Whatever your belief system, I am fairly confident that I can say, life is not a dress rehearsal. Whether you think that this life is one and done or that you will live many lives, we don't get do-overs for this one. Why, then, I have asked myself in recent years, have I invested so much spiritual energy in earning a living and so little on the things that really matter? I wish I could answer that, but if I had been that conscious, I probably would have been making different decisions.
In the summer of 2015 I completed a Psychology of Happiness certification. The Number One Habit of happy people? Relationships. As I raced through evenings and weekends of studying about happiness after long days of racing from meeting to meeting at work, I lamented the state of my relationships. It is not that my relationships were bad; they were just all arms-length or physically distant.
Fast forward to February 2017, and nothing much has changed. I am once again taking a class in which I am learning about the importance of relationships--this time the value is to my health. Yes, I eat right; superfoods line my pantry and make my refrigerator bulge. I exercise regularly. I meditate. But, even with a decades-old commitment to health, do you think I have done anything about the state of my relationships? Nyet.
I have very dear friends who are scattered all over the globe. I did receive a calendar from a friend in Tokyo. I email another in Greece a few times a month. Skype connects me with one in California a couple times a year, and thankfully I Skype with another a couple times a month. My college roommate and I have been spiritually close since we met, but often go months without talking. Just last evening I dined with four old work pals which get together two or three times a year, and I have dinner with two others from a different job a couple times a year. I see my closest friends two to three times a year. My best friend and I may make it four times a year these days.
I am grateful to have all these people in my life, and, there's nothing like curling up on the couch with a friend, a bowl of popcorn, and a movie, especially if we just decided to get together spontaneously. Best of all for me, is the unplanned drop-in. Someone who knows they will be welcomed and loved anytime they grace my doorstep, and I won't care if I have study materials scattered all over the living room floor from study. Whatever happens it is OK. Unfortunately, I don't have any of those kinds of relationships. In fact, mostly I don't have any relationships that don't have to be scheduled months in advance.
Maybe I delude myself with memories of a different time or a different place, but I recall such relationships...almost every time of my life until the last 15 years. If life is not a dress rehearsal, and I know that relationships are good for both health and happiness, what have I been waiting for? Beats me.
The best news of all is that I am now creating my own life, one day at a time. I am now conscious that if I don't take building relationships seriously, no one else is going to do it for me...and I will probably die with the same weary state of my relationships. A few days ago when I wrote that I was in the best place I've been in for a while, except for a couple things: strengthening relationships was one of them.
I have open invitations for lunch with a new friend and coffee with another. I'm waiting for another friend to recover from surgery to get together. I brunched with another work colleague Sunday, and we committed to seeing each other more often. (She is good about texting, which may be the 21st Century replacement for the drop-in visit. Amazingly, it does feel quite connected.)
I had a friend in my building over for casual soup and cornbread this evening. We met when I first moved to the building. She's always been friendly but passing occasionally in the entry or the grocery store is as far as the friendship developed. We had really never had a conversation until tonight. I feel enriched by the time we spent together.
The college roommate and I committed to walking and talking together or having tea together through the wonders of modern technology that bridge the 500-mile divide between us. I may even schedule a Skype with Tokyo or Greece. I definitely need to get back to North Carolina to see my friend and her two little ones.
In some ways, it feels like this may be the friendship equivalent of throwing spaghetti against the wall to see what sticks, but I have to start somewhere. I care about each of these women, so they seem to be a good start. After all, when I think about what is really important in my life, it is friendships...happy, connected relationships. How can I create my life without them? I feel that 2017 will be the year that is foundational in having a satisfying relationship habit and the happiness that is sure to follow.
Wednesday, February 8, 2017
Tuesday, February 7, 2017
Cleaning Out
I had dinner with several long-time friends this evening, walked when I got home, and then sat to write, and my mind was a clutter of random thoughts, shooting off in a dozen different directions. I meditated. More clutter. In my drafts folder for the blog, I found a piece that I thought I'd posted over a month ago. It was somewhat out of date, but, probably not by accident, it is also something that has been on my mind lately. Cleaning out.
In late December, I cleaned out all the unsolicited cosmetics with which various companies have gifted me. It freed up significant space in my medicine cabinet and left me even freer psychically. Then, I took on my bag bin. In the 1980s when almost no one except Kay was reusing bags, I was taking the same paper grocery bags back to the store week-in, week-out. At one point, I began dating them to see how long they would last. One lasted a whole year--52 weeks. So you can imagine how delighted I was at the advent of bags which were actually designed for reuse.
But then everyone and his/her cousin discovered the reusable bags were perfect little billboards. Every conference or show gives them away. My public radio station gives them away. When I looked at apartments a few years ago, they gave them away. Even my local hardware store gave them away. When DC passed a bill to charge for paper or plastic, the stores gave them away. All those bags and only four or five that I used regularly. Most of the others were gone with the start of the year.
