I am solidly in the Hallmark Channel demographic, and during the holidays I fully embrace the back-to-back rom-coms that always have happy endings. In one of them yesterday, I was struck by a line spoken by one of the minor characters to our protagonist. She said, "You should do something every day that scares you."
I've heard the line before, but perhaps because it landed on New Year's Day, it has hauntingly lingered in my memory. When I sat to meditate later in the evening, I pondered when I last did something that scared me. Maybe 10 years ago when I pulled up stakes and moved to Washington without a job? I recall feeling terrified six months earlier when I had given my notice at both of my teaching jobs, but at the actual time of the move, it just felt right. In fact, I have done some things since then that maybe should have scared me, but they felt so clearly true to my heart that I recall no fear. (Giving my notice on a "good government job" last spring when I didn't have another, maybe should have felt some fear?)
Then I melted away the boundaries of my denial and was honest with myself: no, I haven't done anything that scared me in a while. But, as I reflected on the absence of fear-inducing activity, I realized that I've been running from the things that scared me, while using excuses.
Last week a friend who had lost his wife last summer wrote that over Thanksgiving he'd taken a retreat. I wrote back congratulating him on his courage.
You see, I knew the courage required for several days of silence. I used to take four-day silent meditation retreats twice a year. I did it for at least 15, maybe 20 years. About two days in, I'd always spend a few hours "wrestling with my angels." I'd discover something about myself that I didn't like. I'd heal it, and at the end of the retreat I would almost certainly be a more whole person. Yet I knew that "wrestling with my angels," while reward-producing at the end, was terrifying when I was in it. My friend was courageous to take his retreat.
As I reflected last night, I recalled my correspondence. I couldn't remember when I had displayed the courage to take a four-day silent retreat. First I had gone from twice a year to once a year. Along the way, four days became three and then two, even though I knew that it took at least two days of silence to get deep enough to find my angels and then wrestle with them. On occasion, I would start a retreat but get restless and, instead of staying with my restlessness, I'd abandon my efforts. Is that something I should admit that I am scared of doing? Absolutely! So, as soon as I publish this post, I will begin my first four-day silent retreat in years.
But there were other truths that bubbled up last night when I was honest about doing what scared me. I've used the busyness of my schedule and the exhaustion from my work as an excuse to not write in this blog with regularity. Almost every time I write, I wrestle with a truth that I know in my heart but would rather run from. If I keep moving and don't write, I don't have to face those truths.
For long stretches of my adult life I haven't even owned a television, and for even longer stretches when I had one, it would sit for months without being turned on. Increasingly, I've come home and turned on the TV as a way to escape my truth. The truth is that I miss having someone to come home to. While I've lived along for 23 years now, I don't think I am well suited to living alone. The noise of the TV makes me feel like someone is in my apartment with me.
I have laughed that I have dinner with Stephen Colbert every evening as I watch his late-night show from the evening before while I eat. Occasionally, I substitute John Oliver or Samantha Bee. I like to laugh, and one of the things that I miss most about living alone is the side-splitting laughter that erupts spontaneously over the silliest of things. If I dine with comedians, I can be assured laughter daily.
That's where the Hallmark Channel comes in again. I love being assured a happy ending. I think that sometimes I am afraid my life will not have a happy ending, and these happy movies, while never without a stumbling block, always have a feel-good finish.
Somehow I've fallen into a television addiction--a verifiable addiction, because I use it to separate from my feelings. I turned off the television at 10 last night, and I don't plan to turn it back on for a week. Dinner alone without humor...now that scares me.
In my silent retreat I am going to figure out what else scares me and build the courage to do something every day in 2017 that scares me. In my heart I know that a year from now, I will be closer to reclaiming the Self I came into this life to be.
Monday, January 2, 2017
Sunday, January 1, 2017
Being in the Driver's Seat of My Life
As I contemplate this new year, I want to make sure that my heart and I are in the driver's seat. I am not sure exactly how it happened, but in recent years the pace of my life has been accelerating such that I feel like I am exhaustingly busy...all the time...and yet at the same time, I have very little time for what is important to me.
Readers will recognize the "no-time-for-exercise" and "no-time-for-writing" laments. Those are priorities in my life. How did they get pushed to the margins?
Yesterday I read part of an article by a women who entered 2015 with a pledge to exercise every day. She too was very busy, so she knew that it would be important to bite off manageable exercise chunks. Her goal for that year was "15 for '15." She would commit to exercising for 15 minutes every day. It had to be hard exercise: she had to sweat and get her heart rate up. She knew that no matter how busy she was, she could get in 15 minutes each day. When she wrote the article toward the end of '16 she had not only accomplished her goal for 2015, but was on track to do so again for the year just ended.*
I was inspired. Even on the busiest of days, I can do 15 minutes of exercise.
As soon as I had that realization, I had another reckoning. I could write 15 minutes every day. Now that is certainly something I know in my heart is core to who I am. Decades before most people begin to show visible signs of arthritis in their hands, two of my fingers bulge and one is bent. These are the exaggerated manifestations of signs of the writer in me that I've carried since I was 10. How could I not give writing 15 minutes a day?
These seem "no-brainers." Yet there have often been days in the last decade or two when I have hardly had time to go to the bathroom or take on nourishment. At the same time, I did manage to attend a lot of useless meetings. I met with people I didn't care to spend time with, out of a sense of obligation. Just that quickly, my 15 minutes of writing and exercise evaporated.
Sometime ago, and I'm not sure when it was, I discovered that if I were to spend time with people I cared about I needed to schedule the time. FOMO--fear of missing out--had grabbed hold of my calendar. I relish the time that Amy Frost and I spend twice month, sharing our intentions for the spiritual journey. When I had the opportunity to spend more than a day with my college roommate in October, I realized how much I miss her and how I value her presence in my life. I am so excited that we've committed to walking and talking together, something we enjoy, but this time, thanks to the wireless world, by phone. On bad weather days, we will Skype and drink tea (her) and coffee (me.) Another valued friend has reached out to schedule Skype with me. I can't remember when we last had time together, but I cringe to think it was last winter or spring.
