Tiny Buddha

Category: letting go

  • Letting Go of Stubbornness: Appreciate Your Loved Ones While You Can

    Letting Go of Stubbornness: Appreciate Your Loved Ones While You Can

    friends

    “Before someone’s tomorrow has been taken away, cherish those you love, appreciate them today. “ ~Michelle C. Ustaszeski

    My brother Greg and I were the closest of friends growing up, even if you weigh in the occasional tiff or disagreement we sometimes had.

    We discovered our favorite toys together as kids, rode bikes side by side, and conquered video games as a two-man team. Even well into our teenage years, we were an inseparable pair, always looking out for one another.

    The fact that our father died of a brain tumor when we were young had forged a deep understanding between us. I remember us crying together in our mother’s arms when we got the news, soaking her chest with tears. We both knew without saying a word that we’d need one another to lean on in the years to come.

    My Brother’s Keeper

    One day Greg and I were out in the woods in the wintertime with our grandfather and uncle when we happened upon a small river. A collapsed tree had fallen over it, which offered the only visible means of crossing. So with the adults behind me and my brother in front, we set about making it to the other side.

    Somewhere around the halfway point, Greg slipped and fell into the river. Instinctually, I yelled out, “Hang on, Greg! I’m coming!” and immediately dove in after him. Once in the river, I was able to lift him back toward the fallen tree, where Grandpa pulled him the rest of the way up, followed by me.

    The river might not have been deep enough to drown him, but it didn’t really matter to me. My brother was in trouble, and the last place I wanted to be was out of his reach. Jumping in with him put us both in the same predicament, fighting our way out together—the same as it was when our father died.

    And Greg more than returned the favor one day, when a kid from the neighborhood pulled a bow and arrow back at pointed it at me. Without even hesitating, Greg stood directly in front of me and said, “If you’re gonna kill my brother, you have to kill me first.” The kid slowly released the bow, dropped his arrow, and ran away.

    Two Of A Kind

    We were cut from the same cloth, my brother and I. Our love and courage for one another knew no limits or bounds. But like most brothers, we often found ourselves at odds over the most trivial of things.

    We argued about toys, had screaming matches over who would get to keep the prize from a cereal box, and even punched each other out once over a video game.

    Being cut from the same cloth could also mean a mutual stubbornness during disagreements. And though we always seemed to work things out, a day arrived when we would no longer have that luxury.

    Pain Is A Teacher

    Greg and I were going through another one of our tiffs in the fall of 1997 (we weren’t exactly burning mad at each other, but we hadn’t been speaking much, either), when I was awoken by a phone call from my grandmother one morning.

    She told me that my brother had been hit head-on by a drunk driver the night before…and was killed instantly. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

    After I hung up the phone, I screamed and wailed for nearly two hours straight. I just couldn’t articulate my pain any other way. There was such a strong bond between me and Greg that I felt like half of my body had been cut in half.

    And on top of the pain of losing him, I was reminded of that one final argument we never got to resolve. It took me years before I stopped thinking about it and began to appreciate the valuable lesson life had taught me.

    An Open Challenge

    I’m a lot more cautious these days about leaving things unresolved with people I love, or with anyone else for that matter. Life is short. We’re all given a set amount of days in which to enjoy this life and appreciate one another—and none of us know just how much time we actually have left.

    Today is the time to work out our differences and disputes with the people we love, and to ask ourselves an important question: Is my stubbornness really worth it? Is it possible that I’ve been making a big deal out of something trivial—a position that I’d feel awful about if this person died tomorrow?

    I hear stories all the time from people who never got to tell a parent how much they loved them before they passed, and even siblings who never buried the ax before it was too late. Regret is one of the hardest things in the world to live with.

    Challenge yourself to resolve an issue with someone you’ve been feuding with for a long time, especially if it’s a family member or friend. Let them know they mean much more to you than your old stubborn position in a past argument.

    Photo by Fovea Centralis

  • 4 Ways to Embrace Slow Change When You’re Feeling Impatient

    4 Ways to Embrace Slow Change When You’re Feeling Impatient

    Time

    “Change is not a process for the impatient.” ~Barbara Reinhold

    I love it when change happens quickly. Sometimes things just click, and everything shifts all at once.

    When I met the man who’d become my husband, we were married only thirteen months later, and in those thirteen months we both transformed to our very cores.

    The problem is that those thirteen months aren’t the entire story. They cut off the three years of intense personal work I did before I met him, all the while wishing to be in a healthy relationship.

    Without those three years of work (and the years of work he did before meeting me), we couldn’t have moved that fast from a healthy place. We would have been living a fantasy.

    I’ve done that before in relationships—pretended that I was changing faster than I was. Eventually the bubble would burst, and we’d need to see where we really were.

    Real change usually takes a long time.

    So how do we deal with this? How can we embrace three (or one, or five, or thirteen) years of working on a change without caving in to our impatience?

    1. Find ways to get the qualities you’re wanting right now.

    Some of the qualities I wanted out of my changed relationship pattern were love, companionship, and adventure.

    There are plenty of ways to connect to those qualities without actually being in a relationship. I went on adventures with my roommates, talked things over companionably with my best friend, and learned to accept love from myself and those around me.

    Not only does this help you feel better in the moment, it also helps you begin the inner changes that lead to outer change.

    (Sneaky benefit: sometimes we only think we want something, and that’s why it hasn’t happened yet for us. When we connect to the qualities behind the change we’d like to make, we get what we’re really wanting, whether it goes according to plan or not.)

    2. Trick yourself back to the present moment.

    When my “internal committee” is throwing a small fit about how long something seems to be taking, I call its bluff.

    So you think it’ll take me ten years to get to the place where I can have the kind of relationship I’m wanting?

    Well in five years, would I rather be five years closer to that desire or not? In eleven years? In two months?

    Usually even my most stuck-in-the-mud resistance answers “yes” to all those questions. So then I bring us back to the present.

    Since I know I want to move forward on this no matter how long it takes, what’s one action I can do now to embrace the change I’m making, slow as it may be?

    (Sneaky benefit: though you’re focusing on the future, this gets you back into cultivating the qualities you’d like in the present moment, which is the only place you really live anyway.)

    3. Make friends with your resistance.

    If you could wave a magic wand, right this moment, and have the change you’re wanting, would you feel 100% satisfied with it?

    Hopefully at least part of you says “no,” because that means you have information on where to work.

    If a small part of you thinks that a relationship sounds rather terrifying, then you can ask it what needs to change so you can feel safe.

    Maybe you need to learn better boundaries. Maybe you need to choose better partners. Maybe you need to feel more comfortable receiving love from yourself first.

    Repeat this often enough, and you’ll have connected with all the parts of you that need to change.

    (Sneaky benefit: this helps you make a change from a place of wholeness and alignment, instead of running roughshod over parts of yourself to get what other parts of you want.)

    4. Let it be hard.

    Positivity is a wonderful thing, but forced positivity puts you in resistance to what’s really going on in you.

    So take ten or fifteen minutes to let it be hard.

    Write a rant in your notebook.

    Ask a friend for a hug.

    Listen to a sad song and cry a bit.

    When you free up the energy trapped in the sadness (or anger, or fear—whatever you feel), you may find it easier to embrace change with grace.

    (Sneaky benefit: this is also a backdoor to wholeness. While wallowing in negativity is usually counterproductive, giving yourself time to grieve helps you heal.)

    How about you?

    What changes are you working toward that you really wish would just happen already? What helps you deal with your impatience?

    Photo by Hartwig HKD

  • Finding the Courage to Let Go of the Familiar and Make a Change

    Finding the Courage to Let Go of the Familiar and Make a Change

    Walk Away

    “Courage is the power to let go of the familiar.” ~Raymond Lindquist

    I’ve been processing my beliefs on courage since I turned 31.

    When I was in my 20s and teens, my idea of courage was that you fight until the death, never give up, be the one to say the last word, and always, always prove your point. And yet, I spent most of those years feeling unseen and unheard by my family and friends.

    I felt completely isolated and exhausted, yet I wasn’t expressing these feelings. (Not to say I hold regret; in my journey I had to seek and exhaust what didn’t work before fumbling my way to what could.)

