I've been learning a lot about love this week. My journey to the Midwest carried me first to visit 87- and 89-year-old aunts, one of which I hadn't seen for over 20 years and the other for much longer. When the "younger" one and I left the older, we paused for a "group hug." The moment was so precious. I felt like my heart would explode, and I could hardly hold back tears. It had been wonderful catching up on the passing years with these two women, who had been such an important part of my youth. However, the moment of our parting opened me in a way that I haven't allowed myself for a very long time. Pure love flowed between us.
Forty-eight hours and a couple hundred miles later, I found myself joining my college roommate and her husband as they prepared for the rehearsal dinner preceding the marriage of their son. We each had our roles, awesomely orchestrated by the roommate. I experienced such joy in joining in the preparations for this young man, now 31 but whom I'd known since shortly after his birth. When everything was in order, the three of us also paused for a "group hug," and once again, I felt such amazing love that I was certain my heart would break wide open.
I was reminded of a moment at least 25 years earlier when the groom-to-be was a youngster of four or five. At that time, we had quite a love affair as one can only have with a four-year-old. The night before I left town after a visit, he crept into my room and asked if I would move to their city. Similar to the two flows of love this week, I recall so vividly being overwhelmed with love and joy with this little boy that all these years later the feeling is as fresh as it was all those years ago.
Yesterday, I took time from the busyness of pre-wedding events to pray, and the image that came to me at that time was of my heart in shackles, swelling so that it bulged beyond and between the constraints. I immediately felt that my heart has been shackled by the pain of many heartbreaks, and this week it is bursting forth. The term that came to me was unencumbered love. In an instant that felt right, but I did look up the term "unencumbered" to clarify the meaning. According to Google, to be "unencumbered" is "not having any burden or impediment." I suspect that unencumbered love is so free that it cannot be burdened.
The shackles that have protected my heart have been an impediment to a full experience of love. In fact, until this week, I would say that "love" has been a concept or intellectual construct that I thought I understood but have rarely allowed myself to feel. The realization also registered that, although I never articulated it or probably even thought about it that way before, I believe in the back of my mind, I've thought about love as a commodity. I think I've seen it as something I give or something I receive. In the instances this week I question whether we can give and receive love. It seems to me that unencumbered love is just there to experience--to wash over us and take our breath away, forever changing us from the soul out.
As I am coming to know, "unencumbered love" requires complete and total surrender to the feeling, and in my case, I think the surrender means that I must let go of the protection that the shackles have provided and to risk the potential of pain in order to be vulnerable to the joy promised.
I am not sure I would have understood this on a spiritual level a week ago before the experiences on my journey. Having glimpsed the wonderful experience of love once again after so long, I ponder how to remove the restraints that I've allowed to remain in place for so long that removing them seems a formidable task. Yet, having glimpsed the wonder of unencumbered love, how can I not persist freedom from impediments to love?
I just really wonder, what if the more we allow ourselves to surrender and be engulfed in the vastness that is love that love itself is what can melt away all impediments, leaving us swimming in a sea of love.
Showing posts with label joy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label joy. Show all posts
Saturday, October 22, 2016
Saturday, June 20, 2015
Preparing for the Plunge
For many years I took a four-day silent retreat twice a year. Recently, I realized that I haven't done one for at least 24 months. I made that discovery because I was feeling scattered and without clear direction, spiritually exhausted. I plan to take a Staycation for the week before the Fourth of July, and while I really want to get outdoors and have some fun, I know that I must devote some of that time to looking inward and soul searching. I decided I will meditate for the first two days.
I believe I started doing these retreats in about 1990, and what I continue to be amazed at is how reliable the Universe is in getting things stirred up as my retreat approaches. Since we are now a week out, I've had books thrown on my path, events in the news, job prospects that take me in different directions, and even a "flower reading" which was a Christmas gift that finally just occurred yesterday.
"Consider the vastness of possibilities," reader Robin Masiewicz had said at one point. Funny that she said that because I've increasingly felt boxed in by the possibilities my life seems to hold. That, you see, is why I need these retreats: they seem to open new and vast possibilities that I miss when sucked into my day-to-day routine.
So, I am being very intentional about embracing all the things on my path that I know will fertilize the meditation process, knowing that vastness is out there somewhere and soon will be in me.
I believe I started doing these retreats in about 1990, and what I continue to be amazed at is how reliable the Universe is in getting things stirred up as my retreat approaches. Since we are now a week out, I've had books thrown on my path, events in the news, job prospects that take me in different directions, and even a "flower reading" which was a Christmas gift that finally just occurred yesterday.
