce clerk at Safeway will do.) Think of it as "keeping score," although everyone wins in this game. I also find that when I have "puny" days that I bring even more intention to the next day. In the next 30 days, if each reader connected with just three people, that would be 90 connections in the month per person. Consider 10-11 or 25 connections. You can do the math.
It is easy to think that we really can't do much to change the state of the world, but when I consider how many thousands of connections that this blog's readers can create in just one month, I am truly hopeful. Even better is that it takes 30 days of doing something consistently to form a habit. If each of you actually does this for the month of December, we could form a habit of interacting with others from human dignity.
I invite you play and share the game with friends...and share your stories about connection in comments. What a wonderful way to close 2013...and start a new way of being for 2014! Thanks for doing what you can do to change the world in 30 days.
A little over a month ago, I wrote about The Grocery Store Game (The Grocery Store Game, 10/25/13) and then on Friday I shared conversations about the need of each of us to be treated with human dignity (Being the Change, 11/29/13.) I started thinking about what if everyone who reads this blog commits to playing The Grocery Store Game for the month of December. For those who didn't read the 10/25 post, the short version is that we use every interaction with others as an opportunity to create connection. The game gets its name from its origins with grocery store checkers and clerks. Look them in the eye, see their human dignity, and create a connection. You can do this with people on the phone, as well, just allow yourself to be present to the human being on the other end of the line.
Opportunities are literally everywhere. I had a brief conversation with a homeless man today, in which I connected. However, I failed to connect with a man who looked through me at church as he shook my hand while looking elsewhere. I was successful with the cashier at Bed, Bath, and Beyond. I can see treating co-workers, spouses, and children with human dignity. It doesn't cost anything. It really takes negligibly more time. All it takes is the intention to connect and respect our fellow human beings.
Of course, it would be great if we could spend the month of December connecting with the human dignity in everyone we interact with, but if that is a stretch, if we would just agree to connect with at least three people each day, what a difference we could make. Even better is to enlist others in the game. I suspect that there will be a multiplier effect during this month when many are so busy because we will be reversing a trend of non-connection.
When I am playing the game, I find it helpful at the end of each day to keep track of who I really connected with. (You don't need names. The produce clerk at Safeway will do.) Think of it as "keeping score," although everyone wins in this game. I also find that when I have "puny" days that I bring even more intention to the next day. In the next 30 days, if each reader connected with just three people, that would be 90 connections in the month per person. Consider 10-11 or 25 connections. You can do the math.
It is easy to think that we really can't do much to change the state of the world, but when I consider how many thousands of connections that this blog's readers can create in just one month, I am truly hopeful. Even better is that it takes 30 days of doing something consistently to form a habit. If each of you actually does this for the month of December, we could form a habit of interacting with others from human dignity.
I invite you play and share the game with friends...and share your stories about connection in comments. What a wonderful way to close 2013...and start a new way of being for 2014! Thanks for doing what you can do to change the world in 30 days.
Friday, November 1, 2013
Going toward or running away?
The most primitive part of our brains--the part that formed millions of years before our rational brains--is hardwired to respond to fear. When humans existed in the wilds, and life was a day-to-day struggle for survival, what is called the "reptilian brain" developed two basic instantaneous responses to threat: "fight" or "flight." Interestingly, this primitive response will literally short-circuit the rational part of the brain when threat is perceived, stopping it from functioning.
What does all this have to do with the spiritual journey? Almost everything, actually. Because the reptilian brain is programmed for survival, it will try to keep us in survival mode. It's purpose is to keep us alive. By definition, living in constant fear is constraining and limiting.
The spiritual life is expansive. It is one of learning, growth, and acceptance. We are sent into this world with service to perform, spiritual growth lessons to learn, and gifts and talents to develop. If we do any of these things well, we will regularly look fear in the face. If we listen to what we know in our hearts, though, what compels us is the urge to thrive.
It seems to me that there must almost always be the grappling of these two forces within us: the part of us that wants only for us to survive wrestling with the part of us that wants to grow, perform our service, use our talents...and thrive. Contraction versus expansion.
Not so many years ago, I can recall having made the statement that I'd never made a decision which was based on money considerations. I would have said that I always listen to my heart and just know that if I do so, everything will work out. Except when it didn't. About 12 years ago, I lost everything...really. But for friends that allowed me to use spare bedrooms, I would have been in the streets.
