As I contemplate this new year, I want to make sure that my heart and I are in the driver's seat. I am not sure exactly how it happened, but in recent years the pace of my life has been accelerating such that I feel like I am exhaustingly busy...all the time...and yet at the same time, I have very little time for what is important to me.
Readers will recognize the "no-time-for-exercise" and "no-time-for-writing" laments. Those are priorities in my life. How did they get pushed to the margins?
Yesterday I read part of an article by a women who entered 2015 with a pledge to exercise every day. She too was very busy, so she knew that it would be important to bite off manageable exercise chunks. Her goal for that year was "15 for '15." She would commit to exercising for 15 minutes every day. It had to be hard exercise: she had to sweat and get her heart rate up. She knew that no matter how busy she was, she could get in 15 minutes each day. When she wrote the article toward the end of '16 she had not only accomplished her goal for 2015, but was on track to do so again for the year just ended.*
I was inspired. Even on the busiest of days, I can do 15 minutes of exercise.
As soon as I had that realization, I had another reckoning. I could write 15 minutes every day. Now that is certainly something I know in my heart is core to who I am. Decades before most people begin to show visible signs of arthritis in their hands, two of my fingers bulge and one is bent. These are the exaggerated manifestations of signs of the writer in me that I've carried since I was 10. How could I not give writing 15 minutes a day?
These seem "no-brainers." Yet there have often been days in the last decade or two when I have hardly had time to go to the bathroom or take on nourishment. At the same time, I did manage to attend a lot of useless meetings. I met with people I didn't care to spend time with, out of a sense of obligation. Just that quickly, my 15 minutes of writing and exercise evaporated.
Sometime ago, and I'm not sure when it was, I discovered that if I were to spend time with people I cared about I needed to schedule the time. FOMO--fear of missing out--had grabbed hold of my calendar. I relish the time that Amy Frost and I spend twice month, sharing our intentions for the spiritual journey. When I had the opportunity to spend more than a day with my college roommate in October, I realized how much I miss her and how I value her presence in my life. I am so excited that we've committed to walking and talking together, something we enjoy, but this time, thanks to the wireless world, by phone. On bad weather days, we will Skype and drink tea (her) and coffee (me.) Another valued friend has reached out to schedule Skype with me. I can't remember when we last had time together, but I cringe to think it was last winter or spring.
At the core of my spiritual knowing is that we are intended to listen to our guidance and follow it...when it is given. I have great stories to tell about the magic that occurred when I did so, and equally disappointing tales of when I didn't follow or followed two or three years later. Yet, whether the commitment is to lunch, to talk with a friend of a friend, or to finish teaching a course which I'd committed to teach until May when my guidance in February is to move out of state, those commitments get in the way of my followership.
I also believe that the very best things are the spontaneous ones. I used to call another friend at the end of a work day, and we'd hatch a plan for a thrown-together dinner or a movie or just a walk around the Mall. Once we created a beautiful stool for my kitchen over a bottle of prosecco. (She's the artist; I did the grunt painting. It was fun nonetheless.) As I have less and less spontaneous time, we've spent less and less time together, an incredible disappointment to me.
And, it isn't just people. I've wanted to take some MOOCs--free massive online courses offered by prominent universities. Just this morning I discovered an inspiring design class and a future-cities architecture class, both offered by the University of Zurich. I can feel my heart racing even as I write about these two topics for which I have great interest.
I also found a health and wellness certification class for coaches, an endorsement for a topic for which has interested me since my grandmother first talked to me about vitamins and organic vegetables when I was 10. I've been enrolled in the class twice before and had to drop it. Some of these things have to be scheduled or I miss out.
As I stand on the cusp of an era in which I've pledged to be true to my heart, which do I do? Do I schedule things so that I make sure the important things happen, or do I hold the space for the spontaneous, knowing I will miss much without it and also knowing that I will miss much without scheduling? How to I remain true to both of these things? And, how do I make sure I still have time for the 15 minutes of exercise and writing.
As I write this, I am reminded that beginning from my childhood, I wanted to dance. My mother didn't want me to dance. As I got older, I was too busy to take lessons and didn't have an interested partner. Then, in 1995 when my neck broke spontaneously, and I teetered on the cusp of quadriplegia or death, I knew beyond doubt that if I walked again, walk being the operative word, that I must dance. I did walk. I did dance. It brings me more pleasure than almost anything in my life...and I make time for it. I schedule a car, usually a week or two in advance. And, yes, occasionally I don't feel like going, and I cancel the car.
I also make time for cooking, something I find I much more enjoyable when it is spontaneous than when I plan an event to cook for.
When I worked more closely with leadership teams to increase their effectiveness, I developed a meeting management concept that most found extremely valuable. For a couple hours before their weekly meeting, they would submit two categories of agenda items. First were things that were urgent and without a decision in the next week, there would be irreversible consequences. Then, they were to submit topics that were important to the future of their enterprise, but for which they never had time to talk. At the start of the meeting, items were ordered. Rarely were items of such urgency that dire consequences would occur if they weren't discussed. By giving thoughtful dialogue to one or two really important items, they did the important work of consciously choosing the path for their organization's future...and often resolving "urgent" items along the way.
Here I am on January 1 with no clear answers about what is the right approach for time in my life. I wonder if the right answer is that there are no right answers for every day. I just need to be fully present to my intentions, acting at the time instead of reacting to my calendar. What comes to me is that if I take the learning from my meeting management approach, starting each day with what is urgent and what is important for that day, my spiritual priorities may just resolve themselves without any "right" path which works for every situation.
*Alyssa Shafer, "The Do-It-Daily" challenge, Dr. Oz The Good Life magazine, Jan/Feb 2017, P. 48.
Showing posts with label living with intention. Show all posts
Showing posts with label living with intention. Show all posts
Sunday, January 1, 2017
Wednesday, April 16, 2014
Bitter and Sweet
This year was the third during which I participated in Seder at Passover, so while I am beginning to be more familiar with ritual celebration, I am still deeply in learning mode. For me that learning inevitably brings reflection on meaning. Last night I noticed aspects that I had missed when I was totally new to the experience.
For those who have not participated in a Seder before, there are certain foods of which we partake to remind us of the flight of the enslaved Jewish people from Egypt. (See "Seder" 4/14/14). For example, unleavened bread is eaten as a reminder that the Jews fled so quickly that there was no time to make, rise, and bake bread.
Last night the message that caught special attention for me was that of the mixture and often juxtaposition of bitterness and sweetness in life. Symbolically, we ate a mixture of bitter herbs (horseradish) and a most wonderful sweet mixture of apples, honey, cinnamon, and walnuts, called charoset.
What really grabbed me is that when a circumstance is generally negative, I often forget to look beyond the bitter to notice the sweet. When I focus on the bitter and ignore the sweet, I rob myself of life sweetness. The nature of my work as an organization development (OD) consultant in my current role is to deal with troubled workplace environments, and I have often forgotten what is working well. (Not all OD is like this!)
Even more remarkable to me is that, as odd as it may seem, the mixture of the sweet and bitter produced its own unique and pleasant flavor. I think for much of my life I was unduly focused only on the positives in life. Now I have swung a bit more in the opposite direction. In either scenario I limit the complex and interesting "flavor" that the combination creates.
In the future I will make it my intention to accept the bitter with grace, look for the sweet with more deliberation, and embrace the richness that the combination brings to my life.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
For those who have not participated in a Seder before, there are certain foods of which we partake to remind us of the flight of the enslaved Jewish people from Egypt. (See "Seder" 4/14/14). For example, unleavened bread is eaten as a reminder that the Jews fled so quickly that there was no time to make, rise, and bake bread.
Last night the message that caught special attention for me was that of the mixture and often juxtaposition of bitterness and sweetness in life. Symbolically, we ate a mixture of bitter herbs (horseradish) and a most wonderful sweet mixture of apples, honey, cinnamon, and walnuts, called charoset.
What really grabbed me is that when a circumstance is generally negative, I often forget to look beyond the bitter to notice the sweet. When I focus on the bitter and ignore the sweet, I rob myself of life sweetness. The nature of my work as an organization development (OD) consultant in my current role is to deal with troubled workplace environments, and I have often forgotten what is working well. (Not all OD is like this!)
Even more remarkable to me is that, as odd as it may seem, the mixture of the sweet and bitter produced its own unique and pleasant flavor. I think for much of my life I was unduly focused only on the positives in life. Now I have swung a bit more in the opposite direction. In either scenario I limit the complex and interesting "flavor" that the combination creates.
In the future I will make it my intention to accept the bitter with grace, look for the sweet with more deliberation, and embrace the richness that the combination brings to my life.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Sunday, March 30, 2014
My Amazing Machine
This weekend I've been reading a book about my body.* I read a book about how my body works and what it needs at least once a year. I watch TV programs and read articles about health, nutrition, and exercise. I am always struck by what an amazing machine my body is. Of course, it's not just my body: we all have one, and they are truly remarkable.
