Washington is in the middle of a week of brutally hot weather, exceeding 100 degrees and shattering long-standing records. With the humidity, our heat indices have been even more relentless. Yet this morning I've been quite comfortably luxuriating on my north-facing balcony with a slight breeze. I breakfasted outdoors, a guilty pleasure I've enjoyed most of my adult life. As I did so, I found my mind drifting back to several patios, decks, and balconies on which I had breakfasted and to the friends with whom I had shared stories and laughed as we ate.
Before eating, I had finished a novel that I started a month ago on my staycation. In it the main characters started the book as boys, and by the end, they had become old men with failing eyesight. The book left me in a reflective space, which may have spawned my breakfast reverie. I've been thinking about this post for some time. For once I am not going to use the excuse of no time to write. If you had asked I wouldn't have known why I hadn't written, but this morning I know that I just hadn't had enough perspective.
I believe the expression "When the student is ready, the teacher will appear" came from the I Ching, but I also believe that a number of Eastern philosophies hold something similar to be true. During my outdoor breakfast contemplation this morning, the pieces began to fall into place for me. I, as the student, must be ready because lots of opportunities to learn a similar lesson have appeared.
During my four-month detail last fall and early winter, I became keenly aware that my life had spun totally out of control in recent years--to the extent that my physical and mental health were being compromised and my relationships were back-burnered, awaiting that precious "time" for nurturing. Certainly, time for writing, which really nourishes my soul, had become a low priority. I fell asleep from exhaustion when I tried to meditate. I had to be away from my long-standing, abusive work environment to get the perspective to recognize that.
In those treasured four months, I was able to see what had evaded me for so long. In my situation I had lost either the self-respect or the self-confidence to set and stick to my boundaries. When I returned to my permanent job, I wrote in big block letters with a box around them on the whiteboard behind my desk, where I looked at it every time I entered my office, "boundary clarity."
In a matter of days, I was tested. An unsustainable level of dark work again began flowing at me from very high places. Encouraged by my "boundary clarity" reminder, I began telling my clients that I would work with them, but it would be three months, four months, and even five months later. I brought in a contractor to do work with one client organization, which had needs that wouldn't wait. Still, the darkness and the volume of the work were too much.
Within a month I knew something had to change. After several conversations with my new boss, it became clear that the organization was more concerned about keeping my very senior customers happy than in keeping me healthy and happy. No relief would be coming, but I was assured that I was very good at this work. After an unusually frightening dream about the same time, I knew I had to leave. I began the process of planning for an end-of-the-summer departure. I was quite transparent with my boss and his boss about planning for an August separation.
I had no other job from which to make money, and I really need serious income for several years yet I knew I needed to take care of myself. My friends worried a bit more than I did about how I would live, but as soon as I got very clear about needing to move on, I had faith that something would work out. My big focus was on getting my clients, most of whom I'd worked with for years, to a good transition point. I learned about a month ago that the boss didn't really think I'd go, but he obviously doesn't know my courage when my spiritual path has become clear to me, and it had become very clear to me.
As soon as I had become very clear, out of the blue I received a call from a potential employer. Job announcements began falling into my email inbox with regularity. Even USAJobs, which has seldom had appropriate jobs, sent me a promising vacancy announcement. I am now just five weeks from my departure date, and I have two very strong prospects, each of which allows me to work in my "sweet spot," and each of which will be a significant increase in income. Perhaps as encouraging is that along the way as I networked with former bosses and colleagues, I found great sources for independent contract work.
In parallel, I realized how my work situation has made me unavailable for time with friends and even to pursue a primary relationship. In fact, for the first time in a long time, I added up how many years it had been since I'd had more than a date or two with someone. It wasn't an acceptable number. I began focusing my intention on at least meeting some men. I had first dates with people I would have just checked off my list a year ago. Most of them weren't serious prospects, but I was at least getting out and sending the Universe a message that I was serious.
Along the way, something else happened. While I just didn't have much in common with most of these men, there was another category. The only way I can describe them is "Really?!" The one who pronounced that he had two other women in his life but would like to add others. "Really?!" There was one who was married but said his wife was OK with him dating others. "Really?!" Last week, there was one who seriously treated me like a child. "Really?!" I wanted to add, "What do I look like?" but the truth is, I probably looked like a doormat, both at work and in my personal life.
I like to be nice to people. If I have ever been rude, it was either because I was tired or didn't realize what I was doing. In each of these cases, I just walked out. The last one in the middle of dinner at a famous-chef restaurant that I really love. As a serious foodie, that should have been hard, but it wasn't. Following each of these, someone more interesting followed. I'm still not there yet, but...progress.
In the 2006 movie "The Holiday," one of two female leads, Iris, played by Kate Winslet, has also been down on her confidence and has allowed her former boyfriend to walk all over her. In the movie, she meets an octogenarian, who is former screenwriter. He begins "assigning" her movie viewing of classic films, all of which have strong women leads. After said boyfriend crosses the line yet one more time, she kicks him out of her life. He is incredulous. "What's gotten into you, Iris?" he asks.