At the core of my spiritual knowing is that we are intended to listen to our guidance and follow it...when it is given. I have great stories to tell about the magic that occurred when I did so, and equally disappointing tales of when I didn't follow or followed two or three years later. Yet, whether the commitment is to lunch, to talk with a friend of a friend, or to finish teaching a course which I'd committed to teach until May when my guidance in February is to move out of state, those commitments get in the way of my followership.
I also believe that the very best things are the spontaneous ones. I used to call another friend at the end of a work day, and we'd hatch a plan for a thrown-together dinner or a movie or just a walk around the Mall. Once we created a beautiful stool for my kitchen over a bottle of prosecco. (She's the artist; I did the grunt painting. It was fun nonetheless.) As I have less and less spontaneous time, we've spent less and less time together, an incredible disappointment to me.
And, it isn't just people. I've wanted to take some MOOCs--free massive online courses offered by prominent universities. Just this morning I discovered an inspiring design class and a future-cities architecture class, both offered by the University of Zurich. I can feel my heart racing even as I write about these two topics for which I have great interest.
I also found a health and wellness certification class for coaches, an endorsement for a topic for which has interested me since my grandmother first talked to me about vitamins and organic vegetables when I was 10. I've been enrolled in the class twice before and had to drop it. Some of these things have to be scheduled or I miss out.
As I stand on the cusp of an era in which I've pledged to be true to my heart, which do I do? Do I schedule things so that I make sure the important things happen, or do I hold the space for the spontaneous, knowing I will miss much without it and also knowing that I will miss much without scheduling? How to I remain true to both of these things? And, how do I make sure I still have time for the 15 minutes of exercise and writing.
As I write this, I am reminded that beginning from my childhood, I wanted to dance. My mother didn't want me to dance. As I got older, I was too busy to take lessons and didn't have an interested partner. Then, in 1995 when my neck broke spontaneously, and I teetered on the cusp of quadriplegia or death, I knew beyond doubt that if I walked again, walk being the operative word, that I must dance. I did walk. I did dance. It brings me more pleasure than almost anything in my life...and I make time for it. I schedule a car, usually a week or two in advance. And, yes, occasionally I don't feel like going, and I cancel the car.
I also make time for cooking, something I find I much more enjoyable when it is spontaneous than when I plan an event to cook for.
When I worked more closely with leadership teams to increase their effectiveness, I developed a meeting management concept that most found extremely valuable. For a couple hours before their weekly meeting, they would submit two categories of agenda items. First were things that were urgent and without a decision in the next week, there would be irreversible consequences. Then, they were to submit topics that were important to the future of their enterprise, but for which they never had time to talk. At the start of the meeting, items were ordered. Rarely were items of such urgency that dire consequences would occur if they weren't discussed. By giving thoughtful dialogue to one or two really important items, they did the important work of consciously choosing the path for their organization's future...and often resolving "urgent" items along the way.
Here I am on January 1 with no clear answers about what is the right approach for time in my life. I wonder if the right answer is that there are no right answers for every day. I just need to be fully present to my intentions, acting at the time instead of reacting to my calendar. What comes to me is that if I take the learning from my meeting management approach, starting each day with what is urgent and what is important for that day, my spiritual priorities may just resolve themselves without any "right" path which works for every situation.
*Alyssa Shafer, "The Do-It-Daily" challenge, Dr. Oz The Good Life magazine, Jan/Feb 2017, P. 48.
Readers will recognize the "no-time-for-exercise" and "no-time-for-writing" laments. Those are priorities in my life. How did they get pushed to the margins?
Yesterday I read part of an article by a women who entered 2015 with a pledge to exercise every day. She too was very busy, so she knew that it would be important to bite off manageable exercise chunks. Her goal for that year was "15 for '15." She would commit to exercising for 15 minutes every day. It had to be hard exercise: she had to sweat and get her heart rate up. She knew that no matter how busy she was, she could get in 15 minutes each day. When she wrote the article toward the end of '16 she had not only accomplished her goal for 2015, but was on track to do so again for the year just ended.*
I was inspired. Even on the busiest of days, I can do 15 minutes of exercise.
As soon as I had that realization, I had another reckoning. I could write 15 minutes every day. Now that is certainly something I know in my heart is core to who I am. Decades before most people begin to show visible signs of arthritis in their hands, two of my fingers bulge and one is bent. These are the exaggerated manifestations of signs of the writer in me that I've carried since I was 10. How could I not give writing 15 minutes a day?
These seem "no-brainers." Yet there have often been days in the last decade or two when I have hardly had time to go to the bathroom or take on nourishment. At the same time, I did manage to attend a lot of useless meetings. I met with people I didn't care to spend time with, out of a sense of obligation. Just that quickly, my 15 minutes of writing and exercise evaporated.
Sometime ago, and I'm not sure when it was, I discovered that if I were to spend time with people I cared about I needed to schedule the time. FOMO--fear of missing out--had grabbed hold of my calendar. I relish the time that Amy Frost and I spend twice month, sharing our intentions for the spiritual journey. When I had the opportunity to spend more than a day with my college roommate in October, I realized how much I miss her and how I value her presence in my life. I am so excited that we've committed to walking and talking together, something we enjoy, but this time, thanks to the wireless world, by phone. On bad weather days, we will Skype and drink tea (her) and coffee (me.) Another valued friend has reached out to schedule Skype with me. I can't remember when we last had time together, but I cringe to think it was last winter or spring.
At the core of my spiritual knowing is that we are intended to listen to our guidance and follow it...when it is given. I have great stories to tell about the magic that occurred when I did so, and equally disappointing tales of when I didn't follow or followed two or three years later. Yet, whether the commitment is to lunch, to talk with a friend of a friend, or to finish teaching a course which I'd committed to teach until May when my guidance in February is to move out of state, those commitments get in the way of my followership.
I also believe that the very best things are the spontaneous ones. I used to call another friend at the end of a work day, and we'd hatch a plan for a thrown-together dinner or a movie or just a walk around the Mall. Once we created a beautiful stool for my kitchen over a bottle of prosecco. (She's the artist; I did the grunt painting. It was fun nonetheless.) As I have less and less spontaneous time, we've spent less and less time together, an incredible disappointment to me.
And, it isn't just people. I've wanted to take some MOOCs--free massive online courses offered by prominent universities. Just this morning I discovered an inspiring design class and a future-cities architecture class, both offered by the University of Zurich. I can feel my heart racing even as I write about these two topics for which I have great interest.