The second week of January I went into a sorting frenzy with books. I donated about six boxes to the library in my building. They don't take textbooks, so I have another box in the corner of my living room still looking for a home. Those seven boxes were the books at which I knew I would never look again. I fussed as I contemplated at least 10 boxes moved out of my offices or my storage bin await sorting. I was able to get rid of one box, but there are nine more.
The only pleasing I needed to do was my heart, and I had struggled. What would be part of my future? What would not? Do I throw away hundreds of flyers for professional speaking which were really great designs, but were printed at just the time the dot.com bust and 9/11 killed the keynote conference-speaking circuit I'd been on? Of course, I do. That 16-year-old photo is almost unrecognizable. How do I let the Universe know I am open to professional speaking...just not the badly dated flyer, I had wondered, wanting to be careful not to send the wrong message.
Then something funny happened. I got distracted. My class and refugee resettlement activities picked up the pace, and I was able to back-burner the sorting. I did, however, leave several of the boxes right in the middle of my closest so that I cannot easily get to more than a few clothes without high-stepping over them. I didn't want to forget about the sorting. That's how I've been dressing since the end of the year.
A week or so ago I began to be impatient. Not with the climbing over the boxes, although that has been an annoyance. I got frustrated at the time my class was taking because now I knew exactly what to get rid of and didn't have time to do it. Almost all of it. As sparks within me have been ignited for these new directions, the mind-numbing boredom with my old work has become clear to me. While I'd like to think I have the capability to do whatever I need to do to support myself, my heart is shouting...not whispering, but shouting..."NOT THAT!" There was a time when I was energized by the work, but that is definitely the past. Enough already. I am ready to move on.
I am at the point in any class during which final projects and exams are occurring, so I must stay at it. While there is part of me that would like to just chuck it all, I suspect that there are things in each box that I do want to keep, but not much. Yet, having taken time to reconnect with my heart, I am certain that the decision-making will be easy.
All that brings me back to my intention to listen to what I know in my heart--the very purpose of this blog. In my heart I know that my future lies in what brings me to life, and what I did for 25 years no longer does that. To hang on to even one shred that isn't aligned with my future would again be a breach of my integrity. I am just unwilling to go there, and I have to believe that if the Universe has given me this spark, it will make sure I can support myself in my new directions.
In late December, I cleaned out all the unsolicited cosmetics with which various companies have gifted me. It freed up significant space in my medicine cabinet and left me even freer psychically. Then, I took on my bag bin. In the 1980s when almost no one except Kay was reusing bags, I was taking the same paper grocery bags back to the store week-in, week-out. At one point, I began dating them to see how long they would last. One lasted a whole year--52 weeks. So you can imagine how delighted I was at the advent of bags which were actually designed for reuse.
But then everyone and his/her cousin discovered the reusable bags were perfect little billboards. Every conference or show gives them away. My public radio station gives them away. When I looked at apartments a few years ago, they gave them away. Even my local hardware store gave them away. When DC passed a bill to charge for paper or plastic, the stores gave them away. All those bags and only four or five that I used regularly. Most of the others were gone with the start of the year.
The second week of January I went into a sorting frenzy with books. I donated about six boxes to the library in my building. They don't take textbooks, so I have another box in the corner of my living room still looking for a home. Those seven boxes were the books at which I knew I would never look again. I fussed as I contemplated at least 10 boxes moved out of my offices or my storage bin await sorting. I was able to get rid of one box, but there are nine more.
The only pleasing I needed to do was my heart, and I had struggled. What would be part of my future? What would not? Do I throw away hundreds of flyers for professional speaking which were really great designs, but were printed at just the time the dot.com bust and 9/11 killed the keynote conference-speaking circuit I'd been on? Of course, I do. That 16-year-old photo is almost unrecognizable. How do I let the Universe know I am open to professional speaking...just not the badly dated flyer, I had wondered, wanting to be careful not to send the wrong message.
Then something funny happened. I got distracted. My class and refugee resettlement activities picked up the pace, and I was able to back-burner the sorting. I did, however, leave several of the boxes right in the middle of my closest so that I cannot easily get to more than a few clothes without high-stepping over them. I didn't want to forget about the sorting. That's how I've been dressing since the end of the year.
A week or so ago I began to be impatient. Not with the climbing over the boxes, although that has been an annoyance. I got frustrated at the time my class was taking because now I knew exactly what to get rid of and didn't have time to do it. Almost all of it. As sparks within me have been ignited for these new directions, the mind-numbing boredom with my old work has become clear to me. While I'd like to think I have the capability to do whatever I need to do to support myself, my heart is shouting...not whispering, but shouting..."NOT THAT!" There was a time when I was energized by the work, but that is definitely the past. Enough already. I am ready to move on.