After a pause, she replies, "I think it is something resembling gumption." And, away she sends him.
As I've been contemplating this post over the last few weeks, that scene and those words have played over and again in my mind. Where did my gumption go, and more importantly, how did I let it go. I have been a strong woman most of my adult life. Anyone who has known me before this century would certainly have laughed at the thought that I didn't have confidence. A former dance partner once remarked (paraphrased for the general audience) "You have more moxie than any man I know."
"Where did it go?" is still a question I ponder, but mostly, I don't care. What I am passionate about is sustaining it into what feels to me like the next phase of my life--one that promises to be the best ever.
While both personally and professionally my life has been about helping others, I now know that I can't sustain my help for others if I don't take care of my first. How many coaching clients have I reminded that the airlines always warn us to put the oxygen mask over our own faces before attempting to help children around us. On this turn of the hero's journey, I've gotten this lesson differently than I had before. Saying "Sorry, I can't help me, I need to take care of myself," really is uncomfortable to even consider, but, whatever comes next, that is a clear boundary that I must enforce.
Sunday, July 24, 2016
Wednesday, July 6, 2016
Digital Detox
There is an expression, maybe from the I Ching, "when the student is ready the teacher will appear." My last post on "Digital Addiction" was hardly stalled in my iPhone, when it seemed that everywhere I turned, I was encountering something about the deleterious effects of digital addiction. I hadn't even realized that there even was such a thing as digital addiction until about six weeks ago. Now I am bumping into it everywhere.
First, though, I owe a report about how well I did, or more precisely didn't do, during my effort to walk away from my devices for one day. I found that every few minutes I would start to do something that involved one or another device. I would catch myself at least half the time, but that suggests that half of the time I mindlessly turned to the radio, iPhone, notebook, or television. Most of the time, I noticed within seconds, but at 5 p.m., I abandoned the experiment and decided that I would wait until my staycation. My little experiment has been a good lesson in not being present.
I am now six days into my annual vacation at home, and I realized two things going into my leave. First, I really needed to be off devices more. Second, going cold turkey was not going to work for me since I did want to arrange lunches, coffee, or drinks and other outings with friends, and doing so would require one or more of my devices. So, rather than shutting down all devices for 10 days, I took an approach we might call mini-withdrawals.
With my mini-withdrawals, I have brought more conscious to my use of electronics. That allowed me to actually choose when I wanted/needed to use by devices and be aware of how much of the time I was turning to them out of pure habit...and addiction. It has also allowed me to choose more consciously what I will watch or listen to. I quickly discovered that I often had something mindless on in the background just to fill space rather than because I really wanted to watch or listen.
How has this actually worked? When I was cooking for a dinner party Friday night and Saturday, I normally have had NPR, a podcast, Spanish lesson, or audiobook in the background. I made the decision to cook in silence. My cooking became a meditation. I was able to really be present. My guests arrived and I was relaxed and present to them.
This evening I walked about 20 minutes to the hardware store to pick up some things, and again normally, I would have been listening to something. I made the conscious decision to just leave the iPhone in the charger. I ended up having a leisurely shopping trip during which I was able to just enjoy looking...and a little buying.
I took a book to read on my commute to a lunchtime concert at the Library of Congress rather than my usual practice of catching up with email and reading The Washington Post on my phone, while listening to podcasts or TuneIn Radio. I was enjoying the book so much that I just left my phone in my purse until I got home, and when I was present, I decided to have a lingering lunch rather than putting myself on autopilot and jumping on the Metro to return home.
When sitting by the pool yesterday, I didn't check anything on my iPhone, but I do confess to loving the "Ocean Waves" soundtrack in the background while I read. I was able to actually get into the book I was reading and with which I had been struggling for two weeks while reading a couple paragraphs before checking some device.
While I do find the level of my descension into this addiction distressing, given the number of places I've been bumping into media coverage of the problem, I am not alone. Last night on the shuttle from the Metro to the Kennedy Center, where we can safely assume everyone is going to enjoy a live performance, a woman was totally freaking out that she'd forgotten her iPhone. I was glad that I'd decided to turn mine off until I was headed home. It ended up that I was so relaxed from not looking all evening, that I didn't even look at the phone until I was home.
In the last two weeks, I've discovered a Digital Detox Boot Camp in the jungles of Costa Rica, where they take people's devices and lock them up for a week, while providing lots of physical activity to distract participants during withdrawal. In the coverage about the event, I learned that the average American looks as his/her smartphone every 4 minutes! Given that I do often go hours without looking at mine, I felt some righteous relief with that data point.
During a conference that I attended last week, I learned that there is actually a name for what happens to people who spend too much time on their devices: Cognitive Capacity Overload. The symptoms are the same as ADHD--Attention Deficit/Hyperactivity Disorder, including inability to focus and really be present to what one is doing.