    On the day of my 30th birthday, I found myself stuck in an unsatisfying four-year relationship, feeling so much pain, but I lacked the strength to move on. During those four years, I felt more and more isolated.

    Some research suggests that isolation is the most terrifying and destructive feeling a person can endure.

    In their book The Healing Connection, Jean Baker Miller and Irene Pierce Stiver define isolation as “a feeling that one is locked out of the possibility of human connection and of being powerless to change the situation.”

    I felt I had lost my self-respect and power, and that made me feel trapped and ashamed. As painful as it was to feel that way, it also felt familiar and comfortable. I was drowning with no life raft, holding my own head underwater.

    Part of me was staying because I didn’t believe I would feel worthy or complete until I saved my then-boyfriend and the relationship.

    At the same time, I wasn’t voicing my needs or feelings. I was expecting and depending on someone else to change instead of changing myself.

    Perhaps this is the gift when relationships don’t work out: We learn where we are not loving or accepting ourselves. Relationships bring to light the wounds we have yet to heal. For that, I am grateful.

    Once I recognized that the relationship had served a divine purpose—that the experience had happened for me, not to me—I was able to move on.

    I’ve learned that the experience of shame traps us in self-defeating cycles; we feel unworthy and powerlessness to change our life conditions.

    It also prevents us from seeing and representing our authentic selves. Then instead of airing it out and clearing the water, we muddy it further by keeping it all inside.

    Familiarity can be more comforting than the uncertainty of what will happen after we let go and jump into the abyss, but we have to ask ourselves what we value more: comfort or growth?

    Richard Schaub wrote, “Surrender is an active decision, an act of strength and courage, with serenity as its reward.”

    Perhaps courage, for me, meant not hanging on and pushing through, but accepting the hurt, surrendering the need for certainty, and making the active choice to break the silence and begin clearing up the water.

    I have learned that as unique as our stories may be, we all struggle with the same fundamental fears and we all lose our belief in ourselves. We all feel alone and isolated at times, and that leaves us feeling powerless.

    When we get stuck in toxic behaviors and relationships and we feel trapped in this vicious cycle, we need to ask ourselves, “What do we stand to lose by not changing?”

    For me, I stood to lose my authentic self, my integrity, my spirit, and the opportunity to live my best life.

    It takes courage to be completely honest with ourselves about what’s keeping us stuck.

    It took courage for me to accept that I was staying in an unsatisfying relationship because it was familiar, and even harder to acknowledge the shame and unworthiness I felt for being too scared to face the truth.

    To feel worthy and take control back, I first needed to feel accepted and connected.

    Sharing my story helped with that, and helped me release my shame. Shame and fear can hide in silence, but have a hard time lingering around when shared in a loving space.

    When we don’t tell our stories, we miss the opportunity to experience empathy and move from isolation to connection. Breaking the cycle ultimately means breaking the silence.

    To begin my healing, I started by cultivating a loving space within myself. I then stumbled into a Buddhist meditation center.

    I talked and cried with others struggling with the same challenges of fear and uncertainty. I took up yoga and explored the scary places of myself. I even I booked a trip to Thailand to volunteer and experience a new culture.

    I took to heart Red’s advice from “The Shawshank Redemption”: Get busy living, or get busy dying.

    To do that, we need to recognize that the pain of staying the same is greater than the risk of making a change, and it’s worth facing the fear of uncertainty.

    Who knows what the future holds, and perhaps that is part of the beauty of life. Each moment is fresh and new and maybe, just maybe, that’s what makes it so precious.

    What’s your idea of courage and how can you expand your pain into growth? How could you reframe the situations in your life to see them as happening for you, not to you?

    And if you are in a spot in your life where you feel scared to take a risk, ask yourself: what do you stand to lose if you don’t change?

    Photo by monkeywing

  • When Your Friend’s Happy News Fills You with Envy Instead of Joy

    When Your Friend’s Happy News Fills You with Envy Instead of Joy

    “It is in the character of very few men to honor without envy a friend who has prospered.” ~Aeschylus

    It’s crazy, isn’t it?

    Your best friend enthusiastically shares some big news. You say all the right things and display the right emotions. But inside you’re burning up. Instead for feeling truly happy, you’re filled with uncontrollable envy.

    It’s not that you’re a bad person. You really want to feel happy for your friend. You really want to get rid of these feeling of envy. But in the moment, you just can’t.

    When the Green-Eyed Monster Took Me Over

    A few years back my closest friend told me she was pregnant. I responded with appropriate excitement, said the right words, and showed the right emotions. But with each smile, word, and act of joy, I died a little bit inside.

    The first chance I got to be alone, I wept bitterly. It seemed so unfair that while I’d been trying unsuccessfully for over four years, she got pregnant within a month of getting off the pill. She wasn’t even sure if she wanted a baby yet!

    Bad as all this misery was, I felt worse that I had these feelings in the first place. She’s always been a good friend to me, and here I was, seemingly incapable of being happy for her.

    I tried applying conventional wisdom—replace my envy with gratitude, look at all the good things I had, and stop worrying about what I didn’t. But I found out the hard way that’s not how it works in real life.

    I was worried. I feared that if I didn’t get over this feeling I might lose a very good friend. Worse, I might lose myself and become a bitter, resentful person.

    It took quite some effort to finally come of the situation without ruining my friendship or letting it poison my soul. Here are some of the lessons I learned along the way:

    1. Envy is a strong involuntary feeling that you cannot get rid of by just wishing or willing it away.

    Nobody gets up in the morning thinking, “Today I’m going to feel unhappy for my friend’s happiness.” (At least, I hope not!) And yet, sometimes when we want something bad and find that our friend got it instead, it fills us up with envy. It’s not pleasant. It’s not welcome. But it’s there.

    Just because you don’t like it, you can’t wish or will it away.

    Research has found that thought suppression is often ineffective, and can actually increase the frequency of the thought being suppressed.

    In an experiment, researchers found that subjects asked not to think about a white bear paradoxically couldn’t stop thinking about it. Other studies explored this paradox further, and support the finding that trying to suppress a thought only makes it more ingrained.

    So first thing, stop trying to get rid of these thoughts. Accept them for what they are—normal feelings that arise in a normal human being.

    2. Nail down the source of your envy to let the person who made you envious off the hook.

    At first glance it may seem like the person who made you envious is the source of your envy. However, if you dig a little deeper, you may realize that the reason you feel envious has little to do with the person who brought out the feelings.

    In my case, the real source of my feelings was that I desperately wanted a baby. Sure, the fact that my friend got what I didn’t triggered the feeling of envy, but the source was my want and my fear that my want won’t be met.

    3. Let this knowledge lead you toward personal growth instead of resentment and bitterness.

    At this point you have a choice. You know that there is something you want but can’t have. Will you become resentful of those who can, or will you make peace with the way things are?

    I knew there was nothing that my friend could do about my inability to get pregnant. I also realized how illogical it was to expect that nobody in this world have a baby just because I couldn’t.

    It didn’t mean that I stopped feeling envious instantly; I still desperately wanted to have what my friend had. But separating the source of my feeling from the person made it possible to feel happy for her, in spite of my continued feelings of envy.

    Ever so slowly, I started to feel excited about her pregnancy and the opportunity to experience the miracle of a baby through her.

    4. Focus your attention on addressing the source of your envy, instead of trying to eliminate the feeling.

    Your envy is probably here to stay—for a while anyway. Instead of fighting it, address the source of it.

    I knew deep down that four years was a long time to wait to have a baby. But I hated to face it head on. When I realized how easily I fell prey to the green-eyed monster, I knew it was time to take my head out of the sand and deal with the issue.

    I started infertility treatment. My friend was right there by my side as my biggest source of support through this emotionally exhausting roller coaster. In turn, I was able to share with her the excitement of her pregnancy. In fact, it was a huge motivation to keep going on rough days when all I wanted to do was give up and curl into a ball.

    I finally got lucky. Five months after she delivered her son, my daughter was born. Our friendship had survived the difficult test.

