Friendships

My staycation has ended up being a raincation.  This June was the wetest June in Washington history by three inches, and the downpours didn't even hiccup moving into July.  We are not talking drizzle here, but serious rain.  Last Sunday delivered two inches in one day.  So much for lingering over a light read by the pool, hiking, and biking in the park.

With that said, I've luxuriated over books that I've wanted to get into and have finally been able, as well as doing spot reading in other books.  At the first of each month, I used to faithfully visit LifeCycles by Christine Delorey, a wonderful introduction to numerology and the spiritual lessons that await us each month.  The pace of my life has been such that when I picked up LifeCycles at the beginning of this month, I realized I hadn't opened it since last fall.

Much of my growth in the month of July is about friendships, and as I read Delorey's words, I found them quite moving.  "Friends will be friends no matter what," she said, "separated by thousands of miles and lifetimes of years.  The bonds of real friendship cannot be broken." (p. 195)

She continued, "Take a hard look at those you call friends and ask, is that how you feel about them."

The words and the meditation that followed set me into a reverie about friendships, several of which are "...separated by thousands of miles."  I am sure that I am not the only one who has had someone walk into my life, and I knew within minutes that we would be fast friends for the rest of our lives. My college roommate Donna immediately comes to mind.  It is funny to think that we  actually only lived together about four months, but she is among my dearest friends in the world.  Now separated by 500 miles, each time we are together, we always pick up as if we'd been together yesterday, even when it has often been years.

There have often been parallels in our lives during the times when we haven't been communicating regularly, and we've sometimes laughed as we've shared our similar tales.  At times it feels like God put us here as one and then split us apart, yet somehow we've remained magically connected.

Another is my friend Amy who is 2400 miles across the country.  I met her on an elevator at a conference in Mexico almost 20 years ago, when she recognized my name on my name badge.  She had just read Leading from the Heart, which had hardly hit the market.  Before the conference ended, the bonds of friendship were sealed.  A few months later when she came to visit a cousin near Washington, we rendezvoused at her home for almost 24 hours of non-stop talking.

Although we've had some lapses, we have talked every week or every other week for much of the 20 years in between.  I feel like I know her better than a sister, even though we have only met face to face once or twice more since.  (Through the modern miracle of Skype, we now see each other on our every-other-week calls.)

I recall meeting a professional colleague for a networking coffee when I first came to Washington. We met at 1 p.m., and, when we got up to leave, I thought there was something wrong with my watch, which showed almost 5 p.m.  We were both shocked. Time had truly stood still.

There really are a small handful of people, some now gone from the world, who are/were instant and continuous friends.  If there is any justice, we will continue together in other lifetimes.  However, in my reverie this week I recalled Delorey's other admonition, "Take a hard look at those you call friends and ask, is that how you feel about them."

Leading from the Heart came out during my first full year living in North Carolina.  I recall thinking how well I'd done at making friends...until the bottom fell out of my consulting/coaching/speaking business in the dot.com bust.  Then I discovered most were fair-weather friends.  The people that I still count as NC friends either didn't know I had written books, I met after things had unwound, or I met on the dance floor.

A number of times during those years, I recalled a client I'd had in Oregon who shared that he had been a millionaire and then lost it all.  When he had to file for bankruptcy, most of his friends and his much younger wife deserted him.

How do we know?  While I think Delorey is correct that every now and then we need to take a hard look at people we claim as friends.  Yet, I would not want to be one who guards herself from potential friends for fear of being deserted when the waters of life are rough. In that way, I might not have let Donna or Amy in, and what a loss that would have been; I hope for all of us.

Friendships are a bit like investments.  We never really know when we will strike gold, but if we don't take the risk, we will always lose. I will continue to risk having the grace of special friends showered on me.

Self-Care

When I sat down to write this evening, I asked myself, "What is the most authentic thing that I can write about tonight?"  The answer: self-care.

I am now halfway through my staycation.  I started with two days of meditation.  I read a lot on Monday, had a job interview, and then planned a couple dinners for friends.  Tuesday was my "spa day"--not at a real spa, but I allowed myself to be pampered at my usual nail salon with a couple extra services.  On the tail of a visit to my chiropractor, it was delicious.  I had no idea how long I was in the place until I left and was shocked at how quickly the time had passed.

This morning I walked to a gluten-free bakery, and my freezer is now nicely stocked with treats for times when I don't have 40 minutes to walk from the Metro to the bakery and back.  As I treated myself to a chocolate croissant in the shop, I was reminded of a section in Authentic Happiness when author Marty Seligman described habituation and how we could enrich our lives by practices that help us avoid being habituated to special pleasures in our lives.  That's a fancy term for learning how to be really present to life's pleasures.