Just this evening on a Freakonomics Podcast--yes, I am still listening, but I have been much more judicious and have deleted about 3/4 of the podcasts to which I would normally have listened. Anyway, the podcast was exploring the health concerns related to lack of sleep, and you guessed, it all of our screens contribute to difficulty falling asleep and the quality of sleep once we do.
I love my iPhone, and it does provide me with efficiencies and effectiveness that I otherwise couldn't enjoy. (Thank you, Google Maps.) I am sure even those who will sojourn to Costa Rica for serious cold turkey withdrawal will pick their devices up again when they return. However, I have learned enough from my little experiment into mini-withdrawals to know that I will do them more frequently. The quality of my relaxation and the relaxation in my work is dramatically improved. And, I am able to embrace that most difficult of spiritual lessons: being present...in the present.
First, though, I owe a report about how well I did, or more precisely didn't do, during my effort to walk away from my devices for one day. I found that every few minutes I would start to do something that involved one or another device. I would catch myself at least half the time, but that suggests that half of the time I mindlessly turned to the radio, iPhone, notebook, or television. Most of the time, I noticed within seconds, but at 5 p.m., I abandoned the experiment and decided that I would wait until my staycation. My little experiment has been a good lesson in not being present.
I am now six days into my annual vacation at home, and I realized two things going into my leave. First, I really needed to be off devices more. Second, going cold turkey was not going to work for me since I did want to arrange lunches, coffee, or drinks and other outings with friends, and doing so would require one or more of my devices. So, rather than shutting down all devices for 10 days, I took an approach we might call mini-withdrawals.
With my mini-withdrawals, I have brought more conscious to my use of electronics. That allowed me to actually choose when I wanted/needed to use by devices and be aware of how much of the time I was turning to them out of pure habit...and addiction. It has also allowed me to choose more consciously what I will watch or listen to. I quickly discovered that I often had something mindless on in the background just to fill space rather than because I really wanted to watch or listen.
How has this actually worked? When I was cooking for a dinner party Friday night and Saturday, I normally have had NPR, a podcast, Spanish lesson, or audiobook in the background. I made the decision to cook in silence. My cooking became a meditation. I was able to really be present. My guests arrived and I was relaxed and present to them.
This evening I walked about 20 minutes to the hardware store to pick up some things, and again normally, I would have been listening to something. I made the conscious decision to just leave the iPhone in the charger. I ended up having a leisurely shopping trip during which I was able to just enjoy looking...and a little buying.
I took a book to read on my commute to a lunchtime concert at the Library of Congress rather than my usual practice of catching up with email and reading The Washington Post on my phone, while listening to podcasts or TuneIn Radio. I was enjoying the book so much that I just left my phone in my purse until I got home, and when I was present, I decided to have a lingering lunch rather than putting myself on autopilot and jumping on the Metro to return home.
When sitting by the pool yesterday, I didn't check anything on my iPhone, but I do confess to loving the "Ocean Waves" soundtrack in the background while I read. I was able to actually get into the book I was reading and with which I had been struggling for two weeks while reading a couple paragraphs before checking some device.
While I do find the level of my descension into this addiction distressing, given the number of places I've been bumping into media coverage of the problem, I am not alone. Last night on the shuttle from the Metro to the Kennedy Center, where we can safely assume everyone is going to enjoy a live performance, a woman was totally freaking out that she'd forgotten her iPhone. I was glad that I'd decided to turn mine off until I was headed home. It ended up that I was so relaxed from not looking all evening, that I didn't even look at the phone until I was home.
In the last two weeks, I've discovered a Digital Detox Boot Camp in the jungles of Costa Rica, where they take people's devices and lock them up for a week, while providing lots of physical activity to distract participants during withdrawal. In the coverage about the event, I learned that the average American looks as his/her smartphone every 4 minutes! Given that I do often go hours without looking at mine, I felt some righteous relief with that data point.
During a conference that I attended last week, I learned that there is actually a name for what happens to people who spend too much time on their devices: Cognitive Capacity Overload. The symptoms are the same as ADHD--Attention Deficit/Hyperactivity Disorder, including inability to focus and really be present to what one is doing.
Just this evening on a Freakonomics Podcast--yes, I am still listening, but I have been much more judicious and have deleted about 3/4 of the podcasts to which I would normally have listened. Anyway, the podcast was exploring the health concerns related to lack of sleep, and you guessed, it all of our screens contribute to difficulty falling asleep and the quality of sleep once we do.
I love my iPhone, and it does provide me with efficiencies and effectiveness that I otherwise couldn't enjoy. (Thank you, Google Maps.) I am sure even those who will sojourn to Costa Rica for serious cold turkey withdrawal will pick their devices up again when they return. However, I have learned enough from my little experiment into mini-withdrawals to know that I will do them more frequently. The quality of my relaxation and the relaxation in my work is dramatically improved. And, I am able to embrace that most difficult of spiritual lessons: being present...in the present.
Sunday, July 3, 2016
Digital Addiction
(Note: This was written about two weeks ago and has, by an interesting twist of fate, been trapped in my iPhone.)