"Consider the vastness of possibilities," reader Robin Masiewicz had said at one point. Funny that she said that because I've increasingly felt boxed in by the possibilities my life seems to hold. That, you see, is why I need these retreats: they seem to open new and vast possibilities that I miss when sucked into my day-to-day routine.
So, I am being very intentional about embracing all the things on my path that I know will fertilize the meditation process, knowing that vastness is out there somewhere and soon will be in me.
Tuesday, December 9, 2014
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....
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....
Saturday, August 9, 2014
Through the Eyes of a Three-Year Old
When I was in graduate school, I took a class called "Creativity in Business." It really wasn't as much about the nominal topic as it was about awakening from our auto-pilot lives to look at the world differently.
The professor chunked the term into three and four-day segments, and then he gave us a perspective shift that we were to bring to our lives for each segment. I truly don't remember most of them, but one is very sharp in my memory to this day. "See the world through the eyes of a three-year old" was our task for one of those segments.
I remember being astounded, both by what I normally missed that a three-year old would see, as well as what I normally saw that a three-year old would either miss or would have absolutely no interest in. I noticed things in nature that were close to the ground that I'd never noticed or at least not in decades, including a smashingly beautiful beetle. I also had to abandon interest in the news and bigger problems of the day and be much more carefree.
This perspective was brought home to me again last evening when "my babies" arrived. They are staying in a guest suite down the hall. I gathered the girls up to walk back to my apartment for a snack while their parents set up the portable crib and unpacked. The two-year-old threw here arms up in "victory stance" (more on this later) and ran as fast as her little legs would carry her, squealing every inch of the way.
It was late, and, at first, I was concerned about waking my neighbors. Then I thought, "Could I do that?" Not would I do that, but could I do it. The difference isn't semantic. Would implies that I could but would make a judgment about whether, for a wide range of reasons, I would allow myself to embrace life so totally and completely.
To throw 100 percent of my being totally and completely into, well, just being! The last time I threw 100 percent of myself into anything was the five days in which I wrote The Game Called Life--13 years ago. Yet, even that was a mental/intellectual surrender. The two-year-old not only let go of any constraints, but she threw here whole being into...being. There was something really magical about how totally she threw herself into just going for it.
The "victory stance" is the posture that people across time and cultures have thrown into celebration of victory. We've all seen it countless times. Think of the victor at the finish of a race, chest up and out with arms extended upward in a V-position. That is the victory stance, and that is exactly the posture that Ava took as she ran full-out down my hall. It ends up that the victory stance isn't just about celebrating something a person just did well, but when we take that posture, chemicals in our brains are released that propel us into a future success.
The question that came to me "Could I do that?" reflected my personal doubt that I could not only throw myself intellectually into something, but could also put every bit of my passion into just assuming victory, even before I went anywhere, to just know that if I threw myself into whatever, I would just want to squeal with unadulterated joy. I've done that occasionally on the dance floor, but it has been a very long time. What I forgot is that the very act of being victorious actually creates victory.
So, I tweaked the perspective-shift my professor assigned, and instead of seeing the world from the eyes of the three-year-old, I wondered if I could be through the heart of a two-year-old. I really am not sure I can, but, if there is anything I know in my heart, I know that is what I want to be. Full-out 100 percent. I'd say the "but" is that I don't know anything I care that much about, but that is the very thing about what that sweet little girl Ava did: she was 100 percent full-out about nothing. She was 100 percent full-out about life for absolutely no reason except that it felt good.
When I think about my creativity in business class, which I've described as awakening me from my auto-pilot life to look at the world differently, I really wonder if maybe it has taken me decades to figure out what that really meant--that it really meant to be 100 percent for no reason at all: just because.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
The professor chunked the term into three and four-day segments, and then he gave us a perspective shift that we were to bring to our lives for each segment. I truly don't remember most of them, but one is very sharp in my memory to this day. "See the world through the eyes of a three-year old" was our task for one of those segments.
I remember being astounded, both by what I normally missed that a three-year old would see, as well as what I normally saw that a three-year old would either miss or would have absolutely no interest in. I noticed things in nature that were close to the ground that I'd never noticed or at least not in decades, including a smashingly beautiful beetle. I also had to abandon interest in the news and bigger problems of the day and be much more carefree.
This perspective was brought home to me again last evening when "my babies" arrived. They are staying in a guest suite down the hall. I gathered the girls up to walk back to my apartment for a snack while their parents set up the portable crib and unpacked. The two-year-old threw here arms up in "victory stance" (more on this later) and ran as fast as her little legs would carry her, squealing every inch of the way.
It was late, and, at first, I was concerned about waking my neighbors. Then I thought, "Could I do that?" Not would I do that, but could I do it. The difference isn't semantic. Would implies that I could but would make a judgment about whether, for a wide range of reasons, I would allow myself to embrace life so totally and completely.