I also found a health and wellness certification class for coaches, an endorsement for a topic for which has interested me since my grandmother first talked to me about vitamins and organic vegetables when I was 10. I've been enrolled in the class twice before and had to drop it. Some of these things have to be scheduled or I miss out.
As I stand on the cusp of an era in which I've pledged to be true to my heart, which do I do? Do I schedule things so that I make sure the important things happen, or do I hold the space for the spontaneous, knowing I will miss much without it and also knowing that I will miss much without scheduling? How to I remain true to both of these things? And, how do I make sure I still have time for the 15 minutes of exercise and writing.
As I write this, I am reminded that beginning from my childhood, I wanted to dance. My mother didn't want me to dance. As I got older, I was too busy to take lessons and didn't have an interested partner. Then, in 1995 when my neck broke spontaneously, and I teetered on the cusp of quadriplegia or death, I knew beyond doubt that if I walked again, walk being the operative word, that I must dance. I did walk. I did dance. It brings me more pleasure than almost anything in my life...and I make time for it. I schedule a car, usually a week or two in advance. And, yes, occasionally I don't feel like going, and I cancel the car.
I also make time for cooking, something I find I much more enjoyable when it is spontaneous than when I plan an event to cook for.
When I worked more closely with leadership teams to increase their effectiveness, I developed a meeting management concept that most found extremely valuable. For a couple hours before their weekly meeting, they would submit two categories of agenda items. First were things that were urgent and without a decision in the next week, there would be irreversible consequences. Then, they were to submit topics that were important to the future of their enterprise, but for which they never had time to talk. At the start of the meeting, items were ordered. Rarely were items of such urgency that dire consequences would occur if they weren't discussed. By giving thoughtful dialogue to one or two really important items, they did the important work of consciously choosing the path for their organization's future...and often resolving "urgent" items along the way.
Here I am on January 1 with no clear answers about what is the right approach for time in my life. I wonder if the right answer is that there are no right answers for every day. I just need to be fully present to my intentions, acting at the time instead of reacting to my calendar. What comes to me is that if I take the learning from my meeting management approach, starting each day with what is urgent and what is important for that day, my spiritual priorities may just resolve themselves without any "right" path which works for every situation.
*Alyssa Shafer, "The Do-It-Daily" challenge, Dr. Oz The Good Life magazine, Jan/Feb 2017, P. 48.
Friday, December 23, 2016
Rule No. 1: I don't have to keep gifts
December 21 has come and gone. Somewhere about the 15th I knew that I wasn't going to have time to go through every single thing in my house to assess what is part of the future during the busyness of the holidays. In lieu of actually doing the manual sort, I made clear commitments to my intentions: what would and would not be part of my future. Among the commitments I made was to include beliefs, attitudes, and habits.
My day start with an email exchange with an old friend about refusing gifts to avoid the commercialization of Christmas. I started about 25 years ago by asking friends to give to charity in lieu of giving me gifts. That didn't fly at all. Now two and a half decades later, I continue to tell people that I don't need or want "stuff." I would be delighted, I tell them, with the gift of time: a walk, a cup of coffee, cooking together, or a movie and popcorn on the couch after the holidays have passed...or anything else that they'd like to do. I don't see nearly enough of my friends: spending time with them would be a gift I'd really like to receive...and it doesn't clutter my tiny apartment.
The paper today shared a practice of giving something to charity for everything that we receive. The example was that if you got a new pair of shoes, you had to give a pair away. Or, if a child got two toys, he/she had to give two toys away. If I do keep gifts, I think I will discipline myself to give away in replacement.
Perhaps it is because I've had the accumulation of gifts on my mind that this evening I had an aha! moment when I opened my medicine cabinet which is bulging at the seams. I surveyed all the stuff in it and realized that I hadn't bought most of it. Often when I buy cosmetics, I am gifted with a package of generous-sized samples of fairly expensive products. Some of them I do use, and I am grateful for travel-sized versions of products that I usually purchase for my travel bag. However, most of the products are not ones I will use.
As I assessed the contents of my cabinet this evening, I started pulling off all the stuff that I know I won't use, didn't want in the first place, and don't want. Just because someone gives me something doesn't mean I have to keep it. I haven't taken the time to do so on this eve of Christmas Eve to go through other cabinets and drawers, but I am certain that just following the rule that I don't have to keep gifts will liberate me from a heap of stuff.
Now, I realize that it will be much easier to throw away gifts from Estee Lauder or Clinique than gifts that were given to me by friends, but it isn't like I don't tell them every year that I don't want stuff. I already spotted homemade food gifts that don't particularly appeal to me. They will be a good place to start cleaning.
What joy this discovery has made me! Perhaps this is the gift that I really wanted for Christmas this year: spiritual housecleaning -- freedom to be relieved of the burden of unwanted stuff.
My day start with an email exchange with an old friend about refusing gifts to avoid the commercialization of Christmas. I started about 25 years ago by asking friends to give to charity in lieu of giving me gifts. That didn't fly at all. Now two and a half decades later, I continue to tell people that I don't need or want "stuff." I would be delighted, I tell them, with the gift of time: a walk, a cup of coffee, cooking together, or a movie and popcorn on the couch after the holidays have passed...or anything else that they'd like to do. I don't see nearly enough of my friends: spending time with them would be a gift I'd really like to receive...and it doesn't clutter my tiny apartment.
The paper today shared a practice of giving something to charity for everything that we receive. The example was that if you got a new pair of shoes, you had to give a pair away. Or, if a child got two toys, he/she had to give two toys away. If I do keep gifts, I think I will discipline myself to give away in replacement.
Perhaps it is because I've had the accumulation of gifts on my mind that this evening I had an aha! moment when I opened my medicine cabinet which is bulging at the seams. I surveyed all the stuff in it and realized that I hadn't bought most of it. Often when I buy cosmetics, I am gifted with a package of generous-sized samples of fairly expensive products. Some of them I do use, and I am grateful for travel-sized versions of products that I usually purchase for my travel bag. However, most of the products are not ones I will use.