When I was 10, my father almost died. He was 39. He almost died because of body neglect and abuse. He rarely exercised, and he consumed all matter of unhealthy fats and sugar. He was significantly overweight at that point in his life. He had a two-pack-a-day cigarette habit. A team of surgeons, experimenting with what was a new technique back then, put him together. His task was to keep himself healthy.
My maternal grandmother, who had always been interested in how we create health, took his health on as a mission. She read everything she could get her hands on, and she did a lot of research. My grandfather had been an organic gardener long before it had a name, primarily because he had limited financial resources, and his compost pile was less expensive than buying fertilizers. As Grandma read about creating health, his gardening took on new purpose. For almost as long as I can remember, I have understood that what goes into our bodies determines how healthy we are.
After almost a lifetime reading about my body, I have learned almost nothing new from this book. It is comprehensive, but so is my knowledge bank. Why, then, did I buy the book and spend most of my weekend reading it? And, why do I do so at least once a year with one new body book or another? Reinforcement and discipline. Each author packages the information I know differently, so every time I read, there is a slightly different twist to what I know. But there is more.
A friend once said to someone joining us for a meal for the first time, "Eating with Kay is an exercise in consciousness." I don't think she meant it in a bad way. I don't have expectations that others will eat the way I choose, and I rarely talk about it unless I know someone shares an interest. Most, who have eaten at my home, find what I serve delicious and satisfying, and many, if not most, would have no clue that I am serving "healthy" fare. I think what she meant is that I really give thought to what I prepare, what I eat, and how I treat my amazing machine. (She did ask if I'd leave her my recipes when I die.)
I read because, as conscious as I am, I slip into unconscious patterns. I find something new I like, which is healthy, and I begin preparing that dish a lot. I forget certain nutrients that were in dishes that dropped off my radar when I replaced them with the new recipe. Reading helps me remember.
For example, for much of the last dozen years, dinner has been some kind of spinach salad several times each week. I know that the dark green vegetables have remarkable healing powers, but about 18 months ago, I discovered a different, healthy salad with which I've been obsessed. I didn't even realize it until I read this book, spinach has taken a back burner in my eating. That will change this afternoon.
This time I am also reminded of water. I used to take a gallon jug to my desk with me each morning when I had a home office. I would drink the whole jug every day. My office away from home provides me access to filtered water, but I have to walk for it. I am sure I don't drink as much now as I should. Besides having to walk to my water, I discovered a great new decaf coffee roasted locally, and I've been making and drinking more coffee instead of water. If nothing more, this reading will bring me back to water.
I hope this reading will also get me back to regular exercise. Since I don't have a car, I walk a lot, so I am not without exercise. However, I exercised an hour a day, seven days a week, for much of my adult life. As regular readers of this blog have heard before, the demands of my current and recent jobs have that number down to two or three times a week, and sometimes less, in addition to my necessity walking. I make excuses, but the truth is that they are just excuses. In my heart, I know they are just excuses. I will make time for exercise.
My intention is to live a healthy life, and I know that is fully within my control. My father, who almost died at 39, lived to be 65. I got an extra 26 years with him because of what went into his body--and more importantly, what didn't go in his body. I am sure if he had been able to break the cigarette habit, we would have had him much longer. I have a deeply personal lesson in front of me.
Whether it is creating physical health or maintaining my spiritual practice, living with intention is a matter of constantly assessing how I am doing and what adjustments I need to make to bring me back to my target. (The example of this being at least the third time since I began writing this blog that I have refocused on regular exercise.) So, at least once a year, I read a book about my amazing body, figure out what adjustments I need to make and make them. I am living with intention. The annual (or more frequent) aiming over process is one way that I respect the amazing machine that enables me to do all the things I love doing.
*The Body Book by Cameron Diaz (Harper Wave 2014.)
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
When I was 10, my father almost died. He was 39. He almost died because of body neglect and abuse. He rarely exercised, and he consumed all matter of unhealthy fats and sugar. He was significantly overweight at that point in his life. He had a two-pack-a-day cigarette habit. A team of surgeons, experimenting with what was a new technique back then, put him together. His task was to keep himself healthy.
My maternal grandmother, who had always been interested in how we create health, took his health on as a mission. She read everything she could get her hands on, and she did a lot of research. My grandfather had been an organic gardener long before it had a name, primarily because he had limited financial resources, and his compost pile was less expensive than buying fertilizers. As Grandma read about creating health, his gardening took on new purpose. For almost as long as I can remember, I have understood that what goes into our bodies determines how healthy we are.
After almost a lifetime reading about my body, I have learned almost nothing new from this book. It is comprehensive, but so is my knowledge bank. Why, then, did I buy the book and spend most of my weekend reading it? And, why do I do so at least once a year with one new body book or another? Reinforcement and discipline. Each author packages the information I know differently, so every time I read, there is a slightly different twist to what I know. But there is more.
A friend once said to someone joining us for a meal for the first time, "Eating with Kay is an exercise in consciousness." I don't think she meant it in a bad way. I don't have expectations that others will eat the way I choose, and I rarely talk about it unless I know someone shares an interest. Most, who have eaten at my home, find what I serve delicious and satisfying, and many, if not most, would have no clue that I am serving "healthy" fare. I think what she meant is that I really give thought to what I prepare, what I eat, and how I treat my amazing machine. (She did ask if I'd leave her my recipes when I die.)
I read because, as conscious as I am, I slip into unconscious patterns. I find something new I like, which is healthy, and I begin preparing that dish a lot. I forget certain nutrients that were in dishes that dropped off my radar when I replaced them with the new recipe. Reading helps me remember.
For example, for much of the last dozen years, dinner has been some kind of spinach salad several times each week. I know that the dark green vegetables have remarkable healing powers, but about 18 months ago, I discovered a different, healthy salad with which I've been obsessed. I didn't even realize it until I read this book, spinach has taken a back burner in my eating. That will change this afternoon.
This time I am also reminded of water. I used to take a gallon jug to my desk with me each morning when I had a home office. I would drink the whole jug every day. My office away from home provides me access to filtered water, but I have to walk for it. I am sure I don't drink as much now as I should. Besides having to walk to my water, I discovered a great new decaf coffee roasted locally, and I've been making and drinking more coffee instead of water. If nothing more, this reading will bring me back to water.
I hope this reading will also get me back to regular exercise. Since I don't have a car, I walk a lot, so I am not without exercise. However, I exercised an hour a day, seven days a week, for much of my adult life. As regular readers of this blog have heard before, the demands of my current and recent jobs have that number down to two or three times a week, and sometimes less, in addition to my necessity walking. I make excuses, but the truth is that they are just excuses. In my heart, I know they are just excuses. I will make time for exercise.
My intention is to live a healthy life, and I know that is fully within my control. My father, who almost died at 39, lived to be 65. I got an extra 26 years with him because of what went into his body--and more importantly, what didn't go in his body. I am sure if he had been able to break the cigarette habit, we would have had him much longer. I have a deeply personal lesson in front of me.
Whether it is creating physical health or maintaining my spiritual practice, living with intention is a matter of constantly assessing how I am doing and what adjustments I need to make to bring me back to my target. (The example of this being at least the third time since I began writing this blog that I have refocused on regular exercise.) So, at least once a year, I read a book about my amazing body, figure out what adjustments I need to make and make them. I am living with intention. The annual (or more frequent) aiming over process is one way that I respect the amazing machine that enables me to do all the things I love doing.
*The Body Book by Cameron Diaz (Harper Wave 2014.)
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Friday, March 28, 2014
Writing
In yesterday's post I wrote about coming to understand my practice of observing the Sabbath. ("What is work?" 3/28/14) The acting of writing helped me to determine what the observation of the Sabbath meant to me and to commit to an intention for how I want to live.
After finishing that post, I continued to ponder the gift my writing has been to me. (Pondering the big questions is a legitimate use of the Sabbath.) I've known for a long time that I used my writing to figure things out, but I am not sure that I fully understood until this morning that my writing is how I discover my intention for life.
In the instant that I had the thought that by writing I discover my intentions in life I understood for the first time the books I had written--I mean fully understood them. Over 20 years ago, when I was well into writing the first draft of Leading from the Heart, I remember sinking into my chair as dusk had darkened my office and having the thought: "This is my Truth!" In the split-second that followed, however, two contradictory thoughts came almost simultaneously: "I've always known this," and "Somehow this is all new."
I think the act of writing had helped me know how to put my Truth into action--how I would attempt to live the rest if my life. I had somehow known my Truth before writing it, but I hadn't really figured out what that meant for a real world, day-to-day life. Now, I want to be clear: I haven't gotten there yet. But like the practice of Sabbath, having a blueprint for how I wanted to live established a bar that I want to clear: it has become my intention for how to live.
As I reflect on it, The Alchemy of Fear and The Game Called Life were refinements to that intention.
When I began writing this blog last fall, I felt that I had lost my way. Intuitively, I knew that writing was the answer, and having an almost-daily blog would bring spiritual rigor and discipline that I desperately needed.