To throw 100 percent of my being totally and completely into, well, just being! The last time I threw 100 percent of myself into anything was the five days in which I wrote The Game Called Life--13 years ago. Yet, even that was a mental/intellectual surrender. The two-year-old not only let go of any constraints, but she threw here whole being into...being. There was something really magical about how totally she threw herself into just going for it.
The "victory stance" is the posture that people across time and cultures have thrown into celebration of victory. We've all seen it countless times. Think of the victor at the finish of a race, chest up and out with arms extended upward in a V-position. That is the victory stance, and that is exactly the posture that Ava took as she ran full-out down my hall. It ends up that the victory stance isn't just about celebrating something a person just did well, but when we take that posture, chemicals in our brains are released that propel us into a future success.
The question that came to me "Could I do that?" reflected my personal doubt that I could not only throw myself intellectually into something, but could also put every bit of my passion into just assuming victory, even before I went anywhere, to just know that if I threw myself into whatever, I would just want to squeal with unadulterated joy. I've done that occasionally on the dance floor, but it has been a very long time. What I forgot is that the very act of being victorious actually creates victory.
So, I tweaked the perspective-shift my professor assigned, and instead of seeing the world from the eyes of the three-year-old, I wondered if I could be through the heart of a two-year-old. I really am not sure I can, but, if there is anything I know in my heart, I know that is what I want to be. Full-out 100 percent. I'd say the "but" is that I don't know anything I care that much about, but that is the very thing about what that sweet little girl Ava did: she was 100 percent full-out about nothing. She was 100 percent full-out about life for absolutely no reason except that it felt good.
When I think about my creativity in business class, which I've described as awakening me from my auto-pilot life to look at the world differently, I really wonder if maybe it has taken me decades to figure out what that really meant--that it really meant to be 100 percent for no reason at all: just because.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Friday, August 8, 2014
Anticipation...
I haven't seen "my babies" since January. They aren't really my babies, but the two- and five-year-old girls currently on their way to my home won my heart at birth--theirs, not mine. Between constraints on each end, it has been way too long since I've seen them. We planned this visit months ago. As the time has approach, my anticipation has increased. Over the last week, I've gotten more and more excited. If I calculate properly, they are probably 30 minutes away, and I am beside myself.
Years ago I heard that half the fun of a trip was planning. I am not a planner, and I really love being spontaneous on trips. Yet, I am fully aware that some of my best travel adventures are the result of enough research to figure out where the potential awaited. As my life has become more and more harried, my planning and research for trips has gotten shorter and shorter.
A doctor's appointment the day before my first trip to Italy resulted in a two-hour round trip Metro ride from the office and back, giving me my first two hours of "research." On the way out that morning, I'd grabbed one of the tourist guides that I'd acquired months early but hadn't opened. As I chugged from one end of the Metro almost to the other, I read about Ravenna, the birthplace of mosaics. On a whim, my friend and I drove across the boot of Italy for an amazing two days in Ravenna. We wouldn't have wanted to miss it, but for my doctor's appointment, we wouldn't have known what it offered.
On my way to Spain two years ago, I started my research on the plane east to Europe. I was so busy getting things under control before my vacation that I just didn't think I had time...until I was on my way. I was packing on my way out the door, too.
I know that this will be a wonderful weekend, but I also know how much fun the planning has been. Looking forward to their faces...planning and preparing special foods that I think the family will like...picking a special Chianti Classico to share with their dad...thinking about what I think the family will enjoy on their visit to DC. It's been wonderful.
The really amazing thing to me is how in my body I've been today. I should have worked, but I didn't. When their departure was delayed, I could have worked, but decided not to. I wanted to fully anticipate the visit. I made preparations, but mostly I anticipated the joy of their hugs, giggles and squeals, and passion. My heart has gotten bigger and bigger.
I just got a text that they are on the beltway. I feel giddy: like a young girl in love. Actually, I think that I am: I am in love with these girls, and I am totally enjoying the experience of anticipating them. My heart felt bigger and fluttery. There was a tickle in my throat and even some butterflies in my stomach as I anticipated.
This day has been rich because I've allowed myself to feel the joy of anticipation. As I think back about trips when I took time and space for anticipation, there was much more excitement. The last few vacations I've taken have felt very matter of fact and rushed because I have forgotten or lost the power of anticipation.
This fall I am going to Greece. There have been two guide books on my desk for almost two months. Until this moment, when I opened one to see the date on the receipt, I hadn't opened either. Today, it dawned on me how much I've been missing by not consciously making time to prepare for my trips. I will do so, I promise.