As I assessed the contents of my cabinet this evening, I started pulling off all the stuff that I know I won't use, didn't want in the first place, and don't want. Just because someone gives me something doesn't mean I have to keep it. I haven't taken the time to do so on this eve of Christmas Eve to go through other cabinets and drawers, but I am certain that just following the rule that I don't have to keep gifts will liberate me from a heap of stuff.
Now, I realize that it will be much easier to throw away gifts from Estee Lauder or Clinique than gifts that were given to me by friends, but it isn't like I don't tell them every year that I don't want stuff. I already spotted homemade food gifts that don't particularly appeal to me. They will be a good place to start cleaning.
What joy this discovery has made me! Perhaps this is the gift that I really wanted for Christmas this year: spiritual housecleaning -- freedom to be relieved of the burden of unwanted stuff.
Friday, December 2, 2016
No! Not that!!
Sometime in 1993, I think it was, that I loaded the trunk of my car with five or six (maybe more) bankers boxes and drove two hours from Eugene to Portland, Oregon. I was delivering a professional treasure trove to a friend from graduate school.
Before going to graduate school I'd been a human resource (HR) director and employment manager. Actually, since I started working on my 16th birthday, I'd been working in HR. I developed skills and experience as a teenager that many of my peers wouldn't have for a decade. Because I had the experience, I ended up working my way through college in HR jobs. Then, that was where I got jobs afterward. I never even considered if I enjoyed these jobs, they were pretty good jobs in a small city that didn't have many good jobs. So, I did them.
Although I had the distinct intention when I returned to grad school that I would work in organization development (OD) when I finished, when I actually did finish and started my business, what I knew how to market was HR. So, not surprisingly, people hired me to do HR. Within a week of starting my business, I was booked three months in advance--what every new business owner hopes to happen. However, 18 months into the business, I realized that most of my projects had been the work I'd done before grad school and that I'd hoped to leave behind, rather than OD work that I had hoped to do.
I recall a crystallizing moment when I sat at my desk and knew I just couldn't/wouldn't do that work anymore.
In typical fashion, the Universe very shortly sent me two tests. I got two opportunities for work that were HR opportunities that I had just pledged not to do, and one of the projects was with a company I'd been trying to get work from since I'd hung out my shingle. I nicely declined, and I put each in touch with someone I knew who would do a good job for them.
Gulp! I hadn't turned work away before. Then, crickets....for about two weeks. I stood my ground and waited.
Finally, the calls started. Two nice OD jobs landed in the same week, and each would be four- to six-month assignments. I had turned the corner. During that quiet two weeks the temptation to go out and market had been great, but I stayed true to what my heart was telling me.
All that is the background for my trip to Portland. My friend did want to do HR consulting, but had only been working in the field since we graduated. I called her and said I wasn't going to take anymore HR projects. I had a lot of books, articles, and other resources. Did she want them? She was delighted. In that two-hour road trip, I separated from my HR umbilical cord.
Last Sunday afternoon I sat on the floor of my bedroom closet, trying to figure out what did and what did not feel like it was part of my future. I was able to throw away about a box and half of stuff that I would never have packed up if I'd had taken time to sort before packing. (See Endings/ Beginnings, 11/25/16.) There were things that left me stone cold, like the four-inch thick federal procurement manual. Definitely not feeling it in my future. And, there were a very few items, like the book Awakening the Heroes Within by Carol Pearson, that I would have loved to sit and devour in the moment. Definite save those.
In the zone somewhere between "definitely go" and "definitely stay," was a box into which I put the gray zone items. I just didn't know...or at least I didn't think I knew.
As gently as the moment 23 years ago, when I knew in an instant that I could no longer take HR projects, I knew "No! Not that!! None of it...." None of what was in the gray zone is part of my future. I will continue to go through boxes to make sure there are no "definitely stay" items, but I expect that almost none of it will stay.
I don't like to throw things away...especially books, but this time I have no one that I can pass my resources on to like I did my grad school friend. To just throw things away will really be an exercise for me, but I know there is no turning back. I have less clarity about what will be in my life after December 21 than I do what won't, but 23 years ago, I had to sit and wait for two weeks...and then I did know what I wanted my future would be.
For at least a year I've been saying that I felt pregnant. Now I've never been pregnant, so I am not sure how I know what the feels like, but it does feel like something is gestating deep inside me, and it wants to be born. I just don't know what.
I've written that our hearts are the compass to our lives and written on the backs for each of us is what is our true north--what is exactly right for us. The only thing I have clarity about right now is that I need to clear out the static which keeps me from hearing what is next.
Earlier this week I was doing an exercise in the workplace setting where a colleague and I were supposed to interview each other. The first question she asked was, "What are you hungry for?" I didn't think even a split second before saying, "Time, sleep, exercise, meditation..." Those were not thoughts; that was truth, completely skipping my brain and spewing forth without thought. I just knew. Like I just know what isn't in my future.
Every item on my "hungry" list was an activity that help me hear where the compass on the back side of my heart is pointing me--helping me connect with whatever is gestating.
I will continue cleaning out, even knowing that I will throw good stuff out to just remove it from my energy field. When December 21 arrives, I want to send a very clear message to my heart that I am getting rid of static. Then, I will bring in the static-clearing activities that I shared with my interview partner. That is my future.
Before going to graduate school I'd been a human resource (HR) director and employment manager. Actually, since I started working on my 16th birthday, I'd been working in HR. I developed skills and experience as a teenager that many of my peers wouldn't have for a decade. Because I had the experience, I ended up working my way through college in HR jobs. Then, that was where I got jobs afterward. I never even considered if I enjoyed these jobs, they were pretty good jobs in a small city that didn't have many good jobs. So, I did them.
Although I had the distinct intention when I returned to grad school that I would work in organization development (OD) when I finished, when I actually did finish and started my business, what I knew how to market was HR. So, not surprisingly, people hired me to do HR. Within a week of starting my business, I was booked three months in advance--what every new business owner hopes to happen. However, 18 months into the business, I realized that most of my projects had been the work I'd done before grad school and that I'd hoped to leave behind, rather than OD work that I had hoped to do.
I recall a crystallizing moment when I sat at my desk and knew I just couldn't/wouldn't do that work anymore.