Recently several articles in the Washington Post have
explored various aspects of digital addiction, even reporting on residential
treatment programs where people can go for withdrawal from their devices.
While I am certain that I am not nearly as badly hooked
as many around, I have wondered several times in the last month if I might not
be falling victim to this disease. I
have already decided that I want to go cold turkey during part of my staycation in
early July. But, even at that I have
wondered what exactly does "cold turkey" mean?
Since I get lost in my closet, I've been quite grateful
for having Google Maps facilitate my arrival when and where I attend. If I go
on an excursion during my staycation, must I really go back to reading maps,
which I really don't do very well?
If I totally give up electronics, that means I can't do
my Spanish lessons which require daily practice to be effective. Can I do my Spanish lesson once a day?
Can I sync my step- and sleep-tracker each day? What really are the consequences of not
knowing these things, which I cared little about until recently but which now
seem indispensable?
Usually during vacations, I really enjoy writing for this
blog. Would it be OK to write a blogpost
on one of several devices that I own?
You see the slippery slope upon which I am perched.
Back in the days during which the closest approximation
we had to smartphones was a Blackberry, they were jokingly referred to as
"crack berries" because even they were as addictive as crack
cocaine. Just the sampling of uses to
which I put my iPhone, described above, make it really easy to see how it is
easy to slip into this addiction. In and of itself, each use is benign; it is
the accumulation of all those helpful apps that threaten addiction. Even as I
write this, I am on my way to a Washington Nationals baseball game. Back in the
day, like 2010, I would have taken a book or a magazine to read on the commute,
and maybe I'd talk to people. Not today.
I love that I can finally have a chance to write, but relent the
consequences.
While I've been thinking about this issue for several
weeks, it is particularly heavy on me today.
I've been riveted to news coverage about the horrible tragedy in Orlando
all afternoon. Wearing my ear buds plugged to NPR as I ran errands and did
chores, I've hung on every word. Just before I started writing this post, I'd
found myself looking at my phone offering the temptation that a bag of heroine might
to a drug addict.
The line in the sand came when I realized that I'd
learned almost nothing...all afternoon.
(Note: Since starting this post earlier, I've now been to a very exciting baseball game
during which my phone remained happily in my purse.)
As I was saying, I came to the realization that while
there had been 4 or 5 reporters covering the event, almost nothing new was
reported. So what was the point of hanging
on every word, except for serving my addiction.
I do remember a time in the late 90s, though, when I was so disconnected
that my editor at Butterworth-Heinemann shared with me a breaking event about
Osama bin Laden, and I said, "Who?"
Clearly there is a happy medium between these extremes.
I do know that despite of, or maybe because of, that
exciting two-run 9th inning for the Nats, I feel way more relaxed after this
three hours than I did after three hours of the continuous news cycle. I take
that as good data. Now I just need to
turn that information into wisdom.
Because of a strange work week, my weekend is Sunday and
Monday this week, and while I won't give up my laptop, I plan to abandon my
iPhone except for what a phone is supposed to be used for--talking to friends.
Sunday, June 5, 2016
Spiritual Amnesia
In her popular book The Hero Within Jungian psychologist and writer Carol Pearson wrote about a lifelong journey through several archetypes--the innocent, the orphan, the magician, the wanderer, the martyr, and the warrior. Each archetype teaches us a lesson. For instance, the Warrior archetype teaches us the spiritual lesson of power, and the Wanderer shows us clarity.
Pearson describes our journey as a wheel, and life takes us through each of these life lessons several times. During each successive turn of the wheel, we are to master a more spiritually evolved degree of the lesson. For instance, I believe (I hope!) that I am now ending a turn at the Wanderer archetype. During the first pass through the Wanderer archetype we feel isolation, even alienation. In the second turn of the Hero's Wheel, we embark on a quest, flee captivity, and find treasure within ourselves. When we traverse Wanderer territory the third time, we discover to be one's Self and to have love and community.
Since these turns of the wheel may be decades apart, at first the archetypical spiritual lesson may feel new and foreign, but my experience has been to fairly quickly recall the lessons that we have already learned as we struggle to master the next level assignment. Passage through each archetype may take months or even years, but I have felt a blinding moment of Truth in which I finally "get it," and then I am free to move on to the next lesson. And, yes, if we are conscious, there is always "the next lesson" in yet another archetype.
I have certainly experienced what Pearson describes. I can look back at periods in my life and recall which archetypical spiritual lessons I was working on at different times. However, I have also experienced a similar or parallel process. For lack of something better to call it, let's just describe them as lapses into and out of spiritual amnesia. I suddenly think that I have had an epiphany: I see some aspect of the world in a different way. I am awash with spiritual liberation, as if I have just broken free of the bonds of some aspect of ignorance. In that moment I feel like God has pulled back the veil of the Universe and allowed me to peek at how it all works.
Yesterday I wrote about using Sister Joan Chittister's description of contemplation as seeing the world as God does. In my meditation I placed myself in the position of looking at me as if from God's perspective where I was able to see my struggle as a device to gain strength for whatever is next.