    The Green-Eyed Monster Is Never Too Far Away

    I could probably stop right there, and that would be a fine place to wind this story up. But I promised to keep this real, so here’s the rest of it.

    The year that I had my daughter, three of my other close friends had their first kids too, in addition to this one. It was as if the stork had declared a “friends and family” promotional event.

    In the subsequent years, however, it was clear that my little tryst with the stork was over. All my friends had their second kids, but my attempts at growing the family further just did not pan out.

    As my friends got pregnant one after the other and had babies, I looked at their growing bellies and subsequently, their tiny little bundles of joy with longing.

    Even though it’s been years since we’ve decided to move on, I still wish at times that my daughter had a sibling to share her life with. And at odd times, I still feel pangs of envy about my friends’ perfect families.

    Then I remind myself: while you really can’t stop feeling a sense of envy every now and then, you can choose how you deal with it.

    What’s your choice?

  • Free Yourself from Regret and Transform Your Life

    Free Yourself from Regret and Transform Your Life

    Im Free

    “The practice of forgiveness is our most important contribution to the healing of the world.” ~Marianne Williamson

    I always had a hard time accepting all of me. As early as I can remember others defined me by saying “You are so weird.” Not in a malicious way but more in a “you don’t fit into our familiar box” sort of way.

    I spent most of my teens and twenties attempting to conform to others or numbing myself to a point of not caring what they thought. If someone would have told me that forgiveness and compassion would lead me to inner peace and wholeness, I would have asked them what they were smoking.

    So how is it that I came to learn that freedom lies within the forgiving and compassionate heart?

    I can assure you that it wasn’t because I have some super powers or a secret knowledge that you don’t. My discovery came through a real and messy life, no different from any other.

    Childhood

    My dad drank a lot. He was the obvious thorn in the family—the one that everyone else used as a distraction to keep from looking at themselves, the one that needed love the most but we were too afraid to give it.

    I was six or seven years old when my dad was pacing back and forth across the street from my grandparents’ house, yelling, “I just want to see my kids.” I thought to myself, “Why can’t he just come over and give me a hug? My daddy just needs a hug.”

    Someone in the house was assuring my frightened grandmother that it was against the law for him to come any closer to the house because of the restraining order, which didn’t make much sense to me, so I hugged my doll and disappeared into the background.

    As my father’s drinking and raging progressed, I too began to fear him. Afraid of my father, afraid of how people treated him, afraid life could actually be the way that he seemed to experience it—it was all so terrifying.

    It wasn’t easy watching my dad struggle his whole life, blaming his family, his job, my mom, and eventually me for his pain.

    Occasionally he would have a reprieve. Like the time he sent me a dozen roses for no reason. When I asked him why he sent them, he said, “My daughter is going to get a lot of roses in her lifetime and I wanted to be the first to give them to you.”

    He could be so charismatic, loving, and kind. I loved him with all of my heart.

    Growing Up

    In my twenties I found myself caught between a deep love and a desperate fear of my reflection. I fought a good fight not to become my dad. But as the saying goes, “what you resist persists,” and voila: I woke up one day and realized that I wasn’t like my dad. I had become him.

    Now in my twenties I was the one blaming others for my unhappiness; if only my childhood wasn’t so screwed up, if only my father was a better role model and had been there for me, and so on.

    Using relationships, alcohol, food, and whatever else I could to drown out daddy’s little mirror, I found myself plagued with the reality of not being able to live successfully anymore than he did.

    Healing begins when we can stand still and face ourselves in the mirror of another.

    The one thing that I had never witnessed my father do was take responsibility for his actions, which were the culmination of his life experiences. Knowing that I was just like him, I knew I needed to make a different choice, but how?

    Intuitively, I knew that I had to ask for help in learning how to become responsible—learning how to respond to life in a new way.

    I began reaching out for guidance through counseling, books, and learning from people around me who seemed genuinely happy. I soon discovered the power in connection.

    Connecting with people that were living life as creators, rather than victims, showed me a whole new way to live.

    I began to change inside. Compassion and self-forgiveness swelled. The principle “as within, so without” proved true as my newfound experience poured out and into my world.

    Forgiveness

    My thirties were a time of forgiveness during which my father and I were estranged because of his active drinking. At that time I didn’t know how to grow while simultaneously keeping my father in my life.

    Unfortunately, by the time my relationship with my father was healed, he had been dead for about five years.

    During those years I had made several attempts to make amends with him, once by spreading his ashes on Father’s Day at a place he used to take me and my brother as children.

    I’d written and read aloud two letters I wrote for him at different points of time.

    Interestingly, the action that created the ultimate healing came to me in meditation one morning.

    Sitting in silence I became aware of unkind and dismissive behavior I had displayed toward my father’s fourth ex-wife, Ann. Her only crime was that she loved him and was a kind stepmom. I blamed her for my father’s alcoholism, which made no rational sense.

    When I called Ann she was as gracious to me as she had always been.

    “It is so good to hear from you,” she said.

    I responded, “I’m calling because I have become aware that I somehow held you responsible for my father’s alcoholism, and because of that I was unkind and dismissive toward you. I wanted you to know that I am sorry for the way that I behaved and am extremely grateful that you were able to love and accept my father all those years, especially when I was unable to love him myself.”

    Her warmth traveled through the phone lines as she said, “You’re welcome; I understand. Your father so loved you.”

    Immediately after our phone conversation I felt something physically leave my body. I will never forget it. Beyond my understanding my relationship with my father had been healed.

    The Lesson I Wish I Had Learned Before It was Too Late

    After my father died I tried to convince myself that I had no regrets about never healing our relationship. The truth is that years earlier I intuitively knew that it was time to call my father and make things right, but I made the choice not to do it for one reason: fear.

    It is the one thing in my life that I would do differently if I could.

    Although I believe in a higher plan, with things always happening as they should, my actions play a vital role in the equation. Being responsible for my life has taught me to acknowledge my regret and the choice that I made which created it.

    Lessons I Learned from a Forgiving and an Unforgiving Heart

    • It is impossible to fully accept ourselves until we are at peace with our greatest fears.
    • Our greatest fears are easily detected by looking at those we are yet unable to love.
    • When we are willing to make things right in our life, regardless of appearances, seeking inner guidance will teach us how to heal.
    • If we still have breath, we can grow.

    Today when I find myself restless I ask, “Am I being stingy with my forgiveness?” And if the answer is yes, then I ask, “What can I do now to make things right with myself or between me and another?” knowing that they are one in the same.

    Forgiveness is a warrior’s journey where we grow into compassionate human beings. Regret surfaces when we know within what we need to do but we don’t do it. Forgiving is our opportunity to limit regrets.

    In our willingness to practice forgiveness we move from seeking acceptance to resting in our wholeness.

    Photo by Sara Jo

  • Why Letting Yourself Feel Broken is the Key to Feeling Whole

    Why Letting Yourself Feel Broken is the Key to Feeling Whole

    “Life always waits for some crisis to occur before revealing itself at its most brilliant.” ~Paul Coelho

    I spent my twenty-fifth birthday crying alone at the foot of a mountain. While I had always found solace in spending time by myself, in that moment, I did not recognize my “self.”  Without my self, I had nothing.

    I was utterly alone.

    Three weeks earlier, a man was shot just feet away from my front door. My then-boyfriend and I performed CPR until an ambulance arrived, but the man had been killed on impact. The police left my home at 3 a.m.; at 7 a.m., I was headed to the airport for a family wedding.

    There is no mourning at a wedding.

    Forced to paste on a smile, I told myself and everyone around me that I was fine. Never mind the fact that I felt like all of the air had been sucked out of me. If you tell a lie enough times, you start to believe it yourself.

    For weeks, I assured myself that I was strong enough to bear the heavy burden of witnessing a violent crime. I always identified as a strong, independent woman. I couldn’t let go of that, I felt, or I might not ever get it back.

    But as the days passed, I started to realize that something was different. The girl who was known for her constant zest for life and naturally cheerful demeanor was replaced by a woman who was exhausted, short-tempered and—it took me weeks to realize—depressed.