Circumstances from my early childhood had left me fiercely independent from a very early age. I had gone from being a successful global consultant, author and professional speaker with a lovely home and office overlooking a lake to having no assets, being homeless and not knowing how I would pay for food. How could that have happened to me? I'd had a savings account since I was an infant and a well-funded retirement since my early thirties. Then I had nothing. I was terrified. I plugged into my reptilian brain, and I haven't fully been able to shake it.
I struggle with that. I want to thrive. I want to do the work I came into the world to do. I want to learn and grow and to use my gifts. Quite thankfully for this blog, I am getting my writer's groove back. I really believe that we are to listen to our hearts and do what makes them sing. The spiritual journey is about following that to which we are drawn, rather than running from what we fear.
After I'd completed my end-of-the-day ritual of affirmations, gratitude journal, and prayer last night, and had turned out the lights, I suddenly knew that something was wrong in what I'd posted yesterday. Throwing back the covers and turning the light back on, I padded out to my desk and rebooted my computer in my otherwise dark apartment. I felt it urgent to correct before I slept. Really, I think I needed to acknowledge my truth.
Yesterday I compared the human connection to Love source to that of the aspen grove which appears to be hundreds or thousands of trees, but shares a common root structure and is connect at the most fundamental level. We look like individual people, but in truth, we are connected through a common source: Love. What I had said is that when we are connected to source that we couldn't be hurt. I realized that was my reptilian brain talking about avoiding hurt. My change, although apparently only a minor one, was to say that when we are connected through Love, we are safe and peaceful. The shift is from running away from something--hurt--to moving toward something we want--Love, peace, and safety. Such a small thing...and everything.
On the spiritual journey, when I can be awake enough to remember (translate that I have disengaged my reptilian brain,) my real lesson is to follow Love. What I wan to move toward. That's all...and everything.
What does all this have to do with the spiritual journey? Almost everything, actually. Because the reptilian brain is programmed for survival, it will try to keep us in survival mode. It's purpose is to keep us alive. By definition, living in constant fear is constraining and limiting.
The spiritual life is expansive. It is one of learning, growth, and acceptance. We are sent into this world with service to perform, spiritual growth lessons to learn, and gifts and talents to develop. If we do any of these things well, we will regularly look fear in the face. If we listen to what we know in our hearts, though, what compels us is the urge to thrive.
It seems to me that there must almost always be the grappling of these two forces within us: the part of us that wants only for us to survive wrestling with the part of us that wants to grow, perform our service, use our talents...and thrive. Contraction versus expansion.
Not so many years ago, I can recall having made the statement that I'd never made a decision which was based on money considerations. I would have said that I always listen to my heart and just know that if I do so, everything will work out. Except when it didn't. About 12 years ago, I lost everything...really. But for friends that allowed me to use spare bedrooms, I would have been in the streets.
Circumstances from my early childhood had left me fiercely independent from a very early age. I had gone from being a successful global consultant, author and professional speaker with a lovely home and office overlooking a lake to having no assets, being homeless and not knowing how I would pay for food. How could that have happened to me? I'd had a savings account since I was an infant and a well-funded retirement since my early thirties. Then I had nothing. I was terrified. I plugged into my reptilian brain, and I haven't fully been able to shake it.
I struggle with that. I want to thrive. I want to do the work I came into the world to do. I want to learn and grow and to use my gifts. Quite thankfully for this blog, I am getting my writer's groove back. I really believe that we are to listen to our hearts and do what makes them sing. The spiritual journey is about following that to which we are drawn, rather than running from what we fear.
After I'd completed my end-of-the-day ritual of affirmations, gratitude journal, and prayer last night, and had turned out the lights, I suddenly knew that something was wrong in what I'd posted yesterday. Throwing back the covers and turning the light back on, I padded out to my desk and rebooted my computer in my otherwise dark apartment. I felt it urgent to correct before I slept. Really, I think I needed to acknowledge my truth.
Yesterday I compared the human connection to Love source to that of the aspen grove which appears to be hundreds or thousands of trees, but shares a common root structure and is connect at the most fundamental level. We look like individual people, but in truth, we are connected through a common source: Love. What I had said is that when we are connected to source that we couldn't be hurt. I realized that was my reptilian brain talking about avoiding hurt. My change, although apparently only a minor one, was to say that when we are connected through Love, we are safe and peaceful. The shift is from running away from something--hurt--to moving toward something we want--Love, peace, and safety. Such a small thing...and everything.
On the spiritual journey, when I can be awake enough to remember (translate that I have disengaged my reptilian brain,) my real lesson is to follow Love. What I wan to move toward. That's all...and everything.
