In remarks after the movie last night, "The Monuments Men" author Robert Edsel said that the day he had arrived at the National Archives to begin his research in the morning, he had become so absorbed in the fascinating material that he was shocked when someone tapped on his shoulder. It was one of the archivists, saying to him that the Archives was about to close. "On Thursday we close at 9 p.m.," she said to him. He hadn't moved from the table since his arrival.
"Wow!" I thought. How cool to be so absorbed with something that he totally lost himself for a day. I was envious. Then, I almost laughed out loud when I thought that was exactly what happened each time I've written a book. The realization was like sinking into a hot bubble bath, wrapping me with warmth and reverie.
This is another weekend that I have set aside to work on my new book. When I finally got in the groove the last time, words did flow easily, and I worked for five or six hours each day before tiring. But, it wasn't that intense flow when I lose track of everything, and like Edsel, I forget all biological needs.
Today was my normal day off, and it has been almost a month since I had time to tend to basic housekeeping needs. I cleaned, changed the bed, did laundry, paid bills, and even filed my taxes. (There's money coming back! Yeah!) Was I avoiding? I didn't really think so. I could hardly see my small desk, and I didn't think it would be conducive to writing to try to create amidst such clutter. I reminded myself that when I've worked on a book before, the "nesting phase" has been an important, maybe even an essential step. So, I've had mercy on myself, even if this is avoidance behavior.
Before I go to bed tonight, my desk will be cleared, and my work space will be clean. The laundry is already folded, and the ironing put away. I am imagining myself getting up, stretching, making coffee while the computer boots, and sitting down to work with my special Peruvian good luck scarf, wrapped on top of my pajamas. (Thank you, Deb!)
I have a good feeling about this. By the time Monday evening arrives, I will have had the experience for which I had envied Edsel--sinking deeply into my passion and totally absorbed in writing. I've been there before: there's a kind of drunkenness without alcohol as I reenter the normal world from a place that is moving much faster and with its own rhythm. Perhaps a bit like Dorothy landing in Oz. Actually, that's exactly what it is like: "Where am I?" I'll ask while the room will spin about me.
Sinking into passion...into timelessness...has only happened for me when I write and when I dance, but is the most delicious space into which I tread. It is truly sacred space, and each time I go there I am truly grateful for the privilege.
Friday, January 31, 2014
Thursday, January 30, 2014
For The Love of Art
I've just had the opportunity of watching an early screening of "The Monuments Men." (Official release February 7.) I had vaguely been aware of the events portrayed in the film:, it is a story that deserves to be told and retold. The movie relates the story of a small handful of artists and architects who took on the mission of saving millions of pieces of art from theft and destruction in Europe in World War II.
These men were all at least middle age or older and could easily have sat out the war in the States, but instead, risked, and in some cases lost, their lives so generations hence could be moved just as they had been by seeing these magnificent pieces as boys and young men.
I was touched by both their courage and their vision. Seeing these beautiful pieces in the movie set me into something of a reverie, thinking about masterpieces that I've been privileged to see when I've travelled and how deeply I've been moved. Art is one of the few ways that one human being has of touching the soul of a perfect stranger, perhaps halfway around the world.
I don't have any Renoirs or Rembrandts. I do love buying art, often from street artists, and filling my home with these deeply personal gifts from someone else's soul. In the days after my business failed, I slowly began selling off anything that would produce cash; my art was the last to go. I count myself fortunate that my favorite pieces didn't sell. Since I've rebuilt my "collection," if one can fairly call mostly-street art "a collection."
I've been known to sit and just stare at a favorite piece for a significant period of time, just because it makes me feel good. And, whenever I move, I never consider the new address home until all the artwork is in place.
I am grateful for the Monuments men for their courage and vision... And for giving me the opportunity to see those special pieces. I am also grateful for my "collection," which is of little financial value, but regularly moves my soul, as if the contributions of my street artists were the Mona Lisa.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
These men were all at least middle age or older and could easily have sat out the war in the States, but instead, risked, and in some cases lost, their lives so generations hence could be moved just as they had been by seeing these magnificent pieces as boys and young men.
I was touched by both their courage and their vision. Seeing these beautiful pieces in the movie set me into something of a reverie, thinking about masterpieces that I've been privileged to see when I've travelled and how deeply I've been moved. Art is one of the few ways that one human being has of touching the soul of a perfect stranger, perhaps halfway around the world.