    When the truth finally broke free, I was overwhelmed. Sitting there, at the base of my favorite Phoenix mountain, all I could think was, “I am not okay.”

    In that moment, I was not okay.

    But the truth has a funny way of setting you free. Faced with a sensation that was completely foreign and extremely uncomfortable to me—the idea that I was more vulnerable than I wanted to believe—I finally saw a glimmer of light.

    Only in honoring my emotions was I able to let them go.

    After crying myself weak, I climbed that mountain. As I reached the top, I inhaled deeply and felt my breath for the first time in weeks. The tears that flowed at the top were entirely different: they were tears of gratitude.

    The moment that I learned to allow myself to be “not okay” was a turning point in my adult life.

    To allow yourself to feel is to allow yourself to really live.

    Once I was able to look at my emotions honestly, I was able to look at my life honestly and to realize that I did, in fact, want to participate wholly in it. I appreciated life more deeply than ever before.

    Months later, when my dear friend lost her dear friend, I shared my secret: “It’s okay to be not okay.” Amidst all of the sympathetic wishes and “it will get betters,” that message resonated most deeply. Her grief was okay.

    Sometimes, people need permission to break. And it is from that broken place that they are finally able to become whole again.

    Time and time again, when faced with some of life’s hardest moments, I have shared my secret: “It’s okay to be not okay.”

    Accepting that simple truth has been exactly the remedy that allowed the people I love to move into a space where they are more than okay—they are thriving.

  • Forgiving In a Situation That Feels Unjust

    Forgiving In a Situation That Feels Unjust

    Sad

    “When something bad happens you have three choices. You can let it define you, let it destroy you, or you can let it strengthen you.” ~Unknown

    There I was: numb from a conclusion of a dismissal based on a finding that there was “no reasonable prospect of success.”

    Harassed, bullied, victimized, stalked both in-person and online, the Human Rights Tribunal tossed me into another discarded pile of victims to be ignored by the courts because a group of goons were cleaver enough to hide the body of proof.

    My assailants comprised of four individuals. One was a divorced teacher of two children who engaged in inappropriate sexual relationships with three of his immediate students—the most recent being only 18 years old when the relationship began.

    Another was his female co-worker who heinously accused me of threatening her fetus despite never detailing the exact threat, the manner in which the threat was executed, or when the alleged threat occurred.

    The others were a male co-worker who accused me of “staring at him,” despite photo evidence of his flashing the genital regions of another male co-worker, and the presently 22-year-old student who exchanged sexual favors with her teacher and attempted to spread a malicious rumour that I was arrested by local police. 

    Why did I become their target? Because I rejected the sexual advances of the teacher without knowing of his previous sexual encounters within the college program or his current relationship with a student, and filed an internal complaint with the college.

    Most of the information I know today was discovered months after my departure from the academic institution.

    I still have yet to learn of the nature of these alleged death threats I made or what exactly I threatened.

    The accusation of threatening a fetus was most troubling, as there has never been an account of what the exact threat was, how a fetus can be threatened, and when this situation occurred.

    I have been an educator for most of my career and presently assist students with learning disabilities to improve their literacy levels. To have such blatant lies against someone like me who has dedicated so much to assist in the growth of others, and for others to actually believe these lies, was horrendous.

    Local police were baffled that the courts would dismiss what they saw for themselves, and were more than obliging to provide further assistance in obtaining restraining orders against the respondents, as a school employee threatened to physically assault me.

    I understood that a dismissal did not mean that the vice-chair of the Tribunal thought that I was a liar, or thought that none of these actions transpired, or thought that the respondents were innocent of the things of which I accused them.

    It meant that the body of proof and the actions which lead to my victimization were hidden so well that there was reason to doubt the existence of a victim at all—a horrific regularity in today’s world of anonymous online accounts: distorted images, fake lives, pseudonyms used by unknown figures.

    Yes, I know of karma. Yes, I know what goes around comes back around. Yes, I know a guilty soul eats away a person from within until the truth emerges. However, these thoughts and words of attempted condolence did not help.

    Longing and questioning filled my mind in the minutes that followed.

    When would karma come? Did the boomerang miss these people during an attempt for a universal justice? Could cosmetics continue to conceal their ugliness from the world, or worse, could their ugliness actually form a mask onto me for the world to be fooled that I was the perpetrator?

    I needed to find those words that would bring peace.

    Strangely, the source of victimization also served as a means of finding personal salvation: a Google search for the terms dealing with disappointment.

    My first search was fruitful with an anonymous quote from this very website: “Do not let today’s disappointments cast a shadow on tomorrow’s dreams.”

    The satisfaction I gained from this quote was fleeting, as the notion that I still had dreams to hold onto was always true, even during the ordeals with my tormentors. Also, even monsters dream.

    The article (4 Steps to Deal with Disappointment by Raeeka) followed with a useful list of four: Let it out, get some perspective, know your own heart, and practice acceptance.

    While I could recognize the usefulness of this list in my future, it still failed to complete the emotional journey I was presently in.

    I had already accepted what the courts decided and could already devise the rationality behind the decision. Excusing myself for being a bit too logical for the emotions I was experiencing, I continued in my search.

    It was my second search that brought me to a new list from the same website, and a sentence that changed my perspective on everything: “Consider that there is nothing to forgive” (3 Unconventional Tips for Forgiving and Letting Go by Lisa Esile).

    These words made me realize that my complaint filed with the tribunal was an act of telling these respondents that they needed to change for the better and giving them the opportunity to enrich themselves.

    However, if they cannot see how they wronged me and others, how can they ever see the need for change?

    I filed a complaint with the intention of assisting them in improving their current means of treating others when they weren’t open to improvement.

    It would be similar to using such a tactic on a rabid dog; the dog cannot realize that it has rabies, which is bad for it, or that when biting other living things that it causes greater harm than usual. It would be pointless to reason with the creature that it has an illness that needs to be rectified.

    A teacher who abuses his position and shames the education system, not once, not even twice, but three times is clearly someone not on a path I wish to follow. It’s not worth the energy to wait for him to change his course of behavior, let alone to wait for his supporters to change their respective paths to grow from their situations.

    I, on the other hand, have nothing to change in my foundation: I have told no lies; I have not shamed myself in my journey; I have not harmed the progress of others or their education; and I have not disrespected the education system by abusing my position with my students. I can only grow from my experiences.

    Forgiveness has become a term that we use as a sword and a parachute.

    For some, looking for a reason to forgive becomes a journey for revenge—if something bad happens to that hurtful person, then I can forgive them. For others, forgiveness becomes an escape route for their inconsiderate behavior—an “oh well, time heals all wounds” mentality, so why worry about any harm inflicted?

    Forgiveness can only be given to someone or something that you can truly believe would have chosen differently if they had more understanding or different circumstances.

    From what I know, my assailants are similar to the rabid dogs in that they cannot see the problem, so it’s pointless to expel my energy on them. And should they change from their current circumstances, it would be such a change that forgiveness would not be required from me, as they would no longer be the people who inflicted this harm.

    In an unjust situation we sometimes need to accept that the other person is simply incapable of distinguishing right from wrong. And it’s that acceptance that can help us understand and find peace.

    Photo by Casey Muir-Taylor

  • The Power of Patience: Let Go of Anxiety and Let Things Happen

    The Power of Patience: Let Go of Anxiety and Let Things Happen

    “Your mind will answer most questions if you learn to relax and wait for the answer.” ~William S. Burroughs

    Patience can be a struggle.

    I know this firsthand. My experience with impatience used to be confined to overusing the microwave or skipping to the end of a long novel.

    Back then, when waiting at a traffic light for more than two minutes seemed like an eternity, I didn’t know that life would teach me several advanced lessons in patience.

    Shortly after finishing my morning bike ride I started feeling queasy. I wondered what was happening, but tried to ignore the feeling. The queasiness was replaced with severe abdominal pain, and I had to be rushed to the hospital.

    Waiting in the emergency room for hours while in deep physical pain was a first test of patience. I passed the test because I had no other option. I couldn’t wait to be told I had indigestion and to be sent back home.