This morning I took Chittister's wisdom more literally. As my contemplation continued, as each thought or person bubbled into my awareness, I stilled my mind of its normal chatter and tried to see the person as God would. Suddenly, I thought: that is the point--to see each person as a child of God. Almost as quickly, it occurred to me that to see each person as a child of God will require continuous contemplation. My meditation cannot be 20 minutes set aside once or twice a day, but instead it must become a constant exercise of looking at the person in front of me at any time as if from God's eyes.
What a breakthrough, you may think. Sadly, it is not. Only a reemergence from spiritual amnesia for the umpteenth time. Probably the favorite speech I ever gave was about just this practice. Although I composed the speech in the early 2000s right after finishing The Game Called Life, "The Walk of Faith--Living a Prayer in the Real World" felt to me at the time as an outline for yet another book. "Living a prayer" described the continuous contemplation required to live in complete consciousness.
A few years earlier I had a related epiphany that the only way we as human beings have to know God is through other humans who so reflect the presence of Love that we can feel the Universe through them. During that period I would look for opportunities to visualize myself allowing God to use me as a human vessel for allowing those around me to know that complete feeling of Love that is God. I believe that is one of the most important lessons that the spiritual teacher Jesus was attempting to share with us as he allowed us to know God through him.
These are three distinctly different periods during which I clearly knew different aspects of the lesson that I seemed to discover anew today. Why, then, can I not seem to remember it? Maybe more accurately, what causes me to forget? Most importantly, how can I assure that I do remember for more than days or months but for the rest of my life? Sometimes my spiritual learning feels like the movie "Groundhog Day," in which every day was just the same with no forward movement. I am ready to move on from spiritual stuckness.
I ended the "Living a Prayer" speech by saying there is a ribbon of love that connects all of us, heart to heart, around the world. The ribbon of love can be activated by each of us, but if any of us fails to do our part, a short circuit occurs which stops the flow of love. Whenever someone crosses my path, it is my responsibility to activate the flow of love. For years I've talked about being response-able, which implies being conscious of choosing the response I want to send into the world. I want to choose love. I want to have the force of love that is God reflected from me to everyone I meet.
Pearson describes our journey as a wheel, and life takes us through each of these life lessons several times. During each successive turn of the wheel, we are to master a more spiritually evolved degree of the lesson. For instance, I believe (I hope!) that I am now ending a turn at the Wanderer archetype. During the first pass through the Wanderer archetype we feel isolation, even alienation. In the second turn of the Hero's Wheel, we embark on a quest, flee captivity, and find treasure within ourselves. When we traverse Wanderer territory the third time, we discover to be one's Self and to have love and community.
Since these turns of the wheel may be decades apart, at first the archetypical spiritual lesson may feel new and foreign, but my experience has been to fairly quickly recall the lessons that we have already learned as we struggle to master the next level assignment. Passage through each archetype may take months or even years, but I have felt a blinding moment of Truth in which I finally "get it," and then I am free to move on to the next lesson. And, yes, if we are conscious, there is always "the next lesson" in yet another archetype.
I have certainly experienced what Pearson describes. I can look back at periods in my life and recall which archetypical spiritual lessons I was working on at different times. However, I have also experienced a similar or parallel process. For lack of something better to call it, let's just describe them as lapses into and out of spiritual amnesia. I suddenly think that I have had an epiphany: I see some aspect of the world in a different way. I am awash with spiritual liberation, as if I have just broken free of the bonds of some aspect of ignorance. In that moment I feel like God has pulled back the veil of the Universe and allowed me to peek at how it all works.
Yesterday I wrote about using Sister Joan Chittister's description of contemplation as seeing the world as God does. In my meditation I placed myself in the position of looking at me as if from God's perspective where I was able to see my struggle as a device to gain strength for whatever is next.
This morning I took Chittister's wisdom more literally. As my contemplation continued, as each thought or person bubbled into my awareness, I stilled my mind of its normal chatter and tried to see the person as God would. Suddenly, I thought: that is the point--to see each person as a child of God. Almost as quickly, it occurred to me that to see each person as a child of God will require continuous contemplation. My meditation cannot be 20 minutes set aside once or twice a day, but instead it must become a constant exercise of looking at the person in front of me at any time as if from God's eyes.
What a breakthrough, you may think. Sadly, it is not. Only a reemergence from spiritual amnesia for the umpteenth time. Probably the favorite speech I ever gave was about just this practice. Although I composed the speech in the early 2000s right after finishing The Game Called Life, "The Walk of Faith--Living a Prayer in the Real World" felt to me at the time as an outline for yet another book. "Living a prayer" described the continuous contemplation required to live in complete consciousness.
A few years earlier I had a related epiphany that the only way we as human beings have to know God is through other humans who so reflect the presence of Love that we can feel the Universe through them. During that period I would look for opportunities to visualize myself allowing God to use me as a human vessel for allowing those around me to know that complete feeling of Love that is God. I believe that is one of the most important lessons that the spiritual teacher Jesus was attempting to share with us as he allowed us to know God through him.