In the meantime, I've received a call from the girls' mother that they are here. Now is time to switch from anticipation to full-on enjoyment.
Years ago I heard that half the fun of a trip was planning. I am not a planner, and I really love being spontaneous on trips. Yet, I am fully aware that some of my best travel adventures are the result of enough research to figure out where the potential awaited. As my life has become more and more harried, my planning and research for trips has gotten shorter and shorter.
A doctor's appointment the day before my first trip to Italy resulted in a two-hour round trip Metro ride from the office and back, giving me my first two hours of "research." On the way out that morning, I'd grabbed one of the tourist guides that I'd acquired months early but hadn't opened. As I chugged from one end of the Metro almost to the other, I read about Ravenna, the birthplace of mosaics. On a whim, my friend and I drove across the boot of Italy for an amazing two days in Ravenna. We wouldn't have wanted to miss it, but for my doctor's appointment, we wouldn't have known what it offered.
On my way to Spain two years ago, I started my research on the plane east to Europe. I was so busy getting things under control before my vacation that I just didn't think I had time...until I was on my way. I was packing on my way out the door, too.
I know that this will be a wonderful weekend, but I also know how much fun the planning has been. Looking forward to their faces...planning and preparing special foods that I think the family will like...picking a special Chianti Classico to share with their dad...thinking about what I think the family will enjoy on their visit to DC. It's been wonderful.
The really amazing thing to me is how in my body I've been today. I should have worked, but I didn't. When their departure was delayed, I could have worked, but decided not to. I wanted to fully anticipate the visit. I made preparations, but mostly I anticipated the joy of their hugs, giggles and squeals, and passion. My heart has gotten bigger and bigger.
I just got a text that they are on the beltway. I feel giddy: like a young girl in love. Actually, I think that I am: I am in love with these girls, and I am totally enjoying the experience of anticipating them. My heart felt bigger and fluttery. There was a tickle in my throat and even some butterflies in my stomach as I anticipated.
This day has been rich because I've allowed myself to feel the joy of anticipation. As I think back about trips when I took time and space for anticipation, there was much more excitement. The last few vacations I've taken have felt very matter of fact and rushed because I have forgotten or lost the power of anticipation.
This fall I am going to Greece. There have been two guide books on my desk for almost two months. Until this moment, when I opened one to see the date on the receipt, I hadn't opened either. Today, it dawned on me how much I've been missing by not consciously making time to prepare for my trips. I will do so, I promise.
In the meantime, I've received a call from the girls' mother that they are here. Now is time to switch from anticipation to full-on enjoyment.
Saturday, May 10, 2014
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.
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.
Thursday, March 6, 2014
I'm Happy!
"Clap along if you feel like happiness is the truth...I'm happy!" I truly feel it!
I am not much of a music person anymore, except for music to which I dance. Not because I don't like music, but mostly because I love the stillness of just BEing. That said, I have a crazy earworm for the Pharrell Williams' song, "I'm Happy!" (from Despicable Me 2.) Since I've already confessed that I am not much of a music person, then I guess it is safe to admit that I'd never heard this song until Sunday evening on the Academy Awards program. I guess I may be the only person on the planet who could actually say that, but I am sure there must be someone else out there.
Confessions behind me, I love this song. It is so infectiously...well, happy. I can't listen to one play-through of that song without feeling really good...no, great. When I was hall-walking tonight, I felt like I was flying down the halls. I had a spring in my step that is usually reserved for those first delicious spring days. (I admit that I even danced a bit, clapping to the music.)
The line above, "Clap along if you feel like happiness is the truth," haunts me. I really believe that "...happiness is the truth!" I think that as human beings we are hard-wired to be happy, but sometimes life gets in the way, and I forget. I can remember working at a place where my nickname was "Little Mary Sunshine," and I mourn the amnesia of the part of me that knows I am happy and knows that happiness is the truth. This week it has awakened. Did a piece of music jar me back into happiness?
The mail today brought the Omega catalog. (Toys R Us for personal transformation.) The CEO's opening letter reminded me of a Native American myth with which I always resonate. In the myth, a grandmother is teaching her grandson, "A fight is going on inside of me. It is a fight between two wolves. One is an angry, greedy, self-pitying, arrogant, jealous and prideful wolf. The other is a joyful, generous, kind, peaceful empathetic, and humble wolf. The two wolves are always fighting. And that same fight is going on inside you--and inside every other person, too."
The grandson reflects for a moment before asking, "Which wolf will win?"
The grandmother smiles and responds, "The one you feed. The one you feed."