In typical fashion, the Universe very shortly sent me two tests. I got two opportunities for work that were HR opportunities that I had just pledged not to do, and one of the projects was with a company I'd been trying to get work from since I'd hung out my shingle. I nicely declined, and I put each in touch with someone I knew who would do a good job for them.
Gulp! I hadn't turned work away before. Then, crickets....for about two weeks. I stood my ground and waited.
Finally, the calls started. Two nice OD jobs landed in the same week, and each would be four- to six-month assignments. I had turned the corner. During that quiet two weeks the temptation to go out and market had been great, but I stayed true to what my heart was telling me.
All that is the background for my trip to Portland. My friend did want to do HR consulting, but had only been working in the field since we graduated. I called her and said I wasn't going to take anymore HR projects. I had a lot of books, articles, and other resources. Did she want them? She was delighted. In that two-hour road trip, I separated from my HR umbilical cord.
Last Sunday afternoon I sat on the floor of my bedroom closet, trying to figure out what did and what did not feel like it was part of my future. I was able to throw away about a box and half of stuff that I would never have packed up if I'd had taken time to sort before packing. (See Endings/ Beginnings, 11/25/16.) There were things that left me stone cold, like the four-inch thick federal procurement manual. Definitely not feeling it in my future. And, there were a very few items, like the book Awakening the Heroes Within by Carol Pearson, that I would have loved to sit and devour in the moment. Definite save those.
In the zone somewhere between "definitely go" and "definitely stay," was a box into which I put the gray zone items. I just didn't know...or at least I didn't think I knew.
As gently as the moment 23 years ago, when I knew in an instant that I could no longer take HR projects, I knew "No! Not that!! None of it...." None of what was in the gray zone is part of my future. I will continue to go through boxes to make sure there are no "definitely stay" items, but I expect that almost none of it will stay.
I don't like to throw things away...especially books, but this time I have no one that I can pass my resources on to like I did my grad school friend. To just throw things away will really be an exercise for me, but I know there is no turning back. I have less clarity about what will be in my life after December 21 than I do what won't, but 23 years ago, I had to sit and wait for two weeks...and then I did know what I wanted my future would be.
For at least a year I've been saying that I felt pregnant. Now I've never been pregnant, so I am not sure how I know what the feels like, but it does feel like something is gestating deep inside me, and it wants to be born. I just don't know what.
I've written that our hearts are the compass to our lives and written on the backs for each of us is what is our true north--what is exactly right for us. The only thing I have clarity about right now is that I need to clear out the static which keeps me from hearing what is next.
Earlier this week I was doing an exercise in the workplace setting where a colleague and I were supposed to interview each other. The first question she asked was, "What are you hungry for?" I didn't think even a split second before saying, "Time, sleep, exercise, meditation..." Those were not thoughts; that was truth, completely skipping my brain and spewing forth without thought. I just knew. Like I just know what isn't in my future.
Every item on my "hungry" list was an activity that help me hear where the compass on the back side of my heart is pointing me--helping me connect with whatever is gestating.
I will continue cleaning out, even knowing that I will throw good stuff out to just remove it from my energy field. When December 21 arrives, I want to send a very clear message to my heart that I am getting rid of static. Then, I will bring in the static-clearing activities that I shared with my interview partner. That is my future.
Sunday, November 27, 2016
Always Be Ready
If you've been reading this blog for any time at all, you know that I watch for "spiritual trends" that are sending me a message. Over the last five hours, I've been bombarded with the message "Always be ready."
The Old Testament reading in church this morning was from Isaiah, and the prophet was saying to the Jewish people to be ready because they never knew when the "savior" would appear.
A few minutes later The New Testament lesson was to early Christians to always be ready because they never knew when their savior would return. A further admonition from the passage was that you couldn't wait until you thought the time was imminent to change behavior because there wouldn't be that opportunity. We had to always be ready.
I awakened this morning with a raspy throat. I've been fighting a cold for several days, and my initial instinct was to curl up in bed and get some extra rest before leaving on a business trip. Almost as quickly as I had the thought, I remembered what I'd written in my last post about consulting my inner compass before making decisions. When I did, I clearly knew I was to go to church. If I hadn't, I would have missed those lessons.
As I returned from church and started to make lunch, I thought my mind darted to habit. Since I was out with friends last evening, I was going to flip on the replay of the "Hallmark Hall of Fame" presentation that I'd missed. In my last post I wrote that I planned to spend my Sunday afternoon in a meditation on the floor of my bedroom closet, consciously choosing what would be part of my future and what I need to leave behind by December 21. I thought I was hedging on my commitment to watch a television program that I know will be replayed a number of times in December.
One thing that became very clear to me when writing Choice Point, my as-yet-unpublished book about life as a meditation, was that everything, every thing, is connected. There truly are no accidents or coincidences if we are listening: we will be led.
The gathering last night was a somewhat impromptu one, or I would have watched the program on its first broadcast. That is important because, without the scripture lessons this morning, I might have missed that the theme of this television play was also "always be ready" or more precisely to "live your life like there's no tomorrow." Could I have guessed that the gathering was contrived by the Universe to help me "get it"?
Fortunately, when I checked in, it became clear to me that I was to watch the Hallmark program. I thought to myself that I could bring some of the boxes into the living room and sort while viewing, but again a very clear message: the sorting was to be a meditation, and I couldn't watch TV and meditate. So I ate and watched, and then I just watched.
The protagonist in the movie was a woman who worked too much. (Anyone I know fill that bill?) As a consequence to a happy accident, she learns that she has been neglecting what is really important while giving every aspect of her life away to work, which we might say is pretty much what I've been doing over the last 16 years....maybe longer. Of course, since there are no original story lines in Hallmark movies, I won't be giving anything away when I stay she does get a second chance, and this time she remembers what is important to her and to those around her.
So it is that in five short hours, the Universe has bombarded me to remember what is important in my life, an important lesson any time, but especially as I've been looking at my overly busy December over several days and struggling to find a time to put up my Christmas tree.
I got a headache about two-thirds of the way through the movie. What is important? I have known for a long time that I've squandered my relationships, and I've struggled to know how to intentionally choose to build a different life. I am sure that quandary is what gave me the headache, which lingers even as I write.