    When the ER doctor came into my tiny room and announced they would need to perform an appendectomy, I didn’t ask if I would be okay. Instead, I asked, “When will I heal? How long is it going to take?”

    Smiling, the doctor answered, “Two weeks.” I panicked. I could not possibly be in bed for two weeks! But the two weeks turned into four, and by the fourth week, I had finally learned my first advanced lesson: to be humble.

    My experience recovering from surgery taught me to slow down and to listen to my body, and once I allowed myself to relax, the healing happened.

    A few years later I was tested again, and this test would prove itself to be one of the hardest challenges in my life. I lost one of the people closest to me. This was someone who I thought would always be there for me.

    Beyond devastated, I fell into a depression. It wasn’t an immobilizing depression, but it led me to a period of deep grief and sadness.

    Weeks and months went by, but my negative feelings seemed to remain unchanged. Anxiety and fear crept in. I wanted to heal, but it wasn’t happening. The most pressing question in my head was, “When am I finally going to heal?”

    People would tell me, “You’ll be fine,” or “This too shall pass.” I listened to them, acknowledged their good intentions, and understood the message they wanted to convey. And yet, healing still didn’t happen.

    I was not able to heal until I was willing to be patient with myself and my emotions. 

    It was only when I let the feelings be and stopped putting a timeframe to my healing that I created the space my soul needed to receive the answer to my question: When will I heal?

    The first answer I received is that in a universe in which everything is in divine order, things might not happen as quickly as we want them to happen.

    The second answer is that, in order to heal, we need to take down the subconscious wall of anxiety built by our impatience. Once I took down this wall, grief lost its power over me.

    When I became patient, I realized I was in control, and once I gained control, emotional and spiritual healing started to manifest.

    Regardless of how fast I was healing, I wasn’t concerned about how quickly it happened. A Course in Miracles says, “Infinite patience produces immediate results.” The result I achieved by being patient was peace, and peace was automatic healing.

    So, whether you’re trying to lose weight, take on exercise, learn a new skill at work, or adjust to a cross-country move, keep the word patience in your mind.

    Allow yourself to be still, and remember that if you’re aligned with who you really are, all the pieces of the puzzle will fall into place at the right time.

    Spend some time in silence, and listen to the voice of your intuition, which is the voice of your true self. Sometimes you won’t be able to hear that voice, so be patient. Trust that you will receive the answers you seek in time.

    Finally, celebrate the small milestones: a pound lost, a mile ran, a spreadsheet done, a new neighbor met, a happy moment. As Lao Tzu said, “A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.”

  • Bounce Back from Unexpected Challenges Stronger and Happier

    Bounce Back from Unexpected Challenges Stronger and Happier

    Jumping

    “True happiness means forging a strong spirit that is undefeated, no matter how trying our circumstances.” -Daisaku Ikeda

    Let’s face it, whether big or small, stressful or simple, we all face challenges every day, some easier to deal with than others. Unfortunately, life doesn’t come equipped with an instruction manual to handle these challenges.

    No matter how much we try to plan in advance, calculate our every move, or predict what the future will bring, we can never prepare enough for the unexpected.

    The past eight months of my life have been filled with more twists and turns than the most popular roller coaster at Six Flags. As a control freak, I was suddenly forced to surrender to circumstance, forced to take a back seat and reflect on what my life was becoming.

    Sometimes it takes physical pain to get to the root of a deeper wound that you are unconsciously inflicting on yourself.

    Ever since the age of three, my heart and soul has thrived on dance. For me, the ability to connect emotionally with others through movement is something that is indescribably fulfilling.

    In May of 2012 I graduated college with my B.F.A in Dance. It marked the closing of four of the most demanding, stimulating, and downright remarkable years of my life. I grew emotionally, physically, and spiritually, molding into my adult self through incredible and trying experiences. I was healthy, in shape, and injury free.

    After graduation, I set my sights high upon New York City, anxious to jumpstart my dance career. I moved in August and set out with a willing heart, determined to make my dreams come true. My approach was frantic, maybe even fanatical.

    I needed a job, I needed to succeed, and I needed to prove myself.

    That’s when life threw a curve ball that stopped me dead in my tracks.

    I was taking a dance class before an audition when… twist, slip, fall, crack… In a blur I was in the ER clutching a broken leg, flooded with fear, anger, and distress. 

    After the initial shock of what happened, it started to sink in that I would be out of dance for a while. Realizing this setback after just arriving to NYC was heartbreaking. In that moment, all I could think about was “Why me?”

    I worked so hard and pushed so much to get to the top of my game, but in a way that was harming my body, physically and emotionally. I had let the competitive nature of the dance and theater scene get the better of me.

    Suddenly, I found myself away from my NYC apartment and newfound life and back home with my parents, trying to heal. As a young dancer whose body is her career, having life abruptly stop was devastating.

    Four months later I was able to return to the city to start again. Slowly progressing, I felt as if everything would heal. Then, another wrench in the plan: a follow up with the doctor revealing the fracture was not healing.

    Just when things were looking up, they felt as if they were sinking down again. I would need surgery, screws to set the broken bone back into place, and another five months of recovery.

    We all face setbacks at some point along life’s journey, and learning to bounce back is what really gives our spirit strength.

    Sometimes accidents happen for very good reasons. In my case, the universe was trying to tell me to slow down, that I have my whole life ahead of me to work and dance and love. Rome wasn’t built in a day.

    Yoga played a huge role in my recovery process, enabling me to overcome the overwhelming sense of failure and depression that came with my injury.

    Unable to do the physical asanas, I discovered the benefits of meditation, learning how to calm my frantic mind, and practicing acceptance toward the cards I had been dealt.

    In college, I started practicing yoga as a way to cross train and escape my hectic class schedule. Since then, the practice has become an anchor for me, its emotional and mental benefits saving me from self-destructive thought patterns and allowing me the chance to release away from, and be at peace with, the pressures of the real world.

    Before my injury, I started working a desk job at Pure Yoga in Manhattan to continue practicing yoga and to further my teaching skills. It was fate getting the job at Pure, as I landed myself right in the middle of an amazing community of loving, caring, and truly remarkable people. 

    Throughout my injury and recovery my friends at Pure have kept my spirits lifted, encouraging me to keep moving forward.

    When I returned to work, yoga was there alongside my friends to help me build back strength. It is so important to have a support system. When things get tough, your friends and family can hold you up—and you shouldn’t be afraid to let them.

    My setback produced another positive, as it led me to complete a 100-hour teaching certification in yoga therapeutics. I quickly became more involved with how important a role yoga plays in healing the body, mind, and spirit.

    Still getting my strength back, I have learned:

    1. Letting go brings abundance.

    Sometimes letting go is the absolute hardest thing to do. But when we hold on too tight, we leave no room for the light to get through.

    It’s like catching a feather: you have to hold out your hand and allow the feather to fall into your reach. You can’t catch a feather by frantically flailing and grasping for it. Once you loosen your grip on a perceived outcome, things start to unfold organically.

    Learning not to force things opens up the possibility for the brilliant and the extraordinary to happen.

    2. Believing in love will lift your soul.

    Believe that there are people in your life who love and believe in you. Believe that you are love, and that your soul has a limitless capacity to give and receive love.

    How does the simple act of believing make you feel? Worthy. Infinite. Content. Express compassion and gentility toward yourself, and to others, and you will open up to the possibilities life has to offer.

    3. Gratitude will ignite a light in the darkest of places. 

    When I first came out of my leg cast, the simple act of being able to put weight on my own two feet made me realize how grateful I am for my health, and how much we all tend to take it for granted.

    Be grateful for running to catch the subway in the pouring rain, because you can feel that rain on your skin and you can feel your feet as they pound the pavement. Experiencing gratitude in simplicity changes everything.

    Each day our yoga is to embody positivity, in every situation. Let go of what does not serve you to let abundance in. Believe in your strength to overcome. Be grateful.

    And don’t forget to breathe.

