Heart Magazines is challenging my commitment to feel free to throw away unwanted gifts. Over the last 10 days I've probably received a dozen unsolicited and unwanted magazines. Most I have immediately taken to the recycling bin. I passed some along to a friend. Because a couple had articles about wellness, fitness, or nutrition, all topics of interest to me, I kept and mostly skimmed before contributing them to recycling.
This evening I skimmed an interview with Biggest Loser fitness icon Jillian Michaels in the current issue of Redbook. In it she shared that if we wanted to stick to a healthy regime, how important it was to know "why" wanted it. She shared that now that she has children, instead of choosing between doughnuts and skinny jeans, her "why" has changed to choosing between doughnuts and seeing her great-grandchildren.
The concept of knowing our "why" is not a new one. Management guru Simon Sinek has one of the most popular YouTube videos* describing that it is the "why" behind an action that really motivates people. As a long-time organizational consultant, I believe the failure to build shared commitment to why something should change is probably the biggest single shortcoming of senior leadership teams. So, Michaels' comments only reinforced what I already know to be true. If we don't really understand why something is important to us, we aren't likely to stick to it.
I am doing so-so with my relationship with sugar recently. As I read Michaels' words, I thought maybe that is it: I don't know why I want to avoid sugar. Well, that isn't quite true. I am badly addicted, and I don't want any substance to own me like sugar does. But along with knowing why, it is important to know in positive terms what we want to move toward. In Michaels' case, she wants to move toward seeing her great-grandchildren.
Not wanting a substance to own me is a negative. Our brains aren't motivated by negatives. I stopped reading and sat quietly and ran through an exercise I use with coaching clients to ascertain their "why." I struggled for a bit, and then finally it came to me. I want to avoid sugar so that I am in spiritual integrity. I made a commitment to myself to avoid sugar. The commitment has nothing to do with sugar and everything to do with my spiritual discipline to keep a promise I make to myself. When I indulge, and certainly when I overindulge as is so easy during the holidays, my lack of spiritual integrity sucks spiritual energy (and life) from me. When I keep commitment to myself, I am in spiritual integrity, and I attract supportive, spiritual energy.
As anyone who has grappled with an addiction knows, winning those battles happens one day at a time. I make no sweeping predictions about how I will do with my struggles with sugar. Now that I understand that, rather than avoiding a destructive substant, my commitment is one to spiritual integrity, I have a definite "why."
*https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sioZd3AxmnE
Saturday, January 7, 2017
Friday, January 6, 2017
Dreams
I've long felt that the dreams we have while sleeping are memories from "soul school"--where we go at night to learn lessons to use in waking lives. For years, I captured my dreams on waking, and then immediately afterward, I would journal about them. Rarely did a day pass that I didn't find useful insight from "dream school."
A key component of the Intentional Living Intensives that I used to facilitate with coaching clients was work with their dreams. Most were busy executives or professionals, and when we started, most would say they didn't dream. I had a process that I used to bring dreams forward, and I would just ask them to follow the process. Every time the client started remembering dreams on the first night. By the end of our three days together, some were remembering as many as six, which we then used for our intention work during the day.
I believe that acknowledging and using our dreams is key to remembering them. They are a gift, and when they are treated as a sacred gift, we get more. If we shun them, gifts pushed away stop coming to us. Because my clients were actively using their dreams, an abundance of dreams were available to them.
A few years ago I either stopped having or stopped remembering my dreams. When I am being honest, I had become like my Intensive clients before their retreats. I was so busy that if I remembered any of them, it was just gibbets, and because I always seem to race through life, I didn't make time to write down what I did recall. Over time I stopped remembering them at all except for an occasional one on a vacation, when I did record them.
When I embarked on this week's retreat, I had two intentions. Since I am cleaning out and thinking about this new nine-year cycle, one was that I wanted insight about what I should be dreaming about--what I want--in these next years. I've shared a number insights which I got during my retreat. However, as I put the retreat behind me, I was little disappointed that I'd not received any insights about the direction for my metaphorical hopes and dreams.