In describing how I write the blog to a friend, I said that I often didn't know what I would write until I sat, and words were coming. Then, the words just made sense as they spilled onto the screen. Given my intention in naming the blog "You Know In Your Heart," I should not be surprised that my writing has brought forward for shared examination what is written on the back side of my heart. ("Intention," 3/13/14)
Those of you who have been reading this blog for awhile will know that I've been working in a memoir. Humbly, I think the writing has been some if my best, but it just hasn't hung together. With this new insight, I think I will be able to add structure that will help it to coalesce.
In The Game Called Life I wrote that we have three intentions for life: to perform special service to which we feel uniquely called, to learn lessons, and to fully develop and use our gifts and talents. As I have enhanced my understanding of my writing and probably my memoir today, I think I've done all three.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
After finishing that post, I continued to ponder the gift my writing has been to me. (Pondering the big questions is a legitimate use of the Sabbath.) I've known for a long time that I used my writing to figure things out, but I am not sure that I fully understood until this morning that my writing is how I discover my intention for life.
In the instant that I had the thought that by writing I discover my intentions in life I understood for the first time the books I had written--I mean fully understood them. Over 20 years ago, when I was well into writing the first draft of Leading from the Heart, I remember sinking into my chair as dusk had darkened my office and having the thought: "This is my Truth!" In the split-second that followed, however, two contradictory thoughts came almost simultaneously: "I've always known this," and "Somehow this is all new."
I think the act of writing had helped me know how to put my Truth into action--how I would attempt to live the rest if my life. I had somehow known my Truth before writing it, but I hadn't really figured out what that meant for a real world, day-to-day life. Now, I want to be clear: I haven't gotten there yet. But like the practice of Sabbath, having a blueprint for how I wanted to live established a bar that I want to clear: it has become my intention for how to live.
As I reflect on it, The Alchemy of Fear and The Game Called Life were refinements to that intention.
When I began writing this blog last fall, I felt that I had lost my way. Intuitively, I knew that writing was the answer, and having an almost-daily blog would bring spiritual rigor and discipline that I desperately needed.
In describing how I write the blog to a friend, I said that I often didn't know what I would write until I sat, and words were coming. Then, the words just made sense as they spilled onto the screen. Given my intention in naming the blog "You Know In Your Heart," I should not be surprised that my writing has brought forward for shared examination what is written on the back side of my heart. ("Intention," 3/13/14)
Those of you who have been reading this blog for awhile will know that I've been working in a memoir. Humbly, I think the writing has been some if my best, but it just hasn't hung together. With this new insight, I think I will be able to add structure that will help it to coalesce.
In The Game Called Life I wrote that we have three intentions for life: to perform special service to which we feel uniquely called, to learn lessons, and to fully develop and use our gifts and talents. As I have enhanced my understanding of my writing and probably my memoir today, I think I've done all three.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Monday, December 30, 2013
Assessment
Tomorrow another year ends. Passed will be another opportunity to learn and grow...another opportunity to be a better, more complete human being. At the same time, another opportunity begins...a time to look at how I can become a better, more complete human being. Standing on the cusp of two years, I assess.
Six words in large black letters are taped to both my home and work computers: my intentions for 2013.
Love Laughter Health Happiness Wealth Wisdom
I quit making resolutions years ago for reasons that I will write about tomorrow. My intentions are those qualities that I want to increase in my life. Resolutions seem to disappear with the wind by the second week of January each year, as attested by attendance in every gym in the country. Intentions, by contrast, are core to our being: they are the spiritual reasons that we came into this world. We can walk away from resolutions, but we fundamentally fail who we are if we turn our backs on intentions.
These six words are qualities that I have had to more or less extent. Some are things that I yearn for, and others are those with which I'd like more comfort.
As I assess the last 12 months, I find that my progress has been unexpected. A friend and I started in January last year taking in stand-up and improv comedy shows. I've also watched some movies with no redeeming social value except that they made me laugh--sometimes really hard. I even rediscovered some classic comedians (Bill Cosby, Bob Newhart, Carol Burnett and her troupe) and valued their gifts yet again. But what I've learned most about "laughter" in the last year is that what I intended wasn't just to laugh but to see humor in the moment. The improv people do that pretty well. Me? Not so much. Yet I assess that understanding the process is a progress. And a year full of laughs can never be wasted.
While I figured going to a stand-up performance in January might be a good start to "laughter," nothing shouted "logical first step" to "wisdom" for me. It took me months to discover that a two-line email back in May would not only propel me forward in "wisdom" but in other qualities as well. The email from my friend Martin Rutte asked me, "Suppose I gave you a magic wand and with that wand you could create the ideal job. What is that job?"
Well, that took me aback. It was the job I had in the late 90s--writing books and articles, coaching executives, and professional speaking, but that wasn't sustainable in more than one way. I pondered, "How could I look at this differently?" My fallback position when presented with a koan is to do what one is supposed to do with a koan: meditate. I took four days in May and meditated on this question. The answer was that it wasn't about a job; it was about the work. I loved using my special gifts in service to others. The short story is that by September I was writing this blog, and by June I had taken on several new coaching clients.
Where's the "wisdom?" I discovered new ways to use my gifts and to be of service. Not only that, but in the process of writing this blog, I've learned a lot about "love," "happiness," "wealth," and even some about "health." Each time I've written a post, I've learned from it. I've had some health challenges this year, but I feel like I've made forward movement. Sometime early next year, I will probably have yet another eye surgery, and then "I will see clearly...." again.
My assessment of 2013? I would like to have made more progress, but I've done a respectable job of growing this year. I hope to do better next year; however, that is only possible because of growth I've experienced this year.
Six words in large black letters are taped to both my home and work computers: my intentions for 2013.
Love Laughter Health Happiness Wealth Wisdom
I quit making resolutions years ago for reasons that I will write about tomorrow. My intentions are those qualities that I want to increase in my life. Resolutions seem to disappear with the wind by the second week of January each year, as attested by attendance in every gym in the country. Intentions, by contrast, are core to our being: they are the spiritual reasons that we came into this world. We can walk away from resolutions, but we fundamentally fail who we are if we turn our backs on intentions.
These six words are qualities that I have had to more or less extent. Some are things that I yearn for, and others are those with which I'd like more comfort.
As I assess the last 12 months, I find that my progress has been unexpected. A friend and I started in January last year taking in stand-up and improv comedy shows. I've also watched some movies with no redeeming social value except that they made me laugh--sometimes really hard. I even rediscovered some classic comedians (Bill Cosby, Bob Newhart, Carol Burnett and her troupe) and valued their gifts yet again. But what I've learned most about "laughter" in the last year is that what I intended wasn't just to laugh but to see humor in the moment. The improv people do that pretty well. Me? Not so much. Yet I assess that understanding the process is a progress. And a year full of laughs can never be wasted.
While I figured going to a stand-up performance in January might be a good start to "laughter," nothing shouted "logical first step" to "wisdom" for me. It took me months to discover that a two-line email back in May would not only propel me forward in "wisdom" but in other qualities as well. The email from my friend Martin Rutte asked me, "Suppose I gave you a magic wand and with that wand you could create the ideal job. What is that job?"
Well, that took me aback. It was the job I had in the late 90s--writing books and articles, coaching executives, and professional speaking, but that wasn't sustainable in more than one way. I pondered, "How could I look at this differently?" My fallback position when presented with a koan is to do what one is supposed to do with a koan: meditate. I took four days in May and meditated on this question. The answer was that it wasn't about a job; it was about the work. I loved using my special gifts in service to others. The short story is that by September I was writing this blog, and by June I had taken on several new coaching clients.
Where's the "wisdom?" I discovered new ways to use my gifts and to be of service. Not only that, but in the process of writing this blog, I've learned a lot about "love," "happiness," "wealth," and even some about "health." Each time I've written a post, I've learned from it. I've had some health challenges this year, but I feel like I've made forward movement. Sometime early next year, I will probably have yet another eye surgery, and then "I will see clearly...." again.
My assessment of 2013? I would like to have made more progress, but I've done a respectable job of growing this year. I hope to do better next year; however, that is only possible because of growth I've experienced this year.
Friday, December 20, 2013
The Evolution of Acceptance
Tonight was my night to volunteer at Washington's Arena Stage. Volunteers get to see a performance after working, and the play was "Guess Who's Coming To Dinner." When the Academy Award-winning movie came out in 1967, it rocked America. Not only was the prospect of an interracial marriage shocking at the time, but the candor with which it dealt with racism in both the black and white parents poignantly seized audiences. While I'm sure that there are still places where such a pairing would still create waves, after several generations of mixed marriages, there are many settings in which it would hardly cause ripple.
Now instead of being rocked by interracial marriage, same-sex marriage is at center stage. Coincidentally, today New Mexico became the 17th state to allow same-sex marriage. On one of those end-of-the-year news reflection programs today, a commentator opined that the speed with which such nuptials had gained acceptance was a prominent story in itself.
People fall in love. They want to commit to being with each other, but others think they should make the rules. They tell us that someone is the wrong color, ethnicity, or gender...that someone is too poor or has the wrong job or went to the wrong school.
We are supposed to love God and love each other. Period. Not judge others. Accept them. Love them. That's it. And, that is how we evolve. We evolve ourselves as we evolve acceptance.