I am at the point in any class during which final projects and exams are occurring, so I must stay at it. While there is part of me that would like to just chuck it all, I suspect that there are things in each box that I do want to keep, but not much. Yet, having taken time to reconnect with my heart, I am certain that the decision-making will be easy.
All that brings me back to my intention to listen to what I know in my heart--the very purpose of this blog. In my heart I know that my future lies in what brings me to life, and what I did for 25 years no longer does that. To hang on to even one shred that isn't aligned with my future would again be a breach of my integrity. I am just unwilling to go there, and I have to believe that if the Universe has given me this spark, it will make sure I can support myself in my new directions.
Monday, February 6, 2017
Being in a Really Good Place
Twice this weekend I found myself in conversations with friends that I hadn't talked with much since I started my "exploration." In each conversation there came a point at which the words, "I am in a really good place," came spilling out of my mouth. In one conversation the words were actually "I am in a better place than I've been in 20 years." They weren't words, or even a concept, to which I'd given thought. They just seemed to be my truth at that point in each conversation.
Now what was all that about? To start with, they were "my truth." When I drew a line in the sand and said to myself that my work was killing me, I knew it was true. Except for fairly healthy eating, I hadn't been doing a single thing that I knew I should be doing for my physical, mental, or spiritual health. (I had been eating healthy foods but as I raced through most days, a lot of time I had to snarf meals or snacks down at a pace that couldn't have been good for my digestive track.)
I knew how to live better; I just wasn't doing it. What has happened over the last five weeks is that I have been living the way I know is good for me. I've been sleeping well and at least a full eight hours every night. I've exercised every day. I've prayed and meditated twice a day. I've been dreaming actively and mining them for spiritual insights. I've taken time to stop and chat with friends and neighbors, and I've made some new friends, leaving me feeling more satisfied about my relationships. I've read several books. I've been getting involved in my community on issues that I really care about. In short, I have felt like I was in personal integrity.
As I've described in this blog before, the word "integrity" derives from the Greek root which also gave rise to "integer"--a whole number. Before my exploration began, I was badly conflicted. I wasn't demonstrating wholeness in body, mind, or spirit. Now I am almost there and in addition to the impacts of each of the activities listed in the last paragraph on me, which have been significant, perhaps the strong effect is that of feeling whole again. I used to spend moments throughout every days wishing things were different: I wish I could just sleep until I was rested. I wish I could sit and enjoy this meal. Blah! Blah! Blah!
Among the realizations that came to me as I pondered "being in a really good place" was the one that even though there are a couple of areas of my life I'd like to enhance, I recognized that I hadn't even thought about either for weeks. I've been so focused on what is working that to think about what isn't working feels insignificant and a waste of energy.
This week's health coaching class includes coping with stress. Where was this when I needed it? Actually, there was nothing that I hadn't known, but when I was caught up in in, I seemed incapable of turning the tide. On occasion, I would attempt to redirect myself, but I felt like I was caught in quicksand and just couldn't pull myself out of it.
When I am in integrity, I am more resourceful. I am not sure the complete difference, but I've certainly been losing energy in the cracks between what I know to do and what I was doing. I think that some must be chalked up to having more time. In truth, I had a lot of colleagues who should have/could have worked the way I did, but they just chose not to. When lunch, workout, or quitting time came, they walked out. I always chalked it up to a deep service ethic, which is true, but in the ultimate act of lack of integrity, I'd remind my clients of the airline security announcements telling us to put the oxygen mask over ourselves before putting one on a child. If I didn't put the oxygen mask on myself, who else was going to do it?
Yes, I am in a really good place, and that place is integrity. My challenge will be to keep my attitude adjustment when I am more actively engaged in the world around me again.
Now what was all that about? To start with, they were "my truth." When I drew a line in the sand and said to myself that my work was killing me, I knew it was true. Except for fairly healthy eating, I hadn't been doing a single thing that I knew I should be doing for my physical, mental, or spiritual health. (I had been eating healthy foods but as I raced through most days, a lot of time I had to snarf meals or snacks down at a pace that couldn't have been good for my digestive track.)
I knew how to live better; I just wasn't doing it. What has happened over the last five weeks is that I have been living the way I know is good for me. I've been sleeping well and at least a full eight hours every night. I've exercised every day. I've prayed and meditated twice a day. I've been dreaming actively and mining them for spiritual insights. I've taken time to stop and chat with friends and neighbors, and I've made some new friends, leaving me feeling more satisfied about my relationships. I've read several books. I've been getting involved in my community on issues that I really care about. In short, I have felt like I was in personal integrity.