    Photo by Zach Dischner

  • How to Stop Fearing Disapproval: 3 Lessons from Accepting Judgment

    How to Stop Fearing Disapproval: 3 Lessons from Accepting Judgment

    “Lean too much on the approval of people, and it becomes a bed of thorns.” ~Tehyi Hsieh

    I remember reading somewhere that the best way to face a fear is through repeated exposure.

    In the case of my lifelong need for approval, I have found this to be true.

    For as long as I can remember, I have wanted, needed everyone to like me. And not just like me, but agree with and sanction my every choice through obvious signs of validation.

    I remember auditioning for a community theater production of Annie when I was twelve.

    My older sister, Tara—thinner, more popular, and, by my estimation, more talented—sang before me, and seemed to knock it out of the park.

    With a bold, Ethel Merman-like voice and a petite, 5’1” frame, you might have expected to see a hefty female ventriloquist offstage, throwing her voice while Tara lip-synced.

    But that was, in fact, her voice. It was larger than life, like her—and decidedly unlike me. I may have seemed like a quiet, shrinking violet type, but you’d likely have concluded otherwise if you heard the boisterous noise in my head.

    I believed everyone was constantly judging me, and I was terrified of those thoughts I couldn’t hear.

    By the time Tara belted out “You’re only a day away,” I had nearly collapsed into a hysterical ball of panic within a corner of my mind.

    I dreaded following her, both because I knew she was superior in every way possible and I hated being critiqued.

    Within five seconds of starting my song, I felt a quiver in my voice that seemed like it might have been a ripple effect of the trembling in my knees. Except it wasn’t. It was just sheer terror.

    Everyone was watching me—which people do when you’re on stage. And a part of me craved that, needed that. I desperately wanted them to like me, to cheer for me, to believe in me and want me there.

    That’s not what I felt was happening right then. I was sure that everyone would laugh at me behind my back because I plain and simply wasn’t good enough.

    It felt all but certain in the next instant, when I attempted a belting, vibrato-like note and instead cracked loudly and obviously.

    Right then—that’s the moment when I decided that a woman named Sandy, soon to be cast as Miss Hannigan, hated me. And why?

    She hated me, I concluded, because she gave me “a look.” Crack + look = repulsion and revulsion, at least to my twelve-year-old mind.

    Never mind that I couldn’t be certain that she did, in fact, look any different than usual. And forget for a minute the perhaps obvious alternative—that if she did look different, it may have actually been compassion.

    To me, her facial features melted together into an expression of absolute condemnation, and it was the physical representation of what I imagined everyone else was thinking, too: I was a pathetic joke.

    Flash forward many years later, and I’d learned to stuff down my insecurity with a long list of self-destructive behaviors, from bulimic rituals to occasional acts of self-harm.

    I frequently tortured and punished myself for reasons varied enough to fill more than a decade of therapy, but I think it was mostly an attempt to beat other people to it.

    It plain and simply hurts less to be rejected if you’ve already rejected yourself, and you’re already hurting.

    I was always hurting.

    Over the years, I was less often rejected, primarily because I minimized opportunities. It was a tactic I learned when dealing with intense bullying in school—it’s a lot safer to just not show up.

    I remember many times sitting in my room, looking at my window and imagining it was a TV screen. That’s what life outside it felt like—something to watch, not join.

    I’ve written quite a bit about the time between deciding to be part of the world and now, but in case you haven’t read any of it, here’s a haiku that sums up those experiences:

    I wanted a life
    I took risks and sometimes stumbled
    And I learned and grew

    By the time I started my first blog, I’d come a long way, but I was more “feeling the fear and doing it anyway” than experiencing relief from the fears.

    The first time I published a blog post, I watched the comments like the proverbial not-yet-boiling kettle—hoping for a little sizzle but afraid of getting burned.

    When the comments started coming in, it was feast or famine. I felt either a rush of acceptance-and-approval-triggered endorphins or the overwhelming anxiety of not being able to fight or flee in the face of judgment and criticism.

    It was magic or misery, the experience of writing online—instant gratification or self-recrimination.

    And that’s how I knew I needed to keep at it, to share my struggles, successes, and lessons even though I was far from perfect; perhaps I could be good for others and in doing so be good for me.

    On some level, I craved the joy of knowing I’d created something others liked. But somewhere inside, I also craved the criticism.

    No, I’m not a total masochist. I craved it because I knew that each time I confronted it, I could get better at dealing with it.

    As I look back on the past several years, and the almost two-decade journey of insecurity and growth before it, I am amazed to realize I have. I have gotten better at dealing with it.

    I’m by no means impervious to feelings of self-doubt, but as a consequence of putting myself out there in varied ways over and over again, out there feels a lot less scary. And here is why that is…

    1. I’ve learned that the “looks” are sometimes in our head—and when they’re not, we often have no idea what’s really behind them.

    Someone’s disapproval might be completely unrelated to us.

    Since we can’t know what’s on someone else’s mind unless they tell us, we can either offer a compassionate look back in case they need it, or take a curious look within to explore our own reaction.

    Anything else is a waste of energy—and over something we likely won’t remember for long.

    2. I’ve learned that people will sometimes vocalize their opinions harshly and insensitively.

    Conventional wisdom may suggest ignoring them—not letting “the haters” get us down.

    More often than not, it won’t be about hate. It will be about pain—theirs.

    We can feed off that and add to our own, or we can hear them out, look for seeds of truth, and leave behind whatever won’t help us grow.

    3. Lastly, I’ve learned that it’s impossible to avoid messing up, and consequently, feeling judged.

    We all “crack” every now and then, in one way or another. Outsiders may poke those shattered parts, right when we’re most vulnerable.

    But those fissures don’t have to mean anything about us, regardless of what others conclude. If anything, they can mean we have an opportunity to learn, grow, and prosper. As Leonard Cohen wrote, “There’s a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in.”

    Equally important, that’s how the light gets out.

    Perhaps that’s the greatest gift of this whole repeated exposure thing, the cyclical nature of it all—we’re all on both sides of this coin, showing up and being shown up for, seeing and being seen.

    We’re all powerful and fragile, breakable and strong. We each have the potential to hurt and to heal. Sometimes, oftentimes, it all blends together.

    And that’s something I’ve learned to like more than knowing you like me: the inevitability of all of us helping each other, whether we intend to or not.

    Growth is a consequence of doing, trying, risking, and making an effort, even if we’re terrified—especially if we’re terrified. The fear may never completely go away, but it ebbs, flows, and fades.

    So here’s to showing up, repeatedly. Here’s to being seen. And here’s to forgiving ourselves when we hide so we can let it go and then show up again.

    We don’t always need to stand center stage. We just need to know we gain more than we lose when we’re open to the light.

  • Get Unstuck: Stop Believing the Negative Stories You Tell Yourself

    Get Unstuck: Stop Believing the Negative Stories You Tell Yourself

    Break Free

    “You may not control all the events that happen to you, but you can decide not to be reduced by them.” ~Maya Angelou

    We’ve all done it, right? Somehow, somewhere, something bad happened to us and since that moment we’ve continued to tell ourselves the story about what might and could go wrong in our future.

    For me, the biggest negative pattern I’ve had to release stems from my parents’ divorce. For as long as I can remember, I’ve been a positive person. When I was a kid I was happy-go-lucky, nothing much bothered me, and life was pretty awesome.

    Also, being an only child I was always close with my parents. The thought that they wouldn’t be together was something that never entered my mind.

    Then they split up when I was 18 and things began to change. I made different choices and I also began to believe that all romantic relationships were doomed.

    A few years later, just after I had split up with my long-term partner, I was in LA spending a lovely afternoon watching US daytime TV. Nothing much was on, but every channel I flicked to seemed to mention the word “marriage” or “divorce.”

    I also happened to be reading Wayne Dyer’s Your Sacred Self at the time, and suddenly it all made sense:

    I had been telling myself stories like “Marriages never last forever” and “All relationships are doomed,” and in essence I was creating my reality.

    I finally realized that my beliefs about relationships had been causing me to attract those exact experiences.

    I was giving these negative stories power and acting on them. I was skeptical that I would be able to have a successful and happy relationship, which caused me to see everything that could go wrong. I ultimately initiated our break-up because I believed that it was inevitable.