The idea is that the more we experience a pleasure, the less pleasurable it becomes.  The first wonderful bite, being completely present to the sensation and even the sound of my teeth breaking through the crispy layers of buttery pastry is the most pleasurable.  That is especially true for me since it has been 8-9 months since I've made the journey to the bakery.  (My wheat allergy limits the sources from which I can acquire such treats.)

Perhaps it is because I have been waiting for three-quarters of a year to experience a chocolate croissant, but I really let myself savor every decadent bite.  Quite frankly, I was distressed at how much of the time I just snarf my lunch down in a rush between meetings, and I fail to derive real pleasure from my food. Add to the to-do list: really enjoy my food.

This afternoon I indulged myself with a 90-minute massage.  When I arrived, my massage therapist and I remarked about how long it had been.  How long had it been, I wondered?  I think it was my birthday in 2014, which is 14 months ago.  Really?!  I think so.  However long, it has been too long.

Sue is a real artist with my body, and she nursed me back to mobility a few years ago when I was struck by a car when I was crossing the street.  She had her work cut out for here today. Even after five days away from work, my body was clinging to tension like a long lost friend.  Sue had her way with every bit of it.  My knees were like Jello as I made my way the short half-block home.  When I did, I fell onto a lounge chair, and I was asleep instantly.  I don't think I slept all that long, but I awakened I energetic and alert.  I felt great.

I should not have been surprised, then, when I got "self-care" as the topic for today.  Partially because the time in which we live, and in part because we are Americans deeply steeped in the Protestant work ethic, many of us aren't comfortable taking care of ourselves.  If we aren't being productive and multi-tasking several activities, we feel we are falling short. I am definitely one.

I totally own the Protestant work ethic thing.  If it isn't in my genes, I was socialized to it from infancy long before smartphones and the expectation of constant productivity.  Yet, today I was reminded that it is really important to take some time every now and then and just indulge and renew ourselves...in the way that Seligman would have us experience pleasures--being present and savoring every minute, while avoiding habituation.

And, I shouldn't have to be taking a vacation at home to allow myself to do so.  Before I sleep tonight, I will put several reminders on my calendar over the next few months to schedule time with Sue.  I probably shouldn't need to put reminders on my calendar to take care of myself, but if that is what it takes to assure self-care, reminders it is.

I Can Choose

Day Two of my personal introspection retreat came at the end of a tough night.  I had a very hard time falling asleep, and then I tossed and turned for what seemed like most of the night.  Drifting in and out of consciousness, peppered with several bathroom stops, I struggled.  Lying on the cusp between consciousness and sleep was a big rock I'd turned over during Day One: happiness.  (For more on big rocks, see yesterday's post.)

In the stack of books on my nightstand for months (maybe years) has been Authentic Happiness by Martin E. P. Seligman, Ph.D.  When I finished two others from the stack yesterday, Authentic Happiness awaited me.  Instinctively, I knew that this was a big rock.  I knew this, in part, because I'd read the book before.  I also knew it because I've known I wasn't really happy for a long time.

For most of the last 35 years, I've thought I was a happy person, despite what the Universe threw on my path, and it has thrown a lot.  But, somewhere along the way, something shifted in me.  I couldn't say exactly when it happened or why, and while I've certainly had moments of pure bliss (mostly on the dance floor,) happiness has drifted further from my consciousness.

Not long before going to bed last night, I took a short assessment of my happiness at the start of the book.  What I learned is not that I am unhappy much: I'm not.  Perhaps more distressing to me is that I spend an overwhelming percentage of my time in "neutral"--not happy and not unhappy.  The scripture about spewing lukewarm water out of our mouths came to my mind.  Neutral?  Is that the best I can do?  Neutral is certainly the lukewarm water of happiness.

So I slept.  More accurately, I tried to sleep.  The thought of being neutral passed in and out of my consciousness.  Unhappines is unpleasant enough to force action--to make me change something in my life.  But neutral isn't uncomfortable enough to motivate movement.  I just steep in it.

Well, mostly I steep in it.  Over the last 12 to 18 months, I've been increasingly distressed with my work situation.  I could say that has been about the people I work with, and to a significant extent that would be true.  Yet, in my heart of hearts I have known there was more at work than unpleasant people who intentionally attempt to make my life miserable, which they do.

I've been bored.  Is that neutral?  I think so.  I've had conversations with my boss and with her boss.  I have so much more ability and experience.  I could be making a much greater contribution.  They've pretty much said, "Making a greater contribution not your job here.  Do your job."

