I have just finished a fast-paced course on the Psychology of Happiness. There was a lot of writing and even more reading, as well as participation in online class forums. While I have definitely just done a major sigh of relief, I will miss some of the fruitful conversations (and consequent personal insights) that I've had with my classmates. Not much of content was new to me but the self-discoveries along the way were invaluable.
There was a twice a year ritual that I experienced while growing up in the Midwest: housecleaning. We cleaned more than twice a year, but the fall and spring housecleaning was different. Literally everything in the house was turned over and cleaned. Windows were washed. Drawers were emptied, sorted to dispose of things that had outlived their usefulness or size, and reordered. More than just cleaning, the ritual was cleaning out.
For a few years in my adulthood, I continued the ritual, but gradually it went from twice a year to once a year. First the windows were dropped off. Then the cleaning out the drawers fell away. Gradually, the ritual just disappeared. Even on my way-too-frequent moves, I seemed not to find the time or priority to clean out.
As my class has been drawing to an end, I've felt myself itching to clean out. That may at least be in part due to the fact that stacks of reading materials and outlines for essays have overtaken my small desk. A second computer that is still not been completely replaced by the new one, and related technology items, add to the disarray as does an inappropriate gift I received a few months ago and haven't quite known what to do with. I've wished I could just push it all into a waste bin and make it go away, but I know things of value lurk in the piles. I think that has just been symbolic of what has been going on inside of me as this class is drawing to a close.
I've been feeling the need to psychologically and spiritual clean out as well. After 14 years of serious financial struggle since the failure of my business, I am finally to a place where I can let my shoulders drop a bit. After five years of the most dysfunctional work environment that I've ever witnessed in 25 years of consulting with organizations, three layers of management above me have either been removed or quit in the last months. While we are now at about half-staff, and a crushing workload faces me daily as far as I can see, I can find potential that new leadership may bring. Hope is on the horizon.
All that leads me to have discovered in these three weeks that I've been in serious fight-or-flight mode for years. For so long, that it has become habitual. While the content of the class has not been anything I didn't know or even anything that I didn't practice for years, it has helped me re-member who I am. I say re-member because it feels like part of myself was put on a shelf and forgotten. If this class hasn't helped me pull it off the shelf and reintegrate it completely, at the very least I have it in my hands--all of me in my hands.
The cleaning out that I really feel the need for right now is getting rid of all the habits and behaviors that came with the fight-or-flight so that I literally have room to breathe again. And, the funny thing is that I also think I want to actually clean out, not just metaphorically.
The myth of Psyche demonstrates that the role of women is to sort, pick out what is useful and what has outlived it usefulness. I think my sorting muscles have atrophied, and physically cleaning my desk, files, closet, and pantry will help me get them in shape for the spiritual sorting I am beginning. While I might like to treat my psyche like my desk and make all the clutter just go away, I know that good stuff is buried in there that I don't want to lose. So, sort I will.
Showing posts with label starting over. Show all posts
Showing posts with label starting over. Show all posts
Saturday, August 8, 2015
Sunday, February 22, 2015
Rebirth
Last Wednesday marked the beginning of Lent--the 40 days prior to Easter--for Christians. Observers give up substances, foods, or activities that separate them from God. They also spend time in reflection and sacred study. The idea is to examine our lives--to learn what it means for each of us to be more Godlike, arriving at the holiest of Christian holidays ready to metaphorically start our lives anew.
Sadly, many miss the purpose. "I'll give up smoking for Lent."
"I didn't know you smoked."
"Oh, I don't, so it will be easy to give up."
Lent isn't supposed to be easy. It is supposed to be an annual reset, moving us to our higher selves. While Lent is a Christian practice, it is not unique. Jews mark Passover, which commemorates their escape from bondage in Egypt to return to freedom in God's promised land for them. Lent mirrors as we escape our bondage to bad habits in order to find our way to God's promise for us.
Although each is unique to its culture, the practice of marking the seasonal spring with observance of human rebirth is millennia old. Some may say that Lent isn't a lot different than marking the New Year and New Year's Resolutions, but to me it contrasts starkly, not the least of which is that many New Year's Resolutions are forgotten within the day. In Lent I am pledged to practice for 40 days.
"Practice" is the appropriate word. "Discipline" might be another, signifying that we are disciples or students. Lent is also marked by the personal reflection, which for me is a bit like peeling an onion. Each day I, the student, explore a different layer.
For many years, I have given up sugar for Lent. I am seriously addicted, and nothing distracts me more from my God-self than sugar. Giving up sugar (and consequently alcohol) is a no-brainer for me. Each year for a few days, I experience cravings and even shakes as I give up sugar, but by now, five days into Lent, I am feeling the freedom of having it out of my system.