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Now instead of being rocked by interracial marriage, same-sex marriage is at center stage. Coincidentally, today New Mexico became the 17th state to allow same-sex marriage. On one of those end-of-the-year news reflection programs today, a commentator opined that the speed with which such nuptials had gained acceptance was a prominent story in itself.
People fall in love. They want to commit to being with each other, but others think they should make the rules. They tell us that someone is the wrong color, ethnicity, or gender...that someone is too poor or has the wrong job or went to the wrong school.
We are supposed to love God and love each other. Period. Not judge others. Accept them. Love them. That's it. And, that is how we evolve. We evolve ourselves as we evolve acceptance.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Tuesday, December 17, 2013
Slippery Slopes
Most of us...probably all of us...have at least one slippery slope in our lives with which we struggle. A slippery slope is the door to an addiction for which opening inevitably leads us over a cliff. I've known for a long time that sugar is a slippery slope for me. As long as I don't touch it at all, I don't think about, but one grain sets off uncontrollable cravings for more.
This afternoon I had a conversation with someone from a client group who talked about what a serious addiction sugar was. We agreed that if there was a sugarholics anonymous, we would both be candidates for membership. Particularly at this time of year, everywhere we looked a homemade goodie tempts us over the edge. Alcohol and drugs are well known addictions, but there are many which are less known and about which we may never had thought. For instance, I am sure housecleaning was one for my mother. For some of my friends, the computer is a slippery slope.
Recently, I realized that my flat-screen TV had become another slippery slope for me. When I realized it, I puzzled for some time: how did this happen to me? When I was growing up, our viewing time was severely limited. As a young adult, several years passed during which I didn't even own a set, and then when I did, I didn't have cable for at least two decades. About two years ago, I was convinced to replace my big hunker ancient TV with a flat screen. It is much more convenient for someone of my diminutive stature than the one that weighed more than I did, and being able to plug into my laptop and watch programs online is very cool.
I can really tell you some of the steps to my semi-addiction (most days about two hours, but weekends definitely more.) When I needed to purchase an internet connection, cable was very little extra. When I had cable, there were many more viewing options. Then, when I had a bicycle accident about 18 months ago and couldn't move around a lot, viewing was effortless. I was tired when I got home from work and it was an easy alternative to reading while keeping my foot propped up. Following eye surgery, I needed to be still, and reading was difficult. TV was effortless.
While those things were happening, I developed relationships with some of those people. The weekly visits were like having old friends come to visit. John Stewart, John Oliver, and Stephen Colbert were funny dinner companions at the end of often humorless days. How I got hooked is about as easy to figure out as identifying a drug addict's gateway drug. However, taking a close look at the slippery slope really surprised me.
I've gained 10 pounds in the last year. Why? Instead of going to walk or workout after work, John and Stephen seduced me, and once the tube was on, that's where I stayed. Pounds weren't all that I'd been accumulating. I went out a few months ago and bought another book shelf to hold all the books that I'd purchased but not read. Instead of reading, which takes a little effort, I could be totally passive with the TV. Turning on the power to that flat-screened seductress is my slippery slope: I know the instant it happens, the likelihood of skipping exercise and reading increases dramatically.
When I coach people trying to change habits, I encourage them to "scratch the record" on the behavior. For those who aren't old enough to know what that means, in the days of vinyl records (and before that, tin, wax, and shellac) if something scratched the record, hence forth and ever more, when that record was played when the needle got to the scratch it would jump--over and over and over. When a record is scratched, the scratch cannot be ignored.
Metaphorically, scratching a record on a habit is something similar. We identify something to help us avoid the slippery slope or at least stop it before going over the edge. During the December sugar season at work, I skip the open houses or go late enough that the goodies are gone. I walk the long way to the printer so I don't have to walk by the table of sweets.
At home, I skip the glass of red wine that I enjoy with dinner but I know reduces my will power, will almost certainly lead to dessert, and continue to trigger sugar cravings all evening. Having iced tea instead keeps me from going over the edge...most of the time. Walking to a Metro stop that is farther away than the one around the corner ensures that I will get my exercise before I get home and turn on the TV. The minute that John Stewart finishes interviewing his guest, if I turn off the TV, I am more likely to do something more energizing. This evening I called a friend, I'm writing this blog before bedtime, and I will probably even have time to read for a bit before falling to sleep.
Recognizing slippery slopes and scratching the record on them is essential to living with intention. When I identify new behaviors that help me live the life I want to live instead of one borne of habit, I am laying the groundwork for intention. If I can stop the things that stand in my way of living my life, nothing can stop me from creating it.
This afternoon I had a conversation with someone from a client group who talked about what a serious addiction sugar was. We agreed that if there was a sugarholics anonymous, we would both be candidates for membership. Particularly at this time of year, everywhere we looked a homemade goodie tempts us over the edge. Alcohol and drugs are well known addictions, but there are many which are less known and about which we may never had thought. For instance, I am sure housecleaning was one for my mother. For some of my friends, the computer is a slippery slope.
Recently, I realized that my flat-screen TV had become another slippery slope for me. When I realized it, I puzzled for some time: how did this happen to me? When I was growing up, our viewing time was severely limited. As a young adult, several years passed during which I didn't even own a set, and then when I did, I didn't have cable for at least two decades. About two years ago, I was convinced to replace my big hunker ancient TV with a flat screen. It is much more convenient for someone of my diminutive stature than the one that weighed more than I did, and being able to plug into my laptop and watch programs online is very cool.
I can really tell you some of the steps to my semi-addiction (most days about two hours, but weekends definitely more.) When I needed to purchase an internet connection, cable was very little extra. When I had cable, there were many more viewing options. Then, when I had a bicycle accident about 18 months ago and couldn't move around a lot, viewing was effortless. I was tired when I got home from work and it was an easy alternative to reading while keeping my foot propped up. Following eye surgery, I needed to be still, and reading was difficult. TV was effortless.
While those things were happening, I developed relationships with some of those people. The weekly visits were like having old friends come to visit. John Stewart, John Oliver, and Stephen Colbert were funny dinner companions at the end of often humorless days. How I got hooked is about as easy to figure out as identifying a drug addict's gateway drug. However, taking a close look at the slippery slope really surprised me.
I've gained 10 pounds in the last year. Why? Instead of going to walk or workout after work, John and Stephen seduced me, and once the tube was on, that's where I stayed. Pounds weren't all that I'd been accumulating. I went out a few months ago and bought another book shelf to hold all the books that I'd purchased but not read. Instead of reading, which takes a little effort, I could be totally passive with the TV. Turning on the power to that flat-screened seductress is my slippery slope: I know the instant it happens, the likelihood of skipping exercise and reading increases dramatically.
When I coach people trying to change habits, I encourage them to "scratch the record" on the behavior. For those who aren't old enough to know what that means, in the days of vinyl records (and before that, tin, wax, and shellac) if something scratched the record, hence forth and ever more, when that record was played when the needle got to the scratch it would jump--over and over and over. When a record is scratched, the scratch cannot be ignored.
Metaphorically, scratching a record on a habit is something similar. We identify something to help us avoid the slippery slope or at least stop it before going over the edge. During the December sugar season at work, I skip the open houses or go late enough that the goodies are gone. I walk the long way to the printer so I don't have to walk by the table of sweets.
At home, I skip the glass of red wine that I enjoy with dinner but I know reduces my will power, will almost certainly lead to dessert, and continue to trigger sugar cravings all evening. Having iced tea instead keeps me from going over the edge...most of the time. Walking to a Metro stop that is farther away than the one around the corner ensures that I will get my exercise before I get home and turn on the TV. The minute that John Stewart finishes interviewing his guest, if I turn off the TV, I am more likely to do something more energizing. This evening I called a friend, I'm writing this blog before bedtime, and I will probably even have time to read for a bit before falling to sleep.
Recognizing slippery slopes and scratching the record on them is essential to living with intention. When I identify new behaviors that help me live the life I want to live instead of one borne of habit, I am laying the groundwork for intention. If I can stop the things that stand in my way of living my life, nothing can stop me from creating it.
Monday, December 16, 2013
The Precision of Words
Successful coaching is a lot like fishing: I have to know when to leave some slack and when to crank the reel. The use of words is one of my biggest challenges. So common is the habit of using the word "you" when a person really is speaking about themselves that it has become acceptable. For example, a person says "You just really don't realize...." when he means "I really don't realize..." or "You'd like to think you could do it" when she means "I'd really like to think that I could do it." While grammar is almost compulsive for me, this really isn't about grammar, and I don't want my coaching clients to think this is about petty use of language.
The words that we use really make a difference, though--they make a difference in the ownership we take of our situation. In the case of "you"/"I," using "you" often makes the assumption that the ubiquitous "you"-- everyone--has the same experience of something as I do. Other times it implies that we may know something that we don't. A number of years ago, I recall reading an article about what divers found when they discovered a plane that had crashed in the ocean. The diver, speaking to reporters, said, "We found what you would expect to find in a plane that had crashed into the water." Well, I thought, I don't have any idea what to expect when a plane crashes into the water.