    The very experiences we fear keep repeating themselves if we continue to focus on them and give them power. We’ve got to become aware and first change ourselves if we want our reality to change.

    Now that I’m a few years on from that, I have replaced my negative relationship beliefs with new, positive thought patterns.

    Now, I believe my current relationship is a lifetime partnership and as a result, I act in a way that manifests that type of relationship without worry and doubt. I take responsibility for my part of the relationship, and because I have positive thinking patterns I bring my best self to the table. This allows me and my partner to have confidence and faith as we plan our lives together.

    Our experiences reflect our beliefs, so it benefits us to make them positive.

    Here are a few questions to help you get to the root of your negative beliefs so you can make changes in your life:

    1. What are the negative stories you’ve been telling yourself?

    Is there an area in your life where you seem to struggle? Which experiences trigger negative thoughts?

    It’s time to narrow in on the beliefs that are keeping you from living the life that you want.

    2. Where do those negative beliefs come from?

    What happened in your past? Did someone in a position of authority make a negative comment about you that you’ve held on to?

    Just know that you can’t change what has happened or what someone said to you or about you. But you do have the power to decide not to allow those experiences to control your life in this moment.

    3. Why are you holding on to those negative beliefs?

    Which needs are you fulfilling by holding on to these beliefs? For example, are you getting attention by playing the victim?

    By not letting go of negative beliefs, we keep ourselves trapped in a vicious cycle, repeating the same pattern over and over again. Life will continue to give us lessons until we learn, grow, and move past it.

    We need to make a change within ourselves to move forward and break through to a new reality.

    4. What does your future look like if you let go of these beliefs?

    Close your eyes and imagine your future if you didn’t have these thoughts. Notice all the amazing things that you close yourself off from just by holding on to your negative beliefs.

    What can you do in this moment to move toward that future?

    Holding on to past experiences and old beliefs gives you an excuse to continue to repeat the same behavior. It justifies negative thought patterns and keeps you in that loop.

    It’s time to break the pattern and realize you have the power to shape your reality!

    Photo by Hanna Irblinger fotografie

  • Where True Happiness Comes From: How We Gain by Having Less

    Where True Happiness Comes From: How We Gain by Having Less

    “The things you own end up owning you. It’s only after you lose everything that you’re free to do anything.” ~Chuck Palahniuk

    Small is the new big. That is to say, minimalism and living with less is becoming a growing movement in America and it’s starting to catch on over here in the UK too.

    With the global economic crisis and changes in social attitudes, people are starting to realize that the more stuff we have, the more miserable and trapped we become. After all, stuff leads to debt, stress, and even increases our carbon footprint.

    Plus, living in larger homes with space we don’t really need only equals more stuff, more spending, and more worry. Then, when we run out of space, we move to a bigger property—or even rent storage space.

    Enough.

    Stuff doesn’t make us happy. We might get that initial glow of excitement when we purchase new things, but it doesn’t last. 

    True meaning and happiness come from experiences. From family and friends. From hobbies. It comes from the things that we do, rather than the things we own.

    Like most people, I followed the American Dream. I wanted the big house and garden. The nice car. The expensive clothes. I also wanted to portray an air of success to “get ahead” in the business world.

    As someone who runs their own business, there’s a perception that if you’re not moving along a certain path, you’re not considered to be successful. That if you don’t turn up to a meeting in a decent car or wearing expensive clothes, you won’t be taken seriously. That you’re not worth the money you’re charging.

    I guess this perception of wealth extends to our self-worth and confidence. We feel more empowered if we’re attending a meeting wearing the right clothes and carrying the right handbag, for instance.

    But then this false sentiment extends to our private lives, as well. We want our peers to think we’re successful. We’re embarrassed, for example, if we’re driving an old car or wearing last season’s fashions. We feel like we’re going backward rather than forward if we’re not “keeping up.”

    Of course, it’s easy to fall into this trap—assuming that we really must drive expensive cars, wear designer clothes, and buy things we don’t really need.

    It’s the way brands and big companies want us to feel. They want us to spend money, constantly consume, and place all our self-worth, confidence, and happiness on “stuff.”

    They want us to be on an endless mission to be happy through consumption and spending. I’m just relieved I’ve worked this out now and discovered the truth.

    Through my own endless pursuit to be happy and seemingly successful, I was miserable and constantly running on a treadmill to keep up with my excessive lifestyle. When I say excessive, it probably wouldn’t seem that way to others. Most people would see this typical way of life as pretty normal.

    At some point though, it stopped being normal to us and we had a “Eureka!” moment. We realized that we didn’t need all that space, let alone all that stuff. So, we sold our big house, got rid of our expensive car, and started to think about minimal living.

    What could we get by without? What did we really need anyway?

    Well, we’ve just bought a 600 square foot apartment in the city. It’s got one bedroom, one bathroom, an open-plan living space, and a little balcony.

    We’ve downsized our stuff and now only have what we need. Sure, there are a few luxuries but for the most part we’re a lot lighter than we used to be.

    How do we feel? We have no debt, we have less stress, and we don’t have to work as hard to maintain our lifestyle. Because we live in such a small space, housework takes no time at all. And with no garden, we don’t spend hours maintaining a lawn or borders.

    This means we have more time. And that time is dedicated to ourselves. To hobbies, experiences, and family and friends. We also have more money to spend on doing things like travel, concerts, or even French lessons.

    Because of our new lifestyle, we’ve never been happier or more comfortable. Our lives are rich with meaningful experiences and relationships. And many others who are following this minimalist lifestyle are enjoying the same benefits.

    I personally think the age of consuming could be coming to an end. It’s certainly starting to lose momentum. People are realizing there’s a big difference between “want” and “need.”

    And with an increasing population and higher land prices, the future could be quite small compared to the way we live now. It might be that minimalism becomes a necessity rather than a lifestyle choice.

    Do you feel like you’re weighed down by your things? Do you find yourself constantly working to pay for the expensive things you own? Are you lying awake at night stressed and worried about debt? 

    Why not try a little minimalism? You don’t have to go to the extremes I’ve gone to. You could just downsize a few bits and bobs. Buy less stuff. Or even swap your car for a cheaper mode of transport?

    And instead of spending money on things, why not invest in experiences? In relationships? In the times that set your soul on fire and make you jump for joy? Why not create those precious memories that have you grinning from ear to ear every time you recall them?

    Because you know what they say: You can’t take it with you. But you can certainly be satisfied that you lived a wonderful life.

    The Good Life painting by Tracy Booth

  • How to Release Anxiety and Feel Peaceful, Calm, and Free

    How to Release Anxiety and Feel Peaceful, Calm, and Free

    “I vow to let go of all worries and anxiety in order to be light and free.” ~Thich Nhat Hanh

    For a long time I have struggled with episodes of anxiety. At times, I’ve gotten a feeling of crushing fear that occurs even in situations that most people consider to be safe.

    The first episodes I remember were from my early childhood, when I was so frightened that I used to cry all the way from home to kindergarten because I didn’t want to go, although I apparently had no reason.

    As I grew up, I learned to hide this anxiety by doing the things I was good at. During high school I discovered that I loved computers, and I felt confident and safe, as I knew that I could achieve something in this field.

    When it was time to go to college, I decided to study computer science. I wanted to build applications, as many as possible. But I soon discovered that school was not like that; long classes of mathematics and physics were ahead of me, classes that had nothing to do with my dream.

    During my second year, my anxiety started to strike back. I was feeling exhausted, and I had a feeling that everything I did was worthless.

    After some months of living with the fear, I decided to do something about it: I took a shot at one of the local software companies. Although there were a lot of obstacles, I was willing to fight them all, as I had the feeling that I was on the right track again.

    The next hop was during my fourth and final year when I started to feel that I was stuck in one place.

    The tasks I’d been given at work were very similar, and I started feeling bored. But behind this feeling of boredom, my anxiety grew again. Along with this anxiety came a feeling of frustration, because I thought I wasn’t able to change my job.

    When I finally decided to go, I found out that the step was too big for me. My body suffered under the huge amount of stress that I had put on myself over the years.