I truly do not know the answer, but as I wrote in Choice Point, I don't need to know. I just need to consciously choose my path, and I will be led. That is all I need to know, and I will "always be ready."
The Old Testament reading in church this morning was from Isaiah, and the prophet was saying to the Jewish people to be ready because they never knew when the "savior" would appear.
A few minutes later The New Testament lesson was to early Christians to always be ready because they never knew when their savior would return. A further admonition from the passage was that you couldn't wait until you thought the time was imminent to change behavior because there wouldn't be that opportunity. We had to always be ready.
I awakened this morning with a raspy throat. I've been fighting a cold for several days, and my initial instinct was to curl up in bed and get some extra rest before leaving on a business trip. Almost as quickly as I had the thought, I remembered what I'd written in my last post about consulting my inner compass before making decisions. When I did, I clearly knew I was to go to church. If I hadn't, I would have missed those lessons.
As I returned from church and started to make lunch, I thought my mind darted to habit. Since I was out with friends last evening, I was going to flip on the replay of the "Hallmark Hall of Fame" presentation that I'd missed. In my last post I wrote that I planned to spend my Sunday afternoon in a meditation on the floor of my bedroom closet, consciously choosing what would be part of my future and what I need to leave behind by December 21. I thought I was hedging on my commitment to watch a television program that I know will be replayed a number of times in December.
One thing that became very clear to me when writing Choice Point, my as-yet-unpublished book about life as a meditation, was that everything, every thing, is connected. There truly are no accidents or coincidences if we are listening: we will be led.
The gathering last night was a somewhat impromptu one, or I would have watched the program on its first broadcast. That is important because, without the scripture lessons this morning, I might have missed that the theme of this television play was also "always be ready" or more precisely to "live your life like there's no tomorrow." Could I have guessed that the gathering was contrived by the Universe to help me "get it"?
Fortunately, when I checked in, it became clear to me that I was to watch the Hallmark program. I thought to myself that I could bring some of the boxes into the living room and sort while viewing, but again a very clear message: the sorting was to be a meditation, and I couldn't watch TV and meditate. So I ate and watched, and then I just watched.
The protagonist in the movie was a woman who worked too much. (Anyone I know fill that bill?) As a consequence to a happy accident, she learns that she has been neglecting what is really important while giving every aspect of her life away to work, which we might say is pretty much what I've been doing over the last 16 years....maybe longer. Of course, since there are no original story lines in Hallmark movies, I won't be giving anything away when I stay she does get a second chance, and this time she remembers what is important to her and to those around her.
So it is that in five short hours, the Universe has bombarded me to remember what is important in my life, an important lesson any time, but especially as I've been looking at my overly busy December over several days and struggling to find a time to put up my Christmas tree.
I got a headache about two-thirds of the way through the movie. What is important? I have known for a long time that I've squandered my relationships, and I've struggled to know how to intentionally choose to build a different life. I am sure that quandary is what gave me the headache, which lingers even as I write.
I truly do not know the answer, but as I wrote in Choice Point, I don't need to know. I just need to consciously choose my path, and I will be led. That is all I need to know, and I will "always be ready."
Friday, November 25, 2016
Endings...Beginnings...
While I am by no means an authority, for a long time I've been interested in the Jewish mystical study of numbers. I apologize for anyone out there, who may actually be an expert in this field if I in any way misrepresent the study of numerology, but I will do my best to share what I have taken from my limited exposure that applies to what has been on my heart lately. I do so completely from memory because, as often happens, I apparently loaned my book to someone who hasn't returned it...and I don't remember who that was.
Numerology looks at the Jewish Tree Of Life, a set of spiritual lessons, which each person works through in cycles of nine years. Each lesson has a feminine aspect and a masculine dimension. Throughout our lives, we repeat each of the nine lessons, one per year, and then we start the cycle over again. Some years the focus is the masculine side of the lesson; other years it is the feminine. Similar to the hero's journey about which I've written previously, although the basic lesson is the same each time, we go through more advanced versions of the lesson. We go through the cycles individually, and planetarily.
The cycle has been on my heart because the energy of the planet is now transitioning from the end of the cycle to the beginning of a new one. The transition began at the Jewish New Year (October 2-4 this year.) It will end at the Winter Solstice (December 21.) During that three and a half months, it is our spiritual work to "clean house." 2016 has been a "9" year, which is about endings. People often leave jobs, even careers, end relationships, sell houses, and let go other significant parts of our lives that have served their purpose, but with which we are finished.
By December 21, we should have cleaned out anything that is not part of a new beginning for us. What we carry into the 21st will be with us for another nine years. I've had this on my mind, but all of the sudden this week I realized that I just have a month left, and I haven't done much cleaning out. Frequent reader of this blog and my friend Amy Frost told me in the Super Moon, which occurred a couple weeks ago, that we should write down anything we wanted to let go of and then set the paper on fire, letting the smoke release the energy of the past into the atmosphere. That was a busy day, but I did some general letting go into smoke that day.
But I know I have way too much baggage to carry with me into the future. Let me count the ways.
Besides the energy of spiritual baggage, there is some literal baggage I am dealing with. Almost a year ago, construction in my apartment building's storage area required me to bring up everything from my storage unit. It has been sitting in my bedroom closet since then. I knew I needed to clean out, but I haven't made doing so a priority.
When I left my last job in August, I hastily packed up anything that was mine personally and brought five boxes home with me...also in my bedroom closet. (Fortunately, I have a bedroom closet big enough to party in.) I know there is a lot to be left behind there as well, but sorting through my office boxes has not been a priority either.
I thought I was going to have the time to just sit in my closet this weekend and sort, but I have allowed the approaching holidays and associated activities encroach on my time. I am not sure whether that is avoidance or choosing my future to be with friends...or a little of both. While I make an effort to keep my Sabbath sacred, I have decided that this spiritual sorting exercise is an appropriate Sabbath activity, and I will sit in my closet on Sunday afternoon.
I also have a desk at home that I have been sorting through for two weeks, and I am close to seeing the surface of at least a third of it now. There is more, for sure, but great progress. What remains are my time-consuming projects, and I am not sure when I will find the time, but doing so is a priority for me now.