As I've described in this blog before, the word "integrity" derives from the Greek root which also gave rise to "integer"--a whole number. Before my exploration began, I was badly conflicted. I wasn't demonstrating wholeness in body, mind, or spirit. Now I am almost there and in addition to the impacts of each of the activities listed in the last paragraph on me, which have been significant, perhaps the strong effect is that of feeling whole again. I used to spend moments throughout every days wishing things were different: I wish I could just sleep until I was rested. I wish I could sit and enjoy this meal. Blah! Blah! Blah!
Among the realizations that came to me as I pondered "being in a really good place" was the one that even though there are a couple of areas of my life I'd like to enhance, I recognized that I hadn't even thought about either for weeks. I've been so focused on what is working that to think about what isn't working feels insignificant and a waste of energy.
This week's health coaching class includes coping with stress. Where was this when I needed it? Actually, there was nothing that I hadn't known, but when I was caught up in in, I seemed incapable of turning the tide. On occasion, I would attempt to redirect myself, but I felt like I was caught in quicksand and just couldn't pull myself out of it.
When I am in integrity, I am more resourceful. I am not sure the complete difference, but I've certainly been losing energy in the cracks between what I know to do and what I was doing. I think that some must be chalked up to having more time. In truth, I had a lot of colleagues who should have/could have worked the way I did, but they just chose not to. When lunch, workout, or quitting time came, they walked out. I always chalked it up to a deep service ethic, which is true, but in the ultimate act of lack of integrity, I'd remind my clients of the airline security announcements telling us to put the oxygen mask over ourselves before putting one on a child. If I didn't put the oxygen mask on myself, who else was going to do it?
Yes, I am in a really good place, and that place is integrity. My challenge will be to keep my attitude adjustment when I am more actively engaged in the world around me again.
Saturday, February 4, 2017
Having the Right Tools
Many years ago I was visiting a friend, who didn't cook often, for dinner. I watched her labor over tasks that I could have done in seconds with a better set of tools in my kitchen. At some point, I observed to myself that people who "don't like to cook" often don't have the right tools, which might be why they don't enjoy it: it's just too much work.
I spend most holiday dinners with a friend who is a great cook, but who doesn't have the best tools. She often asks me to carve the turkey or whatever piece of meat is to be at the center of the table, and then gives me a knife that wouldn't cut butter on a hot summer day to do so. I started bringing my own knives, which make the task much more enjoyable. The right tools make all the difference.
There was a man in my life once who liked to putter in his woodshop. He loved to hang out in the local hardware store, and after every trip, he would bring home what I perceived as a "toy." For him, it was probably just the right tool. He produced remarkable works of art in our garage. I suspect that the things he brought home from the hardware store were the guy equivalent of the right kitchen tools for me.
Today I walked from my home in Washington to Bethesda, Maryland. I do so a few times a year. It took me 57 minutes which is just a good workout, but I am sure I have done it in less time. It was cold and windy, and as often occurs in those conditions, my nose dripped a lot. Those, I thought, were the reasons that it took so long.
I had been aware that after about 40 minutes, my right foot was hurting a lot. It has been bothering me when I exercise for a few months now. I thought maybe I was getting arthritis in my foot. I was not happy with the prospect, but resigned that at some point the vagaries of aging were inevitably going to start.
When I returned home, a new pair of running shoes were waiting for me. I couldn't remember the last time I had new ones, but it had been long enough that these were shipped to a friend where I used to live. I haven't lived at that address for almost 10 years. It hadn't occurred to me that my slower walk or my uncomfortable right foot might actually be the result of aging athletic equipment. At least, not until I put the new shoes on at about 8 p.m. and wore them around my little one-bedroom apartment. It wasn't much walking, but by 9:30, I was keenly aware that my right foot had stopped hurting. Then I noticed that my calves were relaxing. I felt like my whole posture was more relaxed.
When I ran regularly, I would never have worn the same shoes for more than a year or 18 months tops, but somehow when I was working out less frequently, I had lost awareness that I needed new equipment: the right tools for being active. Now after three hours, all the discomforts I've been charging up to the vagaries of aging are gone...completely. Instantly, I am younger. I am eager to do a full workout in them.
It seems to me that whether we are in the kitchen, the woodshop, or working out, we need the right tools to do the things we do well. It is the same with our spiritual practices. I wrote earlier in January about Caroline Myss's expression of having a "prayer bank account" to draw on. We show up daily and make prayer "deposits," and then when we have a serious need, we can make a withdrawal. It is the same with journaling, making gratitude lists, dream journaling, or meditating. If we are disciplined--regular students--about our spiritual practices, they become like the tools that we use in other pastimes. The more we use them, the easier and more reliable they become.