When I am coaching someone who is giving away ownership with the use of "you" when he or she means "I" or "me," I have to know when it would be useful to call that to the person's attention. Sometimes, it is important: "You don't expect your boss to treat you that way," means something very different than, "I don't expect my boss to treat me that way." Ownership and self-worth are reflected in the latter.
Another ownership word is "try." "I'll try to do that," more often than not means it's not gonna happen. Contrasted to "I will do that," which reflects responsibility and commitment.
Today, I was coaching someone, who used the word "need" repeatedly during our session. I kept biting my tongue. Was it important to say something or not? Finally, as she described her action plan using the word "need" several times, I knew I had to say something. "What..." I asked, "if you chose to do those things instead of needing to do them? What difference would it make?"
There was a stunned silence. "A lot." As she repeated her action plan again, this time saying, "I choose to..." she began to describe how she could feel a difference in her body and in her mind. "It is as if I can already begin to feel it happening." The words we use really do make a difference.
I truly wish I could say that I am totally conscious of my language usage and never use "you" when I mean "me," or "try" and "need" when I mean "choose." The truth is that I do occasionally. At this point, I usually catch myself and wince as I realize what I have done, for I know that the words do make a difference. The words help me be responsible and accountable for creating my life. That is the intention I bring to creating my life. Often it is as simple as choosing the word I use.
The words that we use really make a difference, though--they make a difference in the ownership we take of our situation. In the case of "you"/"I," using "you" often makes the assumption that the ubiquitous "you"-- everyone--has the same experience of something as I do. Other times it implies that we may know something that we don't. A number of years ago, I recall reading an article about what divers found when they discovered a plane that had crashed in the ocean. The diver, speaking to reporters, said, "We found what you would expect to find in a plane that had crashed into the water." Well, I thought, I don't have any idea what to expect when a plane crashes into the water.
When I am coaching someone who is giving away ownership with the use of "you" when he or she means "I" or "me," I have to know when it would be useful to call that to the person's attention. Sometimes, it is important: "You don't expect your boss to treat you that way," means something very different than, "I don't expect my boss to treat me that way." Ownership and self-worth are reflected in the latter.
Another ownership word is "try." "I'll try to do that," more often than not means it's not gonna happen. Contrasted to "I will do that," which reflects responsibility and commitment.
Today, I was coaching someone, who used the word "need" repeatedly during our session. I kept biting my tongue. Was it important to say something or not? Finally, as she described her action plan using the word "need" several times, I knew I had to say something. "What..." I asked, "if you chose to do those things instead of needing to do them? What difference would it make?"
There was a stunned silence. "A lot." As she repeated her action plan again, this time saying, "I choose to..." she began to describe how she could feel a difference in her body and in her mind. "It is as if I can already begin to feel it happening." The words we use really do make a difference.
I truly wish I could say that I am totally conscious of my language usage and never use "you" when I mean "me," or "try" and "need" when I mean "choose." The truth is that I do occasionally. At this point, I usually catch myself and wince as I realize what I have done, for I know that the words do make a difference. The words help me be responsible and accountable for creating my life. That is the intention I bring to creating my life. Often it is as simple as choosing the word I use.
Sunday, December 15, 2013
My Perfect Life
Intention is a funny thing. When we know the feeling of what we want and then let the Universe guide us to it, the result is almost always far more extraordinary than anything we could have imagined.
Today I had 30 minutes between church and a lunch appointment. Washington was bathed in the beauty of a cobalt sky and sunshine, so instead of jumping on the Metro, I decided to walk. A shivering cold was quickly offset by the head of steam my walk generated. I walked by the many beautiful buildings, first the White House, the old Post Office Building, and many other stately buildings that framed the Capitol Building at the end of Pennsylvania Avenue. At one point, I just stopped and looked and said out loud, "What a beautiful city I live in!"
I could not have imagined just a few years ago that I would be living in Washington...or that I'd even want to. What I did know is that I wanted to have the feeling of a neighborhood, that I wanted to live in nature, that I wanted to leave a smaller environmental footprint, including being able to get along without an automobile, and that I wanted to do work that used my gifts and talents...and that I loved. Piece by piece, by following guidance, the picture that is my life has been coming together.
My apartment backs up on a national park, I can walk or Metro almost everywhere I need to go, and I haven't even missed the car that I gave up almost four years ago. I am doing just the kind of work that I had dreamed about doing and using my passion and gift for writing on this blog. Then suddenly one day, I'm walking down Pennsylvania Avenue, knowing that I am living my perfect life.
A piece or two may be missing, but I know I haven't felt them deeply enough. Feeling is how the Universe communicates. When I feel the last pieces enough, my whole perfect life will be as I intended, unimpeded by any thoughts of what the final picture should look like. Until then, I will love my perfect life, as it unfolds every day.
Today I had 30 minutes between church and a lunch appointment. Washington was bathed in the beauty of a cobalt sky and sunshine, so instead of jumping on the Metro, I decided to walk. A shivering cold was quickly offset by the head of steam my walk generated. I walked by the many beautiful buildings, first the White House, the old Post Office Building, and many other stately buildings that framed the Capitol Building at the end of Pennsylvania Avenue. At one point, I just stopped and looked and said out loud, "What a beautiful city I live in!"
I could not have imagined just a few years ago that I would be living in Washington...or that I'd even want to. What I did know is that I wanted to have the feeling of a neighborhood, that I wanted to live in nature, that I wanted to leave a smaller environmental footprint, including being able to get along without an automobile, and that I wanted to do work that used my gifts and talents...and that I loved. Piece by piece, by following guidance, the picture that is my life has been coming together.
My apartment backs up on a national park, I can walk or Metro almost everywhere I need to go, and I haven't even missed the car that I gave up almost four years ago. I am doing just the kind of work that I had dreamed about doing and using my passion and gift for writing on this blog. Then suddenly one day, I'm walking down Pennsylvania Avenue, knowing that I am living my perfect life.
A piece or two may be missing, but I know I haven't felt them deeply enough. Feeling is how the Universe communicates. When I feel the last pieces enough, my whole perfect life will be as I intended, unimpeded by any thoughts of what the final picture should look like. Until then, I will love my perfect life, as it unfolds every day.
Wednesday, December 11, 2013
Making Time for Intention
A friend who lives across the country and I talk every week or two. This evening we talked about what gets in the way of living our intentions. There are many things, but (should we be surprised?) anything that takes us out of the present moment keeps us from living our intentions.
To live with intention implies allowing ourselves to be led to our vision. Way too often what gets in the way are the demands of the to-do list. If we spend our days racing from one item on the to-do list to the next, following where we are led gets squeezed out. If we are really open to intention, we frequently stop to ask, "What would you have me do now?" or "Which way should I walk?" or even "Who in this building full of people I don't know should I connect with?" Allowing ourselves to be led by the answers we receive. My friend described "the dance between demands of the to-do list and allowing."
Nearly as often what gets in the way are habits. I am accustomed to going to the same Metro station, making the same changes, stopping at the store on the way home, and checking the mail before I get home. Then I start another round of habits. Empty the dirty dishes from my lunch from my bag, make coffee and lunch for tomorrow, make something for dinner, and sit to watch the Stephen Colbert and John Stewart episodes from the night before while I eat. Then there is the set of clean-up-after-dinner habits. You get the idea: I move from one set of habits to the next until, eventually, I fall into bed. Most of this is so totally autopilot that I forget to ask the, "What-would-you-have-me-do?" questions.
I do better on the weekends, but that means that 5/7 of my life, I am missing the opportunity to follow.
Of course, the perfect distraction from living with intention is to combine the two: be perpetually overbooked so that we habitually move from one appointment to the next without thinking.
Perhaps one of the reasons that I so enjoy writing this blog is because I just sit and listen. Living with intention is about listening--listening to what you know in your heart. Making time for intention is making time to listen and allowing time to follow what you know in your heart.
To live with intention implies allowing ourselves to be led to our vision. Way too often what gets in the way are the demands of the to-do list. If we spend our days racing from one item on the to-do list to the next, following where we are led gets squeezed out. If we are really open to intention, we frequently stop to ask, "What would you have me do now?" or "Which way should I walk?" or even "Who in this building full of people I don't know should I connect with?" Allowing ourselves to be led by the answers we receive. My friend described "the dance between demands of the to-do list and allowing."
Nearly as often what gets in the way are habits. I am accustomed to going to the same Metro station, making the same changes, stopping at the store on the way home, and checking the mail before I get home. Then I start another round of habits. Empty the dirty dishes from my lunch from my bag, make coffee and lunch for tomorrow, make something for dinner, and sit to watch the Stephen Colbert and John Stewart episodes from the night before while I eat. Then there is the set of clean-up-after-dinner habits. You get the idea: I move from one set of habits to the next until, eventually, I fall into bed. Most of this is so totally autopilot that I forget to ask the, "What-would-you-have-me-do?" questions.
I do better on the weekends, but that means that 5/7 of my life, I am missing the opportunity to follow.
Of course, the perfect distraction from living with intention is to combine the two: be perpetually overbooked so that we habitually move from one appointment to the next without thinking.
