Back in November (11/28/13) I wrote a post "Living Each Day As If It Were The Last." In that post I talked about being present to the richness of life every day so that we don't miss a thing. I believe it is true that if we live with that level of attention, life would be heaven on earth. Sadly, I think even the most conscious among us only scratch the surface of drinking in the whole experience. I am pretty certain that if anyone gets really close, they get "called home"--their learning is complete.
Sometimes I miss things: no, all the time I miss things. Maybe I should say that sometimes I am really present. But, sometimes I miss a lot. I seemed to have totally missed movies in the 80s and early 90s and TV for most of the 90s. There was other good stuff going on, but occasionally, I find that I am pop-culturally challenged. I just discovered a 90s sitcom--"Mad About You"-- that I have been binge-watching. I am pretty sappy about love, and "Mad About You" is totally unapologetic about love--all kinds of love.
One of the last episodes on the DVD collection was one in which Jamie (the wife) and Paul (the husband) discover that their regular UPS delivery man--young and good looking--just died. They contemplate the fragility of life and ponder the question I asked in November: what if this were the last day of our lives? They decide that they would want to tell all the people they love that they love them. And Paul and Jamie really love a lot of people. So they make a list and go about expressing their love to friends and family. Of course, it was a sitcom, so almost none of the gestures really lands like they intended. Their intentions were good nonetheless.
I truly believe that this question about the last day of our lives is an important one. I am confident that if it isn't the secret, it is one of the secrets to joy, peace, and happiness. I also know that I neglect people that I love--take them for granted, and I assume they know how I feel. I hope that I have more luck than Paul and Jamie did, but I feel like I want to start telling those in my life that I do love them. (Friends, be warned: I'm coming with love!)
In another episode, Paul and Jamie's daughter says, "It takes a lot of courage to be the first one to kiss." It does...and it takes a lot of courage to be vulnerable to love. That is what a lot of the awkwardness was about as they expressed love to friends and family. I know that I have guarded my heart. What if I tell someone I love them, and they don't feel like that? Or what if they misinterpret my intentions? To open the heart may be the ultimate act of courage. As I walk to the precipice, I am choosing love because everyday is the last day of my life. What more do I have to do that is more important than be vulnerable?
Tuesday, January 7, 2014
Monday, January 6, 2014
The Impact of Connection
The forecast tonight in Washington is for a low of 8 degrees and wind-chills of -9. My teeth were chattering when I walked to the Metro...and it wasn't even close to 8 degrees yet. Knowing that this was coming, I made chili yesterday. I'm bundled in two sweaters and just threw a quilt over my shoulders...indoors...with heat. I just did something I almost never do: made cocoa. Around me, volunteers have been rounding up 11,000 homeless people from the streets of our nation's capitol.
I haven't lived where it was this cold very often since I was in college. But, when it was this cold, I am embarrassed to say that, until this week, I never thought about what was happening to the people who were homeless. Half the nation is experiencing wind-chills below zero tonight. Some places in the Midwest have wind-chills forecast to as cold as -56. It is so cold that schools have been closed because it is dangerous to be out for a short bit to get there. Everyone of those cities has homeless people. My heart is breaking.
What's different today? I've never actually known someone when the person was homeless before. (See "Expect the Unexpected," 12/14/13.) I've thought about Alexander off and on all day. When I met him, he had a place in a shelter at night, but had to leave all day. It has been bitter today. I thought I was going to freeze hot-footing it a block to the Metro after work. (Is there cold-footing?) I can't imagine that he's been out in this cold all day....and he hasn't been alone.
I met Alexander while playing The Grocery Store Game (12/1/13.) My intention was to make connections. I couldn't have imagined that on a cold night almost a month later that our short meeting would have changed how I think about the weather.
I haven't lived where it was this cold very often since I was in college. But, when it was this cold, I am embarrassed to say that, until this week, I never thought about what was happening to the people who were homeless. Half the nation is experiencing wind-chills below zero tonight. Some places in the Midwest have wind-chills forecast to as cold as -56. It is so cold that schools have been closed because it is dangerous to be out for a short bit to get there. Everyone of those cities has homeless people. My heart is breaking.
