Accepting that I am a Mere Mortal

I had an inspiring all-day class at the Smithsonian last Saturday--A Day at the Louvre.  When I emerged at 4:15, I was delighted to discover not only a beautiful summery day in the mid-60s, but that, now two months passed the winter solstice, the days are noticeably longer.  After being in a cavelike classroom all day, I relished the warmth of the sun on my face, and rather than ducking into the Metro station that was feet away, I decided to walk 20 minutes to a more distance station to enjoy the day and movement.

In the short duration of a 15-minute train ride, by the time I emerged from the subway, I was feeling really tired and a definite tickle had developed at the back of my throat.  Determined not to let the feather at the back of my throat spoil this splendid day, I nearly sprinted toward the pharmacy and grocery to run my errands.

But my determination was thwarted.  With every step, my feet became heavier until, as I walked into my doorway, my shoes felt like I was dragging lead.  I tossed perishables into the refrigerator, put on my jammies, got a hot pack, and curled up on the sofa, where I vegged until my eyelids, now equally heavy, would no longer stay open.

Mid-evening I awakened, and pushed into the kitchen to mark my name on freezer containers, which held my contribution to parish lunch.  I gathered books for a lecture the next day.  I kept pushing.  I was not about to let something like an upper respiratory irritation keep me from my plans.

I should know by now, but the will of my ego is intransigent.  If I push hard enough, I can will my way through anything, I seem to believe.  I think that may have been more true at some point, but as I focus more on spirit, my inner knowing will no longer allow it.

I coughed a lot in the night as the congestion in my chest grew thicker.  Yet, I still wouldn't surrender.
Finally, at 7 on Sunday morning, I gave it up.  I emailed a woman in my building who attends the same church to take my contribution and the pastor to let him know she would bring my goodies.

I crawled back in bed and slept for what totalled 13 hours.  (You think my body was trying to tell me something?)  I moved from bed to the couch, watched something on TV, and passed out for a few more hours.  Repeat the pattern.

Monday morning the ego rears its head yet again, and I push through to the office where I cough, am cranky, and feel miserable all day.  At 4, I tell my boss that, if I can get out of here, I will go home early.  I couldn't get people out of my office, phone and email to make that happen.  Finally at 5:15, I left. Finally! I went home and slept another 36 hours or so.

Why is it so hard for me to admit that I am a mere mortal?  My body gets tired and stressed, and my compromised immune system fails me.  Through the ancient miracles of surrender and sleep, I feel great today, but I really wonder why it is that I have to fight this up and down thing.

Most of my life my commitment to health and fitness have been a testament to my intention to create wellness in my life.  Even my struggles with sugar are against amounts miniscule compared to the general population.  Am I so hard-headed and strong-willed that I cannot seem to listen to my body when it speaks?  Or, perhaps even worse, am I so hard-headed and strong-willed that I will not listen when God speaks to me through my body?

I am very busy much of the time, and perhaps the only way that God can get my attention is to knock me off my feet.  OK.  I get it.  I listened.  It is Lent: my very work is supposed to be prayer, meditation, and reflection.  So, if it takes a respiratory infection, and it would seem it does, I finally listened. Ahh!

The First Day of Class

As a youngster, I always looked forward to the start of school, and my first encounter with insomnia came the night before the first day of school.  I'd be so excited that I couldn't possibly go to sleep. Not much has changed for me.  Today was the first day of my Psychology of Happiness class.  While I did sleep last night, I was just as excited. My passion for learning sparked yet again. Up earlier than usual this morning, I completed my chores had been completed 90 minutes before the start of class. I was eager and waiting.

There are so many ways that I am grateful for this class, and I'm particularly happy that I delayed my March start of this class until this group.  As we did our class introductions, almost ever one of us spoke of "resilience" as the trait that we are most proud of, and all of us shared that we'd had to overcome major, multiple, and even recurring challenges in life. About two-thirds of the way through introductions, one of my new classmates said we must all be related--from the same family.  We are certainly kindred spirits, who seemed to bond almost immediately.

Like many first classes, this one started with a high-level overview, and we will drill down into each topic as the course proceeds.  For this class, the overview revealed "Seven Habits of Happiness":

• Quality relationships
• Caring & acts of kindness
• Physical health
• Flow
• Character strengths & virtues
• Spiritual engagement
• Positive Mindset

Even though this was the survey class, I immediately recognized how these seven topics and the characteristics within each splendidly tied together many aspects of life with which I've struggled.  We were asked to pick one of these to focus on for the duration of the class. Intuitively, I knew "physical health" was the one for me.  As frequent readers will recall, I've struggled with allowing work to squeeze exercise out of my daily routine, and I've wrestled with my sugar addiction.  My desire to be present significantly impacts several aspects of my health.  Doing my physical therapy exercises daily greatly influences the level of pain with which I live. 

As my day began to wind down, I reflected on this list of happiness habits, and I thought about how powerful my intention is when I really put my mind to something, most certainly the foundation of my resilience.  I knew specific things that I want to do for each of the areas, except "Flow."  

I know "flow" well: it is that state in which we are having so much joy with what we are doing that we lose track of time and consciousness.  It requires a high skill level and equally high challenge.  Flow requires that we really care about what we are doing. The possibility to "win" must be present.  

The place in my life in which I am most predictably in "flow" is when I write.  When writing Leading from the Heart, I would often find that it was getting dark outside on long summer days when I began to get tired, the first experience I'd had of being conscious since sitting down to write, maybe 8 to 10 hours earlier.  I wouldn't eat, drink, or go to the bathroom, not due to deprivation, but because I was really out of my body and unable to experience the signs of bodily needs.  

Similarly, I recall one day when writing The Game Called Life, a book that I finished in five days, I actually wrote 32 pages in one day.  With my conscious logical mind, I have absolutely no concept how I did that, but I truly surrendered to my flow state.

I've experienced flow in other places in my life--when gardening, when dancing, occasionally when cooking, often when coaching, and sometimes when working on designs for my organization development (OD) work.  Currently, I am encountering impediments to the flow state in most of these areas of my life.  The northern exposure of my balcony garden makes "winning" almost impossible. (My neighbor warned me, but hope springs eternal.) I rarely have a dance partner any more who challenges me.  My OD design work is often not challenging, and when it is, there are so many interruptions that getting to that place where I lose consciousness is impossible.

Lest you think this is a lot of grumbling and complaining, it is not.  In my heart of hearts, I know that I can experience flow every single day just by choosing it.  Every time I write this blog, I fall into a flow state.  Yet, with increasing frequency, I have chosen to let the demands of longer and longer days on the job push writing out of my day.  A week ago, I had a really good idea for a post and even wrote myself a note so I wouldn't lose the thought.  By the time that I found energy to write Thursday evening, I sat staring at the note with no recollection at all of my earlier inspiration.

I have no illusions that taking this class will transform all of my bad habits, or that I will miraculously find the energy and will to write at the end of a 12-hour day.  However, there is one thing about intention about which I have become very clear: it is like target practice.  If I miss the bulls-eye, I aim again and give it another shot. Over time, I become more and more consistent at reaching my intention.  There are aspects of my life that 30 years ago I would have been shocked to learn that I now do quite consistently.  My hope is that looking back to 2015 in another 25 or 30 years, I will see that the things with which I struggle today have become happy habits in my life.