I don't have any Renoirs or Rembrandts. I do love buying art, often from street artists, and filling my home with these deeply personal gifts from someone else's soul. In the days after my business failed, I slowly began selling off anything that would produce cash; my art was the last to go. I count myself fortunate that my favorite pieces didn't sell. Since I've rebuilt my "collection," if one can fairly call mostly-street art "a collection."
I've been known to sit and just stare at a favorite piece for a significant period of time, just because it makes me feel good. And, whenever I move, I never consider the new address home until all the artwork is in place.
I am grateful for the Monuments men for their courage and vision... And for giving me the opportunity to see those special pieces. I am also grateful for my "collection," which is of little financial value, but regularly moves my soul, as if the contributions of my street artists were the Mona Lisa.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Tuesday, January 28, 2014
One in Four
I've mentioned my passion for cooking previously, and in the post-holiday focus on shedding pounds, I've been trying new recipes--low calorie ones. The fact that they are low calorie doesn't really seem to be relevant to my discovery though. I find that when I am trying new recipes about one in four is really great. One in four is OK. It will become great with some alteration. At least, two in four are busts. I can alter that ratio slightly by being more discriminating about the source of my recipes, but not significantly. One in four seems to be about the ratio for success.
Tonight I tried one in the "bust" category. I did finish one serving. It provided sustenance, but while it didn't gag me, it certainly didn't excite my taste buds either. When I had eaten, the first thing I did was throw the recipe away. No amount of doctoring would fix this one. I started to wrap up the leftovers, as I would generally do, feeling duty-bound not to waste food. But just as the foil was going over the edge of the full casserole, I thought: why would I want to do that to myself?....again! I did something I have almost never done: I threw away perfectly good food, and I didn't even feel bad about it.
Trying the recipe had one positive benefit. I came home tired, and I've been fighting a cold. If I hadn't gone into the kitchen and launched into the new adventure, I would probably have been in bed an hour ago. By the time I was done cooking, I actually felt pretty good. Whether it was edible or not, doing something I enjoy gave me energy, and that can't be bad.
However, what I have been pondering since throwing away the experiment is this. What if I approached life with the expectation that one in four new things I try will be great, one in four will be OK, and two will be totally busts. If I went into life with that expectation, then I could allow myself to fail half the time without regret and without beating myself up. I certainly wouldn't call myself a failure because the law of experiments was prevailing.
I am certain that I would approach new projects with more energy, and more than likely, as happened tonight, I would get more energy out of doing them. I may even begin to see the "busts" as paving the way to success. I just have to get two busts out of the way before I am in the winning zone. I may even start celebrating the failures. It is said that Thomas Edison, the inventor of the electric light bulb, actually failed over 900 times before he had what most of us would consider a success. He, by contrast, considered every one of the 900 attempts a success because he had discovered one thing that would not work.
Adventure and creativity are high values for me. Yet when I think about this new approach to adventure and creativity, I haven't been approaching life as I would if I really valued the process of adventure and creativity.
Almost every time I conduct a retreat, my designs are original, crafted to meet the special needs of the leadership or work team for which I am facilitating. Although I don't think my "bust" rate is 50%, I find that many are OK--they move the group in question, and it is able to work together more effectively. I am not sure I've had any real busts for a couple of decades. But about one in four is pure magic.
Tomorrow I will facilitate, and I have a very good feeling about this. And, if magic doesn't happen, I will know that I am building momentum to magic, just following the law of experiments. Just knowing that will be magic...for me and my sense of adventure.
Tonight I tried one in the "bust" category. I did finish one serving. It provided sustenance, but while it didn't gag me, it certainly didn't excite my taste buds either. When I had eaten, the first thing I did was throw the recipe away. No amount of doctoring would fix this one. I started to wrap up the leftovers, as I would generally do, feeling duty-bound not to waste food. But just as the foil was going over the edge of the full casserole, I thought: why would I want to do that to myself?....again! I did something I have almost never done: I threw away perfectly good food, and I didn't even feel bad about it.
Trying the recipe had one positive benefit. I came home tired, and I've been fighting a cold. If I hadn't gone into the kitchen and launched into the new adventure, I would probably have been in bed an hour ago. By the time I was done cooking, I actually felt pretty good. Whether it was edible or not, doing something I enjoy gave me energy, and that can't be bad.
However, what I have been pondering since throwing away the experiment is this. What if I approached life with the expectation that one in four new things I try will be great, one in four will be OK, and two will be totally busts. If I went into life with that expectation, then I could allow myself to fail half the time without regret and without beating myself up. I certainly wouldn't call myself a failure because the law of experiments was prevailing.