What's different today? I've never actually known someone when the person was homeless before. (See "Expect the Unexpected," 12/14/13.) I've thought about Alexander off and on all day. When I met him, he had a place in a shelter at night, but had to leave all day. It has been bitter today. I thought I was going to freeze hot-footing it a block to the Metro after work. (Is there cold-footing?) I can't imagine that he's been out in this cold all day....and he hasn't been alone.
I met Alexander while playing The Grocery Store Game (12/1/13.) My intention was to make connections. I couldn't have imagined that on a cold night almost a month later that our short meeting would have changed how I think about the weather.
Sunday, January 5, 2014
Pieces of the Whole
I always look forward to my holiday greeting from colleague Suzan Thompson. I always enjoy seeing what new directions her work as a therapist has taken in the last year. However, because she is a fabulous and generous artist, her greetings often contain a small piece of art. I had a favorite on my refrigerator door for several years.
Yesterday was the big day, and I admit to ripping the envelope open in the elevator the minute I saw the return address. (I suppose it might have been more appropriate to wait until I could fully appreciate the opening experience, but delayed gratification has never been one of my strong suits.)
This year's gift was different than the individual pieces in the past. This year she created an incredible collage, called "Pieces For You." Then, she cut it up and sent pieces to her friends, along with a link to her blog where we could see the whole artwork*. I've inserted it below.
Yesterday was the big day, and I admit to ripping the envelope open in the elevator the minute I saw the return address. (I suppose it might have been more appropriate to wait until I could fully appreciate the opening experience, but delayed gratification has never been one of my strong suits.)
This year's gift was different than the individual pieces in the past. This year she created an incredible collage, called "Pieces For You." Then, she cut it up and sent pieces to her friends, along with a link to her blog where we could see the whole artwork*. I've inserted it below.
I loved the piece, but I have to confess to studying to see which piece of the whole I had received. (My piece came from the bottom right, and it included the heron and a key.) We emailed back and forth, and I said I loved being able to find where my piece was in the whole, and I added, "...if we only knew exactly where our piece was in the Whole." The truth of that statement stuck with me.
If we could only know exactly where our piece was in the Whole, what difference would it make? When I think of Suzan's lovely collage as a metaphor for our roles in the world, I can imagine that when one of us decides not to follow our intuition or chooses to take a job that was more money than the one for which we had passion, that there might be blank rectangles where our piece should have been. If many of us don't do our part pretty soon the beauty of the whole canvas is obscured.
This Aha! moment hit me particularly hard on a weekend in which I have gotten back to serious writing for the first time in a while. I'd hate to think that in the greater scheme of things that my busyness with other things has removed an essential component(s) from the Whole. Yet, I know that is true. The Universe isn't designed with extra or disposable parts. Each of us is essential, and we all make a difference.
In the future I plan to use Suzan's collage with my piece missing as a mental image of what happens when I choose not to show up for Life. I can't imagine her artwork with a missing piece, just as I'm sure the Universe can't imagine Life without my piece.
*For more details about the collage and appropriate viewing music, you may visit Suzan's blog at http://magicwonderandmiracles.blogspot.com/.
Saturday, January 4, 2014
Rewriting Our Stories
A visit to the local Farmers' Market has been a regular part of my summertime routine for at least 25 years. I love the smells of fresh fruits and vegetables at their peak, and the taste of perfectly ripened produce, which hasn't been refrigerated and shipped, just can't be compared to any other human experience.
While that is true of Farmers' Markets in general, my real weakness is fresh peaches. The real secret though is to get the ones that are beat up. In North Carolina, they call them "windfalls" because they are so ripe that they fall at the least wind. Of course, the fall bruises them, but what is left is exquisite, so sweet that the juice literally runs out while I am peeling the fruit.
Some people would look at that beat-up fruit and think it was garbage. To me, it is the tastiest thing in the natural world. The difference? The story that the observer tells about what he or she is seeing. It's the same fruit. As they say, "One man's trash is another's treasure."