There are bookshelves that are bulging as my appetite for new books always exceeds the time I have to read them. My folder of clipped recipes was so full at the beginning of last week that it wouldn't close. I am grateful for Thanksgiving and Christmas menu planning for nudging me to begin to go through it two evenings earlier in the week. There is more, but I have found that some of the recipes just don't look good any more, and pitching them has been easy.
When I think about what I want to take into the next nine years, though, more important than cleaning out "stuff" is being conscious of what habits I am ready to let go of and what new ones I want to choose for my future. As I reflect back over the last nine years, I think that this cycle has been about the time period during which I've forfeited the intentional life I had built and allowed myself to be overtaken by work, in every variety.
For decades, I ate healthfully, exercised daily, meditated at least once a day, did extended meditation retreats, danced several times a week, practiced gratitude daily, spent time with friends and laughed a lot. Morsel by morsel, most of that has slipped out of my life since 2007, and I want to reclaim "my" life and let go of whatever has consumed me.
New habits are formed in 30 days. I could be overwhelmed as I look at all the new habits I want to form. However, at least for me, I respond well to any positive change in my life. Intuitively, I know that if I change one thing, changing others seems much easier. I feel it is almost like flipping a switch back to the "real Kay," rather than changing eight different habits.
In my as-yet-unpublished book Choice Point, which I thought was "finished" in 1997, I wrote that life should be a meditation, and in each moment we should consciously ask, "Is this a 'yes' or is this a 'no?'" When I think about reclaiming my life, the question I need to ask isn't will I exercise or not today, it is "Will I be who Kay's soul intended her to be today?" A single question, applied to every situation, asked consciously. Life as a moment-by-moment meditation.
What I know in my heart is that all I want to carry into the next nine years is the consciousness to ask that question a 1,000 times every day...and the courage to act on what I know.
Numerology looks at the Jewish Tree Of Life, a set of spiritual lessons, which each person works through in cycles of nine years. Each lesson has a feminine aspect and a masculine dimension. Throughout our lives, we repeat each of the nine lessons, one per year, and then we start the cycle over again. Some years the focus is the masculine side of the lesson; other years it is the feminine. Similar to the hero's journey about which I've written previously, although the basic lesson is the same each time, we go through more advanced versions of the lesson. We go through the cycles individually, and planetarily.
The cycle has been on my heart because the energy of the planet is now transitioning from the end of the cycle to the beginning of a new one. The transition began at the Jewish New Year (October 2-4 this year.) It will end at the Winter Solstice (December 21.) During that three and a half months, it is our spiritual work to "clean house." 2016 has been a "9" year, which is about endings. People often leave jobs, even careers, end relationships, sell houses, and let go other significant parts of our lives that have served their purpose, but with which we are finished.
By December 21, we should have cleaned out anything that is not part of a new beginning for us. What we carry into the 21st will be with us for another nine years. I've had this on my mind, but all of the sudden this week I realized that I just have a month left, and I haven't done much cleaning out. Frequent reader of this blog and my friend Amy Frost told me in the Super Moon, which occurred a couple weeks ago, that we should write down anything we wanted to let go of and then set the paper on fire, letting the smoke release the energy of the past into the atmosphere. That was a busy day, but I did some general letting go into smoke that day.
But I know I have way too much baggage to carry with me into the future. Let me count the ways.
Besides the energy of spiritual baggage, there is some literal baggage I am dealing with. Almost a year ago, construction in my apartment building's storage area required me to bring up everything from my storage unit. It has been sitting in my bedroom closet since then. I knew I needed to clean out, but I haven't made doing so a priority.
When I left my last job in August, I hastily packed up anything that was mine personally and brought five boxes home with me...also in my bedroom closet. (Fortunately, I have a bedroom closet big enough to party in.) I know there is a lot to be left behind there as well, but sorting through my office boxes has not been a priority either.
I thought I was going to have the time to just sit in my closet this weekend and sort, but I have allowed the approaching holidays and associated activities encroach on my time. I am not sure whether that is avoidance or choosing my future to be with friends...or a little of both. While I make an effort to keep my Sabbath sacred, I have decided that this spiritual sorting exercise is an appropriate Sabbath activity, and I will sit in my closet on Sunday afternoon.
I also have a desk at home that I have been sorting through for two weeks, and I am close to seeing the surface of at least a third of it now. There is more, for sure, but great progress. What remains are my time-consuming projects, and I am not sure when I will find the time, but doing so is a priority for me now.
There are bookshelves that are bulging as my appetite for new books always exceeds the time I have to read them. My folder of clipped recipes was so full at the beginning of last week that it wouldn't close. I am grateful for Thanksgiving and Christmas menu planning for nudging me to begin to go through it two evenings earlier in the week. There is more, but I have found that some of the recipes just don't look good any more, and pitching them has been easy.
When I think about what I want to take into the next nine years, though, more important than cleaning out "stuff" is being conscious of what habits I am ready to let go of and what new ones I want to choose for my future. As I reflect back over the last nine years, I think that this cycle has been about the time period during which I've forfeited the intentional life I had built and allowed myself to be overtaken by work, in every variety.
For decades, I ate healthfully, exercised daily, meditated at least once a day, did extended meditation retreats, danced several times a week, practiced gratitude daily, spent time with friends and laughed a lot. Morsel by morsel, most of that has slipped out of my life since 2007, and I want to reclaim "my" life and let go of whatever has consumed me.
New habits are formed in 30 days. I could be overwhelmed as I look at all the new habits I want to form. However, at least for me, I respond well to any positive change in my life. Intuitively, I know that if I change one thing, changing others seems much easier. I feel it is almost like flipping a switch back to the "real Kay," rather than changing eight different habits.
In my as-yet-unpublished book Choice Point, which I thought was "finished" in 1997, I wrote that life should be a meditation, and in each moment we should consciously ask, "Is this a 'yes' or is this a 'no?'" When I think about reclaiming my life, the question I need to ask isn't will I exercise or not today, it is "Will I be who Kay's soul intended her to be today?" A single question, applied to every situation, asked consciously. Life as a moment-by-moment meditation.
What I know in my heart is that all I want to carry into the next nine years is the consciousness to ask that question a 1,000 times every day...and the courage to act on what I know.
Sunday, November 6, 2016
Falling back
Today is that delicious day we each get once a year when we set our clocks back and get an extra hour of either sleep or daytime activity. I got a little of each.