I am certain that I have not been feeding the joyful, happy wolf in me nearly enough. "Happy" is a rich, wonderful, and delicious meal for the happy part of me. I also feel the happy wolf when I write, and I freely admit that I've missed writing and the happiness it brings while I've been recuperating. Exercise and healthy foods feed the happy one, too. And, always, always, dance feeds the happy, joyful one.
But the grandmother is right. The two are always fighting. My second full day of Lent had been consumed with nervousness as my body withdraws from sugar...until "Happy." Less than one minute of feeding the happy wolf, and I am excited, joyful, and energetic. The two cannot co-exist: they stand in juxtaposition, but they cannot co-exist.
So, as I wrote in Leading from the Heart (and a lot of other places.) Life is a choice: you choose. I am choosing to be happy and to feed the happy wolf in me.
I am not much of a music person anymore, except for music to which I dance. Not because I don't like music, but mostly because I love the stillness of just BEing. That said, I have a crazy earworm for the Pharrell Williams' song, "I'm Happy!" (from Despicable Me 2.) Since I've already confessed that I am not much of a music person, then I guess it is safe to admit that I'd never heard this song until Sunday evening on the Academy Awards program. I guess I may be the only person on the planet who could actually say that, but I am sure there must be someone else out there.
Confessions behind me, I love this song. It is so infectiously...well, happy. I can't listen to one play-through of that song without feeling really good...no, great. When I was hall-walking tonight, I felt like I was flying down the halls. I had a spring in my step that is usually reserved for those first delicious spring days. (I admit that I even danced a bit, clapping to the music.)
The line above, "Clap along if you feel like happiness is the truth," haunts me. I really believe that "...happiness is the truth!" I think that as human beings we are hard-wired to be happy, but sometimes life gets in the way, and I forget. I can remember working at a place where my nickname was "Little Mary Sunshine," and I mourn the amnesia of the part of me that knows I am happy and knows that happiness is the truth. This week it has awakened. Did a piece of music jar me back into happiness?
The mail today brought the Omega catalog. (Toys R Us for personal transformation.) The CEO's opening letter reminded me of a Native American myth with which I always resonate. In the myth, a grandmother is teaching her grandson, "A fight is going on inside of me. It is a fight between two wolves. One is an angry, greedy, self-pitying, arrogant, jealous and prideful wolf. The other is a joyful, generous, kind, peaceful empathetic, and humble wolf. The two wolves are always fighting. And that same fight is going on inside you--and inside every other person, too."
The grandson reflects for a moment before asking, "Which wolf will win?"
The grandmother smiles and responds, "The one you feed. The one you feed."
I am certain that I have not been feeding the joyful, happy wolf in me nearly enough. "Happy" is a rich, wonderful, and delicious meal for the happy part of me. I also feel the happy wolf when I write, and I freely admit that I've missed writing and the happiness it brings while I've been recuperating. Exercise and healthy foods feed the happy one, too. And, always, always, dance feeds the happy, joyful one.
But the grandmother is right. The two are always fighting. My second full day of Lent had been consumed with nervousness as my body withdraws from sugar...until "Happy." Less than one minute of feeding the happy wolf, and I am excited, joyful, and energetic. The two cannot co-exist: they stand in juxtaposition, but they cannot co-exist.
So, as I wrote in Leading from the Heart (and a lot of other places.) Life is a choice: you choose. I am choosing to be happy and to feed the happy wolf in me.
Saturday, January 11, 2014
Squandering Love
On Thursday, I received an email from a friend who knew I was working on a memoir. She shared a number of observations, concluding with the question, "You
have had so many losses, transitions, upheavals, how did you (and how can we)
work through the fear/anxiety?" My immediate reaction was "I have no idea." I just had to.
It was only after writing yesterday's post about being the best we can be that it hit me: my resilience comes from living with the intention to never cease to be the best I can be. I don't always get there; in fact, I am not sure it is possible to get "there" because wherever we get, there is always the possibility to be better. In all things.
There are some things that I've been better at persisting to be better than others. All things considered, I've been good about how I eat and how I take care of my physical body. There are also things at which I have not been so good. I have not been so good at love.
Today I was having a conversation with a dear friend, and in the middle of it, I began to cry. Something we had been talking about just made me think, I've really squandered love. That is the word that came to me: "squandered." It isn't a word I use a lot. I have a sense of its meaning, but I felt like I wanted to look it up to see precisely what it meant. "To spend or use something precious in a wasteful and extravagant way." Hmm...I needed to look it up. That was exactly the word. When it comes to love, I've been like the prodigal who was given everything and wasted it.
A few days ago I wrote about the importance of telling people that I love that I do love them. ("I Love You," 1/7/14.) That is a communication and connection thing. This is different. To really be with love is to be truly present to it (that again!) and to consciously treat it as "precious." Consciously. To be in conscious awareness of love.