I am certain that I would approach new projects with more energy, and more than likely, as happened tonight, I would get more energy out of doing them. I may even begin to see the "busts" as paving the way to success. I just have to get two busts out of the way before I am in the winning zone. I may even start celebrating the failures. It is said that Thomas Edison, the inventor of the electric light bulb, actually failed over 900 times before he had what most of us would consider a success. He, by contrast, considered every one of the 900 attempts a success because he had discovered one thing that would not work.
Adventure and creativity are high values for me. Yet when I think about this new approach to adventure and creativity, I haven't been approaching life as I would if I really valued the process of adventure and creativity.
Almost every time I conduct a retreat, my designs are original, crafted to meet the special needs of the leadership or work team for which I am facilitating. Although I don't think my "bust" rate is 50%, I find that many are OK--they move the group in question, and it is able to work together more effectively. I am not sure I've had any real busts for a couple of decades. But about one in four is pure magic.
Tomorrow I will facilitate, and I have a very good feeling about this. And, if magic doesn't happen, I will know that I am building momentum to magic, just following the law of experiments. Just knowing that will be magic...for me and my sense of adventure.
Sunday, January 26, 2014
Trusting What I Know
At sometime or another, most of us have had a deep knowing about something--something we knew or something we should do--that was counter-rational. Everything was telling us that logically what we know in our hearts is wrong, but in our guts, we know we are right. Most times, if not all the time, days, weeks, or months later, what we knew is proven correct.
This weekend I had the occasion to talk with two people I haven't seen for a while, and each asked me about my work. I told them about how I love my clients, and I do. I told them how some of my projects are really interesting, and they are. Then, I told them how I had to stay in my current employment for another year for financial reasons that are too complicated too attempt to explain here.
In my heart, I know I should go, but every bit of rationality tells me that I must wait a year. So, I wait...in pain for time to pass that is like watching ice melt in winter. In my heart, I know that I should leap, even if I don't know what I am leaping to. In my heart, I know I am dying where I am. What has me frozen in place?
After the dot.com bust, when I lost my business and everything with it, I yearned for a secure job, and that is what I have now. Finances were a major piece of that picture, but for me, just as important was the fact that I no longer felt I was making a contribution. I had spent my whole career helping people in workplaces, and suddenly, I didn't have that opportunity. Being of service in my work is a major motivator for me, and I had no one to serve.
Although as a young person, I had always wanted to be a teacher, when I started teaching university students how to be better future managers and leaders, I knew it wasn't a fit. Oh, it was probably more of a fit than teaching history or political science, which is what I thought I wanted to do when I first went to college, but I'd done work I loved and knew this just was exactly right for me. I'd spent my career working directly with managers and leaders with their current challenges. I just never quite got as excited about teaching these same topics. Yet, I was serving, and that motivated me. Creating a different kind of class that students were excited about...that motivated me.
I've wrestled with this question for several months now: why am I afraid to leap? The quick and easy answer is always financial. But, today, suddenly it occurred to me: what if I didn't find a way to serve? I believe that is more terrifying than being down to my last $300. Now I will go to work tomorrow and each day, not for the financial benefit, but because I have the opportunity to work with a lot of fine people who let me serve them...and even appreciate my service. That is what keeps me where I am, and that I truly know in my heart.
This weekend I had the occasion to talk with two people I haven't seen for a while, and each asked me about my work. I told them about how I love my clients, and I do. I told them how some of my projects are really interesting, and they are. Then, I told them how I had to stay in my current employment for another year for financial reasons that are too complicated too attempt to explain here.
In my heart, I know I should go, but every bit of rationality tells me that I must wait a year. So, I wait...in pain for time to pass that is like watching ice melt in winter. In my heart, I know that I should leap, even if I don't know what I am leaping to. In my heart, I know I am dying where I am. What has me frozen in place?
After the dot.com bust, when I lost my business and everything with it, I yearned for a secure job, and that is what I have now. Finances were a major piece of that picture, but for me, just as important was the fact that I no longer felt I was making a contribution. I had spent my whole career helping people in workplaces, and suddenly, I didn't have that opportunity. Being of service in my work is a major motivator for me, and I had no one to serve.
Although as a young person, I had always wanted to be a teacher, when I started teaching university students how to be better future managers and leaders, I knew it wasn't a fit. Oh, it was probably more of a fit than teaching history or political science, which is what I thought I wanted to do when I first went to college, but I'd done work I loved and knew this just was exactly right for me. I'd spent my career working directly with managers and leaders with their current challenges. I just never quite got as excited about teaching these same topics. Yet, I was serving, and that motivated me. Creating a different kind of class that students were excited about...that motivated me.
