Not being who I thought I was...really...

In my March 12 post, I wrote about converging forces, demanding that I know more about who I am.  ("What's Going On With Me?") I shared how while watching the "Finding Your Roots" television series with Harvard professor Louis Henry Gates in parallel with the "Outlander" series, set in Scotland, a place from whence many of my ancestors embarked upon their journeys to North America, I suddenly became extremely curious about my own ancestry.  So, I swabbed my mouth and sent it off for information about my DNA.

A couple weeks ago, the results arrived.  I was shocked.  I felt like that man in the commercial, who had spent his whole life thinking his ancestors were German. He had learned German customs and dances and even acquired traditional German costumes.  Then, his DNA determined that he was Scottish.

My results weren't quite that different.  I have a very Irish name, and quite accurately, I knew that I was Scottish and Irish with a little Dutch and French.  The DNA tests confirmed all that with a bit more broad representation from the British Isles.

I also learned that I have 7% ancestry from Northern Spain, a place that I've gravitated to over the last half dozen years, and I've said many times that I could retire to Barcelona in a heartbeat. Walking the riverfront in Bilbao on a Sunday afternoon three years ago felt like home. Who knew that there might have been an ancestral attraction to the region?  Certainly not me.  Perhaps even more shocking was the 7% from the bridge between Finland and Russia and Scandinavia.  Really? Never heard anything about that before.

The real shocker, however, was not in these surprise pieces that are part of my ancestry, but in what is not in my ancestry...at all.

For generations of my family, the mythology has been about my Native American great-great-grandmother. I have been curious about it since I was a little girl.  One of my favorite dolls as a child was a Native squaw with a papoose strapped to her back.  As I matured, my grandmother told me how I had the Native cheekbones of her grandmother, as did my father. When sorting through photographs after my father's death, I asked my great-aunt (my grandmother's sister) who the woman was in a very old photograph. She reported it was her Native great-grandmother.

As I grew older, I have been intrigued in learning about Native customs and have even incorporated some in my coaching and consulting practice.  On occasion, I've made a traditional Indian pudding, and I've loved reading and occasionally presenting on the foods of the first Thanksgiving.  I've even had going to the Smithsonian National Museum of the American Indian to work with their genealogists to learn more about my Native ancestry on my to-do list for several years.

Fiction.  All fiction.  Like the guy, who needed to trade in his lederhosen for a kilt, my DNA proves that our family mythology was complete fiction. Zero percent.  I am more than a little curious about how such a story could have passed along for several generations, even through those like my great-aunt and grandmother, who actually knew this mystery woman.  But, I can't dispute the science.

This shocking news arrives at a time when I am really trying to figure out who I am on a more existential level, The combination has left me feeling like I am in the midst of a hurricane with everything I've believed about myself spinning around me, and most of it blowing away.

For most of three decades, I have either been passionate about preparing for or having a career in organization development (OD) and coaching.  OD is a broad enough field that my career has morphed in a number of directions since finishing graduate school: putting together a joint-venture in China, taking a corporation global, leading communication and change management for a project across the whole federal government, leading a culture change that dramatically improved satisfaction in the organization, and even facilitating a 20-year roadmap for an organization.  I particularly enjoyed several years during which I helped executives as they sought to spiritually align the work lives and businesses with their spiritual purpose.

My coaching work has gone in as many directions as the people I've coached.  Writing has provided a rich means for processing what I've learned about myself and others along the way. How could I not love this work that made the lives of people at work so much more satisfying?

How could I not, indeed?  But like my mythical Native ancestry, when I work in OD these days, it feels like I've put on someone else's clothes that neither fit nor suit me anymore.  While I still love to write, and when I have the bandwidth, I love writing this blog, I no longer have no passion for writing books.  I have at least eight or nine that I've started over the years, and I can't even muster the interest to finish an hour's work that would be needed to finish publishing The Game Called Life electronically.  One hour! And it has been on my desk for 18 months awaiting a handful of edits.

It is a very dark and rainy day in Washington, so I decided to skip church this morning and have an extended time of prayer and meditation about what's next.  To say the things that floated through my meditations were all over the map is an understatement. Working on a political campaign, working with a non-governmental organization (NGO), especially with refugees, doing something artistic, developing gluten-free foods...