I remember falling asleep, night after night for years, thinking what joy love was bringing me. But, somewhere along the way, I stopped appreciating what I had. Appreciation is also an interesting word. We use it to talk about financial investments that grow. To really appreciate love requires investment--investment of self.
A few days a friend sent me an article written by a woman who had been single for many years before meeting her husband. She appreciates him, and she understands how to let go of the petty stuff because it really isn't important. She is treating the relationship as the precious thing it is.
Love is when we see the divine in ourselves and others. We really recognize the wonder that is. I regret having squandered such a precious thing as love. I would like to think that just as the long-time single woman, I will not squander love in the future. Yet, I am a work in progress. All I can truly do is the never cease to be better at appreciating the love I have...when I have it.
It was only after writing yesterday's post about being the best we can be that it hit me: my resilience comes from living with the intention to never cease to be the best I can be. I don't always get there; in fact, I am not sure it is possible to get "there" because wherever we get, there is always the possibility to be better. In all things.
There are some things that I've been better at persisting to be better than others. All things considered, I've been good about how I eat and how I take care of my physical body. There are also things at which I have not been so good. I have not been so good at love.
Today I was having a conversation with a dear friend, and in the middle of it, I began to cry. Something we had been talking about just made me think, I've really squandered love. That is the word that came to me: "squandered." It isn't a word I use a lot. I have a sense of its meaning, but I felt like I wanted to look it up to see precisely what it meant. "To spend or use something precious in a wasteful and extravagant way." Hmm...I needed to look it up. That was exactly the word. When it comes to love, I've been like the prodigal who was given everything and wasted it.
A few days ago I wrote about the importance of telling people that I love that I do love them. ("I Love You," 1/7/14.) That is a communication and connection thing. This is different. To really be with love is to be truly present to it (that again!) and to consciously treat it as "precious." Consciously. To be in conscious awareness of love.
I remember falling asleep, night after night for years, thinking what joy love was bringing me. But, somewhere along the way, I stopped appreciating what I had. Appreciation is also an interesting word. We use it to talk about financial investments that grow. To really appreciate love requires investment--investment of self.
A few days a friend sent me an article written by a woman who had been single for many years before meeting her husband. She appreciates him, and she understands how to let go of the petty stuff because it really isn't important. She is treating the relationship as the precious thing it is.
Love is when we see the divine in ourselves and others. We really recognize the wonder that is. I regret having squandered such a precious thing as love. I would like to think that just as the long-time single woman, I will not squander love in the future. Yet, I am a work in progress. All I can truly do is the never cease to be better at appreciating the love I have...when I have it.
Wednesday, December 4, 2013
Joy!
"Joy to the world
All the boys and girls now
Joy to the fishes in the deep blue sea
Joy to you and me."
That earworm of the song, which was popularized in 1970 by the Three Dog Night, has been playing in my head since I sat quietly and asked for guidance on writing this blog post. Hmmm! What am I to say? The song just keeps playing.
I wonder if it relates at all to an article that I read earlier this evening about the level of trust in the United States being at an all-time low. A major survey, which has been repeated for 40 years, reported that just about a third of people in the country think that they can trust most people. The article related the diminishing level of trust to less involvement in community organizations and activities, increased isolated television viewing, decline of traditional values, and the 24/7 news cycle. Not much joy in any of that.
The last couple of times I've played the Grocery Store Game (12/1/13) I've found that it is harder to connect than it used to be. Our electronics have significantly changed our lives. Until 3-4 years ago, I often had a conversation on the train with a random person. While I have no way of actually knowing whether I can trust the person more after a conversation, somehow that familiarity makes me think I can trust that person.
However, most days now most people are hunkered over their smartphones, iPads, or laptops with ear buds in place--safely "protected" from either visual or auditory contact.I literally cannot remember when I've said anything to anyone on the train other than, "Excuse me: this is my stop.) Even walking down the street, people are looking at their devices and shutting out sound. Lest you think I am anti-technology, I fully confess that I have been guilty of the above activity. While our devices give us the illusion of being connected, they actually have the opposite effect. We have become a siloed world instead of a connected one, when connection is what it takes to build trust, and it certainly encourages joy.
As the song suggests, joy comes from connecting with people and nature around us. For those who have taken the Grocery Store Game challenge, this is the important work we are taking on: bringing the intention of connection to our encounters, building trust and creating joy. This is good work we are doing. Ah! Joy to the world!
All the boys and girls now
Joy to the fishes in the deep blue sea
Joy to you and me."
That earworm of the song, which was popularized in 1970 by the Three Dog Night, has been playing in my head since I sat quietly and asked for guidance on writing this blog post. Hmmm! What am I to say? The song just keeps playing.