A coaching colleague emailed me a link to an NPR piece about rewriting stories* today. The story was about a boy who was frightened by a statue of Frankenstein, but instead of telling about how the boy was frightened when he went passed the statue, his mother related that the boy had peed on the statue when he went back.
The ability to rewrite our stories in an empowering way allows us to exercise our power over our own experience. For years, I've been helping clients rewrite their stories where they've created disempowering fiction. Recently, a client told about something she didn't want to do because she knew that she wouldn't be successful at it. One at a time she gave me excuses about why she wouldn't be successful. One at a time I asked her for an example of someone who had succeeded but didn't meet that particular success criteria. By the time we finished, she realized that there was no legitimate reason why she, too, couldn't succeed. Then she could rewrite her story.
Today I started working on my fifth or sixth book, depending on whether you count one that is started but not yet finished. Although I've been writing quite literally since I could hold a pencil, I didn't start writing seriously until I was in my mid-forties because my mother always said to me, "Writers are poor and starving." When a college professor commented on my talent and encouraged me to consider a writing career, I responded, "Writers are poor and starving." I had made my mother's story my own without even being conscious of what I was doing.
For over four decades, I lived the story my mother had given me. Then at some point, I could no longer run from my gift. Being an artist is a toss-up, but can the artist not be an artist? If my mother were still alive, she would point at me and shake her finger and say, "I told you so," because I have struggled financially. More importantly, I have occasionally been frozen with fear of doing what I am here in the world to do.
But today, I felt more alive than I have since I last worked on a book. I am rewriting my story. The work I began today is a memoir, and I am telling myself that it will be the next Eat, Pray, Love. It's author, Elizabeth Gilbert, is living proof that authors need not be poor and starving. A reader of this blog has said she could see me at the celebration when the book deal is announced. I've seen myself on the New York Times Best Sellers' List for years. Maybe these too are fiction, but they are far more productive that an equal fiction than "Writers are poor and starving."
When my colleague sent me the link to the NPR piece, he said, "This could be useful in coaching." It can, indeed. I believe the ability to rewrite our stories is a basic life skill. We should teach our children how to dress themselves, brush their teeth, balance a checking account, and rewrite their stories.
This evening I feel a deep sense of peace, joy, and power. Writing does that for me. Hmm. Writing is where I find peace, joy and power. That is a story I can live with.
While that is true of Farmers' Markets in general, my real weakness is fresh peaches. The real secret though is to get the ones that are beat up. In North Carolina, they call them "windfalls" because they are so ripe that they fall at the least wind. Of course, the fall bruises them, but what is left is exquisite, so sweet that the juice literally runs out while I am peeling the fruit.
Some people would look at that beat-up fruit and think it was garbage. To me, it is the tastiest thing in the natural world. The difference? The story that the observer tells about what he or she is seeing. It's the same fruit. As they say, "One man's trash is another's treasure."
A coaching colleague emailed me a link to an NPR piece about rewriting stories* today. The story was about a boy who was frightened by a statue of Frankenstein, but instead of telling about how the boy was frightened when he went passed the statue, his mother related that the boy had peed on the statue when he went back.
The ability to rewrite our stories in an empowering way allows us to exercise our power over our own experience. For years, I've been helping clients rewrite their stories where they've created disempowering fiction. Recently, a client told about something she didn't want to do because she knew that she wouldn't be successful at it. One at a time she gave me excuses about why she wouldn't be successful. One at a time I asked her for an example of someone who had succeeded but didn't meet that particular success criteria. By the time we finished, she realized that there was no legitimate reason why she, too, couldn't succeed. Then she could rewrite her story.
Today I started working on my fifth or sixth book, depending on whether you count one that is started but not yet finished. Although I've been writing quite literally since I could hold a pencil, I didn't start writing seriously until I was in my mid-forties because my mother always said to me, "Writers are poor and starving." When a college professor commented on my talent and encouraged me to consider a writing career, I responded, "Writers are poor and starving." I had made my mother's story my own without even being conscious of what I was doing.