Then, this morning, I "got it." The Universe is very precise about our requests. When I created my intention, I had metaphorical dreams in mind. The Universe took me very literally. The third night of my retreat I had, and remembered, at least one dream from my sleep. I recorded it in my dream journal and then wrote about it. This morning I recalled three related dreams from last night. They were much more complex and insightful. The gift of just one dream appreciated has been reciprocated with more dreams.
After finishing my dream journal, I meditated on the dreams and the day ahead. Only in that meditation did I realize that I had asked for metaphorical dreams as an intention for my retreat; the Universe sent literal dreams. I literally laughed out loud.
In my case, that's a very good thing. My dreams have been rich sources of insight over many years and I couldn't be more grateful if someone handed me a check for a million dollars. Really!
I expect that when I start working my nighttime dreams regularly again, I will probably get insights on what to dream about metaphorically for this new cycle of life.
Lessons learned: be exact in what I ask for and be grateful when the Universe responds literally.
A key component of the Intentional Living Intensives that I used to facilitate with coaching clients was work with their dreams. Most were busy executives or professionals, and when we started, most would say they didn't dream. I had a process that I used to bring dreams forward, and I would just ask them to follow the process. Every time the client started remembering dreams on the first night. By the end of our three days together, some were remembering as many as six, which we then used for our intention work during the day.
I believe that acknowledging and using our dreams is key to remembering them. They are a gift, and when they are treated as a sacred gift, we get more. If we shun them, gifts pushed away stop coming to us. Because my clients were actively using their dreams, an abundance of dreams were available to them.
A few years ago I either stopped having or stopped remembering my dreams. When I am being honest, I had become like my Intensive clients before their retreats. I was so busy that if I remembered any of them, it was just gibbets, and because I always seem to race through life, I didn't make time to write down what I did recall. Over time I stopped remembering them at all except for an occasional one on a vacation, when I did record them.
When I embarked on this week's retreat, I had two intentions. Since I am cleaning out and thinking about this new nine-year cycle, one was that I wanted insight about what I should be dreaming about--what I want--in these next years. I've shared a number insights which I got during my retreat. However, as I put the retreat behind me, I was little disappointed that I'd not received any insights about the direction for my metaphorical hopes and dreams.
Then, this morning, I "got it." The Universe is very precise about our requests. When I created my intention, I had metaphorical dreams in mind. The Universe took me very literally. The third night of my retreat I had, and remembered, at least one dream from my sleep. I recorded it in my dream journal and then wrote about it. This morning I recalled three related dreams from last night. They were much more complex and insightful. The gift of just one dream appreciated has been reciprocated with more dreams.
After finishing my dream journal, I meditated on the dreams and the day ahead. Only in that meditation did I realize that I had asked for metaphorical dreams as an intention for my retreat; the Universe sent literal dreams. I literally laughed out loud.
In my case, that's a very good thing. My dreams have been rich sources of insight over many years and I couldn't be more grateful if someone handed me a check for a million dollars. Really!
I expect that when I start working my nighttime dreams regularly again, I will probably get insights on what to dream about metaphorically for this new cycle of life.
Lessons learned: be exact in what I ask for and be grateful when the Universe responds literally.
Thursday, January 5, 2017
To Thine Own Self Be True
As I settle into the final day of my Winter 2017 meditation retreat, two lessons have emerged in countless forms. The first and most constant has been the question: "Where am I in my becoming?" Interrogating me in almost every thought, its answers have taken me closer and closer to my Truth. The companion haunt has been the challenge to move away from my viewpoint and explore whatever comes up from every perspective.
I should not be surprised then that in my morning meditation on my last day that they once again present themselves to take me deeper. Most of all, they have distilled to its essence most of the challenges with which I've grappled over these days.