The next wave took me deeper in my core existence.  I wrote: feels like home, service, positive, helpful, resourceful, solution-focused, learning, solid relationships, and using my significant experience, knowledge, skills, and abilities.  In many ways, the shocking DNA results seem like a message to me to just give up anything I've thought before and just make myself available--like stripping away everything I've thought about work and making myself available for what God wants me to do next.

I've been in similar situations before, and one time I packed my house and moved across the country. What followed over the next few years was amazing--totally in flow with the divine.  Another time, I dillied and dallied for 30 months.  Eventually the transition has worked out, but not nearly as easily. I've often wondered what would have happened if I'd followed 30 months earlier.  That is a mystery of time.

I truly hope that this transition will not require a move--I love my home and Washington. However, I do know that I will be available when and where I am guided. I will let God be God.

Woman's Work

What is "woman's work"?  While the very question may suggest to male readers that this is not a post that relates to them, that would be inaccurate.  What I am writing about here is the spiritual growth of the feminine in each of us, both male and female.  The Father of Modern Psychology Carl Jung and his followers believe that mythology offers archetypes of aspects of the human psychology, which describe spiritual lessons that we must learn in order to become more whole.

Jungians generally point to the myth of Psyche and Eros as the myth that describes the spiritual journey of the psychological feminine in all of us.  For those who like all the details, I apologize for what will be the 50,000-foot view of this myth.*  Conveying the details of the myth are not my purpose here.  Suffice it to say, the name "Psyche" means soul and also means butterfly. The myth is about the transition that our soul's make in transforming from chrysalis, the soul as promise, to beautiful and mature butterfly.

The myth symbolizes Psyche's work with a lamp and a knife, and her work is to take a good look at the person she is in relationship to other people, things, and situations.  At the start of the myth, she is pretty much unconscious, simply doing what she is told or expected to do.

As her transition progresses, she is forced to look at things differently, creatively, and intuitively because a set of tasks that she must complete would be impossible, given the context from which she starts. Along the way, Psyche learns to listen to her own rhythms and to not get emotionally attached. For the feminine in many of us, her lesson about learning to say "no" and protect her boundaries will resonate.

The lesson of  Psyche is often described as "sorting," and it is in that context that I've been revisiting this myth that I first read at least 30 years ago.  Both literally and metaphorically, I am in a transition period wherein I have the opportunity to work away from the toxic environment of my normal job for four and a half months.  What a perfect opportunity to be able to play around with options in my life without making any permanent commitments.

A former colleague and I lunched on Friday about how transforming it had been to be out of that work environment, freed of the pain-generating physical tension both of us had experienced.  With literally a full day of extra time each week, we actually have "a life" again.  I have found my humor and creativity return as I work in a respectful and supportive situation.

I confess that the Adrenalin withdrawal has been a struggle, but like any addict who has gone through withdrawal, I have come through the other side happier, healthier, and with more than a little trepidation about slipping back into the addiction when/if I go back to my real job.  That brings me to my first sorting.  Symbolically, using Psyche's lamp and knife, I am examining my relationship to my job, and maybe to work in general.

Because of a later in life business failure, I have felt driven to rebuild financial assets to support me through retirement.  Confronted by age discrimination all around me, I've forced myself to do more and better in whatever I do to counter the occasional ageist jibe.  I've also taken jobs that didn't use my strengths, abilities, or creativity to have a regular paycheck.  While I do seriously need a regular paycheck for several years, I am no longer willing to work to my weaknesses.  That is the lamp shining on my relationship to work.  I haven't yet mustered the courage to use the knife to sever ties, but it is much more difficult to keep doing what I've been doing with the light of exploration shining on it.

There is other sorting I choose to do.  The house of a friend was flooded about a month ago.  He texted me about all the things he was having to throw away.  I was more than a little jealous.  For some time, I've been bumping into an accumulation of things that are no longer useful or desirable, and, when I do, I wonder, why don't I get rid of that?  There is also a growing accumulation of things that I've received for gifts that I don't and won't use, but I have felt that I need to hang onto for fear of offending the giver.  For several years, I've asked friends to not give me material gifts but instead plan to do something together, but largely my pleas have fallen on deaf ears.

I am also recognizing the need to sort activities more judiciously, so step away from habitual activities or things that I "should" do and to plan to devote time to things that are important to me. During the six weeks I've been in my temporary job, I have started to exercise regularly again, and tomorrow I will meet a colleague after work to practice a dance routine for a talent show which will raise money for charity.  Still on the list of things to choose, strengthening exercise in addiction to aerobic.  Live theater is working its way back into my schedule.