Thursday, October 31, 2013
Do I Exist?
Somewhere I heard the reason that we have primary relationships is to prove that we exist. I am not sure I would go so far as to say that is why we have those relationships, but, at least in my marriage, that was an important function. He encouraged, celebrated, commiserated, and a lot of other things with me, all of which had the function of "proving my existence."
As a woman of a certain age who has been single for nearly 20 years, I have had moments, especially when I was both living and working alone, when I wondered if it were true. Did I exist or was I just a figment of my imagination? Of course, physicists would tell us from a physical perspective nothing really exists, but those in the spiritual world would say the only parts that matter are our souls and spirits. Clearly, they exist, and yet, we can't prove it.
I've mentioned the set of eight affirmations that I am working on. I repeat them on my way to work, like saying the rosary. Over and over again, I repeat them. My first two are:
I was having a conversation earlier this week with a colleague who has a new painting in her office. The painting is of an aspen grove. I've been fascinated with aspen groves ever since learning that, although they may look like a lot of individual trees, in fact that are a single tree. As the common root system spreads out, it sends up shoots that look like independent trees, but they are in fact a unified whole.
I am beginning to "get" that this is how it is with Love. Love is to humankind as the common root structure is to the grove of aspen. Love gives us life. Love provides us with sustenance. Love connects all of us. Love makes us One. And, when we are connected to the Ultimate Love Source, we are safe and peaceful. All we need to remember is that we are safe, and then we will have peace.
That is why I think I don't exist...and it is a good thing. And, maybe that is what a primary relationship is about and how it proves that we exist: it gives us a reflection into our whole that we couldn't see otherwise. When it works right, it is a daily reminder and reflection that we are Love...we are all Love.
As a woman of a certain age who has been single for nearly 20 years, I have had moments, especially when I was both living and working alone, when I wondered if it were true. Did I exist or was I just a figment of my imagination? Of course, physicists would tell us from a physical perspective nothing really exists, but those in the spiritual world would say the only parts that matter are our souls and spirits. Clearly, they exist, and yet, we can't prove it.
I've mentioned the set of eight affirmations that I am working on. I repeat them on my way to work, like saying the rosary. Over and over again, I repeat them. My first two are:
- I am Love.
- The Truth is: we are all Love.
I was having a conversation earlier this week with a colleague who has a new painting in her office. The painting is of an aspen grove. I've been fascinated with aspen groves ever since learning that, although they may look like a lot of individual trees, in fact that are a single tree. As the common root system spreads out, it sends up shoots that look like independent trees, but they are in fact a unified whole.
I am beginning to "get" that this is how it is with Love. Love is to humankind as the common root structure is to the grove of aspen. Love gives us life. Love provides us with sustenance. Love connects all of us. Love makes us One. And, when we are connected to the Ultimate Love Source, we are safe and peaceful. All we need to remember is that we are safe, and then we will have peace.
That is why I think I don't exist...and it is a good thing. And, maybe that is what a primary relationship is about and how it proves that we exist: it gives us a reflection into our whole that we couldn't see otherwise. When it works right, it is a daily reminder and reflection that we are Love...we are all Love.
Sunday, October 27, 2013
What goes around comes around
In my blog on gratitude (9/24/13), I described keeping a daily record of gifts I received and those I'd given. No matter how hard I tried to keep up with what I received, I just couldn't. A funny thing has happened over the last few days since I have been playing The Grocery Store Game (10/25/13) again.
What has been occurring parallels what happens with the gratitude lists. The more I try to connect with others, heart to heart, the more people do and say kind things to me.
I have been pondering this and what it means. I really think that what we put out does come back to us, but I am pretty confident that it cannot be put out for the purpose of bringing things to us. A giving heart is pure in motivation. If something comes back to me, I am grateful, but I shouldn't give for the purpose of getting.
So I believe it is with connecting, heart to heart, with people. If something comes back to me, that is nice, but if I connect with the purpose of getting something in return, I have put up a wall between my heart and that of the person with whom I wish to connect.
There is an old expression: "what goes around comes around." It suggests that how we live in the world is how we will experience the world around us. We really plant the seeds for what we want in our own hearts, reflected in our actions. When we give gifts or connection, that is what we attract to ourselves. If it is done for selfish reasons--hoping to get something back, selfishness is what we will experience coming back. If we do from pureness of heart, that too is what we will receive.
What has been occurring parallels what happens with the gratitude lists. The more I try to connect with others, heart to heart, the more people do and say kind things to me.