Just after a month of more disciplined spiritual practices, I am finally falling back into the rhythm of regularity. I am remembering several dreams a night in great detail. My mind stills quickly for meditation. My voice is clear as I pray. Like good knives in the kitchen or new running shoes, my tools feel like they are working for me.
I spend most holiday dinners with a friend who is a great cook, but who doesn't have the best tools. She often asks me to carve the turkey or whatever piece of meat is to be at the center of the table, and then gives me a knife that wouldn't cut butter on a hot summer day to do so. I started bringing my own knives, which make the task much more enjoyable. The right tools make all the difference.
There was a man in my life once who liked to putter in his woodshop. He loved to hang out in the local hardware store, and after every trip, he would bring home what I perceived as a "toy." For him, it was probably just the right tool. He produced remarkable works of art in our garage. I suspect that the things he brought home from the hardware store were the guy equivalent of the right kitchen tools for me.
Today I walked from my home in Washington to Bethesda, Maryland. I do so a few times a year. It took me 57 minutes which is just a good workout, but I am sure I have done it in less time. It was cold and windy, and as often occurs in those conditions, my nose dripped a lot. Those, I thought, were the reasons that it took so long.
I had been aware that after about 40 minutes, my right foot was hurting a lot. It has been bothering me when I exercise for a few months now. I thought maybe I was getting arthritis in my foot. I was not happy with the prospect, but resigned that at some point the vagaries of aging were inevitably going to start.
When I returned home, a new pair of running shoes were waiting for me. I couldn't remember the last time I had new ones, but it had been long enough that these were shipped to a friend where I used to live. I haven't lived at that address for almost 10 years. It hadn't occurred to me that my slower walk or my uncomfortable right foot might actually be the result of aging athletic equipment. At least, not until I put the new shoes on at about 8 p.m. and wore them around my little one-bedroom apartment. It wasn't much walking, but by 9:30, I was keenly aware that my right foot had stopped hurting. Then I noticed that my calves were relaxing. I felt like my whole posture was more relaxed.
When I ran regularly, I would never have worn the same shoes for more than a year or 18 months tops, but somehow when I was working out less frequently, I had lost awareness that I needed new equipment: the right tools for being active. Now after three hours, all the discomforts I've been charging up to the vagaries of aging are gone...completely. Instantly, I am younger. I am eager to do a full workout in them.
It seems to me that whether we are in the kitchen, the woodshop, or working out, we need the right tools to do the things we do well. It is the same with our spiritual practices. I wrote earlier in January about Caroline Myss's expression of having a "prayer bank account" to draw on. We show up daily and make prayer "deposits," and then when we have a serious need, we can make a withdrawal. It is the same with journaling, making gratitude lists, dream journaling, or meditating. If we are disciplined--regular students--about our spiritual practices, they become like the tools that we use in other pastimes. The more we use them, the easier and more reliable they become.
Just after a month of more disciplined spiritual practices, I am finally falling back into the rhythm of regularity. I am remembering several dreams a night in great detail. My mind stills quickly for meditation. My voice is clear as I pray. Like good knives in the kitchen or new running shoes, my tools feel like they are working for me.
Friday, February 3, 2017
Dogs with Purpose
A friend and I just returned from seeing the movie, "A Dog's Purpose." It will not win any awards, and it was a sweet dog about the relationship dogs have with their owners. Projecting human thought on the dogs, we seem them concerned about their owners and trying to intervene in whatever way possible to make the lives of their owners better.
As we walked to our bus, my friend shared her experience of the movie and then asked me about mine. In my late-20s through my mid-30s, I had the most wonderful dog--a Golden Retriever and collie mix. She was the most carrying dog I've ever been around. She would literally sit for hours without moving with her head by mine when I was curled up on the sofa, suffering through an ugly divorce. We played together a lot, running, playing Frisbee, and hiking in the Oregon mountains.
The thing I found most remarkable about her was her relationships with children. We had no children, but every afternoon and evening our front yard would be full--like 8 to 10--of children playing with the dog. They loved her, and she loved them. One of the children was a 10- or 11-year old girl with Down's Syndrome. Somehow the dog understood that she was different, and while the fairly large dog was happy to rough-house with the bigger boys, she was gentle as a lamb with the developmentally disabled girl.
Once I stopped by the house during the day, and the dog was gone. I was in a total panic. I called for her, walked the neighborhood talking to neighbors who might have seen her, and driving up and down local streets. I couldn't imagine losing her. Finally, I found someone who said that he'd seen a dog that met my description walking with the children to school that morning. I drove to an elementary school that was four or five blocks away. I inquired if anyone had seen the dog. The janitor reported that she followed the kids to school every day. He put her in the boiler room and at the end of the day he'd let her out to follow them home. Somehow she'd figured out how to escape our backyard with a six-foot fence to shepherd her brood to school. Collies are sheep dogs; herding is what they do.