Perhaps one of the reasons that I so enjoy writing this blog is because I just sit and listen. Living with intention is about listening--listening to what you know in your heart. Making time for intention is making time to listen and allowing time to follow what you know in your heart.
Tuesday, December 10, 2013
Just Imagine
I awakened in the middle of the night with a strange smell in my nose. Instantly, I knew what the pungent odor was, but it wasn't coming from my apartment. As best I can tell, it came in a dream. I don't recall any visual images or action from the dream, but I do remember the smell. I was warmed all over by the unpleasantness.
When I was in grade school and junior high, my father worked as a tool and die maker. He was highly skilled, and his company's customers sometimes flew him to their locations to solve problems. On one of those trips, he was recruited for a mid-management company for one of the Big Three American auto makers. But for all those years before he put on a dress shirt and tie, he would come home with the smell of grease on his clothes. Despite what might have otherwise been unpleasant, it was wonderful to me. My father and I were close, and he'd always scoop me up in a big bear hug. If love has a smell to me, it is the smell of grease from his machine shop.
As I've pondered, I cannot remember any details of the dream, but I've felt love all day. The consideration, however, has taken me in a different direction. We as humans have an incredible ability to transcend time and space--you might call us time travelers. A single thought, smell, picture, or even a phrase can transport us to another time. For me, it was the smell of grease that reminded me of the warmth of my father's love and hugs. The smell of fried chicken or a freshly baked pie sends me to my grandma's kitchen. The crunch of snow under my feet recalls building a snowman as a child.
We also have the ability to travel forward in time, and doing so is something that my coaching clients frequently do as they plan for their futures. Time travel, they find, is really the foundation of living with intention. Creating a vision of our future self, which we firmly connect into our being, produces a target of the future. Of course, then we have to act consistent with the vision to see it explode into our lives, but the time travel is the first step.
How does this work? Someone who has problems with a knee because she is over-weight envisions herself as healthy and mobile. Then working back in time she discovers how she needs to eat and exercise now to deliver that dream. Finally, the hard part, she needs to act on what she has come to know. What do you need to do right now to enable the vision, I ask? The vision of the future healthy her shows the way. (No matter how much of a picture she has, if she continues eating a pint of super-rich ice cream while she watches TV every evening, the vision will not find life.)
Similarly, a client who envisioned herself inspiring young women in her profession saw herself on stage giving funny speeches. What does she need to do right now to start bringing life to the intention, I ask? An artist who has a commission but has the artist equivalent of writer's block imagines a wonderful painting that touches the audience. What does she need to do right now to allow that painting to move through her? My desire to have a warm relationship with neighbors (12/9/13) started coming to life when I knocked on my neighbor's door last night with chocolate cake in hand.
Our ability to imagine something that hasn't yet existed is as powerful as our ability to time travel backward. The vision provides those in the invisible realm that assist us to live our dreams to know what we want. In many ways much of what I've written about in this blog has been about bringing intention to what we want to create in our lives--bringing to live what we know in our hearts. Just imagine what we dream to start it being so.
When I was in grade school and junior high, my father worked as a tool and die maker. He was highly skilled, and his company's customers sometimes flew him to their locations to solve problems. On one of those trips, he was recruited for a mid-management company for one of the Big Three American auto makers. But for all those years before he put on a dress shirt and tie, he would come home with the smell of grease on his clothes. Despite what might have otherwise been unpleasant, it was wonderful to me. My father and I were close, and he'd always scoop me up in a big bear hug. If love has a smell to me, it is the smell of grease from his machine shop.
As I've pondered, I cannot remember any details of the dream, but I've felt love all day. The consideration, however, has taken me in a different direction. We as humans have an incredible ability to transcend time and space--you might call us time travelers. A single thought, smell, picture, or even a phrase can transport us to another time. For me, it was the smell of grease that reminded me of the warmth of my father's love and hugs. The smell of fried chicken or a freshly baked pie sends me to my grandma's kitchen. The crunch of snow under my feet recalls building a snowman as a child.
We also have the ability to travel forward in time, and doing so is something that my coaching clients frequently do as they plan for their futures. Time travel, they find, is really the foundation of living with intention. Creating a vision of our future self, which we firmly connect into our being, produces a target of the future. Of course, then we have to act consistent with the vision to see it explode into our lives, but the time travel is the first step.
How does this work? Someone who has problems with a knee because she is over-weight envisions herself as healthy and mobile. Then working back in time she discovers how she needs to eat and exercise now to deliver that dream. Finally, the hard part, she needs to act on what she has come to know. What do you need to do right now to enable the vision, I ask? The vision of the future healthy her shows the way. (No matter how much of a picture she has, if she continues eating a pint of super-rich ice cream while she watches TV every evening, the vision will not find life.)
Similarly, a client who envisioned herself inspiring young women in her profession saw herself on stage giving funny speeches. What does she need to do right now to start bringing life to the intention, I ask? An artist who has a commission but has the artist equivalent of writer's block imagines a wonderful painting that touches the audience. What does she need to do right now to allow that painting to move through her? My desire to have a warm relationship with neighbors (12/9/13) started coming to life when I knocked on my neighbor's door last night with chocolate cake in hand.
Our ability to imagine something that hasn't yet existed is as powerful as our ability to time travel backward. The vision provides those in the invisible realm that assist us to live our dreams to know what we want. In many ways much of what I've written about in this blog has been about bringing intention to what we want to create in our lives--bringing to live what we know in our hearts. Just imagine what we dream to start it being so.
Monday, December 2, 2013
Living with Intention: It's about Priorities
I was talking with a colleague today about my gratitude meditation. She said, "I don't have time for meditation." I said , "It's not about time: it's about priorities."
This is a lesson I learned too well this weekend. I had almost finished with my preparations for The Game Called Life when the government shutdown ended on October 17. "One more day," I'd said, "and I would have been finished." So close, but in 40 days I hadn't made finishing the book a priority. Then, on Thanksgiving Day, by grace, all the families that I usually spend holidays with were away. Ah, I thought, this is my chance.
I wanted to start day with my gratitude meditation; then a walk seemed in order since it was a beautiful, if crisp, day. I am a cook; I couldn't allow this food holiday to pass without cooking and, of course, eating. Then, I watched a couple movies that I can't even recall now. By that time, I wrote my blog and fell into bed. Oops! No time for The Game Called Life. It's not about time: it's about priorities.
That evening after I brushed my teeth, I took a long look into the mirror. Kay, where are your priorities? Well, it is clear that they hadn't been with The Game Called Life.
Saturday morning I got up, got cleaned up, and before I would let myself do anything, I edited. I am truly embarrassed to say that in under three hours, I had the manuscript marked and changes made to the electronic copy. Three hours! In 40 days I hadn't made time for a three-hour task. Saturday I lived my priorities.
Living with intention is simply knowing what is important and putting it first, every single day. By the magnitude of a thousand small decisions, we create our lives. When we live with intention, our decisions are conscious ones, rather than ones made mindlessly by default, as I'd been doing frittering away time over the last 40 days.
You see, my colleague really was living intentionally. She has aging parents that she cares for and teen and young adult children. At this stage in her life, they are her priorities. Living with intention is living our priorities, and that is exactly what she is doing.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
This is a lesson I learned too well this weekend. I had almost finished with my preparations for The Game Called Life when the government shutdown ended on October 17. "One more day," I'd said, "and I would have been finished." So close, but in 40 days I hadn't made finishing the book a priority. Then, on Thanksgiving Day, by grace, all the families that I usually spend holidays with were away. Ah, I thought, this is my chance.
I wanted to start day with my gratitude meditation; then a walk seemed in order since it was a beautiful, if crisp, day. I am a cook; I couldn't allow this food holiday to pass without cooking and, of course, eating. Then, I watched a couple movies that I can't even recall now. By that time, I wrote my blog and fell into bed. Oops! No time for The Game Called Life. It's not about time: it's about priorities.
That evening after I brushed my teeth, I took a long look into the mirror. Kay, where are your priorities? Well, it is clear that they hadn't been with The Game Called Life.
Saturday morning I got up, got cleaned up, and before I would let myself do anything, I edited. I am truly embarrassed to say that in under three hours, I had the manuscript marked and changes made to the electronic copy. Three hours! In 40 days I hadn't made time for a three-hour task. Saturday I lived my priorities.
Living with intention is simply knowing what is important and putting it first, every single day. By the magnitude of a thousand small decisions, we create our lives. When we live with intention, our decisions are conscious ones, rather than ones made mindlessly by default, as I'd been doing frittering away time over the last 40 days.
You see, my colleague really was living intentionally. She has aging parents that she cares for and teen and young adult children. At this stage in her life, they are her priorities. Living with intention is living our priorities, and that is exactly what she is doing.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Tuesday, November 19, 2013
Living Without Excuses
Living with intention carries with it a corollary: living without excuses.
A friend of mine jokes "Growing older isn't for sissies." Neither is living with intention. Evolving one's soul is serious work, and by its very nature requires abandonment of our normal way of living. We surrender to what the soul knows it is becoming. To say that terror may strike in the heart is an understatement.
