Whatever Is Going On With Me?

There was a time when television shows started new seasons a week or two after Labor Day in September, and the season ended in late spring.  We'd get "reshows" all summer, which wasn't so bad because who wants to be in watching TV in the summer, and then the cycle would start over again. We developed long-term relationships with characters; they could be almost like family.

I am not exactly sure when that began to change because I didn't have TV reception for many years, and when getting cable cost me almost nothing when I subscribed to internet service, I went many more years before I started watching again.  In recent years there seem to be two patterns of TV series.  One at least nods to the old pattern, where the season is now-later fall, ending in now-earlier spring, but anytime we have holidays or big events on other channels (World Series, the Oscars, the Grammys,) we get reruns.  Sometimes for no apparent reason the program will go into reruns or go completely dark for a few weeks.

The second pattern, which seems to be increasingly common, is a six- to eight-week set of shows, followed by a 44- to 46-week wait for the next bundle of new programming.  Occasionally, the programs will have two little bundles a year with long waits in between.

Since my job has now rendered me pretty useless from exhaustion in the evenings, and I have discovered the "on demand" feature so I can watch programs that are on after my bedtime, I find that I watch way too much TV.  I have, however, discovered some high-quality programs when I am willing to sort through all the junk that poorly imitates art. Because some of these bundles come and go very quickly and often with no apparent rhythm to me, I have began searching the web for announcements of new season dates.  One such program that I discovered in its bundle last year is "Finding Your Roots."

"Finding Your Roots" is the brainchild of host Henry Louis Gates, Jr., the African-American Harvard professor who made headlines a few years ago when he was arrested for breaking into his own home when he got locked out.  Besides being a Harvard professor, Gates is an Emmy Award winning documentarian, literary critic, and book award winner. In "Finding Your Roots" Gates hosts two to three prominent individuals, often from the same genre--artists one week, politicians another, talk-show hosts still another.

During the program he explores the ancestry of each guest--good, bad, and ugly.  You had a slave owner in the background, it will come out.  You have direct lineage to Abraham or Charlemagne, he will share it. You had a relative who managed to survive pogroms in the Ukraine or Russia or concentration camps, we learn about it.

I am not sure why I have found the program so compelling because, except for my American Indian great grandmother, I've had almost no interest in my own personal ancestry.  My interest had been mildly tweaked, and I've found particularly interesting how the DNA testing process can actually link by name long lost cousins.

Crossing the trajectory of this "season" of "Finding Your Roots" has been the introduction by a friend to me of the "Outlander" series, which is set in 18th Century Scotland. While I have been led to believe that on both sides of my family that I am mostly Scottish and Irish, my interest in learning more has been yawning until the last two or three weeks.  Suddenly, I am intrigued to learn more about those ancestors who came to the colonies long before they thought of becoming a country.  As I see some of their trials, I want to know more.  Although I've always been interested in history, I don't think I've ever had any exposure to the history of that region, and I want to learn about it.

Beyond my ancestry and the interweaving of together of different TV programs, what I am really feeling particularly compelling about the whole set of circumstances is that it feels like the Universe has conspired to get me passionate about something in which I had absolutely no interest until just a few weeks ago.  Similar things have happened before when I feel bombarded by information about something that I knew nothing about previously.

Noticing is important.  In order to live the life of spiritual intention, we have to notice, pay attention, and follow the threads that are thrown onto our paths.  So last night when one of those pop-up ads appeared on my computer screen offering a "deal" on the DNA testing, I followed it and learned a lot more about how it works...even the finding of long lost cousins part.  I bit. It just seemed like what I was supposed to do.

I have a rule of three in life, when three apparently "coincidental" occurrences happen about the same time, I notice and do something about it.  For instance, I recently bumped into the same person who I haven't seen for some time three times.  I scheduled lunch.

Many of my spiritual coaching clients have said to me that the Universe doesn't speak to them.  Of course, it does, I would say, but you have to speak its language.  The language of coincidences or sparked passions is how the Universe speaks to us.  Noticing is how we listen.