If dog's have purpose, Nicki certainly fulfilled more than one. I still think of her often.
Last night just before I went to sleep lat night I watched a three-minute video on YouTube, called "Dear Captain."* The speaker in the clip is a Afghan War veteran who suffered from debilitating Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD,) and he shares that he had contemplated suicide nearly every day after returning. That was until "Captain" came into his life. Captain was named for the woman who, as his captain, supported him in getting treatment for PTSD. The veteran credits Captain, a K9 for Warriors service dog, with saving his life. (I highly recommend taking five minutes out of your day to watch it.)
Just as Nicki "saved my life" during a difficult period, we've probably all read or heard stories about a dog saving someone's life, walking across the country to be reunited with it's people, or in Captain's case helping her owner through PTSD. They truly are in service to those of us who are blessed to have them in our lives. I really believe that sometimes God brings an animal into our lives because that is what will heal us, and healing is a remarkable purpose.
*https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Up6Vg70RJnQ
As we walked to our bus, my friend shared her experience of the movie and then asked me about mine. In my late-20s through my mid-30s, I had the most wonderful dog--a Golden Retriever and collie mix. She was the most carrying dog I've ever been around. She would literally sit for hours without moving with her head by mine when I was curled up on the sofa, suffering through an ugly divorce. We played together a lot, running, playing Frisbee, and hiking in the Oregon mountains.
The thing I found most remarkable about her was her relationships with children. We had no children, but every afternoon and evening our front yard would be full--like 8 to 10--of children playing with the dog. They loved her, and she loved them. One of the children was a 10- or 11-year old girl with Down's Syndrome. Somehow the dog understood that she was different, and while the fairly large dog was happy to rough-house with the bigger boys, she was gentle as a lamb with the developmentally disabled girl.
Once I stopped by the house during the day, and the dog was gone. I was in a total panic. I called for her, walked the neighborhood talking to neighbors who might have seen her, and driving up and down local streets. I couldn't imagine losing her. Finally, I found someone who said that he'd seen a dog that met my description walking with the children to school that morning. I drove to an elementary school that was four or five blocks away. I inquired if anyone had seen the dog. The janitor reported that she followed the kids to school every day. He put her in the boiler room and at the end of the day he'd let her out to follow them home. Somehow she'd figured out how to escape our backyard with a six-foot fence to shepherd her brood to school. Collies are sheep dogs; herding is what they do.
If dog's have purpose, Nicki certainly fulfilled more than one. I still think of her often.
Last night just before I went to sleep lat night I watched a three-minute video on YouTube, called "Dear Captain."* The speaker in the clip is a Afghan War veteran who suffered from debilitating Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD,) and he shares that he had contemplated suicide nearly every day after returning. That was until "Captain" came into his life. Captain was named for the woman who, as his captain, supported him in getting treatment for PTSD. The veteran credits Captain, a K9 for Warriors service dog, with saving his life. (I highly recommend taking five minutes out of your day to watch it.)
Just as Nicki "saved my life" during a difficult period, we've probably all read or heard stories about a dog saving someone's life, walking across the country to be reunited with it's people, or in Captain's case helping her owner through PTSD. They truly are in service to those of us who are blessed to have them in our lives. I really believe that sometimes God brings an animal into our lives because that is what will heal us, and healing is a remarkable purpose.
*https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Up6Vg70RJnQ
Thursday, February 2, 2017
Exhale After Inhale
I have belonged to a book club for about a year. Tonight I made it to my second meeting. Several times in recent months I was on work-related travel and unable to attend. At least twice, I intentionally missed because I hadn't had time to crack open that month's book.
We had a meaty 90-minute conversation. I discovered the members are well-educated, well-read, and thoughtful. I found myself remembering things I hadn't thought about in years. The evening was stimulating.
About an hour into the dialogue, I shared something from my undergraduate years that I hadn't thought about for a very long time--something as an undergraduate I wanted to learn more about "when I had time." Of course, I never had time or more accurately other things were priorities. Breaks between terms were always too short for the things I wanted and needed to accomplish. As soon as I graduated, I headed to grad school, where there was hardly time to breathe.
Grad school was followed by starting my own business; anyone who has done that would laugh that I might have time to go research something of interest, but the truth is, by then, the thought was long forgotten. As testament to our amazing brains, although forgotten, certainly not gone, just lingering in the gray matter eagerly awaiting attention.
Almost immediately my train of thought in the last paragraph began to chug through my reverie. I consciously felt myself exhale. Until this month, I can't remember when I wasn't racing from one thing I had to do to another thing I had to do, rarely taking time to breathe much less check in on what I wanted to do. In my exploration time, I can exhale...regularly and often, and take time for things I want to explore. That's the point: learn about things that interest me.