For over four decades, I lived the story my mother had given me. Then at some point, I could no longer run from my gift. Being an artist is a toss-up, but can the artist not be an artist? If my mother were still alive, she would point at me and shake her finger and say, "I told you so," because I have struggled financially. More importantly, I have occasionally been frozen with fear of doing what I am here in the world to do.
But today, I felt more alive than I have since I last worked on a book. I am rewriting my story. The work I began today is a memoir, and I am telling myself that it will be the next Eat, Pray, Love. It's author, Elizabeth Gilbert, is living proof that authors need not be poor and starving. A reader of this blog has said she could see me at the celebration when the book deal is announced. I've seen myself on the New York Times Best Sellers' List for years. Maybe these too are fiction, but they are far more productive that an equal fiction than "Writers are poor and starving."
When my colleague sent me the link to the NPR piece, he said, "This could be useful in coaching." It can, indeed. I believe the ability to rewrite our stories is a basic life skill. We should teach our children how to dress themselves, brush their teeth, balance a checking account, and rewrite their stories.
This evening I feel a deep sense of peace, joy, and power. Writing does that for me. Hmm. Writing is where I find peace, joy and power. That is a story I can live with.
Friday, January 3, 2014
Hurry and Happiness
The day of the year when I feel almost as happy about working hard around the house as I do the day I decorate for Christmas is the day I undecorated for Christmas. Tree out, wreath and poinsettias gone, furniture back where it belongs: with a deep sigh of relief, things have fallen back to "normal," whatever that is.
I am an NPR junkie, and I find the programs of my local station intellectually stimulating while doing mindless tasks around my apartment, like cleaning and removing ornaments and lights. Today I heard an interesting piece* about happiness and its relationship to usage of time, which started me thinking all afternoon and evening.
Two elements of the research of Dr. John Robinson, University of Maryland sociology professor, tell the story. First, those who are less rushed feel happier, and second, those who have less free time on their hands express happiness more often. The magic happiness cocktail: a combination of not being rushed and having little free time. Not rushed, but having little free time? This seems like a contradiction. I thought if I had less free time, I would feel more rushed. Yet, Robinson's research shows that people who are very happy almost never feel rushed. The reason that they have less free time, he has found, is that they have a lot of interests which they remain engaged in, and which, apparently, bring them happiness.
A related piece of research mentioned in the program, Dr. Erik Angner, economics professor at George Mason University, reports that the more television people watch, the less happy they are. The leap is that they aren't engaged in interests that bring them pleasure, so they have a lot of free time to watch television.
I have a colleague who seems very happy. She has two small children, but she is still is engaged in community, church, and family activities. I've often wondered how she does all she does, but, despite all that she has happening in her life, she never seems to be rushed. I'd say her life supports Robinson's research.
Some topics just keep coming around. The first is about being present. It seems to me that when I am really present, I am not rushed. I am not thinking about what is next or what isn't being done; I am able to enjoy what I am doing because I am present to it in the moment. As someone who often does feel rushed, I can say that it relaxes me to just think about being really engaged and present to a number of pleasurable activities. I actually could have been as mindful about undecorating my house--really been present--as I was decorating it, and I'll bet I would have felt a lot less tired at the end of the day.
The second is about choice. Robinson reports that those who are most rushed experience outside pressures beyond their control. He says that a sense of control in our lives is important to happiness. But who could have more balls in the air than my colleague, who seems never rushed? I suspect that those who are happiest just choose to be present--they choose to let go of control in exchange for just enjoying--being in joy--with what they are doing.
Winston Churchill is credited (probably incorrectly) with the quote: "We make a living by what we get, but we make a life by what we give." If we feel too rushed to give or even too rushed to be present, then, it would seem to me, that we are really choosing not to be happy, although most of us would probably not make that choice if we were conscious of what we are doing.