Doing What I am Good At

Since The Late Show is on way too late for me to watch and still make my 5 a.m. wake-up call, most days I end up having dinner with Stephen Colbert and the previous night's antics On-Demand. (He's actually a nice dinner companion since I have no other.) I was delighted a couple weeks ago (2/18/16)  that one of Stephen's guests was Tea Leoni, star of "Madame Secretary," one of my new favorite shows.

Leoni was on the show just before turning 50, and she and Colbert shared a humorous look at some of her life.  An interesting piece of trivia bubbled up.  Leoni was educated to be an anthropologist and apparently worked in the field for a period of time.  "I was good at it," she shared.

She continued to share a conversation she had with her father when she was a young woman.  "Don't do something because you're good at it," he'd said to his daughter when she was a young woman. "Find something you're passionate about, and you'll learn to be good at it."  Obviously, Leoni took his advice, and we are all the beneficiaries of her fine acting.

I was struck by the advice because it has special significance to me.  When I am with someone with whom I feel it safe to share my displeasure with my work, almost always they will say something about how good I am at it.  My field is a broad one.  I seem to be stuck in one narrow band of activity, which I am good at but for which I have no passion.  Frequently, the boringness of my days has led to soul-searching about whether I even like my profession any longer.  Then, I remind myself that what I am doing is not my sweet spot in the field, and maybe if I was doing that work I would love it again.

Now I reflect on the advice of Leoni's father to do something you are passionate about, and you will become good at it.  The truth is that I no longer know what I am passionate about.  On those occasional unbounded days when I take off the constraints, I have asked myself what I would do if I won the lottery and didn't have to work for money.  I know for certain that I would want to work. People in my family live to be 100 and the idea of being retired for 35 or 40 years leaves me stone cold.

What would I do?  I don't have an answer, but I harken back to a contribution by a colleague at a professional meeting over 20 years ago now.  He had talked about a decision-making "tool" he used when he didn't know what to do.  "I ask myself 'Would it bring me to life?' or 'Would it bring life to me?'"  He said just asking those simple questions almost always brought crystal clarity to him.  I've used the questions a number of times in the last 20 years, and they have not failed me.

I have not won the lottery so I do need to work in something that will support me financially. There are certain parts of my profession that I think I would have passion for...if I just had the opportunity to do them again.  While not totally in my sweet spot, it ends up that I have a couple of projects this spring that will at least allow me to move closer to that place where work just seems to flow through us.  Maybe those experiences will provide insights.

However, there is a part of me that really believes I should be doing something completely different at this point in my life.  I've been doing organization development for almost 25 years, and I feel that I'd like to travel a different path for the next 10-12.  I do love coaching, but I recall that when I was coaching full-time in the 90s that I missed the contact with people that we have on our jobs.  So while I would love to do more coaching, I don't think I want that for a full-time gig.

Last night I had a young woman as a guest at a dinner party who is doing international development work.  I've had several friends who do that kind work, and I've also wondered if I could figure out how to segue into that kind of endeavor. When I look at the refugee crisis and other such disasters, the work really is aligned with the contribution I'd like to make in the world.

I've also noticed that I've been purchased a couple books recently and realized only after I'd made the purchases that they were categorized by their publishers as "criminal justice" and "sociology."  I had a minor in sociology as an undergraduate. Perhaps they are pointing  to dormant passions.

As all of you who have been reading this blog for awhile know, I love cooking, but have never seen it as a career.  I love movies too, but really don't see work in it.  I am allowing myself to just indulge myself in these avocations.  While I love travel, it is a little more challenging to indulge myself there. I do love to write.  If we go back far enough, like when I could first hold a pencil, I have always loved to write.  Maybe that's really the answer to the question of what I'd do if I won the lottery, but alas I have not, and history has taught me that unless one writes the occasional bestseller, writing cost me more than it landed in my bank account.

Along the way, I have confidence that something will spark my passions and make clear to me what the next chapter in life will be.  So, for now, I will be paying close attention to my "What brings me to life?" meter, knowing when I find the passion, I will be good at what it reveals.