A couple days ago I actually began to crave exercise instead, and yesterday I ventured out in the cold and snow for a long walk. I loved it. My body loved it more. This morning I walked again, although I did so indoors to avoid the treacherous sleet-encrusted sidewalks of Washington. After a lunch that reflected my healthier eating habits, I actually sat and read. Then I wanted to meditate, which brought me to writing today. As if each good habit naturally led to consciousness of yet another and another.
My meditation did more than return me to my computer to write. I found myself questioning what I spend time on and the level of stress I experience from trying to keep so many balls in the air. I actually laughed when I thought of forgetting to bring an activity sheet to a presentation I gave on Thursday. Although I expect I will be harshly judged for this oversight, it wasn't the end of the world, and we were able to complete the activity in another way. By contrast, letting exercise drop off my schedule for much of the week has had significant long- and short-term consequences.
I'd like to think that I will arrive at Easter pledged to really have learned and practiced my more conscious way of living so that I really will have a rebirth. History indicates that will not be the case. I've actually continued without sugar until my birthday in May one year and all the way until Christmas another, but there is always a piece of chocolate tantalizing me.
But, what if this year, I actually did allow myself to live my truth? Would staying off of sugar be like the domino that didn't fall and knock the others down? Would I keep exercising and meditating? Would I write this blog more regularly again? Would I be more like God envisions my potential?
That truly would be the potential of rebirth.
Sadly, many miss the purpose. "I'll give up smoking for Lent."
"I didn't know you smoked."
"Oh, I don't, so it will be easy to give up."
Lent isn't supposed to be easy. It is supposed to be an annual reset, moving us to our higher selves. While Lent is a Christian practice, it is not unique. Jews mark Passover, which commemorates their escape from bondage in Egypt to return to freedom in God's promised land for them. Lent mirrors as we escape our bondage to bad habits in order to find our way to God's promise for us.
Although each is unique to its culture, the practice of marking the seasonal spring with observance of human rebirth is millennia old. Some may say that Lent isn't a lot different than marking the New Year and New Year's Resolutions, but to me it contrasts starkly, not the least of which is that many New Year's Resolutions are forgotten within the day. In Lent I am pledged to practice for 40 days.
"Practice" is the appropriate word. "Discipline" might be another, signifying that we are disciples or students. Lent is also marked by the personal reflection, which for me is a bit like peeling an onion. Each day I, the student, explore a different layer.
For many years, I have given up sugar for Lent. I am seriously addicted, and nothing distracts me more from my God-self than sugar. Giving up sugar (and consequently alcohol) is a no-brainer for me. Each year for a few days, I experience cravings and even shakes as I give up sugar, but by now, five days into Lent, I am feeling the freedom of having it out of my system.
A couple days ago I actually began to crave exercise instead, and yesterday I ventured out in the cold and snow for a long walk. I loved it. My body loved it more. This morning I walked again, although I did so indoors to avoid the treacherous sleet-encrusted sidewalks of Washington. After a lunch that reflected my healthier eating habits, I actually sat and read. Then I wanted to meditate, which brought me to writing today. As if each good habit naturally led to consciousness of yet another and another.
My meditation did more than return me to my computer to write. I found myself questioning what I spend time on and the level of stress I experience from trying to keep so many balls in the air. I actually laughed when I thought of forgetting to bring an activity sheet to a presentation I gave on Thursday. Although I expect I will be harshly judged for this oversight, it wasn't the end of the world, and we were able to complete the activity in another way. By contrast, letting exercise drop off my schedule for much of the week has had significant long- and short-term consequences.
I'd like to think that I will arrive at Easter pledged to really have learned and practiced my more conscious way of living so that I really will have a rebirth. History indicates that will not be the case. I've actually continued without sugar until my birthday in May one year and all the way until Christmas another, but there is always a piece of chocolate tantalizing me.
But, what if this year, I actually did allow myself to live my truth? Would staying off of sugar be like the domino that didn't fall and knock the others down? Would I keep exercising and meditating? Would I write this blog more regularly again? Would I be more like God envisions my potential?
That truly would be the potential of rebirth.
Thursday, November 14, 2013
Hanging On To What I Don't Want
I rarely give advice when I am coaching. I prefer to let the session be a self-discovery process. On those occasions when I do give advice, however, what usually happens sometime between instantly and five minutes later is that I realize the advice I gave my coaching client is advice I should have given myself.