Robinson sums up his research with a play on words from the Bobby McFerrin hit of a couple decades ago: "Don't hurry, be happy." Now that's a choice. Why would I want to hurry if I could be happy? That's a no-brainer. I think that may be a good fourth intention for my year...or maybe the intention should be: "Be present for this year." I think it is the same.
http://wamu.org/programs/metro_connection/13/05/24/dont_hurry_be_happy_research_highlights_link_between_busy_lives_and_bliss#at_pco=cfd-1.0
I am an NPR junkie, and I find the programs of my local station intellectually stimulating while doing mindless tasks around my apartment, like cleaning and removing ornaments and lights. Today I heard an interesting piece* about happiness and its relationship to usage of time, which started me thinking all afternoon and evening.
Two elements of the research of Dr. John Robinson, University of Maryland sociology professor, tell the story. First, those who are less rushed feel happier, and second, those who have less free time on their hands express happiness more often. The magic happiness cocktail: a combination of not being rushed and having little free time. Not rushed, but having little free time? This seems like a contradiction. I thought if I had less free time, I would feel more rushed. Yet, Robinson's research shows that people who are very happy almost never feel rushed. The reason that they have less free time, he has found, is that they have a lot of interests which they remain engaged in, and which, apparently, bring them happiness.
A related piece of research mentioned in the program, Dr. Erik Angner, economics professor at George Mason University, reports that the more television people watch, the less happy they are. The leap is that they aren't engaged in interests that bring them pleasure, so they have a lot of free time to watch television.
I have a colleague who seems very happy. She has two small children, but she is still is engaged in community, church, and family activities. I've often wondered how she does all she does, but, despite all that she has happening in her life, she never seems to be rushed. I'd say her life supports Robinson's research.
Some topics just keep coming around. The first is about being present. It seems to me that when I am really present, I am not rushed. I am not thinking about what is next or what isn't being done; I am able to enjoy what I am doing because I am present to it in the moment. As someone who often does feel rushed, I can say that it relaxes me to just think about being really engaged and present to a number of pleasurable activities. I actually could have been as mindful about undecorating my house--really been present--as I was decorating it, and I'll bet I would have felt a lot less tired at the end of the day.
The second is about choice. Robinson reports that those who are most rushed experience outside pressures beyond their control. He says that a sense of control in our lives is important to happiness. But who could have more balls in the air than my colleague, who seems never rushed? I suspect that those who are happiest just choose to be present--they choose to let go of control in exchange for just enjoying--being in joy--with what they are doing.
Winston Churchill is credited (probably incorrectly) with the quote: "We make a living by what we get, but we make a life by what we give." If we feel too rushed to give or even too rushed to be present, then, it would seem to me, that we are really choosing not to be happy, although most of us would probably not make that choice if we were conscious of what we are doing.
Robinson sums up his research with a play on words from the Bobby McFerrin hit of a couple decades ago: "Don't hurry, be happy." Now that's a choice. Why would I want to hurry if I could be happy? That's a no-brainer. I think that may be a good fourth intention for my year...or maybe the intention should be: "Be present for this year." I think it is the same.
http://wamu.org/programs/metro_connection/13/05/24/dont_hurry_be_happy_research_highlights_link_between_busy_lives_and_bliss#at_pco=cfd-1.0
Thursday, January 2, 2014
Wonder
Nothing touches the wonder of Nature for me. Some even believe Nature is God. I am certain that I cannot distinguish the two. There are times when that wonder takes my breath away. This evening is one of those times: I have felt like I was worshipping at the altar of the park behind my home.
Just as I was coming out of the Metro this evening, the first flakes of what was predicted to be a light snow were beginning to fall. By the time I made dinner and had eaten it, the park behind my apartment had been transformed into a winter wonderland. I stepped out on my balcony to get a better look, and millions of unique flakes had woven lacy doilies on all of the trees. I could hear the rushing of the creek below and leaned out to feel the light cool splashes as flakes hit my hand and face.
I am not much of a photographer, but I grabbed my iPhone to attempt a picture. Instead of capturing the beauty of the snow-covered trees, the camera captured the falling snow, making streaks like shooting stars.