Using the knife to cut away other activities that I have missed and enjoyed to make time for writing has been more difficult.  While I say it is a priority, choosing to write regularly is something that regular readers of this blog will attest is not something I've made time for as I did even two years ago. Cooking is a delight, and I know that I spend a disproportionate amount of time doing so.  Is it wrong to spend too much time in something which brings me pleasure? Is that even the correct question? Perhaps I need to weigh writing against cooking before I decide where to use the knife of sorting. I enjoy volunteering and I believe service is how we make a life, but knowing where to say "no" among things I enjoy is challenging.

I have my lamp out and my knife in hand to do the "woman's work" to which the myth of Psyche points.  I am eager to take the chrysalis of awareness and transform it into the butterfly of conscious living.  Doing so, though, is, well, work...the work of my soul.


*For an extended discussion of the Myth of Psyche and Eros, see: http://www.peace.ca/mythofpsyche.htm

The Babbling Brook

I built an extra 10 minutes into my schedule before work this morning to sit and listen to "The Babbling Brook." (Finding My Center, 8/24/14) Within seconds of plugging in my ear buds, I found myself taking such a deep breath that my chest almost heaved.  The next breath was almost as deep but more gentle. My shoulders dropped. Then, I drifted peacefully for the rest of my 10 minutes. 

What a great way to begin my day.  I floated to the Metro and down the escalator.  I normally would have jumped at the stacks of work on my desk, but today I took time to chat with a colleague who retired today.  I was crazy busy, and I spent most of the day racing a deadline.  At about 2 o'clock, I noticed that my breath was shallow again, and my shoulders had again crept up to my ears.  I stopped.  I reached for my iPhone and my ear buds and plugged in.

Once again it took less than 10 seconds to calm myself.  What has taken me so long to figure this out? I almost laugh out loud.  I really don't know why it took so long, but I am glad I found it did this soon.  As I refocus my attention on being centered in who I am, I am glad I have this tool.

I have often said that the first step in transformation is awareness.  This bit of awareness is truly empowering.  One day at a time, but this really feels like a huge step to getting back on track.

Rewriting Our Stories

Our minds play tricks on us, and the really tricky thing is they can totally transform for either good or bad how we experience life. Events in our lives are by and large neutral. They only become positive or negative because of what our minds tell us.

For instance, there are number if stories about people who were distressed because they missed a plane only to later learn that the plane had crashed.

Or there is the story about the man walking down the street, who was knocked over by a skateboarder, only see a heavy flower pot land on the sidewalk where he would have been if he'd kept walking.

If we are to experience everything as a gift, I believe it is essential that we become conscious of our stories and then rewrite them so that they help us see the gift.

This morning I cheerfully headed out for work, and I was hardly out the door before I began encountering delays. When I got to the corner where I would normally enter the Metro, the entry was closed. I was directed to a different entry.

I was just inside the alternative entry, when I saw my train leaving the station. When I made it to the platform, there were no times for upcoming train departures. A disabled train had blocked the tracks, and trains were bottlenecked from coming into the city. The missed train was the last for a while.  A long delay ensued, thereby assuring that I will miss my first meeting.

I finally entered a train that was packed like sardines. When I was almost to the station where I would change trains, the driver pulled in the station and said, "This train is out of service." So, everyone on the packed train offloaded.

At this point, I decided to walk a long block to another line where I would catch the train I would have changed to if my train had made it to the expected change point. It seems that was not an original thought. Hundreds of others joined me in the race to the other line, pushing and shoving all the way.

I allowed myself only a moment's pity before asking, "What's the gift? What's the gift?" Then I laughed out loud. I'd been struggling to fit exercise into my schedule thus week. Each of my delays had added more walking or escalators to climb. Was this a serious workout? Of course not. But it did get my heart rate up for a bit. By choosing to see all the delays as a gift, I started the day with a smile on my face and grace in my heart.

I was proud of myself for being awake enough to notice and to rewrite my story. That is a powerful act, choosing how to experience life without regard to circumstances.

Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

The Grocery Store Game

Back in the day when I was conducting Intentional Living Intensives with clients, I often encouraged them to play a game that I used to play.  It is a most enlightening (literally) game.  Last night after writing in this blog about connecting, heart to heart, with people one at a time, I was reminded of the game that I haven't played for years.  I decided to try it again. 

