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.

The Amazing Human Spirit

Recently, I wrote a post about "My Amazing Machine," a look at how remarkable our human bodies are.  (3/30/14)  Almost as quickly as I published that post, I had the thought, "What about your amazing spirit?" Hmm.  I wrote a note that has been on my desk for two weeks: My Amazing Spirit. Well, what about it?

First of all, my spirit isn't the only one that is amazing.  One of the remarkable things about us as human beings is the human spirit.  I've written a lot about intention, listening to our hearts, and aspiring to do what we know is right in our hearts.  When we have the spark of something in us, we seem to be driven to do it.  A few months ago, I wrote about Olympic gold medallist Gaby Douglas, who was vaulting across her front yard as a pre-schooler.  I recall seeing a movie about jazz singer Billie Holiday; she was singing with jazz records as a tween. If we listen, the "code" is within us, as much as our DNA.

Writing has been in me since I could hold a pencil.  I have a knot on the side of my middle finger that I can remember forming probably by junior high school.  I can't imagine what it would look like if computers hadn't come along 25 years ago. Well, maybe I could.  My grandmother had the writer gene and had a knot on her middle finger that got gnarly as she grew older, suggesting there was something interesting to learn from this 92-year-old woman. 

Our ability to experience wonder sets the human spirit apart among species.  Whether when I walked on errands this afternoon amidst all the beautiful flowering trees, perfuming the air with their fragrance, watched the first sprout of a tulip breaking through the soil this week, or upon waking this morning noticed  that bright spring green begin to show on budding trees behind my apartment, our ability the gasp in wonder is emblematic of the human spirit.

We also have an incredible capacity to feel connection.  Sometimes I feel connected to a friend half a world away, remembering times spent together.  Other times, I feel connected to those I don't even know, like this evening when I watched an interview with the United Nations High Commissioner on Refugees, as he shared the plight of those impacted by war in several African locations.  On truly remarkable days, I feel connected to all that is--God, nature, humanity: I can feel a ribbon of love that moves through all of us.

Closely related to connection is our ability to experience community.  Community may be experienced in our families, churches or synagogues, schools, or neighbourhoods.  Even our workplaces can allow us to feel the connection of common purpose.  I've worked in newspapers, hospitals, and now a space agency, and in each there was the experience of pulling together to do something important.

Over the last several weeks, as the collegiate basketball season wrapped up in the United States, we had the opportunity to observe that sense of community that is team many times.

I am sure there are many ways in which our spirits are amazing, but I am often astounded at the resilience of the human spirit.  I literally lost everything and somehow found the will to bounce back.  I have had a couple of significant health challenges, but through will, and with the help of capable medical professionals, I fought my way back. 

This evening I watched "The Book Thief," a remarkable story of a young woman in Nazi Germany, who lost two families--her biological one and then the one into which she'd been adopted, her closest friend, and her home.  Literally out of the ashes she found her way to a fulfilling life.

I have reflected many times about former U. S. President Jimmy Carter, who suffered the worst defeat of any sitting president and resurrected himself to be author, humanitarian, Nobel Prize winner, and human rights advocate.  The past 40 years of remarkable world service have been the result of his resilience in the face of that defeat.

So my "still small voice" within me that whispered, "What about your amazing spirit?" was right.  The human spirit is pretty remarkable. Now that I think of it, I'll bet part of what is written on the back side of our hearts is how to be human, and, if we listen closely, how to fully experiencing the wonder of the human spirit.

Resilience

A few months ago when the movie was still in the theatres, I saw "All is Lost," starring Robert Redford as a lone aging sailor who's boat is sinking far out at sea.  Throughout the whole movie, we see him struggling, literally attempting to save his life far from any civilization.  I was amazed at his resilience--the ability to bounce back after a set-back.  Over and over again, we'd see him "give up" in exhaustion, literally out of resources and creativity.  Then the next scene would be the next day, and he was at it again, with a fresh idea and a new way to survive whatever dilemma was in front of him at the time.

Today in my mediation time, I kept flashing on his character waking up and attempting something new.  Those meditational snapshots have been on my mind all day. With yet one more snow storm dropping white stuff on Washington, perhaps my snapshots were foretelling the attitude I may need to make it through winter, but I suspect something more than that.  While it feels like I cannot survive one more snow storm, I am sure there is nothing life-threatening at stake for me this evening.

As I reflect on the sailor's resourcefulness, it was only when certain more obvious avenues to survival had proven unsuccessful that he was forced to become more creative.  Right up to the end of the movie, which I won't share lest I ruin the movie for any who haven't yet seen it, when he did something that almost seemed to assure his demise did he actually assure survival.