I've looked out several times since my first breath-taking view. Each time the wonder engenders a sense of humility in me. Whether God is Nature or God created Nature seems moot to me. That millions and millions of snowflakes could each have been created uniquely and woven together in such a perfect tapestry leaves me wondering what God has in mind for me.
I have heard a myth, which I believe to be from the Jewish tradition, that for every single blade of grass, there are 1,000 angels, encouraging the grass to "Grow! Grow!" That at times I either can't hear, won't hear, or just plain forget to listen seems small of me. If God who could send such support to a blade of grass and create such a beautiful landscape in what felt like a blink of the eye, I can only ask, what is God trying to do for me, and why do I resist?
Spiritual surrender is what I like to think of as getting my ego out of the way and letting God be God. Spiritual surrender is not giving up. Surrounded by the wonder of Nature this evening, I feel personally invited to let God be God--to allow God to do for me what is done for blades of grass, lilies of the field, and trees in the snow.
Lean-in was voted best new word for 2013. It implies that when there is resistance to push through it. I resist spiritual surrender, and I believe that it is now time to lean-in to my resistance, allowing God to grace me as part of Nature's creation.
Just as I was coming out of the Metro this evening, the first flakes of what was predicted to be a light snow were beginning to fall. By the time I made dinner and had eaten it, the park behind my apartment had been transformed into a winter wonderland. I stepped out on my balcony to get a better look, and millions of unique flakes had woven lacy doilies on all of the trees. I could hear the rushing of the creek below and leaned out to feel the light cool splashes as flakes hit my hand and face.
I am not much of a photographer, but I grabbed my iPhone to attempt a picture. Instead of capturing the beauty of the snow-covered trees, the camera captured the falling snow, making streaks like shooting stars.
I've looked out several times since my first breath-taking view. Each time the wonder engenders a sense of humility in me. Whether God is Nature or God created Nature seems moot to me. That millions and millions of snowflakes could each have been created uniquely and woven together in such a perfect tapestry leaves me wondering what God has in mind for me.
I have heard a myth, which I believe to be from the Jewish tradition, that for every single blade of grass, there are 1,000 angels, encouraging the grass to "Grow! Grow!" That at times I either can't hear, won't hear, or just plain forget to listen seems small of me. If God who could send such support to a blade of grass and create such a beautiful landscape in what felt like a blink of the eye, I can only ask, what is God trying to do for me, and why do I resist?
Spiritual surrender is what I like to think of as getting my ego out of the way and letting God be God. Spiritual surrender is not giving up. Surrounded by the wonder of Nature this evening, I feel personally invited to let God be God--to allow God to do for me what is done for blades of grass, lilies of the field, and trees in the snow.
Lean-in was voted best new word for 2013. It implies that when there is resistance to push through it. I resist spiritual surrender, and I believe that it is now time to lean-in to my resistance, allowing God to grace me as part of Nature's creation.
Wednesday, January 1, 2014
A New Year
Happy 2014! I hope your first day was as good as mine was.
I did my new year's meditation and got some simple and clear advice:
-Begin exercising at least 5 times a week. (For years it was 7!)
-Reclaim my writer: be conscious of every opportunity to move out on writing
-Eat the way my body tells me to eat (Did that for years too, but I have slipped during 2013.)
Those intentions are promises I make and will keep: my integrity depends on it. (See yesterday's post.)
So, that was how my year started. I walked 90 minutes in three stints. I ate healthfully. I explored a writing contest and a new job that will involve writing more. I spent quality time with friends, and we all ate healthfully and even took a brisk walk together mid-day. I love this!
I did my new year's meditation and got some simple and clear advice:
-Begin exercising at least 5 times a week. (For years it was 7!)
-Reclaim my writer: be conscious of every opportunity to move out on writing
-Eat the way my body tells me to eat (Did that for years too, but I have slipped during 2013.)
Those intentions are promises I make and will keep: my integrity depends on it. (See yesterday's post.)
So, that was how my year started. I walked 90 minutes in three stints. I ate healthfully. I explored a writing contest and a new job that will involve writing more. I spent quality time with friends, and we all ate healthfully and even took a brisk walk together mid-day. I love this!
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