I've wrestled with this question for several months now: why am I afraid to leap? The quick and easy answer is always financial. But, today, suddenly it occurred to me: what if I didn't find a way to serve? I believe that is more terrifying than being down to my last $300. Now I will go to work tomorrow and each day, not for the financial benefit, but because I have the opportunity to work with a lot of fine people who let me serve them...and even appreciate my service. That is what keeps me where I am, and that I truly know in my heart.
Saturday, January 25, 2014
Unbridled joy
I am not accustomed to being around children. Yesterday a visit with a friend allowed me some non-adult growth.
I watched a 15- month old who napped while her mother ran an errand. I had been reading when I heard something. What was it? Not a cry. I dashed to the door of her room where I waited. Giggling. I waited longer. Humming. Blowing bubbles. The sounds of a happy baby.
Because babies are such a mystery to me, I just listened for quite a while. When I finally opened the door, she broke into a big smile, which I, of course, returned.
For the remainder of our time together, she would occasionally break out into laughter or a big grin at the slightest provocation. I had to pause and wonder at what a delightful life I would live, if I just allowed myself the unprovoked and unbridled joy this baby had been experiencing...and this on a day when she had a cold.
There is an expression about "out of the mouths of babes," which points to the wisdom that can come from little ones. Wisdom comes to me today in this one's attitude. I will bring the intention to experience unbridled joy...for no reason...for just this weekend.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
I watched a 15- month old who napped while her mother ran an errand. I had been reading when I heard something. What was it? Not a cry. I dashed to the door of her room where I waited. Giggling. I waited longer. Humming. Blowing bubbles. The sounds of a happy baby.
Because babies are such a mystery to me, I just listened for quite a while. When I finally opened the door, she broke into a big smile, which I, of course, returned.
For the remainder of our time together, she would occasionally break out into laughter or a big grin at the slightest provocation. I had to pause and wonder at what a delightful life I would live, if I just allowed myself the unprovoked and unbridled joy this baby had been experiencing...and this on a day when she had a cold.
There is an expression about "out of the mouths of babes," which points to the wisdom that can come from little ones. Wisdom comes to me today in this one's attitude. I will bring the intention to experience unbridled joy...for no reason...for just this weekend.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Thursday, January 23, 2014
I have a few passions in life, and one of them is flower gardening--very precisely flower gardening. I have no interest in growing things to eat unless they happen to be flowering herbs that I can cook with (another passion,) and to give me a house plant is a death sentence to the poor plant. But, flowers are a whole different thing for me.
Why, you may ask, am I talking about growing flowers when the wind-chill temperature tonight is predicted to be zero? Well, I ordered some hard-to-find shade plants on the internet. That apparent set loose a frenzy of address-sharing, which has resulted in a treasure trove of gardening catalogs...every day. Today's bounty was particularly generous. I am not sure if it is a blessing or curse, but it always seems that the catalogs are most plentiful in the worst of winter to tease or entice me into thinking about spring. I am going to take it as a blessing.
Since I live in an apartment, I have a limited amount of space, and I am probably already over-planted. But just looking at the catalogs made me start thinking about the promise of spring. There are spring flowers lurking below the soil, waiting for the first warm breezes and longer days to pop their heads through the soil...right on my balcony...now.
Long before I began a conscious spiritual journey, and even longer before I began meditating, getting my fingers in the soil was my meditation. When I was married, my husband used to say he could watch me go into a zone that was like watching tai-chi as soon as I got near my plants. I am not sure what there is about flowers, but I know I am not alone in this zen-like experience of gardening. It has been too long since I've had my fingers in the soil...and judging from the temperatures right now, it will be longer still.
There is a magic that happens as the first tender green pops through the soil in late February or early March. The flowers wait patiently to break through the earth. I wonder if I am not like those plants, I've been patiently waiting to grow to the next stage. I've been saying this season's affirmations since mid-September, and waiting...waiting for the thoughts to become reality. In the past, there was suddenly a day when I realized I wasn't just saying, "I am love," but I actually felt it in my bones. Just like the plants waiting to break through the soil, I think my evolution is kindled in my heart ready to emerge anew. I am ready. I am ready to see the new me emerge, along with the first flowers of spring.