Over the course of this retreat, when I've meditated, I've slowly and deeply breathed in "Where am I in my becoming?" My exhales have also been slow as I breathed out the name of God. Today I was surprised that with each exhale what came from my inner voice, "To thine own self be true," Polonius's admonition from Shakespeare's Hamlet. Polonius continues:
"And it must follow, as the night the day
Thou canst not then be false to any man."
Over the last day and a half, I'd been accumulating "material" for a forgiveness exercise that I often facilitated with coaching clients for my Intentional Living Intensives. Three lists are compiled:
I should not be surprised then that in my morning meditation on my last day that they once again present themselves to take me deeper. Most of all, they have distilled to its essence most of the challenges with which I've grappled over these days.
Over the course of this retreat, when I've meditated, I've slowly and deeply breathed in "Where am I in my becoming?" My exhales have also been slow as I breathed out the name of God. Today I was surprised that with each exhale what came from my inner voice, "To thine own self be true," Polonius's admonition from Shakespeare's Hamlet. Polonius continues:
"And it must follow, as the night the day
Thou canst not then be false to any man."
Over the last day and a half, I'd been accumulating "material" for a forgiveness exercise that I often facilitated with coaching clients for my Intentional Living Intensives. Three lists are compiled:
- Those people you need to forgive
- Those people you need to ask for forgiveness
- Things for which you must forgive yourself
I've done the exercise many times with clients and a few times previously with myself. I've never witnessed a time when the results weren't dramatic. So, it shouldn't be a surprise that as my theme for yesterday was "Trust and Relationships" that the forgiveness exercise came to mind. I'd expected to do it last night, but when I did my sundown meditation, my guidance was that the time wasn't yet right. I spent the evening probing other aspects of my consciousness, adding a few more items to my lists along the way.
As I shared in my post of two days ago*, I was chagrined to think how selfish I'd been when I explored the topic of scheduling time from the perspective of those who wanted to schedule. Since then, I've learned something surprising from almost every lesson I've had in front of me when I examined it from different perspectives.
When "Where am I in my becoming?" was coupled with "To thine own self be true," my forgiveness exercise changed dramatically. Now, my guidance was to look at these lists from the perspective of what my role was in creating every one of these situations. While I don't think I had much role in eliciting my mother's treatment of the newborn me, every other item on my list, I could have influenced if I'd been true to myself.
There are a companion pair of saws that are often used among self-help practitioners:
All of that brings me back to "Where I am in my becoming." On this mapless journey of spirit, I am at the place of honoring my Truth...honoring what I know in my heart. When I am present, I can no longer point a finger without recalling there are three more pointing back at me. If I don't ask the questions that will help me know whether the assumptions I am making are accurate ones, who will? In the clear daylight of open communication, I can be true to myself and true to those with whom I am in relationships.
*"Seeking all Sides of a Challenge," 1/3.
When "Where am I in my becoming?" was coupled with "To thine own self be true," my forgiveness exercise changed dramatically. Now, my guidance was to look at these lists from the perspective of what my role was in creating every one of these situations. While I don't think I had much role in eliciting my mother's treatment of the newborn me, every other item on my list, I could have influenced if I'd been true to myself.
There are a companion pair of saws that are often used among self-help practitioners:
- We teach what we need to know
- We write what we need to learn
Over decades, central foci of my work have been to communicate, listen, ask questions, dialogue--learn from each other, and collaborate. Whether I've been facilitating workplace Bickersons, strategic planning, or culture change or writing a book or this blog, these topics have always been central to my work. When I looked at my forgiveness lists, I could almost always have influenced the outcomes if I'd done just those things...but I hadn't. I hadn't to my own self been true: I hadn't been true to what I knew in my heart. And, I hadn't be doing what I'd been teaching for decades.
Years ago when I was facilitating an intentional culture creation exercise with a small group of leaders from Hewlett-Packard for their newly created Line of Business, a key player and the person who had hired me for the exercise came to me on the first break. She asked me, "Do you know what your gift is?" Duh! I stumbled. "I guess I don't." She continued to say, "You are a master at asking questions."