These are three distinctly different periods during which I clearly knew different aspects of the lesson that I seemed to discover anew today. Why, then, can I not seem to remember it? Maybe more accurately, what causes me to forget? Most importantly, how can I assure that I do remember for more than days or months but for the rest of my life? Sometimes my spiritual learning feels like the movie "Groundhog Day," in which every day was just the same with no forward movement. I am ready to move on from spiritual stuckness.
I ended the "Living a Prayer" speech by saying there is a ribbon of love that connects all of us, heart to heart, around the world. The ribbon of love can be activated by each of us, but if any of us fails to do our part, a short circuit occurs which stops the flow of love. Whenever someone crosses my path, it is my responsibility to activate the flow of love. For years I've talked about being response-able, which implies being conscious of choosing the response I want to send into the world. I want to choose love. I want to have the force of love that is God reflected from me to everyone I meet.
Saturday, June 4, 2016
Contemplation
A story bubbled up several times in my meditation today that I remember hearing years ago. A baby chick was struggling to break free of the egg shell in which it had been gestating. Tap! Tap! Tap! Its little beak hit the inside of the encasement. Tap! Tap! Tap! Finally, a tiny crack appeared. For hours this process continued, and at last the tiniest of holes appeared, and the beak could be seen as it worked to broaden the opening.
A well-meaning human observer thought he would help the chick so he broke the shell open to liberate the baby bird. Very shortly after breaking the shell open, the baby bird died. Apparently, process of fighting its way out of the shell develops the bird's lungs sufficiently that it will be able to sustain respiration when it finally emerges from the shell. By breaking the encasement open for the chick, the human helper robbed the baby bird of the work which would allow it to live.
During an interview a few months ago on Oprah's "Super Soul Sunday," author and philosopher Sister Joan Chittister described "contemplation" as "seeing the world as God sees it." I am in a period of transition, and sometimes it has felt to me like I am that baby bird, attempting to break free of the shell, or in my case the box, in which I've been trapped.
As the story of the bird breaking free drifted into my awareness today, I thought that God must be watching me struggle to break free, all the while knowing that the strength I gain in the struggle will be what enables me to thrive in whatever comes next.
An Eastern adage, from the I Ching if I remember correctly, advises that when the student is ready, the teacher will appear. My own experience is that when a student is ready, many teachers agree. Everywhere I turn a lesson will be repeated for me until I "get it."
I am certain that it was not a coincidence that I ran into someone yesterday, who is a reader of this blog. As she walked toward me, she said, "No blog posts!" I gave the feeble excuse about my job consuming me that has become old and pathetic even to me.
Then I shared that I had given notice that no later than the end of the summer I was leaving the job with which I've struggled. I don't remember her exact words, but it was something like, "We've all been watching you struggle and wondering why you don't just get out of there." Once again I could imagine myself like that bird, struggling to break free.
As I contemplated the image of the bird struggling to develop its lungs so that it can sustain respiration outside the egg shell, I was able to see my life in three distinct phases. In two, I struggled significantly. In the third, between the periods of struggle, my life flowed like a daily miracle.
I thought about God watching me and wondered what had flipped the switches from struggle to flow and back to struggle again. Yet I saw no sign posts that pointed and said definitively, "This is what changed it," in either direction. However, from the perspective of looking at myself in those three distinct phases, I was struck that during the struggling phases I excelled as using skills I'd developed at doing work I didn't particularly like, but because it was valued by my employers and/or clients, I performed the work for money. It was usually important work that helped people, but it wasn't my work.
In the miracle phase, from early morning until I often fell into bed exhausted from a vigorous evening of dancing, life flowed from my natural gifts and talents. I embraced every moment of life passionately. Again, I performed important work that helped people, but in the miracle phase, it was my work.
While the most popular coach training and certification, both of which I have, requires that coaches work with their clients to set specific, measurable, achievable goals, during the period of my life which flowed easily I allowed my life to be led by intentions, instead of goals. Deep inner knowing guided me on mysterious journeys, which I could not have imagined from my wildest goal-setting mind.
One measure about which I have written in this blog previously is the intention to follow "life." To ask myself, "Does this bring me to life? Does it bring life to me?" If it "flips my switches," then it is almost certainly a path I should follow, and if it doesn't, that also is good data--information that I should walk away from that opportunity.
When my life was flowing, I didn't live by a goal to be a certain level in the company, revenue level in my business, or make a certain amount of money. I lived by the intentions from The Game that brought me to life. In my current struggled, I've focused too much on being of service (and I am certain that I have been of service,) to the neglect of the lessons I needed to learn and using my real gifts and talents.
In this moment of contemplation, I believe that I finally can see Kay as God sees her. After years of watching my struggle, this morning I am certain that God displays a broad grin, knowing that I have finally developed the strength to sustain me when I break out of my shell. What allows me to thrive is truly being who I know I am in my heart.