Living with intention demands that we listen to the heart and not the head. Doing what we intuitively know is right may be counter-rational to everything we have known, and yet we must. As our white-knuckled fingers hold who we have been in a death-grip, the heart whispers a love song of peace and joy. Surrender to who you might be.
I would like to say I have lived without regret, but in truth, there are things that I've had to leave behind that still recall sadness. The somewhat nomadic existence, which has resulted, leaves me envious of friends, who are surrounded with people that have been with them for their entire lives. Yet, I know I would not have done anything differently, not for a second.
Twenty years ago in July, I sat on the edge of a water fountain eating frozen yogurt in the sunshine. In an instant I knew that I was to leave the town I'd called home for a decade. Where was I to go? A city on the opposite side of the country where I knew no one. Before I arrived, the Universe had littered my path with new friends. I had apparent means to earn money, but I had faith and I followed...and so did the work. Characteristic of living with intention is that I had to take the leap before I knew if and how things would work out. I still have no clue "why?" for those driven by that question.
To say my move was counter-rational may be an understatement. Some friends in my old home town made up that I'd fallen in love with a man in the new city, and I was moving there to be with him. They could not make sense that I had just listened to my heart and followed where it led me--a strange city where I knew no one. They could not begin to understand the terror in my heart as I took to the highway to drive across the country.
I miss my old friends--part of the sadness, but I do keep in touch with some of them. But, no amount of gossip or fear of lack of livelihood would have been excuse enough for me to abandon the path being laid forth before me. Living without excuses, and just letting the chatter of the world fall away. Surrendering to the call of divine love. That is what it means to live with intention.
A friend of mine jokes "Growing older isn't for sissies." Neither is living with intention. Evolving one's soul is serious work, and by its very nature requires abandonment of our normal way of living. We surrender to what the soul knows it is becoming. To say that terror may strike in the heart is an understatement.
Living with intention demands that we listen to the heart and not the head. Doing what we intuitively know is right may be counter-rational to everything we have known, and yet we must. As our white-knuckled fingers hold who we have been in a death-grip, the heart whispers a love song of peace and joy. Surrender to who you might be.
I would like to say I have lived without regret, but in truth, there are things that I've had to leave behind that still recall sadness. The somewhat nomadic existence, which has resulted, leaves me envious of friends, who are surrounded with people that have been with them for their entire lives. Yet, I know I would not have done anything differently, not for a second.
Twenty years ago in July, I sat on the edge of a water fountain eating frozen yogurt in the sunshine. In an instant I knew that I was to leave the town I'd called home for a decade. Where was I to go? A city on the opposite side of the country where I knew no one. Before I arrived, the Universe had littered my path with new friends. I had apparent means to earn money, but I had faith and I followed...and so did the work. Characteristic of living with intention is that I had to take the leap before I knew if and how things would work out. I still have no clue "why?" for those driven by that question.
To say my move was counter-rational may be an understatement. Some friends in my old home town made up that I'd fallen in love with a man in the new city, and I was moving there to be with him. They could not make sense that I had just listened to my heart and followed where it led me--a strange city where I knew no one. They could not begin to understand the terror in my heart as I took to the highway to drive across the country.
I miss my old friends--part of the sadness, but I do keep in touch with some of them. But, no amount of gossip or fear of lack of livelihood would have been excuse enough for me to abandon the path being laid forth before me. Living without excuses, and just letting the chatter of the world fall away. Surrendering to the call of divine love. That is what it means to live with intention.
Monday, November 18, 2013
Living with Intention
Today is a "free" day for me. I took a day of leave just to BE. My dreams were rich, and I had time to process them this morning instead of jumping out of bed to get ready for work. The messages were clear. I must publish more on the BEing of a leader, the subject of Leading from the Heart, which has been out of print for over a dozen years. I must write more on intention.
The word or concept of "intention" has been overused by some as a concept that is something like what one speaker described as "using God as the great carhop in the sky," delivering whatever "stuff" we happen to think will bring happiness--a new car, a new house, a different job, a raise, or maybe even a soul mate. When I use the term "intention," this is decidedly not what I mean.
To me, "intention" is sacred. To live with intention means to align with and act from purpose--what each of us comes into the world to be. Think of intention as a contract we agreed to before coming into this world. Living with intention is acting, moment by moment, in accordance with guidance from our hearts about that intention.
I have a picture in my mind of each soul, before taking human form, sitting with the power of Love, looking out with legs dangling over something that looks like the Grand Canyon, and having a conversation that might go like this one that I think I had.
Me: "I'd like to go into the world as a human being, so that I may evolve my soul."
Love: "What lessons do you wish to learn on this journey?"
Me: "There are many, but I believe the most important ones for me are to receive love, to keep commitments, and to persevere with love...to have faith...in the face of overwhelming challenges."
Love: "Those are powerful lessons. They are also ones that are important in evolving the world, too. You know that is a great privilege to take human form to learn these spiritual lessons."
Me: "I do. I am ready to pay for that privilege."
Love: "The people in the world have forgotten that they are spiritual beings intended to connect through love. You would perform great service by helping them remember that."
Me: "That is service that I will commit to performing."
Love: "There is another piece to it. The people of the world seem to forget most who they are when they are at work. Your service would be especially great if you would help them remember who they are at work."
Me: "I will do that."
Love: "Thank you for your willingness to do that work."
Me: "It is a privilege."
Love: "Now you know that you will receive special gifts and talents to help you do this work. What gifts and talents would you like?"
Me: "Hmmm. Language--the ability to use language to touch people and to help them remember who they are. That would be one. And, the ability to understand people when they are at work--to know what causes them to forget who they are. Finally, of course, the ability to remember who I am when I am in work settings."
Love: "Those are good ones. We--the collected souls--would like to throw in some others, but especially 'dance.'"
Me: "Dance? I don't understand."
Love: "You don't need to understand, but it will speak to you and you will learn from it."
Me: "These will be my intentions. They will be written on the back side of my heart, and I will tune in to listen to where they lead me."
Love: "You will do well."
Each of us had a different "conversation," but we all made commitments. Our unique and special "recipe" for this life is written on our hearts. The intentions that we agreed to before taking human form are the only intentions that are important. Listening to our hearts keeps us on track. Yet we will almost never (maybe never, but I don't know that) be told in one fell swoop what the whole plan is or even why we are to do what we are to do. We will be guided, one step at a time.
The magnitude of millions of steps accomplishes miracles, making the impossible possible.
The word or concept of "intention" has been overused by some as a concept that is something like what one speaker described as "using God as the great carhop in the sky," delivering whatever "stuff" we happen to think will bring happiness--a new car, a new house, a different job, a raise, or maybe even a soul mate. When I use the term "intention," this is decidedly not what I mean.
To me, "intention" is sacred. To live with intention means to align with and act from purpose--what each of us comes into the world to be. Think of intention as a contract we agreed to before coming into this world. Living with intention is acting, moment by moment, in accordance with guidance from our hearts about that intention.
I have a picture in my mind of each soul, before taking human form, sitting with the power of Love, looking out with legs dangling over something that looks like the Grand Canyon, and having a conversation that might go like this one that I think I had.
Me: "I'd like to go into the world as a human being, so that I may evolve my soul."
Love: "What lessons do you wish to learn on this journey?"
Me: "There are many, but I believe the most important ones for me are to receive love, to keep commitments, and to persevere with love...to have faith...in the face of overwhelming challenges."
Love: "Those are powerful lessons. They are also ones that are important in evolving the world, too. You know that is a great privilege to take human form to learn these spiritual lessons."
Me: "I do. I am ready to pay for that privilege."
Love: "The people in the world have forgotten that they are spiritual beings intended to connect through love. You would perform great service by helping them remember that."
Me: "That is service that I will commit to performing."
Love: "There is another piece to it. The people of the world seem to forget most who they are when they are at work. Your service would be especially great if you would help them remember who they are at work."
Me: "I will do that."
Love: "Thank you for your willingness to do that work."
Me: "It is a privilege."
Love: "Now you know that you will receive special gifts and talents to help you do this work. What gifts and talents would you like?"
Me: "Hmmm. Language--the ability to use language to touch people and to help them remember who they are. That would be one. And, the ability to understand people when they are at work--to know what causes them to forget who they are. Finally, of course, the ability to remember who I am when I am in work settings."
Love: "Those are good ones. We--the collected souls--would like to throw in some others, but especially 'dance.'"
Me: "Dance? I don't understand."
Love: "You don't need to understand, but it will speak to you and you will learn from it."
Me: "These will be my intentions. They will be written on the back side of my heart, and I will tune in to listen to where they lead me."
Love: "You will do well."
Each of us had a different "conversation," but we all made commitments. Our unique and special "recipe" for this life is written on our hearts. The intentions that we agreed to before taking human form are the only intentions that are important. Listening to our hearts keeps us on track. Yet we will almost never (maybe never, but I don't know that) be told in one fell swoop what the whole plan is or even why we are to do what we are to do. We will be guided, one step at a time.
The magnitude of millions of steps accomplishes miracles, making the impossible possible.