At the time, I thought it was a dumb gift. Since then, a number of people have made observations about how a single question completely changed how they'd looked a challenge. I don't think it is such a dumb gift now, but as I revisited my forgiveness lists this morning, the most common failure on my part was the failure to ask questions--before I got into a situation, when I was in it and something didn't feel right, when someone did something that didn't add up. I've just made assumptions, which often times were incorrect and which eventually resulted in something hurtful occurring.
Years ago when I was facilitating an intentional culture creation exercise with a small group of leaders from Hewlett-Packard for their newly created Line of Business, a key player and the person who had hired me for the exercise came to me on the first break. She asked me, "Do you know what your gift is?" Duh! I stumbled. "I guess I don't." She continued to say, "You are a master at asking questions."
At the time, I thought it was a dumb gift. Since then, a number of people have made observations about how a single question completely changed how they'd looked a challenge. I don't think it is such a dumb gift now, but as I revisited my forgiveness lists this morning, the most common failure on my part was the failure to ask questions--before I got into a situation, when I was in it and something didn't feel right, when someone did something that didn't add up. I've just made assumptions, which often times were incorrect and which eventually resulted in something hurtful occurring.
All of that brings me back to "Where I am in my becoming." On this mapless journey of spirit, I am at the place of honoring my Truth...honoring what I know in my heart. When I am present, I can no longer point a finger without recalling there are three more pointing back at me. If I don't ask the questions that will help me know whether the assumptions I am making are accurate ones, who will? In the clear daylight of open communication, I can be true to myself and true to those with whom I am in relationships.
*"Seeking all Sides of a Challenge," 1/3.
Wednesday, January 4, 2017
Where Am I On my Becoming?
"Where am I on my becoming?" That question has haunted me nearly since I began this retreat. I am intrigued, and playing with Rabbi Kula's description of commandments in Yearnings as things to which we are to examine from the inside-out, I continue to play with it as I breathe the question in and out. (See yesterday's post for the commandment.)
Knowing where I am on my becoming would be much easier if I had been handed a map at birth to which I could look periodically to see how I am doing. Is my journey one from Portland, Oregon, to Miami, using the Pythagorean route of the shortest distance between two points being a straight line? In which case it would be significantly more helpful in knowing where I am on my becoming if I could see I was in Boise, Denver, or Atlanta...or, dread, in Boston.
But, my route might be from Portland, Maine, to Miami, meandering the Inter-coastal Waterway, or from Seattle to Houston. It might be the T.S. Eliot route:
"We shall not cease from exploration, and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time." -- T.S. Eliot*
Maybe where I am on my becoming is somewhere between Fort Wayne, Indiana, and Fort Wayne, Indiana, knowing it again for the first time. (Since I haven't been there since high school, and only then rarely, knowing it again for the first time wouldn't be much of a stretch.)
I still have to believe that if we listen and follow what we know in our hearts, they will inevitably take us on the right route, assuming there is a right route. My sense is that our hearts tell us what is True North for us but Kula would probably challenge whether there is a right or wrong route or if it matters. Perhaps dallying in Philadelphia might prove rewarding, even if it is out of the way. At this point, I am so unclear (a good thing, I think,) I am not sure there is a wrong route. I am, after all, the maven of "not-knowing as a way of life." I am pretty confident that we will know were have gone astray if we aren't truly present to the journey or if a stop sucks the life out of us and we linger there too long.
As I ponder "Where I am on my becoming," I've had a compelling desire to get on a bus and ride across the country, stopping wherever I feel called to stop. (Alas, I am not free to do that right now, but arrangements could be made to do so soon.)