I wonder if it relates at all to an article that I read earlier this evening about the level of trust in the United States being at an all-time low. A major survey, which has been repeated for 40 years, reported that just about a third of people in the country think that they can trust most people. The article related the diminishing level of trust to less involvement in community organizations and activities, increased isolated television viewing, decline of traditional values, and the 24/7 news cycle. Not much joy in any of that.
The last couple of times I've played the Grocery Store Game (12/1/13) I've found that it is harder to connect than it used to be. Our electronics have significantly changed our lives. Until 3-4 years ago, I often had a conversation on the train with a random person. While I have no way of actually knowing whether I can trust the person more after a conversation, somehow that familiarity makes me think I can trust that person.
However, most days now most people are hunkered over their smartphones, iPads, or laptops with ear buds in place--safely "protected" from either visual or auditory contact.I literally cannot remember when I've said anything to anyone on the train other than, "Excuse me: this is my stop.) Even walking down the street, people are looking at their devices and shutting out sound. Lest you think I am anti-technology, I fully confess that I have been guilty of the above activity. While our devices give us the illusion of being connected, they actually have the opposite effect. We have become a siloed world instead of a connected one, when connection is what it takes to build trust, and it certainly encourages joy.
As the song suggests, joy comes from connecting with people and nature around us. For those who have taken the Grocery Store Game challenge, this is the important work we are taking on: bringing the intention of connection to our encounters, building trust and creating joy. This is good work we are doing. Ah! Joy to the world!
Saturday, November 16, 2013
Joy to the World
I've had a earworm today. "Joy to the world...to all the boys and girls...joy to the fishes in the deep blue sea...joy to you and me." Then it starts over again. I've always loved the Three Dog Night class rock hit, but why it is spinning over and over again...today...I don't know.
Even though the song recalls the initial theme of the Christmas carol about a time long ago, this joy to the world is about being joyful in the here and now and celebrates all of life around us. Maybe that is why the song has been playing for me. I've been noticing life around me today and mostly being joyful about it.
Enough leaves have fallen from the trees in the park behind my apartment that I noticed seven deer just below my apartment the first thing this morning. I thought how fortunate that I can live in a city and still have the deer almost close enough to touch.
Then, I went to the Farmers' Market. Harvest is a rich bounty at this time of year. I love the smells of perfectly ripe tomatoes, fresh lettuce and peppers, and I was so tantalized by the smell of fresh basil that I brought a bunch home and placed it in a vase in my kitchen. The fragrance has filled my kitchen all day. And, I noticed.
I had no more than finished washing and storing my vegetables when it was time to have my periodic conversation with a friend in Canada. We talk every four to six weeks, and I always delight in the connection we have. We studied together a couple years ago, and because we both lived in the Eastern time zone, we often ended up partnering on assignments. I have never met him, and yet, I have felt blessed to have him in my life since we first talked. When we ended the call, I just sat and was grateful to have him for a friend.
When that reverie passed, I could not resist creating wonderful foods with the bounty, so I puttered in the kitchen off and on all day. The flavors are so intense when the vegetables are this fresh.
So, yes, this has been a joy-to-the-world day. All of them could be, if I just took time to notice. I remember a line from a movie about an "angel" who has just passed over. She says to her transition partner that she never took time to notice when she was alive. I would hate to think that when my time comes that I haven't taken time to notice all the joy that is in my life. I've loved my joy-to-the-world day. Joy to the world!
Even though the song recalls the initial theme of the Christmas carol about a time long ago, this joy to the world is about being joyful in the here and now and celebrates all of life around us. Maybe that is why the song has been playing for me. I've been noticing life around me today and mostly being joyful about it.
Enough leaves have fallen from the trees in the park behind my apartment that I noticed seven deer just below my apartment the first thing this morning. I thought how fortunate that I can live in a city and still have the deer almost close enough to touch.
Then, I went to the Farmers' Market. Harvest is a rich bounty at this time of year. I love the smells of perfectly ripe tomatoes, fresh lettuce and peppers, and I was so tantalized by the smell of fresh basil that I brought a bunch home and placed it in a vase in my kitchen. The fragrance has filled my kitchen all day. And, I noticed.
I had no more than finished washing and storing my vegetables when it was time to have my periodic conversation with a friend in Canada. We talk every four to six weeks, and I always delight in the connection we have. We studied together a couple years ago, and because we both lived in the Eastern time zone, we often ended up partnering on assignments. I have never met him, and yet, I have felt blessed to have him in my life since we first talked. When we ended the call, I just sat and was grateful to have him for a friend.
When that reverie passed, I could not resist creating wonderful foods with the bounty, so I puttered in the kitchen off and on all day. The flavors are so intense when the vegetables are this fresh.