Wednesday, October 2, 2013
What a difference a day makes
When I wrote my post yesterday morning, the reality of being without job and paycheck during the government shutdown was just sinking in. Treating this experience as a gift, I set out to focus my intentions on three things that I have wanted to increase in my life. I wanted more exercise and healthier eating, more meditation, and to e-publish at least one of my books--The Game Called Life.
I am already feeling even better than usual. Maybe eating healthfully is a bit like riding a bike: our bodies remember. As soon as I passed up sugar a couple times, I found myself craving certain vegetables that I haven't bought for a while. When I wanted a mid-afternoon snack, raw nuts came to mind for the first time in months. Yet, this is a journey. I would be less than honest if I didn't say that when I sat down for dinner, I did miss my glass of red wine, abandoned because alcohol contains sugar, but having brewed a pitcher of fresh iced tea in the afternoon, wine was quickly out of mind.
Skipping the train, I walked 70 minutes while running errands on foot yesterday and 40 today so far. The chemicals that our brains release when we exercise kicked in right away, and by the time I was back, I was energized and joyful to get to work on my e-book.
After working a while, I took a meditation break. For over 20 years, I've meditated, and for much of that time, it was 20 minutes a day. In 2008 my life seemed to be thrust into fast-forward with many travel days ending with me falling asleep on my computer. Most of that time I still meditated 20 minutes a day, but at some point the exhaustion got the better part of me. I'd regularly fall asleep during my meditation, so I started staying in bed another 15 minutes. I'd still take 5 minutes to center myself before leaving my hotel room. The schedules and reasons have changed over the last 5 years, but the pace has not.
Occasionally, meditation has slipped, but most of the time it has been more like taking 5 or 10 minutes before I raced off to work. Yesterday, I took my full 20 minutes. Like taking a hot soak at the end of a hard day, I was enveloped in the warmth of Love from All That Is. How could I ever have imagined that skipping this was serving me? Only some kind of warped rationality could have convinced me that abandoning this in the middle of the craziness was a good idea.
I made good progress on the e-book yesterday and this morning. As a "project," it is definitely a success, but I am most certain that thinking it is a project is only an illusion. I write spiritual books--books that are written to help readers get back on their paths and to stay on them. I couldn't have imagined the impact of being up close and personal with this book--I have to touch every single word--that I've read at least 8-10 times since I wrote it would have on me.
There is a joke about turning one's life over to God. It goes something like this: When you turn your life over to God, the first thing you hear is, "Thank you!" The second thing that you hear is "Hold on!"
I am in "Hold on!" right now. Every page seems to give me a lesson that I need to re-member--to make a conscious part of me again. Perhaps most important right now is that The Game Called Life is a game and the point of the game is spiritual growth. Every thing that happens in our lives is an opportunity to grow, including furloughs, and every person that passes through, even for a brief time, is a spiritual learning partner, even trying bosses. I must have been spiritually comatose to have forgotten that when the busyness of my life distracted me from the things that matter most in my life--health, mediation, writing and spiritual growth. These are things that I truly know in my heart, but I've just not been listening enough lately.
The Game Called Life will continue to jar me from "the sleeping state that men call waking." (The Upanishads) And, I am holding on to see what other changes will be wrought in my life during this unplanned spiritual adventure.
I am already feeling even better than usual. Maybe eating healthfully is a bit like riding a bike: our bodies remember. As soon as I passed up sugar a couple times, I found myself craving certain vegetables that I haven't bought for a while. When I wanted a mid-afternoon snack, raw nuts came to mind for the first time in months. Yet, this is a journey. I would be less than honest if I didn't say that when I sat down for dinner, I did miss my glass of red wine, abandoned because alcohol contains sugar, but having brewed a pitcher of fresh iced tea in the afternoon, wine was quickly out of mind.
Skipping the train, I walked 70 minutes while running errands on foot yesterday and 40 today so far. The chemicals that our brains release when we exercise kicked in right away, and by the time I was back, I was energized and joyful to get to work on my e-book.
After working a while, I took a meditation break. For over 20 years, I've meditated, and for much of that time, it was 20 minutes a day. In 2008 my life seemed to be thrust into fast-forward with many travel days ending with me falling asleep on my computer. Most of that time I still meditated 20 minutes a day, but at some point the exhaustion got the better part of me. I'd regularly fall asleep during my meditation, so I started staying in bed another 15 minutes. I'd still take 5 minutes to center myself before leaving my hotel room. The schedules and reasons have changed over the last 5 years, but the pace has not.
Occasionally, meditation has slipped, but most of the time it has been more like taking 5 or 10 minutes before I raced off to work. Yesterday, I took my full 20 minutes. Like taking a hot soak at the end of a hard day, I was enveloped in the warmth of Love from All That Is. How could I ever have imagined that skipping this was serving me? Only some kind of warped rationality could have convinced me that abandoning this in the middle of the craziness was a good idea.
I made good progress on the e-book yesterday and this morning. As a "project," it is definitely a success, but I am most certain that thinking it is a project is only an illusion. I write spiritual books--books that are written to help readers get back on their paths and to stay on them. I couldn't have imagined the impact of being up close and personal with this book--I have to touch every single word--that I've read at least 8-10 times since I wrote it would have on me.
There is a joke about turning one's life over to God. It goes something like this: When you turn your life over to God, the first thing you hear is, "Thank you!" The second thing that you hear is "Hold on!"
I am in "Hold on!" right now. Every page seems to give me a lesson that I need to re-member--to make a conscious part of me again. Perhaps most important right now is that The Game Called Life is a game and the point of the game is spiritual growth. Every thing that happens in our lives is an opportunity to grow, including furloughs, and every person that passes through, even for a brief time, is a spiritual learning partner, even trying bosses. I must have been spiritually comatose to have forgotten that when the busyness of my life distracted me from the things that matter most in my life--health, mediation, writing and spiritual growth. These are things that I truly know in my heart, but I've just not been listening enough lately.
The Game Called Life will continue to jar me from "the sleeping state that men call waking." (The Upanishads) And, I am holding on to see what other changes will be wrought in my life during this unplanned spiritual adventure.
Tuesday, October 1, 2013
Embracing the gifts
This morning I am officially unemployed for the first time in almost 30 years. I have to admit that my first reaction was to contact a friend to do something. Thankfully, she was not available today. Then I did what the very thing I should have done first: turn to my heart.
"What are your intentions?" is the question it had for me. Ah.
Suddenly, the floodgates opened to all those things that I've been saying I really want to do but don't have time. While cleaning my very cluttered desk might have been one of them, that is a "should," not a "really want." What is the difference? A "should" is something that comes from outside of me. I "should" clean my desk so if someone comes to visit, they won't think I'm a slob. (Probably wouldn't happen anyway because generally I am a neatnik except at my desk.) The cluttered desk only bothers me when I start looking for something that I can't find, and amazingly, most of the time I am able to find things.
A "really want" is something that I want in my heart. A "really want" is something I really yearn for. When I started writing this blog, it was because writing again was a "really want" for me. I felt like part of my soul was being ripped from me every day I didn't write. When I started writing this blog, I almost immediately experienced deep peace and satisfaction. I truly cannot explain how wonderful it has been for me.
What are my "really wants" right now? Three things came immediately:
"What are your intentions?" is the question it had for me. Ah.
Suddenly, the floodgates opened to all those things that I've been saying I really want to do but don't have time. While cleaning my very cluttered desk might have been one of them, that is a "should," not a "really want." What is the difference? A "should" is something that comes from outside of me. I "should" clean my desk so if someone comes to visit, they won't think I'm a slob. (Probably wouldn't happen anyway because generally I am a neatnik except at my desk.) The cluttered desk only bothers me when I start looking for something that I can't find, and amazingly, most of the time I am able to find things.
A "really want" is something that I want in my heart. A "really want" is something I really yearn for. When I started writing this blog, it was because writing again was a "really want" for me. I felt like part of my soul was being ripped from me every day I didn't write. When I started writing this blog, I almost immediately experienced deep peace and satisfaction. I truly cannot explain how wonderful it has been for me.
What are my "really wants" right now? Three things came immediately:
- Take better care of my body. Start exercising regularly again and get rid of sugar which really has negative effects on me. For over 25 years, I exercised almost every day, and I felt great. However, in the craziness of my life in recent years, I acted different priorities than what I know in my heart. I am going to start acting on what I know to be true for me: exercising regularly makes me feel great. And, the sugar...I give it up every year at Lent and really notice the difference how much better I feel, but my sweet tooth never takes long to lure me back. I know--truly know--that I am happier and more peaceful without it.
- Meditate every day--really meditate for a full 20 minutes. When my life was working better, exercise and meditation were rituals. They were the centerpieces around which I fit my life instead of vice versa.
- E-publish at least The Game Called Life. I started to do this a few months ago and the word document had totally gone missing from my computer. I can't find it anywhere--on my computer, on memory sticks, or on my back up hard drive. I am going to put it in my computer again (and back it up several places!) I sense that I really need to be up close and personal with this book again. Every time I read it, I am impacted by it. I think it is time to really have a relationship with it. If the government shutdown continues, I have a couple other books I've been wanting to get out there. Who knows? By the end of the furlough, I may have a whole library out there.
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