Like Alice Through the Looking Glass, I am not sure of much. I could be falling down or up, but I am assured that friends cannot be neglected, and I've probably been doing a bit much of that in recent years. So, where am I on my becoming? I cannot know for sure, but at about 12:45 this morning I felt like the Universe had flipped my switches and I was more alive than I've been probably since 2000. Every cell in my body tingled. I awakened lighter, more joyful, and definitely more hopeful. So the journey continues...
*Brainy-quote.com"
Knowing where I am on my becoming would be much easier if I had been handed a map at birth to which I could look periodically to see how I am doing. Is my journey one from Portland, Oregon, to Miami, using the Pythagorean route of the shortest distance between two points being a straight line? In which case it would be significantly more helpful in knowing where I am on my becoming if I could see I was in Boise, Denver, or Atlanta...or, dread, in Boston.
But, my route might be from Portland, Maine, to Miami, meandering the Inter-coastal Waterway, or from Seattle to Houston. It might be the T.S. Eliot route:
"We shall not cease from exploration, and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time." -- T.S. Eliot*
Maybe where I am on my becoming is somewhere between Fort Wayne, Indiana, and Fort Wayne, Indiana, knowing it again for the first time. (Since I haven't been there since high school, and only then rarely, knowing it again for the first time wouldn't be much of a stretch.)
I still have to believe that if we listen and follow what we know in our hearts, they will inevitably take us on the right route, assuming there is a right route. My sense is that our hearts tell us what is True North for us but Kula would probably challenge whether there is a right or wrong route or if it matters. Perhaps dallying in Philadelphia might prove rewarding, even if it is out of the way. At this point, I am so unclear (a good thing, I think,) I am not sure there is a wrong route. I am, after all, the maven of "not-knowing as a way of life." I am pretty confident that we will know were have gone astray if we aren't truly present to the journey or if a stop sucks the life out of us and we linger there too long.
As I ponder "Where I am on my becoming," I've had a compelling desire to get on a bus and ride across the country, stopping wherever I feel called to stop. (Alas, I am not free to do that right now, but arrangements could be made to do so soon.)
Like Alice Through the Looking Glass, I am not sure of much. I could be falling down or up, but I am assured that friends cannot be neglected, and I've probably been doing a bit much of that in recent years. So, where am I on my becoming? I cannot know for sure, but at about 12:45 this morning I felt like the Universe had flipped my switches and I was more alive than I've been probably since 2000. Every cell in my body tingled. I awakened lighter, more joyful, and definitely more hopeful. So the journey continues...
*Brainy-quote.com"
Tuesday, January 3, 2017
Seeking All Sides of a Challenge
On November 11, the Veterans' Day holiday, I had the opportunity to participate in a simulation of The Bigger Game.* If you imagine a room-size game board that roughly approximates a Tic-Tac-Toe grid, you will get the idea. On each of the squares is written a word. At the start of the game, the facilitators instruct participants to survey the words and to choose the one to which they are most called.
I was probably the first to choose, and I moved to "Hunger." Now while I might have been a little physically hungry, due to oral surgery two days earlier and limited intake of solid food, but that was not the reason I chose "Hunger." We were told that "Hunger" is that "deep 'fire in my belly' impact that must be satiated." I felt it in my soul, and I've felt it for a long time as I've increasingly lost myself in my work. Choosing "Hunger" was a no-brainer.
Yesterday, after my post, I went to my over-flowing bookcase filled with unread books. I usually like to start one of my retreats with inspirational reading, and I was immediately drawn to Yearnings, by Rabbi Irwin Kula. The book was copyrighted in 2006 and the pages were yellowed. Like many of my unread books, I am not sure how long I'd had it. Yearnings seemed to follow nicely my call to "Hunger" in The Bigger Game.
I am not sure that Yearnings ended up being exactly what I expected, but as always occurs when I allow myself to be led, it has nudged me in places that I needed to explore. Although the book makes references to several faith traditions and some non-religious traditions, the rabbi leans heavily on stories from the Abrahamic faith traditions.