I expectedly awakened a little earlier than I normally would on a Sunday, and I indulged myself in an extended period of prayer, something I'd been yearning for since mid-summer when I began the chaotic wind down of my old job and transition into what is seeming to be an equally busy new job.
For me, prayer satisfies me most when I do it regularly. I think of it as being a bit like exercise. When I am doing either every day, I slide into it easily and often get into "the zone"--that enchanting place where time and space cease to exist, and I am mindfully in the present. However, not unlike being off exercise for a while, when I come back to prayer after time away, I struggle.
Now it isn't as if I haven't prayed for months. I have. Yet instead of deep, solace-inducing communion, my prayers have been less two-way communication and deep listening and more pleas for aid, like "Help me know what to do right now," "Show me the way," or "Help me get through this day." More often than not, I heard no answer. I am sure that the answers were there, but I was either not present enough to receive the answer or overly intellectualizing to figure the answer out myself. Most likely, both.
This morning the need to develop my prayer muscles was clearly apparent.
With that said, I did hear that I should write a blog post, so here I am. I do often feel that writing becomes a prayer for me, and my listening becomes richer when I allow myself to not know what it is I am going to write but rather just allow it to flow through me. As I write this post, I understand some of what was missing from my prayers this morning that I couldn't seem to know when I was in them.
Back in the day when I prayed with clients, I used the term "let your prayers pray you."
"God," I said, "would let us know what we should be praying for." Then we would sit and pray together. Often what would come up would be things about which my mind would never have thought to pray. "Thank you for the birds that sing outside my window every morning," or "Thank you for the sun and its warmth on my skin when I walk." Occasionally, I expressed gratitude for just being still.
The most interesting thing about letting my prayers pray me is that much, maybe most, of my prayers uttered from that space expressed gratitude and, more often than not, they acknowledged the little things in life of which I so often don't even make notice. I believe that focusing attention on the exquisite order of the world around me diminished whatever might have been on my heart and mind that day to an appropriate proportion.
The practice also reminds me of the non-linear nature of the Universe. For instance, my struggle to pray this morning did send me to computer to write about prayer. Now I remember what I had forgotten about praying and can go back to prayer again with an open heart and mind.
Soon, I will do that.
As I ponder doing so, however, the thought that nags at me is how I got so far from my prayer practice to have forgotten how to connect. The answer may go back to the metaphor of exercise. My actions haven't made either priorities when in my heart I know that I ache for both. Articulated priorities, which aren't acted upon as such, are clearly not the focus of our intention.
In the busyness of a life that seems to be driven by urgencies, like finding a new refrigerator before all my food thaws on a gorgeous fall day when I would prefer to go for a long walk in the woods. Always there seems to be something urgent that cuts into my time. Yet if I want my life to reflect the focus of my intentions, I must act accordingly.
I truly don't have an answer for the refrigerator-versus-the-fall-walk dilemma but somehow I know in my heart that if I spend more time in prayer and exercise, how to bring life to my intentions will become clear to me. Right now, I am savoring the extra hour to focus on prayer and exercise and feeling comfortable pushing back the urgent for just a little longer.
I expectedly awakened a little earlier than I normally would on a Sunday, and I indulged myself in an extended period of prayer, something I'd been yearning for since mid-summer when I began the chaotic wind down of my old job and transition into what is seeming to be an equally busy new job.
For me, prayer satisfies me most when I do it regularly. I think of it as being a bit like exercise. When I am doing either every day, I slide into it easily and often get into "the zone"--that enchanting place where time and space cease to exist, and I am mindfully in the present. However, not unlike being off exercise for a while, when I come back to prayer after time away, I struggle.
Now it isn't as if I haven't prayed for months. I have. Yet instead of deep, solace-inducing communion, my prayers have been less two-way communication and deep listening and more pleas for aid, like "Help me know what to do right now," "Show me the way," or "Help me get through this day." More often than not, I heard no answer. I am sure that the answers were there, but I was either not present enough to receive the answer or overly intellectualizing to figure the answer out myself. Most likely, both.
This morning the need to develop my prayer muscles was clearly apparent.
With that said, I did hear that I should write a blog post, so here I am. I do often feel that writing becomes a prayer for me, and my listening becomes richer when I allow myself to not know what it is I am going to write but rather just allow it to flow through me. As I write this post, I understand some of what was missing from my prayers this morning that I couldn't seem to know when I was in them.
Back in the day when I prayed with clients, I used the term "let your prayers pray you."
"God," I said, "would let us know what we should be praying for." Then we would sit and pray together. Often what would come up would be things about which my mind would never have thought to pray. "Thank you for the birds that sing outside my window every morning," or "Thank you for the sun and its warmth on my skin when I walk." Occasionally, I expressed gratitude for just being still.
The most interesting thing about letting my prayers pray me is that much, maybe most, of my prayers uttered from that space expressed gratitude and, more often than not, they acknowledged the little things in life of which I so often don't even make notice. I believe that focusing attention on the exquisite order of the world around me diminished whatever might have been on my heart and mind that day to an appropriate proportion.
The practice also reminds me of the non-linear nature of the Universe. For instance, my struggle to pray this morning did send me to computer to write about prayer. Now I remember what I had forgotten about praying and can go back to prayer again with an open heart and mind.
Soon, I will do that.
As I ponder doing so, however, the thought that nags at me is how I got so far from my prayer practice to have forgotten how to connect. The answer may go back to the metaphor of exercise. My actions haven't made either priorities when in my heart I know that I ache for both. Articulated priorities, which aren't acted upon as such, are clearly not the focus of our intention.
In the busyness of a life that seems to be driven by urgencies, like finding a new refrigerator before all my food thaws on a gorgeous fall day when I would prefer to go for a long walk in the woods. Always there seems to be something urgent that cuts into my time. Yet if I want my life to reflect the focus of my intentions, I must act accordingly.
I truly don't have an answer for the refrigerator-versus-the-fall-walk dilemma but somehow I know in my heart that if I spend more time in prayer and exercise, how to bring life to my intentions will become clear to me. Right now, I am savoring the extra hour to focus on prayer and exercise and feeling comfortable pushing back the urgent for just a little longer.
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