I think about my many efforts to get Choice Point published over the 17 years since it was "finished." I just gave up about 12 years ago, but I am wondering if I should literally dust off the now out-of-date book and bring more creativity to marketing.  Similarly, The Game Called Life, which I self-published because I didn't want to repeat my experience with Choice Point, has really never gotten off the ground, largely because avenues with which I was familiar for marketing a book with a publisher are closed to self-published works. 

My business, which failed in the dot.com bust, is another challenge wherein I felt at my wit's end in marketing before I finally gave it up completely six years later.  The economics of doing any of these things is more than a little terrifying to me after having my own economic "All is Lost" several years ago.

But the bottom line is that all wasn't lost.  Like the sailor in the sinking boat, I got creative.  I had to move, and I had to shift my expectations about how my work life would play out.  I did it though.  I have a regular income, a benefits package, and even some retirement savings I've been able to squirrel away.  I even bought a home again 15 months ago. While I may not be very happy in my current work, I actually do have choices.  All was far from lost. 

I think something in me is saying I should revisit some of these challenges, think like my life depended on succeeding, and discover how resourceful I could actually be.  That is what resilience is about, stepping back and taking one more run at it when all appears to be lost.  Like the sailor, I may actually need to put my life on the line to save my life.  If I don't try, how will I ever know?  I am reminded of a question I've asked in my books and many coaching sessions: "What would you do if you knew you could not fail?" If I could not fail, why wouldn't I put everything on the line?  Now that is the question.

Sisyphus?

In Greek mythology Sisyphus was a king who was known for deceitfulness.  His punishment in the afterlife was to push a huge boulder up a steep hill, and just as he was about to reach the pinnacle, the boulder would slip, and he would be forced to follow it down.  Then, the process of pushing the boulder up the hill would start all over again. 

For whatever reason, sometimes my life seems like I'm living out Sisyphus' punishment.  There have been a number of periods in my life during which I really struggled financially. Just when I would be able to see the light of day, something unexpected (usually a shift in one market or other) would occur, and I'd be starting over. 

I've encountered Sisyphus in my health as well.  "Health" isn't really the right word.  My overall health is excellent, but I've struggled with pain issues for 23 years.  In recent months, the annoyance has been the sight in my right eye.  If it's not one irritation, it's another. 

I'm tired.  I am ready for life to be easier.  So far, no magic easy pill has appeared.  Somehow I just keep on keeping on...and being pretty happy along the way.  The way I figure it, I can be cross pushing that boulder up the hill, or I can be happy.  Both those around me and I enjoy life more when I choose the latter.

I was talking to a friend the other day about my memoir, and she spoke to how resilient I had been.  I guess I have.  As I sat to write this, I googled "resilience."  No shortage of material on resilience out there, but the description I love the best was from Psychology Today:  "Resilience is that ineffable quality that allows some people to be knocked down by life and come back stronger than ever." 

What I liked most about it was the word "ineffable."  I just liked the sound and feel of the word; it has a happy feel to it.  I looked that up, too.  "Too great or extreme to be expressed or described in words."

Put together, we get "That too great or extreme quality to be expressed in words that allows some people to be knocked down by life, and come back stronger than ever."  How cool!  That reminds me of a song I learned as a youngster, "Get yourself up, dust yourself off, and start all over again."  I like that my friend thinks of me that way. 

A couple days ago I was recovering from a challenging week, facing taxes and paying bills, a writing deadline in front of me, as a cold was settling in for a stay.  I wanted to go to bed and sleep for a few days.  I didn't.  I wrote instead.  The more I wrote, the better I felt. 

When I start doing something I love, things just magically get better. In the painful days after a break-up, I ran.  I'd take off with tears running down my cheeks, and by the time I was home, I always felt great.  Sometimes I dance.  Other times I garden.  Still other times, I cook.  This weekend, I wrote. 

I think resilience must be a bit of a chicken and egg thing.  Is resilience what makes me do the things I love, thus allowing me to bounce back? Or, is doing what I love what gives me resilience? Or, does it matter? I think not.

Life has thrown me a curve ball or ten, and I have always bounced back.  I always learn something along the way, and most of the time I make new friends on the journey.  Most of the time I don't even whine much any more.  Maybe I've developed my resilience muscle. 

Although the definition implies that only some people have resilience, I wonder if resilience isn't something we choose.  Let's say I bring the intention that this next trip up the hill is going to be an adventure, and I will meet some interesting new people along the way. Odds are on that I will appear to be resilient, but not because I have a special mysterious quality.  I will appear to be resilient because I choose to be.  I've written many times that everything in life is a choice point. I've just chosen to be resilient, and that makes magic happen.