Why, you may ask, am I talking about growing flowers when the wind-chill temperature tonight is predicted to be zero? Well, I ordered some hard-to-find shade plants on the internet. That apparent set loose a frenzy of address-sharing, which has resulted in a treasure trove of gardening catalogs...every day. Today's bounty was particularly generous. I am not sure if it is a blessing or curse, but it always seems that the catalogs are most plentiful in the worst of winter to tease or entice me into thinking about spring. I am going to take it as a blessing.
Since I live in an apartment, I have a limited amount of space, and I am probably already over-planted. But just looking at the catalogs made me start thinking about the promise of spring. There are spring flowers lurking below the soil, waiting for the first warm breezes and longer days to pop their heads through the soil...right on my balcony...now.
Long before I began a conscious spiritual journey, and even longer before I began meditating, getting my fingers in the soil was my meditation. When I was married, my husband used to say he could watch me go into a zone that was like watching tai-chi as soon as I got near my plants. I am not sure what there is about flowers, but I know I am not alone in this zen-like experience of gardening. It has been too long since I've had my fingers in the soil...and judging from the temperatures right now, it will be longer still.
There is a magic that happens as the first tender green pops through the soil in late February or early March. The flowers wait patiently to break through the earth. I wonder if I am not like those plants, I've been patiently waiting to grow to the next stage. I've been saying this season's affirmations since mid-September, and waiting...waiting for the thoughts to become reality. In the past, there was suddenly a day when I realized I wasn't just saying, "I am love," but I actually felt it in my bones. Just like the plants waiting to break through the soil, I think my evolution is kindled in my heart ready to emerge anew. I am ready. I am ready to see the new me emerge, along with the first flowers of spring.
Wednesday, January 22, 2014
Baby, It's Cold Outside!
I confess to a passion for music of the Big Band era. My mother had a huge collection of old 78 records that she played continuously when I was in utero, in the playpen, and throughout the time I was growing up. Big Band music was the soundtrack to my childhood. Although we periodically argued about whose music was the best, the old stuff worked its way into my blood. ("There will never be anyone like Sinatra." She wins. "The Beatles' music won't last five years." I win.)
As corny as it may seem, I think in lines to those old songs, and tonight I would be thinking, "Baby, it's cold outside." Since the snow stopped yesterday, the wind has blown ferociously. The wind-chills were at -6 degrees Fahrenheit (-22 Celsius) at high noon today. Once again, I think about Alexander ("Expecting the Unexpected," 12/14/13,) and others like him who are homeless. Baltimore, just north of Washington, has a "Code Blue," which means that it is cold enough that the homeless are being rounded up to keep them from freezing to death.
But tonight that isn't where I am going. As I think about "Baby, It's Cold Outside," I just found myself going to contentment. I thought about a fire roaring in a fireplace, a glass of wine, and curling up on the sofa with someone special. In that moment, time stands still for the contented.
Contentment seems not only increasingly rare in our culture, but an almost denigrated quality. If we are contented, there is the implication that we don't have ambition or goals: we should be making something happen. I prefer to think that we can really be in joy--enjoy--what we have earned and what we are fortunate to have. Perhaps contentment is the ultimate act of gratitude--appreciation of what has come our way.
So, tonight as the wind blows, I will sink into my contentment with my apartment which has good heat, an evening that I can just relax, and a long-awaited movie that has just arrived from Netflix. For now, I will just be...contented.
As corny as it may seem, I think in lines to those old songs, and tonight I would be thinking, "Baby, it's cold outside." Since the snow stopped yesterday, the wind has blown ferociously. The wind-chills were at -6 degrees Fahrenheit (-22 Celsius) at high noon today. Once again, I think about Alexander ("Expecting the Unexpected," 12/14/13,) and others like him who are homeless. Baltimore, just north of Washington, has a "Code Blue," which means that it is cold enough that the homeless are being rounded up to keep them from freezing to death.
But tonight that isn't where I am going. As I think about "Baby, It's Cold Outside," I just found myself going to contentment. I thought about a fire roaring in a fireplace, a glass of wine, and curling up on the sofa with someone special. In that moment, time stands still for the contented.
Contentment seems not only increasingly rare in our culture, but an almost denigrated quality. If we are contented, there is the implication that we don't have ambition or goals: we should be making something happen. I prefer to think that we can really be in joy--enjoy--what we have earned and what we are fortunate to have. Perhaps contentment is the ultimate act of gratitude--appreciation of what has come our way.
So, tonight as the wind blows, I will sink into my contentment with my apartment which has good heat, an evening that I can just relax, and a long-awaited movie that has just arrived from Netflix. For now, I will just be...contented.
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