I have been pondering this and what it means. I really think that what we put out does come back to us, but I am pretty confident that it cannot be put out for the purpose of bringing things to us. A giving heart is pure in motivation. If something comes back to me, I am grateful, but I shouldn't give for the purpose of getting.
So I believe it is with connecting, heart to heart, with people. If something comes back to me, that is nice, but if I connect with the purpose of getting something in return, I have put up a wall between my heart and that of the person with whom I wish to connect.
There is an old expression: "what goes around comes around." It suggests that how we live in the world is how we will experience the world around us. We really plant the seeds for what we want in our own hearts, reflected in our actions. When we give gifts or connection, that is what we attract to ourselves. If it is done for selfish reasons--hoping to get something back, selfishness is what we will experience coming back. If we do from pureness of heart, that too is what we will receive.
Friday, October 25, 2013
The Grocery Store Game
Back in the day when I was conducting Intentional Living Intensives with clients, I often encouraged them to play a game that I used to play. It is a most enlightening (literally) game. Last night after writing in this blog about connecting, heart to heart, with people one at a time, I was reminded of the game that I haven't played for years. I decided to try it again.
Here's how to play. The purpose of the game it to make a heart connection with people that are often "invisible" in our lives. They are grocery checkers, waiters, sales clerks, taxi drivers, baristas, the receptionist in a doctor's office, and anyone else with whom we transact business, often so closely that the only thing that separates us is the thickness of a dollar bill or credit card receipt, but most of the time we don't really see them.
In order to make a connection, it is essential that the "player" be focused only on the object of our heart connection. Slowing down is essential. Eye contact helps. Most of them are not accustomed to being noticed, so it is important to just allow them time to be noticed. The words that I exchange are said in a way that says I really mean them and not the typical, "Have a good day," said to lots of people without really thinking about them. "You've been most helpful today. I really appreciate it." Often, at that point, they will break into a smile, but they will give you some indication that you've made a connection. You've scored in The Grocery Store Game.
I encouraged clients to make at least one connection each day to start with and to work up to the point where they made a connection at every transaction point. When we "compared notes," what I often heard was they started out thinking they were going to do something for people in their transactions. To a person, my clients ended up finding the connection was a gift to themselves.
Like my clients, I remember how good it used to feel to walk away from the check stand with my heart vibrating from that connection. I also remember how stress-reducing those encounters were. They forced me to stop, still my mind and be present. How did I let that slip? I'm not sure, but as I went to bed last night, I decided it was time to start playing again.
My day started with a smartphone which wouldn't work and me running late to a doctor's appointment, so I admit that I missed several opportunities in the doctor's office and the first two shopping stops before I was jarred from my autopilot life. But as I set out to visit my service provider on the first of two visits, a little bell went off: this will be an opportunity to connect.
When I was assigned to a technician, I recognized him from a couple earlier visits more than a year ago. Before we talked about my problem, I took a moment to say I remembered how helpful he had been in the past and how grateful I was that I had the opportunity to have him support me again. He looked delighted that I had not only remembered him, but had remembered that he had given me good service.
Sadly, the first visit didn't solve my problem, but when I went back, I used the opportunity to make another connection. This was a much longer visit, and when I arrived at 6:30 p.m., I was tired, hungry, and frustrated. But to make the connection, I had to let go of all that. I just relaxed and partnered with this technician. When I finally left at least an hour later, I looked her in the eyes and thanked her for being so helpful. I said it had been a frustrating day, and she had made this very easy for me. (My frustrating day! Really! This girl had been dealing with frustrated customers all day.)
She looked me right back in the eyes and started to tell me how much she'd enjoyed working with me. Then she went on to tell me how much I reminded her of her mother and how much she loved her mother. The encounter ended with tears trying to well in her eyes. When I left, I was still tired and hungry, but instead of the frustration I'd felt earlier, I just felt warm all over. There was a spring in my step. Life is good, and I like to think that both of us spread love out into the world around us.
Here's how to play. The purpose of the game it to make a heart connection with people that are often "invisible" in our lives. They are grocery checkers, waiters, sales clerks, taxi drivers, baristas, the receptionist in a doctor's office, and anyone else with whom we transact business, often so closely that the only thing that separates us is the thickness of a dollar bill or credit card receipt, but most of the time we don't really see them.