I knew that taking time to exhale was something that I will relish and I wanted to write about it. Yet, as I sat down to write the title of this piece, I believe I heard a chuckle in my ear: "Inhale first." Then I chuckled. How many times have I suggested to coaching clients to "breathe"? Yet from that crazy treadmill I've been on, I haven't taken time to either exhale or inhale.
Even though I had made a commitment to write for this blog every day, I sat and explored the topic that has been sitting in the back of my brain, awaiting attention for decades. It fascinates me still. I know that I will investigate more this weekend.
In the meantime, I will exhale...and inhale...and exhale...and inhale...just like it was a normal thing to do, because I think it is.
We had a meaty 90-minute conversation. I discovered the members are well-educated, well-read, and thoughtful. I found myself remembering things I hadn't thought about in years. The evening was stimulating.
About an hour into the dialogue, I shared something from my undergraduate years that I hadn't thought about for a very long time--something as an undergraduate I wanted to learn more about "when I had time." Of course, I never had time or more accurately other things were priorities. Breaks between terms were always too short for the things I wanted and needed to accomplish. As soon as I graduated, I headed to grad school, where there was hardly time to breathe.
Grad school was followed by starting my own business; anyone who has done that would laugh that I might have time to go research something of interest, but the truth is, by then, the thought was long forgotten. As testament to our amazing brains, although forgotten, certainly not gone, just lingering in the gray matter eagerly awaiting attention.
Almost immediately my train of thought in the last paragraph began to chug through my reverie. I consciously felt myself exhale. Until this month, I can't remember when I wasn't racing from one thing I had to do to another thing I had to do, rarely taking time to breathe much less check in on what I wanted to do. In my exploration time, I can exhale...regularly and often, and take time for things I want to explore. That's the point: learn about things that interest me.
I knew that taking time to exhale was something that I will relish and I wanted to write about it. Yet, as I sat down to write the title of this piece, I believe I heard a chuckle in my ear: "Inhale first." Then I chuckled. How many times have I suggested to coaching clients to "breathe"? Yet from that crazy treadmill I've been on, I haven't taken time to either exhale or inhale.
Even though I had made a commitment to write for this blog every day, I sat and explored the topic that has been sitting in the back of my brain, awaiting attention for decades. It fascinates me still. I know that I will investigate more this weekend.
In the meantime, I will exhale...and inhale...and exhale...and inhale...just like it was a normal thing to do, because I think it is.
Wednesday, February 1, 2017
Could This Be My Path?
Back in the 1990s when I was conducting my Intentional Living Intensives (ILIs) for executives and professionals, I was surprised about two persistent experiences in my clients' lives. First, almost all of them were within a year (+/_) of being 50, and, retrospectively, they could almost always look back and see a thread that had run through their lives, sometimes from childhood. As we pulled the thread, it became apparent that everything they had done had uniquely prepared them for what they were doing right then.
It happens that adults have normal transitions, just a predictable as the "Terrible Twos" are for children. Sometimes we are aware when the transition is occurring; often we need to look back to see it. One of those transitions occurs around age 50, and most of my clients were squarely in it. The 50 transition is about legacy. When I've passed from this world, what do I want to be remembered for? How will the world be better because I am in it? It was logical that at that crossroads, they would have been attracted to the ILI.
I have not kept up on the research, but when I was doing so, these transitions were described as occurring at about age 28, around 40 (most of us know about that one by reputation,) and around 50. Then, they stopped describing transitions, like we got to 50, and frozen in time, we stopped growing. America (and I suspect the developed world) is getting older. In the United States 25 per cent of the Baby Boomers are expected to reach age 100, becoming centenarians. I cannot believe that they aren't going to experience developmental transitions for the second half of life.
I've been thinking a lot about the second half of life this year because the health coaching track I chose is one for "Prime-Timers." That group is described as those who are in the second half of life. In this work, my role is to help them to be healthier so they can enjoy those years, but how very boring, I think, that they aren't expected to grow.
This evening I was reflecting on my life, and I can see two distinct threads, both of which go back to elementary school for me. As an adult, I've sometimes woven more deeply into one than the other, but it has always been present while taking vastly different manifestations. The other--food...healthy and delicious food, studying it, cooking it, eating it--has pretty much been a constant.
Although it has only been a month, in the exploratory transition in which I find myself, the things that have ended up intriguing me relate to those two things. What I find particularly intriguing is the difference in my attitude even from a year ago, when I first decided to step away from the workforce to explore. During major chunks of my past, instead of just enjoying both, I would have tried to figure out which it was, and almost as certainly, I'd be thinking about how I could make money to support myself.