Sinking into Passion

In remarks after the movie last night, "The Monuments Men" author Robert Edsel said that the day he had arrived at the National Archives to begin his research in the morning, he had become so absorbed in the fascinating material that he was shocked when someone tapped on his shoulder.  It was one of the archivists, saying to him that the Archives was about to close.  "On Thursday we close at 9 p.m.," she said to him. He hadn't moved from the table since his arrival.

"Wow!" I thought.  How cool to be so absorbed with something that he totally lost himself for a day.  I was envious.  Then, I almost laughed out loud when I thought that was exactly what happened each time I've written a book.  The realization was like sinking into a hot bubble bath, wrapping me with warmth and reverie.

This is another weekend that I have set aside to work on my new book.  When I finally got in the groove the last time, words did flow easily, and I worked for five or six hours each day before tiring.  But, it wasn't that intense flow when I lose track of everything, and like Edsel, I forget all biological needs. 

Today was my normal day off, and it has been almost a month since I had time to tend to basic housekeeping needs.  I cleaned, changed the bed, did laundry, paid bills, and even filed my taxes.  (There's money coming back! Yeah!)  Was I avoiding?  I didn't really think so.  I could hardly see my small desk, and I didn't think it would be conducive to writing to try to create amidst such clutter.  I reminded myself that when I've worked on a book before, the "nesting phase" has been an important, maybe even an essential step.  So, I've had mercy on myself, even if this is avoidance behavior.

Before I go to bed tonight, my desk will be cleared, and my work space will be clean. The laundry is already folded, and the ironing put away. I am imagining myself getting up, stretching, making coffee while the computer boots, and sitting down to work with my special Peruvian good luck scarf, wrapped on top of my pajamas.  (Thank you, Deb!) 

I have a good feeling about this.  By the time Monday evening arrives, I will have had the experience for which I had envied Edsel--sinking deeply into my passion and totally absorbed in writing.  I've been there before: there's a kind of drunkenness without alcohol as I reenter the normal world from a place that is moving much faster and with its own rhythm.  Perhaps a bit like Dorothy landing in Oz.  Actually, that's exactly what it is like: "Where am I?" I'll ask while the room will spin about me.

Sinking into passion...into timelessness...has only happened for me when I write and when I dance, but is the most delicious space into which I tread.  It is truly sacred space, and each time I go there I am truly grateful for the privilege.

Like Water for Chocolate And Such Things

Twenty years ago, "Like Water for Chocolate" was a popular movie about a young woman--Tita--who was a wonderful cook, and she had the magical ability to infuse whatever she was cooking with the feelings she had when she was preparing the food.  On days when she was sad, the sadness went into the food, and guests would cry when they ate.  When she was joyful, they felt the joy in what she had cooked.

I love to cook.  I had a lot of things to do on this afternoon of "winter mix"--snow and sleet.  I did almost none of them and cooked instead.  A friend, who has a wonderful Christmas party, has asked me to bring a cake.  I set about to test recipes to find one suitable for the occasion and for my seriously chocoholic friend. 

When I bake, I get lost in time.  I am so connected to what I am doing that everything else drops away.  The technical term for what happens is the "flow" state.  Those who study such things say that a person in the flow state has developed enough competence that they don't really have to think about what they are doing.  My term for it is passion: a deep connection between gift and a love of what I am doing. I think that is probably what happened to Tita, and why her feelings became part of what she cooked. 

Being in the flow state is a gift, almost an out-of-body experience. I feel it most of the time when I write or dance with a great partner, as well as when I cook. I've even felt it when I was speaking. To use one's passions and gifts in this way is a responsibility. Surrender totally to a gift and passion transforms one to a truly heaven on earth.  Over the last few months, writing this blog has transformed me in the same way, and I am keenly aware how critical being in flow is for my happiness and sense of purpose.

I hope that those, who partake of the fruits of my labor at my friend's party, will feel my passion in each bite.  Sharing with them is my gift to her, them, and me.