In explaining the creation "poem," as he calls it, he relates that the phrase that is most often translated into "Where are you?" in English at the point when God comes to the Garden of Eden after Adam and Eve have eaten from the Tree of Knowledge might more accurately be translated as "Where are you in your becoming?" Rather than asking a question with a one word answer, God is asking those he has created a question about where they are in their process of knowing themselves. I was quite moved by this question, and I have used it several times to guide meditations in my retreat.
Later in the book, Kula talks about the Ten Commandments in a different way than I've generally heard them discussed. Rather than being edicts, we are encouraged to explore our actions around each of the 10 topics fully and completely: to look at them inside-out, if you will, and really understand the ramifications of what is being asked from each "edict."
"Where are you in your becoming?" is particularly poignant for me as I have thought about a number of questions with which I've openly wrestled in this blog. When coupled with exploring every side of a topic, my meditations have predictably taken me to places I'd rather not see in myself, like arrogance, Narcissism, and even selfishness.
The two topics with which I've often grappled in this post that kept coming up in my meditations when enlightened by these new perspectives were those of getting "stuff" I didn't want and scheduling time with people rather than being spontaneous. I realized that there is a major flaw in my understanding about what to do with divine guidance that we receive. Is that perhaps, I've asked myself, why Choice Point, my long unsold book on the topic of walking moment-by-moment as we are guided, still gathers dust on my shelf?
What moved me as I explored each of these topics more fully was what the people who want to schedule and want to give me stuff must feel. My spontaneous approach is fine for a single person with little family, but when I think of one friend with a very busy job involving travel, two grown kids and a husband to keep up with, and an art interest she is growing, I thought how terribly selfish of me. I should want to work with her to find a time when she can be available. When I only thought about my relationship with God and where I was to follow, I totally neglected her needs. I am so sorry!
Similarly, when I thought about the people who persist in giving me stuff, I recalled how as children we had a special aunt and uncle who refused gifts. They were younger than I am now, but I am sure that not unlike me, they were at that stage in life where they really wanted to live smaller. When they were not much older, they sold their larger home in Ohio and moved to a smaller one in Florida. From my current perspective, I totally understand their desire to avoid adding "stuff," but I really didn't when I was 9. I really don't want stuff, but looking at the concern from different perspectives has been humbling.
Now, back to the question about "Where am I in my becoming?" For today, I am certainly becoming more humble, and I have new perspectives to bring to what seem like easy questions to me. In The Alchemy of Fear I wrote about who we are becoming as a solid endpoint. "Becoming" as a process offers me much more opportunity to grow and fewer excuses to not get moving.
In the bigger Universe of "Where am I in my becoming?" I have a still-unwinding, albeit very different, perspective on what it means to follow guidance.
I am reminded of an image I used to create on stage when I was delivering a speech. It would start with a single heart (Valentine kind.) Then I'd draw another...and another...and another. Finally, I would connect them with a ribbon and say that every person in the world is connected through that ribbon, heart to heart to heart. That image now takes on new meaning. Rather than a one dimensional relationship to divine guidance, I now see a complex, multi-dimensional relationship in which we are all supporting each other in who we are becoming and how we will change the world.
*The Bigger Game: www.biggergame.com. Our game was facilitated by David Andrews (davidtoddandrews@gmail.com) and Catherine Allen (catherine@allenimpactgroup.com.)
I was probably the first to choose, and I moved to "Hunger." Now while I might have been a little physically hungry, due to oral surgery two days earlier and limited intake of solid food, but that was not the reason I chose "Hunger." We were told that "Hunger" is that "deep 'fire in my belly' impact that must be satiated." I felt it in my soul, and I've felt it for a long time as I've increasingly lost myself in my work. Choosing "Hunger" was a no-brainer.