In order to make a connection, it is essential that the "player" be focused only on the object of our heart connection. Slowing down is essential. Eye contact helps. Most of them are not accustomed to being noticed, so it is important to just allow them time to be noticed. The words that I exchange are said in a way that says I really mean them and not the typical, "Have a good day," said to lots of people without really thinking about them. "You've been most helpful today. I really appreciate it." Often, at that point, they will break into a smile, but they will give you some indication that you've made a connection. You've scored in The Grocery Store Game.
I encouraged clients to make at least one connection each day to start with and to work up to the point where they made a connection at every transaction point. When we "compared notes," what I often heard was they started out thinking they were going to do something for people in their transactions. To a person, my clients ended up finding the connection was a gift to themselves.
Like my clients, I remember how good it used to feel to walk away from the check stand with my heart vibrating from that connection. I also remember how stress-reducing those encounters were. They forced me to stop, still my mind and be present. How did I let that slip? I'm not sure, but as I went to bed last night, I decided it was time to start playing again.
My day started with a smartphone which wouldn't work and me running late to a doctor's appointment, so I admit that I missed several opportunities in the doctor's office and the first two shopping stops before I was jarred from my autopilot life. But as I set out to visit my service provider on the first of two visits, a little bell went off: this will be an opportunity to connect.
When I was assigned to a technician, I recognized him from a couple earlier visits more than a year ago. Before we talked about my problem, I took a moment to say I remembered how helpful he had been in the past and how grateful I was that I had the opportunity to have him support me again. He looked delighted that I had not only remembered him, but had remembered that he had given me good service.
Sadly, the first visit didn't solve my problem, but when I went back, I used the opportunity to make another connection. This was a much longer visit, and when I arrived at 6:30 p.m., I was tired, hungry, and frustrated. But to make the connection, I had to let go of all that. I just relaxed and partnered with this technician. When I finally left at least an hour later, I looked her in the eyes and thanked her for being so helpful. I said it had been a frustrating day, and she had made this very easy for me. (My frustrating day! Really! This girl had been dealing with frustrated customers all day.)
She looked me right back in the eyes and started to tell me how much she'd enjoyed working with me. Then she went on to tell me how much I reminded her of her mother and how much she loved her mother. The encounter ended with tears trying to well in her eyes. When I left, I was still tired and hungry, but instead of the frustration I'd felt earlier, I just felt warm all over. There was a spring in my step. Life is good, and I like to think that both of us spread love out into the world around us.
Sunday, October 13, 2013
Coming Together in Warmth
Yesterday I wrote about the special kind of friends with whom we can be open about our hopes and fears, and they will sit with us in total acceptance. Today I want to write about other kinds of friends. In a few minutes I will leave to have brunch with several women with whom I share an occasional lunch, dinner, and today brunch. One is a current work colleague, but sadly most are now former colleagues.
The occasion for today's celebration is a visit by one who moved back to her native state of California, and most of us haven't seen her for 15 months. Among us there will be warmth, joy, and laughter. There will be curiosity about what has been going on in our lives. There will be concern and support. Perhaps mostly, there will be connection born of a time and place when we collaborated together on a common mission: to make life at our agency better for the people work there.
In Leading from the Heart I wrote about the experience of people coming together every day to produce a newspaper, the business in which I spent 10 years of my career. I think it matters not whether it is a federal agency or the newspaper business or any one of 22 other industries in which I have worked over the years; what matters is the magic that happens when a group of people share a mission. Together we are more than the sum of our parts. We are able to accomplish something in community that the same people working alone could not accomplish. It connects us.
Over the years, I have made friends at many of the career stops I've made along the way. There is still something about that magic that continues to connect us 20-30 years later. Today I look forward to coming together in warmth with a special group and sharing our connection.
The occasion for today's celebration is a visit by one who moved back to her native state of California, and most of us haven't seen her for 15 months. Among us there will be warmth, joy, and laughter. There will be curiosity about what has been going on in our lives. There will be concern and support. Perhaps mostly, there will be connection born of a time and place when we collaborated together on a common mission: to make life at our agency better for the people work there.
In Leading from the Heart I wrote about the experience of people coming together every day to produce a newspaper, the business in which I spent 10 years of my career. I think it matters not whether it is a federal agency or the newspaper business or any one of 22 other industries in which I have worked over the years; what matters is the magic that happens when a group of people share a mission. Together we are more than the sum of our parts. We are able to accomplish something in community that the same people working alone could not accomplish. It connects us.
Over the years, I have made friends at many of the career stops I've made along the way. There is still something about that magic that continues to connect us 20-30 years later. Today I look forward to coming together in warmth with a special group and sharing our connection.
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