A well-meaning human observer thought he would help the chick so he broke the shell open to liberate the baby bird. Very shortly after breaking the shell open, the baby bird died. Apparently, process of fighting its way out of the shell develops the bird's lungs sufficiently that it will be able to sustain respiration when it finally emerges from the shell. By breaking the encasement open for the chick, the human helper robbed the baby bird of the work which would allow it to live.
During an interview a few months ago on Oprah's "Super Soul Sunday," author and philosopher Sister Joan Chittister described "contemplation" as "seeing the world as God sees it." I am in a period of transition, and sometimes it has felt to me like I am that baby bird, attempting to break free of the shell, or in my case the box, in which I've been trapped.
As the story of the bird breaking free drifted into my awareness today, I thought that God must be watching me struggle to break free, all the while knowing that the strength I gain in the struggle will be what enables me to thrive in whatever comes next.
An Eastern adage, from the I Ching if I remember correctly, advises that when the student is ready, the teacher will appear. My own experience is that when a student is ready, many teachers agree. Everywhere I turn a lesson will be repeated for me until I "get it."
I am certain that it was not a coincidence that I ran into someone yesterday, who is a reader of this blog. As she walked toward me, she said, "No blog posts!" I gave the feeble excuse about my job consuming me that has become old and pathetic even to me.
Then I shared that I had given notice that no later than the end of the summer I was leaving the job with which I've struggled. I don't remember her exact words, but it was something like, "We've all been watching you struggle and wondering why you don't just get out of there." Once again I could imagine myself like that bird, struggling to break free.
As I contemplated the image of the bird struggling to develop its lungs so that it can sustain respiration outside the egg shell, I was able to see my life in three distinct phases. In two, I struggled significantly. In the third, between the periods of struggle, my life flowed like a daily miracle.
I thought about God watching me and wondered what had flipped the switches from struggle to flow and back to struggle again. Yet I saw no sign posts that pointed and said definitively, "This is what changed it," in either direction. However, from the perspective of looking at myself in those three distinct phases, I was struck that during the struggling phases I excelled as using skills I'd developed at doing work I didn't particularly like, but because it was valued by my employers and/or clients, I performed the work for money. It was usually important work that helped people, but it wasn't my work.
In the miracle phase, from early morning until I often fell into bed exhausted from a vigorous evening of dancing, life flowed from my natural gifts and talents. I embraced every moment of life passionately. Again, I performed important work that helped people, but in the miracle phase, it was my work.
While the most popular coach training and certification, both of which I have, requires that coaches work with their clients to set specific, measurable, achievable goals, during the period of my life which flowed easily I allowed my life to be led by intentions, instead of goals. Deep inner knowing guided me on mysterious journeys, which I could not have imagined from my wildest goal-setting mind.
One measure about which I have written in this blog previously is the intention to follow "life." To ask myself, "Does this bring me to life? Does it bring life to me?" If it "flips my switches," then it is almost certainly a path I should follow, and if it doesn't, that also is good data--information that I should walk away from that opportunity.
What I believe to be life's intentions were detailed in my book The Game Called Life. These are intentions that I say are written on the back sides of our hearts and were designed to be our internal compasses:
1. Lessons Learned--Will this help me learn a lesson that my soul needs to learn in this life? Or is it a lesson the world needs me and others to learn at this time to evolve humanity?
2. Develop skills and talents--Am I using the unique skills, talents and gifts that I was given for this journey to help me serve the world?
3. Do work put in front of you—What is the purpose for what you are doing at this moment? How will what you are doing serve to make the world a better place?
When my life was flowing, I didn't live by a goal to be a certain level in the company, revenue level in my business, or make a certain amount of money. I lived by the intentions from The Game that brought me to life. In my current struggled, I've focused too much on being of service (and I am certain that I have been of service,) to the neglect of the lessons I needed to learn and using my real gifts and talents.
In this moment of contemplation, I believe that I finally can see Kay as God sees her. After years of watching my struggle, this morning I am certain that God displays a broad grin, knowing that I have finally developed the strength to sustain me when I break out of my shell. What allows me to thrive is truly being who I know I am in my heart.
Sunday, May 22, 2016
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.
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.
Sunday, May 8, 2016
I am NOT too busy to...
A couple weeks ago I sat having a deliciously lingering lunch with a friend. The last time I saw her was last summer, probably at least 9 months ago. As we shared stories and reflections, I found myself lamenting that my work has so grabbed hold of my life that I no longer had time for things that were truly important, like connecting with friends and having such relaxed conversation.
In the course of our conversation, I discovered that my friend hadn't even been to my "new" apartment since I was still moving in. I've settled in, painted, remodeled, and been in it now for 2-1/2 years. How could I let that happen? I love cooking and having guests in my home. I realized that, except for one friend who comes over 3-4 times a year, I haven't had people over except during the holidays.
Last week I had my annual physical, and my blood pressure, which has always been on the low side of normal, had jumped 20 points. My doctor asked about exercise, mediation, and other stress-relieving practices that he knew had been part of my routine for years. "My work allows for little except work and sleep. When I try to meditate, I fall asleep," I explained. It felt like a pitiful excuse.