Here's how to play.  The purpose of the game it to make a heart connection with people that are often "invisible" in our lives.  They are grocery checkers, waiters, sales clerks, taxi drivers, baristas, the receptionist in a doctor's office, and anyone else with whom we transact business, often so closely that the only thing that separates us is the thickness of a dollar bill or credit card receipt, but most of the time we don't really see them.

In order to make a connection, it is essential that the "player" be focused only on the object of our heart connection.  Slowing down is essential. Eye contact helps. Most of them are not accustomed to being noticed, so it is important to just allow them time to be noticed.  The words that I exchange are said in a way that says I really mean them and not the typical, "Have a good day," said to lots of people without really thinking about them.  "You've been most helpful today.  I really appreciate it."  Often, at that point, they will break into a smile, but they will give you some indication that you've made a connection.  You've scored in The Grocery Store Game. 

I encouraged clients to make at least one connection each day to start with and to work up to the point where they made a connection at every transaction point.  When we "compared notes," what I often heard was they started out thinking they were going to do something for people in their transactions.  To a person, my clients ended up finding the connection was a gift to themselves.

Like my clients, I remember how good it used to feel to walk away from the check stand with my heart vibrating from that connection. I also remember how stress-reducing those encounters were.  They forced me to stop, still my mind and be present. How did I let that slip?  I'm not sure, but as I went to bed last night, I decided it was time to start playing again.

My day started with a smartphone which wouldn't work and me running late to a doctor's appointment, so I admit that I missed several opportunities in the doctor's office and the first two shopping stops before I was jarred from my autopilot life.  But as I set out to visit my service provider on the first of two visits, a little bell went off: this will be an opportunity to connect. 

When I was assigned to a technician, I recognized him from a couple earlier visits more than a year ago.  Before we talked about my problem, I took a moment to say I remembered how helpful he had been in the past and how grateful I was that I had the opportunity to have him support me again.  He looked delighted that I had not only remembered him, but had remembered that he had given me good service.

Sadly, the first visit didn't solve my problem, but when I went back, I used the opportunity to make another connection.  This was a much longer visit, and when I arrived at 6:30 p.m., I was tired, hungry, and frustrated. But to make the connection, I had to let go of all that. I just relaxed and partnered with this technician.  When I finally left at least an hour later, I looked her in the eyes and thanked her for being so helpful.  I said it had been a frustrating day, and she had made this very easy for me.  (My frustrating day!  Really!  This girl had been dealing with frustrated customers all day.)

She looked me right back in the eyes and started to tell me how much she'd enjoyed working with me. Then she went on to tell me how much I reminded her of her mother and how much she loved her mother.  The encounter ended with tears trying to well in her eyes.  When I left, I was still tired and hungry, but instead of the frustration I'd felt earlier, I just felt warm all over.  There was a spring in my step.  Life is good, and I like to think that both of us spread love out into the world around us.

Feeling My Heart

In less than a minute, I can transform my world.  All I need to do is to close my eyes, concentrate on my heart space, and "breathe into my heart."  I can't really explain how I "breathe into my heart."  I understand the physiology of breathing which involves nose, mouth, windpipe, bronchial tubes, lungs, and diaphragm.  There may be other parts, but I am fairly confident that the heart isn't one of them.

Yet, as I concentrate on my heart while I am breathing, something magical happens, my heart seems to get bigger and "vibrates"--a warm and wonderful sensation that defies description.  Even more remarkable is when I imagine the breath coming through the front of my body directly into my heart.  All I need to do is 3-5 of these "heart breaths" while saying "I AM."  It reminds me that I am here to reflect God.

Every bit of tension melts from my body, my jaw relaxes, and suddenly I am able to be present only to what is in front of me. 

What is really remarkable, other than a part of my body that isn't supposed to be involved in respiration actually "breathing" is that I don't do this more often during the day.  I am back to work again today, and as much as I had pledged to stay present--to reflect God and receive God from others--I quickly slipped into autopilot.  I was nearly home when I noticed the tension in my shoulders reminding me to breathe into my heart.  Almost as fast as I had the thought and started to breathe, the magic happened, as it always does.

This should be a no-brainer, but clearly the only "no brain" part of it for me is no brain between my ears engaged in remembering how simple it is to connect.  Another choice point for me--that time and place when I become conscious, recognize that I have a choice, and choose differently...in this moment.  For this moment, I am choosing differently.