So, yes, this has been a joy-to-the-world day. All of them could be, if I just took time to notice. I remember a line from a movie about an "angel" who has just passed over. She says to her transition partner that she never took time to notice when she was alive. I would hate to think that when my time comes that I haven't taken time to notice all the joy that is in my life. I've loved my joy-to-the-world day. Joy to the world!
Monday, October 14, 2013
The River of Peace
Back in the day before blogs, my regular writing gigs were columns in business publications. I've never had difficulty writing, once I had a topic, but there have been times that I stared at the computer screen for a while, waiting for inspiration. I remember encountering a friend who had just finished reading Leading from the Heart on one of those days.
"Hey!" I said. "What really stands out to you from the book?"
Without a hesitation, he responded, "The River of Peace." We chatted a bit about the topic, and when I headed back to the office and computer, I knew that would be the topic of that week's column.
In the book, I described what Joseph Campbell called The River of Peace, which flows between the banks of Fear and Desire. As he described it, we can float through life in peace as long as there is neither anything we fear nor anything we desire enough to leave our place of peace.
Then, as I've drawn on many a flip-chart, I added to The River of Peace, making it The River of Peace, Love, and Joy, those consummate spiritual qualities for which most of us yearn. As I talk about the banks, I "X" through the word "Desire," because I say that most things that we desire enough to leave The River of Peace are actually driven by fear. So, I say, The River of Peace, Love, and Joy actually lies between two banks of fear.
Today, I ponder The River of Peace.
After two weeks of furlough, we finally have glimmers of hope that the government may soon be open again. As I compare my dwindling checking account to the monthly bills that have arrived, part of me is quite joyful. The fear of not being able to pay my bills and what that might mean clearly underlies the desire to pay my bills. Far greater are other fears.
As I've written in this blog, I've reclaimed the woman I had been until recent employment. I am the creative, the writer, the coach, and the speaker. I am smart and have a sense of humor. I am joyful. I take care of myself. I love my life. What I really fear is that the darkness that consumed me so totally that it took nine days of furlough to reclaim my being will eat me alive again. Having almost birthed an e-book from a hard copy book and germinated at least two new books, I am terrified that my creative self will be subsumed by "Just follow orders!" or "No one asked what you thought."
AND, I want peace, love and joy even more. I want to embrace my work with the passion and creativity that I brought to it for almost three decades. I want to jump out of bed, looking forward to helping people work together better. I want to love my colleagues and laugh with them throughout the day. I know that is what awaits me in The River of Peace, Love, and Joy. My spiritual work: stay in the river. Staying in the river implies staying present...in the present. That's it! That's all there is. :-) That's all...
"Hey!" I said. "What really stands out to you from the book?"
Without a hesitation, he responded, "The River of Peace." We chatted a bit about the topic, and when I headed back to the office and computer, I knew that would be the topic of that week's column.
In the book, I described what Joseph Campbell called The River of Peace, which flows between the banks of Fear and Desire. As he described it, we can float through life in peace as long as there is neither anything we fear nor anything we desire enough to leave our place of peace.
Then, as I've drawn on many a flip-chart, I added to The River of Peace, making it The River of Peace, Love, and Joy, those consummate spiritual qualities for which most of us yearn. As I talk about the banks, I "X" through the word "Desire," because I say that most things that we desire enough to leave The River of Peace are actually driven by fear. So, I say, The River of Peace, Love, and Joy actually lies between two banks of fear.
Today, I ponder The River of Peace.
After two weeks of furlough, we finally have glimmers of hope that the government may soon be open again. As I compare my dwindling checking account to the monthly bills that have arrived, part of me is quite joyful. The fear of not being able to pay my bills and what that might mean clearly underlies the desire to pay my bills. Far greater are other fears.
As I've written in this blog, I've reclaimed the woman I had been until recent employment. I am the creative, the writer, the coach, and the speaker. I am smart and have a sense of humor. I am joyful. I take care of myself. I love my life. What I really fear is that the darkness that consumed me so totally that it took nine days of furlough to reclaim my being will eat me alive again. Having almost birthed an e-book from a hard copy book and germinated at least two new books, I am terrified that my creative self will be subsumed by "Just follow orders!" or "No one asked what you thought."
AND, I want peace, love and joy even more. I want to embrace my work with the passion and creativity that I brought to it for almost three decades. I want to jump out of bed, looking forward to helping people work together better. I want to love my colleagues and laugh with them throughout the day. I know that is what awaits me in The River of Peace, Love, and Joy. My spiritual work: stay in the river. Staying in the river implies staying present...in the present. That's it! That's all there is. :-) That's all...
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