Several weeks earlier, our assistant rector talked about the unpleasant reality for many of us of being too busy to do things we enjoy or think we would enjoy. She encouraged us to catch ourselves each time we started to say we were too busy to do something and correct ourselves, by saying, "I am NOT too busy...."
In each of the situations above, I found her words echoing in the back of my brain. While I have not developed the I-am-NOT-too-busy muscle yet, the haunting consciousness is there. I always say that awareness is 90 percent of the battle.
Instead of cleaning my apartment, which really needed it, last weekend, I curled up with a book I had been enjoying, and then on Thursday I went to a new-to-me book club to discuss it. I used to read a lot. Last weekend I reminded myself that "I am NOT too busy" to read.
Today after church I walked to the DuPont Circle Farmer's Market, one of the best in the nation, to buy my favorite gluten-free ginger chocolate chip scone. Doing so was a treat in which I hadn't indulged myself since last fall. After two weeks of rain, we have a splendid sunny day. I sat on a bench, lingering over each and every bite of the scone, and just drank in the sun, as it warmed my face. "I am NOT too busy for this," I reminded myself.
While I have found it difficult to make doing things that I treasure a priority in recent years, I do like to think that when I do them, I am pretty good at really being present. I will almost never check texts or email on my smartphone while with a friend, as many now make a regular practice. When my friend and I had lunch, I was totally focused on our connection. When I was reading, I was in the book. When I was enjoying my scone, I savored every bite. While I'd like to bring the mastery of being present to the whole of my life, for now, I will be grateful that when I bring intention to doing so, I really can be present.
When I entered my door this afternoon, I headed to the kitchen to start my list of things I had to do before another busy week got ahead of me. Instead, I caught myself. Remembering the assistant rector's words, I said to myself "I am NOT too busy to write a blogpost," not only something I really enjoy, but a spiritual practice for me that keeps me headed in the direction I want my life to go. So, I put down the list-making paper, made myself a cup of coffee, and here I am writing.
Although all those things still need to be done before the week takes off at warp speed, instead of doing chores and tasks, I think I will now change clothes and go for a walk on this first gorgeous spring day in a while. At least for this day, my priorities feel like they are in order.
In the course of our conversation, I discovered that my friend hadn't even been to my "new" apartment since I was still moving in. I've settled in, painted, remodeled, and been in it now for 2-1/2 years. How could I let that happen? I love cooking and having guests in my home. I realized that, except for one friend who comes over 3-4 times a year, I haven't had people over except during the holidays.
Last week I had my annual physical, and my blood pressure, which has always been on the low side of normal, had jumped 20 points. My doctor asked about exercise, mediation, and other stress-relieving practices that he knew had been part of my routine for years. "My work allows for little except work and sleep. When I try to meditate, I fall asleep," I explained. It felt like a pitiful excuse.
Several weeks earlier, our assistant rector talked about the unpleasant reality for many of us of being too busy to do things we enjoy or think we would enjoy. She encouraged us to catch ourselves each time we started to say we were too busy to do something and correct ourselves, by saying, "I am NOT too busy...."
In each of the situations above, I found her words echoing in the back of my brain. While I have not developed the I-am-NOT-too-busy muscle yet, the haunting consciousness is there. I always say that awareness is 90 percent of the battle.
Instead of cleaning my apartment, which really needed it, last weekend, I curled up with a book I had been enjoying, and then on Thursday I went to a new-to-me book club to discuss it. I used to read a lot. Last weekend I reminded myself that "I am NOT too busy" to read.
Today after church I walked to the DuPont Circle Farmer's Market, one of the best in the nation, to buy my favorite gluten-free ginger chocolate chip scone. Doing so was a treat in which I hadn't indulged myself since last fall. After two weeks of rain, we have a splendid sunny day. I sat on a bench, lingering over each and every bite of the scone, and just drank in the sun, as it warmed my face. "I am NOT too busy for this," I reminded myself.
While I have found it difficult to make doing things that I treasure a priority in recent years, I do like to think that when I do them, I am pretty good at really being present. I will almost never check texts or email on my smartphone while with a friend, as many now make a regular practice. When my friend and I had lunch, I was totally focused on our connection. When I was reading, I was in the book. When I was enjoying my scone, I savored every bite. While I'd like to bring the mastery of being present to the whole of my life, for now, I will be grateful that when I bring intention to doing so, I really can be present.
When I entered my door this afternoon, I headed to the kitchen to start my list of things I had to do before another busy week got ahead of me. Instead, I caught myself. Remembering the assistant rector's words, I said to myself "I am NOT too busy to write a blogpost," not only something I really enjoy, but a spiritual practice for me that keeps me headed in the direction I want my life to go. So, I put down the list-making paper, made myself a cup of coffee, and here I am writing.
Although all those things still need to be done before the week takes off at warp speed, instead of doing chores and tasks, I think I will now change clothes and go for a walk on this first gorgeous spring day in a while. At least for this day, my priorities feel like they are in order.
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