Little of that now, I am just delighting in the journey. I am confident that the money I need will come...somehow. For now, bouncing from one to the other, sometimes within an hour's time has been fun and satisfying. I would describe it a bit like learning to juggle, but I never did master that and didn't find it much fun at it either.
I had this thought today that perhaps, for me at least, the second of life is going to be about pursuing whatever I enjoy, making a little money here and a little there. Why couldn't I follow both of my passions? And why would I even need to focus on one aspect of them rather than discovering the wonders of all their different manifestations? I've thought of four or five directions that might be fun for the health coaching to go, and I don't see any reason not to say "yes" to all of them as long as they bring me pleasure. I'm less far on the other journey, but it has already taken me in multiple directions that seem to support each other.
Even as I write this, it occurs to me that maybe this isn't new at all. Maybe I just diverted for a number of years before finding my way back home. When I had my own consulting business and was writing, I was an author, speaker, coach, consultant, and business press columnist. The books brought me speaking gigs, which often brought me coaching and consulting work. Then, I'd occasionally have a TV or radio interview or write a magazine article, which would feed the cycle. And, why should we not be surprised that I particularly enjoyed cooking for my ILI clients? I enjoyed the variety and found myself intellectually and spiritually challenged.
I now ponder that perhaps part of the reason that I stayed to long at my job was that it did offer a lot of variety, even if most of it wasn't my "sweet spot."
Maybe I have found my path, and it isn't a single path at all but a web of adventures, each promising more joy than I might have imagined possible even six weeks ago. I think I've found my way home in the middle of the messiness of it.
It happens that adults have normal transitions, just a predictable as the "Terrible Twos" are for children. Sometimes we are aware when the transition is occurring; often we need to look back to see it. One of those transitions occurs around age 50, and most of my clients were squarely in it. The 50 transition is about legacy. When I've passed from this world, what do I want to be remembered for? How will the world be better because I am in it? It was logical that at that crossroads, they would have been attracted to the ILI.
I have not kept up on the research, but when I was doing so, these transitions were described as occurring at about age 28, around 40 (most of us know about that one by reputation,) and around 50. Then, they stopped describing transitions, like we got to 50, and frozen in time, we stopped growing. America (and I suspect the developed world) is getting older. In the United States 25 per cent of the Baby Boomers are expected to reach age 100, becoming centenarians. I cannot believe that they aren't going to experience developmental transitions for the second half of life.
I've been thinking a lot about the second half of life this year because the health coaching track I chose is one for "Prime-Timers." That group is described as those who are in the second half of life. In this work, my role is to help them to be healthier so they can enjoy those years, but how very boring, I think, that they aren't expected to grow.
This evening I was reflecting on my life, and I can see two distinct threads, both of which go back to elementary school for me. As an adult, I've sometimes woven more deeply into one than the other, but it has always been present while taking vastly different manifestations. The other--food...healthy and delicious food, studying it, cooking it, eating it--has pretty much been a constant.
Although it has only been a month, in the exploratory transition in which I find myself, the things that have ended up intriguing me relate to those two things. What I find particularly intriguing is the difference in my attitude even from a year ago, when I first decided to step away from the workforce to explore. During major chunks of my past, instead of just enjoying both, I would have tried to figure out which it was, and almost as certainly, I'd be thinking about how I could make money to support myself.
Little of that now, I am just delighting in the journey. I am confident that the money I need will come...somehow. For now, bouncing from one to the other, sometimes within an hour's time has been fun and satisfying. I would describe it a bit like learning to juggle, but I never did master that and didn't find it much fun at it either.
I had this thought today that perhaps, for me at least, the second of life is going to be about pursuing whatever I enjoy, making a little money here and a little there. Why couldn't I follow both of my passions? And why would I even need to focus on one aspect of them rather than discovering the wonders of all their different manifestations? I've thought of four or five directions that might be fun for the health coaching to go, and I don't see any reason not to say "yes" to all of them as long as they bring me pleasure. I'm less far on the other journey, but it has already taken me in multiple directions that seem to support each other.
Even as I write this, it occurs to me that maybe this isn't new at all. Maybe I just diverted for a number of years before finding my way back home. When I had my own consulting business and was writing, I was an author, speaker, coach, consultant, and business press columnist. The books brought me speaking gigs, which often brought me coaching and consulting work. Then, I'd occasionally have a TV or radio interview or write a magazine article, which would feed the cycle. And, why should we not be surprised that I particularly enjoyed cooking for my ILI clients? I enjoyed the variety and found myself intellectually and spiritually challenged.
I now ponder that perhaps part of the reason that I stayed to long at my job was that it did offer a lot of variety, even if most of it wasn't my "sweet spot."
Maybe I have found my path, and it isn't a single path at all but a web of adventures, each promising more joy than I might have imagined possible even six weeks ago. I think I've found my way home in the middle of the messiness of it.
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