Today the advice was to be wary of hanging on to things that my client doesn't really want just because they are hers now. Almost as the words were coming out of my mouth, I thought, "Kay, you should be listening to this advice yourself."
Over the years, there have been others that have tried to hang on when they shouldn't. One pattern that I have experienced is the person who has a job they've never really liked or wanted but they've had it so long that they are terrified of leaving it or losing it. One executive that I coached needed to tell his CEO something, which he knew would anger him. I asked him what the worst thing that could happen would be. He sat quietly for a few seconds and said, "I'd be fired." He smiled, shook his head gently, and continued, "from a job I never really wanted. Freedom: that is what would happen." Hanging on to his own personal prison.
A heart surgeon was oppressed by the stress of the job. When I asked him why he continued, "Because my father wanted me to be a heart surgeon, and my brothers are heart surgeons. It's the 'family business': my father wanted me in the family business." Hanging on to what he never wanted.
In the work I do, it is really quite common to have a new manager with functional expertise to micromanage their staff because they don't want to let go of what they are "expert" at doing in order to grow into a new role. Unable to step up to what they've wanted because they are hanging on to what they had been yearning to leave.
There are lots of other examples, but in both my own life and in those of the many clients who have wrestled with letting go of something with which they are finished. In many ways the leap of stepping into what we want and letting go of what we don't is one of faith--faith that the other side will be better than where we are and not some the-grass-is-greener illusion.
After I gave my client advice today, I pondered: what am I hanging on to that I don't want. A laugh-out-loud moment followed: let me count them. It seemed for a bit that every thought passing through me brought another and another.
A couple weeks ago I wrote about feeling like I was pregnant--about to give birth to something new, maybe even a whole new life. (11/2/13) A woman about to give birth becomes something new: she becomes a mother. That role doesn't come with an instruction manual. She must risk moving into a totally new world with no assurance that she will do well...or even can do it at all. The baby can't wait for her to calculate her odds for success; it will be born.
In the instant that she becomes a mother, she lets go of who she was before the birth. Unless, of course, that she decides that she can't do it. Well, of course, that is crazy. She can't decide when she is going into labor that she isn't going to have the baby. I think that is where I am. Yet my hands are locked in a white-knuckled grip on what I don't want. Tonight I will ask for help--help letting go of what I don't want, so that I can give birth to this new life.
Today the advice was to be wary of hanging on to things that my client doesn't really want just because they are hers now. Almost as the words were coming out of my mouth, I thought, "Kay, you should be listening to this advice yourself."
Over the years, there have been others that have tried to hang on when they shouldn't. One pattern that I have experienced is the person who has a job they've never really liked or wanted but they've had it so long that they are terrified of leaving it or losing it. One executive that I coached needed to tell his CEO something, which he knew would anger him. I asked him what the worst thing that could happen would be. He sat quietly for a few seconds and said, "I'd be fired." He smiled, shook his head gently, and continued, "from a job I never really wanted. Freedom: that is what would happen." Hanging on to his own personal prison.
A heart surgeon was oppressed by the stress of the job. When I asked him why he continued, "Because my father wanted me to be a heart surgeon, and my brothers are heart surgeons. It's the 'family business': my father wanted me in the family business." Hanging on to what he never wanted.
In the work I do, it is really quite common to have a new manager with functional expertise to micromanage their staff because they don't want to let go of what they are "expert" at doing in order to grow into a new role. Unable to step up to what they've wanted because they are hanging on to what they had been yearning to leave.
There are lots of other examples, but in both my own life and in those of the many clients who have wrestled with letting go of something with which they are finished. In many ways the leap of stepping into what we want and letting go of what we don't is one of faith--faith that the other side will be better than where we are and not some the-grass-is-greener illusion.
After I gave my client advice today, I pondered: what am I hanging on to that I don't want. A laugh-out-loud moment followed: let me count them. It seemed for a bit that every thought passing through me brought another and another.
A couple weeks ago I wrote about feeling like I was pregnant--about to give birth to something new, maybe even a whole new life. (11/2/13) A woman about to give birth becomes something new: she becomes a mother. That role doesn't come with an instruction manual. She must risk moving into a totally new world with no assurance that she will do well...or even can do it at all. The baby can't wait for her to calculate her odds for success; it will be born.
In the instant that she becomes a mother, she lets go of who she was before the birth. Unless, of course, that she decides that she can't do it. Well, of course, that is crazy. She can't decide when she is going into labor that she isn't going to have the baby. I think that is where I am. Yet my hands are locked in a white-knuckled grip on what I don't want. Tonight I will ask for help--help letting go of what I don't want, so that I can give birth to this new life.
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