Yesterday, after my post, I went to my over-flowing bookcase filled with unread books. I usually like to start one of my retreats with inspirational reading, and I was immediately drawn to Yearnings, by Rabbi Irwin Kula. The book was copyrighted in 2006 and the pages were yellowed. Like many of my unread books, I am not sure how long I'd had it. Yearnings seemed to follow nicely my call to "Hunger" in The Bigger Game.
I am not sure that Yearnings ended up being exactly what I expected, but as always occurs when I allow myself to be led, it has nudged me in places that I needed to explore. Although the book makes references to several faith traditions and some non-religious traditions, the rabbi leans heavily on stories from the Abrahamic faith traditions.
In explaining the creation "poem," as he calls it, he relates that the phrase that is most often translated into "Where are you?" in English at the point when God comes to the Garden of Eden after Adam and Eve have eaten from the Tree of Knowledge might more accurately be translated as "Where are you in your becoming?" Rather than asking a question with a one word answer, God is asking those he has created a question about where they are in their process of knowing themselves. I was quite moved by this question, and I have used it several times to guide meditations in my retreat.
Later in the book, Kula talks about the Ten Commandments in a different way than I've generally heard them discussed. Rather than being edicts, we are encouraged to explore our actions around each of the 10 topics fully and completely: to look at them inside-out, if you will, and really understand the ramifications of what is being asked from each "edict."
"Where are you in your becoming?" is particularly poignant for me as I have thought about a number of questions with which I've openly wrestled in this blog. When coupled with exploring every side of a topic, my meditations have predictably taken me to places I'd rather not see in myself, like arrogance, Narcissism, and even selfishness.
The two topics with which I've often grappled in this post that kept coming up in my meditations when enlightened by these new perspectives were those of getting "stuff" I didn't want and scheduling time with people rather than being spontaneous. I realized that there is a major flaw in my understanding about what to do with divine guidance that we receive. Is that perhaps, I've asked myself, why Choice Point, my long unsold book on the topic of walking moment-by-moment as we are guided, still gathers dust on my shelf?
What moved me as I explored each of these topics more fully was what the people who want to schedule and want to give me stuff must feel. My spontaneous approach is fine for a single person with little family, but when I think of one friend with a very busy job involving travel, two grown kids and a husband to keep up with, and an art interest she is growing, I thought how terribly selfish of me. I should want to work with her to find a time when she can be available. When I only thought about my relationship with God and where I was to follow, I totally neglected her needs. I am so sorry!
Similarly, when I thought about the people who persist in giving me stuff, I recalled how as children we had a special aunt and uncle who refused gifts. They were younger than I am now, but I am sure that not unlike me, they were at that stage in life where they really wanted to live smaller. When they were not much older, they sold their larger home in Ohio and moved to a smaller one in Florida. From my current perspective, I totally understand their desire to avoid adding "stuff," but I really didn't when I was 9. I really don't want stuff, but looking at the concern from different perspectives has been humbling.
Now, back to the question about "Where am I in my becoming?" For today, I am certainly becoming more humble, and I have new perspectives to bring to what seem like easy questions to me. In The Alchemy of Fear I wrote about who we are becoming as a solid endpoint. "Becoming" as a process offers me much more opportunity to grow and fewer excuses to not get moving.
In the bigger Universe of "Where am I in my becoming?" I have a still-unwinding, albeit very different, perspective on what it means to follow guidance.
I am reminded of an image I used to create on stage when I was delivering a speech. It would start with a single heart (Valentine kind.) Then I'd draw another...and another...and another. Finally, I would connect them with a ribbon and say that every person in the world is connected through that ribbon, heart to heart to heart. That image now takes on new meaning. Rather than a one dimensional relationship to divine guidance, I now see a complex, multi-dimensional relationship in which we are all supporting each other in who we are becoming and how we will change the world.
*The Bigger Game: www.biggergame.com. Our game was facilitated by David Andrews (davidtoddandrews@gmail.com) and Catherine Allen (catherine@allenimpactgroup.com.)
Monday, January 2, 2017
Doing Something That Scares
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.
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.
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.
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