Last night as I started my reread of Authentic Happiness, I got it.  Now, since I know I've read all or at least most of this book before, I must have known what Seligman describes as "the good life," but I certainly couldn't have told you yesterday morning what it was.  He describes the good life as "using your signature strengths every day to produce authentic happiness and abundant gratification."

Signature strengths are those things we are good at that are "deeply characteristic of us," and mine are all the things that I am not using at work.  My bosses have been kind in telling me what an excellent job I do, and I was recently recognized by a regional professional organization for one effort.  But, being "excellent" at what I do is another signature strength: whatever I am given, I choose to do it well.

That a large percentage of my life in neutral is a function of not being able to utilize my signature strengths, or if I do, only for short periods and not as a part of a unified whole piece of work.  It should not come as a surprise then that I've been job hunting pretty seriously almost since the earliest of my conversations about my work.  Tomorrow I have a job interview.  Understanding that using my signature strengths will make it much easier to decide whether this is a job I want.

There's another thing about being on neutral: it seems to have robbed me of my life force. Furthermore, it has robbed me of energy to even exercise my signature strengths when I am not at work. I come home exhausted and drop on the couch, mindlessly watching TV and often falling asleep. Writing is one of my signature strengths, and more often than not for most of a year, I've neglected writing for this blog. For years, I was called "Little Mary Sunshine" by friends and coworkers.  Mary hasn't been seen for a long while either.  Neutral has pervaded every corner of my life.

More important, though, is the truth that floated in during my first meditation this morning: "I choose."  Each of my first two books included significant portions about being of choice, giving credence to the old saw that we write what we need to know.  I've chosen to be in a job that doesn't allow me to use my signature strengths for over five years.  My choice--a choice driven not by my passions or what will make me happy, but a choice driven by my financial planner. Really?  I've let her decision position me for a neutral life.

But there is more to "I choose" than the place I hang my hat for 50-60 hours per week.  If I am going to go there and give my life energy to my agency, then I need to choose to be happy about it. The choice about not writing has been mine; I have no one else to blame that on.  Life is too short to be on neutral most of the time. It is time for me to own responsibility for my happiness.

I have no idea if I will be offered the job for which I will interview tomorrow, and I have no idea whether I will accept it, if I am.  What I do know for certain is that wherever I am, whatever work I choose to do, I will choose to be happy.

Bathed in Love

Day One of my retreat is complete. I have been taking several days in personal reflection for 25 years, and while I will be the first to say there is no "normal," I have certainly experienced patterns.

Generally, I read something introspective in the days before or even on Day One, as I did part of today. Most of the time lessons are thrown on my path in the days before just to stir things up a bit. Almost always I do a lot of journaling, which, more often than not, leads to some emoting--I cry because I recognize a flaw in me that I don't like. (News bulletin: I am human.)

Sometime on the third or fourth day, after I have looked at my ugliness, I have usually had an almost other-worldly experience of feeling God's love and light move through me. The experiences have always been extraordinary.

Three or four hours into my reflections today, a recurring image presented itself. A large opulent round room with 12 to 14-foot high ceilings and gold silk moire wallpaper has popped into my meditations off and on for at least a dozen years. The particularly interesting feature is that all the way around the room are almost equally tall doors...without door knobs. There I stand in the middle of this beautiful room with no apparent way out.

Over the years what happens next has varied, but today as I stood in the middle, slowly pondering my plight, suddenly one door swung open inward, then another and another. As the did, what each revealed was what I can only describe as looking like golden walls of water as it opened. While I instinctively braced myself for a force that I expected could knock me over, as the forces moved toward me in all directions, they were as warm and gentle as the first morning's light as they embraced me. I was literally being bathed in the light of God's love. This was what I "normally" would have expected in the final days of my retreat, not the first.

Hmm. I felt so loved, safe and warm, like there was absolutely nothing in my life that wasn't perfect. Well, I thought, where do I go from here?

I have to fall back on a garden metaphor to describe my retreat experiences. When I pick up rocks in the garden, more often than not, creepy, crawly things await me underneath. Not exactly scary but also not pleasant either. Depending on what I find, sometimes I just put it right down and try to ignore it. So it is with lessons I need to learn. Sometimes there's scary stuff that reveals itself when I begin turning over the rocks of my life.

Over the years I've dispensed with a lot of those metaphorical rocks. Others are life lessons that I have explored over and again, just in different manifestations.

I believe my experience of being bathed in God's love so early in my retreat this time was to give me courage to turn over those really scary rocks and to know that it would be okay. No matter what I find, I will always be safe with God beside me.

The journey continues...

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An Instrument of Peace

It was with heavy hearts that many of our congregation gathered today--our normal rituals disrupted yet again by the ugliness of American racism. I assume that other Caucasian parishioners shared my awkwardness as we greeted our African-American friends, feeling that we just didn't have the vocabulary to say the pain that was in our hearts over yet another shooting spree this time in a church.

At some point in his remarks this morning, our assistant rector expressed the outrage in our hearts that people who had simply gathered in prayer could be shot while doing so. As his message drew to an end, he asked us to open our prayer books and read the prayer of Saint Francis together.

Lord, make me an instrument of thy peace.
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
Where there is injury, pardon;
Where there is doubt, faith;
Where there is despair, hope;
Where there is darkness, light;
Where there is sadness, joy.

O divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek
To be consoled as to console,
To be understood as to understand,
To be loved as to love;
For it is in giving that we receive;
It is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
It is in dying to self that we are born to eternal life.

I've always loved that prayer. To my mind's eye, this is the essence of what it means to be whole and human. For a very long time, these words were the very last thoughts to cross my mind before falling to sleep.

Somewhere along the way I just stopped. I'm sure there must have been a reason. Maybe that was about the time I started praying the Lord's Prayer in Aramaic--also a profound prayer. But Saint Francis' plea recognizes our flawed state as humans and offers an antidote that every one of us can choose each day to improve the human condition.

I don't begin to think that my solitary choice will lessen the pain of Charleston. I do believe that if every one of us lived in that way, we could change the country. No, I don't believe that; I know it.

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Preparing for the Plunge

For many years I took a four-day silent retreat twice a year.  Recently, I realized that I haven't done one for at least 24 months.  I made that discovery because I was feeling scattered and without clear direction, spiritually exhausted.  I plan to take a Staycation for the week before the Fourth of July, and while I really want to get outdoors and have some fun, I know that I must devote some of that time to looking inward and soul searching.  I decided I will meditate for the first two days.

I believe I started doing these retreats in about 1990, and what I continue to be amazed at is how reliable the Universe is in getting things stirred up as my retreat approaches.  Since we are now a week out, I've had books thrown on my path, events in the news, job prospects that take me in different directions, and even a "flower reading" which was a Christmas gift that finally just occurred yesterday.

"Consider the vastness of possibilities," reader Robin Masiewicz had said at one point.  Funny that she said that because I've increasingly felt boxed in by the possibilities my life seems to hold.  That, you see, is why I need these retreats: they seem to open new and vast possibilities that I miss when sucked into my day-to-day routine.

So, I am being very intentional about embracing all the things on my path that I know will fertilize the meditation process, knowing that vastness is out there somewhere and soon will be in me.

Three Pennies...and God

Our pastor told a story this week about Mother Teresa.  In the story, her younger self had a dream about starting an orphanage with three pennies.  Upon waking, she was so moved by the dream that she went to her Mother Superior and told her that she wanted to start an orphanage with three pennies.

The Mother Superior was incredulous. "You can't start an orphanage with three pennies. You can't do anything with three pennies."

Mother Teresa is supposed to have responded, "Oh, I know I can't, but with three pennies and God I can do anything."

It has been happening for so many years that I am not sure why I continue to be surprised when similar messages come to me from several directions at the same time--the same spiritual lesson that I am supposed to learn at that point in time.  The Mother Teresa story was on the heels of some reading I was doing just before I went to bed the night before.

A couple months ago I wrote about my quest to complete my reading of several books on my nightstand before starting any new ones.  With the fast approach of summer-reading season, the pressure is on.  I finished two last week, and I am nearing the end of Marianne Williamson's A Return to Love.  The book has probably been on my night stand longer than any others, perhaps two to three years.  I am not sure why I struggle with it.  Perhaps it is the writing style because I resonate with the messages, and every time I pick it up what I read is a meaningful reminder. Maybe I just need to pick it up periodically for a message.

In last night's reading, Williamson quoted A Course on Miracles, "If you are trusting in your own strength, you have every reason to be apprehensive, anxious, and fearful."  Then, she writes, "...none of us have the capacity to work miracles, with the power that is in us but not of us, however, there is nothing we cannot do." (P.188) Hmm!  Remarkably like starting an orphanage on three pennies and God.

Clearly, there is a miracle that I should be thinking about delivering with God's help.  However, since my business crumbled so painfully in the dot.com Bust, bringing my personal life down with it, I have not allowed myself to dream of making miracles happen.  I haven't made a conscious decision not to dream.  The ideas that used to flow almost continuously just haven't been coming.  My hope-generator seems to be semi-permanently stuck on "off."  Quite frankly, I don't know how to flip its switches back to "on."  What comes to me is that is the miracle for which I should be enlisting God's help.