    Although my colleagues at my new workplace were friendly, I couldn’t break the feeling of fear. I quit after three weeks, deciding to take a long break to think about my future.

    What I didn’t know at the time was that my anxiety would come with me wherever I went.

    I needed a brand new way of dealing with it, so I decided to break it once and for all by developing a healthier mindset.

    Here are some of the realizations and choices that helped me release my anxiety, along with how I put them into practice. Anxiety can have many different causes, but perhaps something from my experience will be helpful to you:

    1. Remember that good enough is the new perfect.

    I’ve always tried to be the best in everything I’ve done, and this has led to a huge amount of anger and stress. I decided that it was okay to let go from time to time. I didn’t have to get nervous for every exam; I didn’t have to win all the time. It was okay just to play the game.

    Doing this, I also managed to develop better friendships and relationships. I discovered that my “I want to win everything” attitude was placing everyone in an enemy position.

    When you focus less on being the best, you release the pressure you’ve put on yourself.

    2. Stop multitasking.

    Although this may not seem to have anything to do with anxiety, it’s related. I used to do a lot of things at the same time: work, check my phone, answer emails, make small talk with somebody, and so on.

    These interruptions made me lose track of where I was standing, and those times when you feel lost are a great place for anxiety to settle in.

    Focus on one thing at a time and be mindful in that one activity, and you’ll naturally feel less anxious.

    3. Stop avoiding things that you don’t like.

    I was always afraid of going to crowded places, such as supermarkets and malls. I’d tell myself, “This time it’s okay not to go. Next time you’ll feel more confident.”

    But that never happened. The next time I had to face the situation, my body knew that the previous time, I had let fear win. So instead of dealing with the feelings in one situation, I had to deal with feelings from two.

    Now, instead of avoiding things when I am scared, I always tell myself, “This is the best time to face my fear! Bring it on!”

    Don’t hide from the unavoidable situations that make you anxious; little by little, condition yourself to work through your feelings.

    4. Find a passion that calms you.

    I noticed that in periods of great stress I seemed to have nothing to enjoy. Friends would tell me to take a day off or do something I liked, but I had a hard time finding things I liked.

    During these days I’d sit in my bed, turning from one side to another, and then return to work more tired than I was when I left.

    One day I remembered that, as a kid, I had a dream of running every morning before everybody woke up.

    After a month of daily runs, I can say that I feel awesome. Whenever I feel anxious, I picture myself running, take a few deep breaths, and I calm myself down instantly.

    5. Focus on the things that you can control.

    In the past, I often complained about not feeling well. I was convinced that I was ill, even though I had lots of medical tests all stating that I was healthy. The symptoms that I encountered were dizziness, lightheadedness, and tension all over my body.

    As frightening as these were at the time, I realized that it was my obsession with control that was causing them. I was always asking myself, “Am I feeling well?“

    In worrying about the symptom, it became real.

    I’ve learned that I cannot control my body. I can only control my thoughts—but my thoughts directly influence how I feel physically. Now and then when I feel dizzy, I take a moment to ask myself, “Am I causing this by worrying?”

    6. See anxiety as an opportunity.

    In retrospect, I see that anxiety was probably the best thing that ever happened to me. It was when I felt anxious that I knew that I had to make changes—with my approach to my work, my passions, and my mindset.

    Anxiety goes away only when we learn what it’s teaching us. That is when we can move on.

  • Dare to be Different: Why It’s Okay to Break the Mold

    Dare to be Different: Why It’s Okay to Break the Mold

    Be Different

    “Criticism is something you can easily avoid by saying nothing, doing nothing, and being nothing.” ~Aristotle

    Who am I? This is a question that haunts us all at some point, especially when the people around us are trying to constantly answer this question for us.

    How do we remain true to ourselves in a world that is constantly trying to make us something else?

    I can tell you that it isn’t easy.

    I work as a full-time police officer in a busy department. In police work, everything is supposed to fit in its right place, and there is an established value system in place. In my experience the police system is founded on one major theme, and everyone is expected to conform to this mold:

    Command is valued over communication.

    This is an area where I have done a great job making myself an outcast.

    You see, I chose to join a career where the belief system of the work is contradictory to my own.

    I genuinely care for people, and I value communication above all else in my work. I prefer to talk instead of yell, and ask instead of tell.

    My way of doing the job greatly differs from almost everyone else in my profession.

    I have also noticed that I tend to get a lot further when I am dealing with people, and get in a lot less confrontational situations than my co-workers. Coincidence?

    The truth is that people will do everything they can to make you conform to their “rules.” Because the police world is such a strong subculture, there is a lot of pressure to conform and breaking the established “rules” is even more taboo.

    It can be exhausting sometimes to remain true to yourself in an environment where everyone expects you to be something else.

    We have established that it is difficult and uncomfortable to be different, so why not just conform? The mold is there for a reason, right?

    I can’t answer that question for you, but I can tell you that the mold didn’t work for me.

    Let me explain why.

    The reason I do things the way I do is because there are people that need and depend on me to be true to myself. The last thing the world needs is one more stereotypical burnt out cop.

    Don’t be so afraid to color outside of the lines that you never pick up your crayon!

    You have a unique perspective to offer that no one else does, so share it!

    I can’t tell you how many thank you’s and phone calls I have received for my openness and helpfulness at work. All because I choose to do things differently.

    I have helped to change people’s lives simply by being true to myself. I have gotten through to people that other officers haven’t been able to by because I don’t fit the mold. I promise you, nothing feels better than following the path in your heart.

    Realize I am not saying that my way is better than any other way. I am simply sharing that the different approach that I bring to work has proven to be invaluable to others.

    Also it is important to realize that being true to yourself means you might bump heads with other people. That is okay!

    If there isn’t any conflict in human interaction it usually means one person is compromising their beliefs in some way. A little bit of conflict is natural; accept it and learn from it.

    There is a sort of catch that comes with breaking the mold though.

    It definitely isn’t the easy road and you are going to face some difficulties. At least I know that I have.

    What can you expect if you choose to break the mold?

    Will you be mocked? You bet

    Misunderstood? Count on it.

    Outcasted? Most likely

    And all of it will be worth it. To the people you help and to your happiness in life, there is no alternative. You have to be true to yourself, against all odds.

    I have had insulting posters made about me and posted up at work and I have been openly mocked for my way of doing things by other officers. I have been told on multiple different occasions walking up to a scene with violent individuals “Why don’t you just go give them a hug”… as if I don’t understand that the world isn’t that simple.

    This is the price I pay for staying true to myself, and I grin and bear it. Because every time someone tells me I was the only person on the scene who really listened to them, and that I made a difference in their life, it makes it all worth it.

    My way of living has been difficult, but also equally rewarding for me. I chose not to compromise my beliefs just to fit in, and I would gladly do it again.

    The choice of who you will be is ultimately up to you.

    If you choose to break the mold, I offer some advice to help you find your way:

    1. Intimately get to know who you are and what you represent.

    Without a crystal clear view of your identity, it will be difficult to survive the pressure and ridicule. Get to know yourself more. Spend time meditating, writing out your feelings, and organizing your thoughts before you make any big decisions.

    2. Try not to take things personally.

    What you need to realize is that humans attack what they don’t understand. It isn’t that they dislike or disapprove of you; it is that they don’t understand what you represent.

    Realize that the attacks are not personal, no matter how they sound. The people attacking you are really just protecting their own ideals, because what you represent makes them question their values.

    3. Realize that you are unique and important, despite what the people around you may say.

    Your opinion and approach matters just as much as everyone else’s!

    Once you start walking your own path, never turn back. Walk through life with your head held high knowing that you never comprised what is in your heart.

    Being true to yourself will eventually earn you respect among many of your peers. I have had this happen to me, and I have more than a few co-workers who understand my approach and respect it. Coincidentally, these co-workers are the officers I always looked up to. We handle situations differently, but we respect each other’s methods. This type of support will go a long way to keeping you on course.

    Even a few of the officers who initially gave me the hardest time have started to be more respectful. It takes time, but it does get easier.

    If you ever feel alone on your path, realize that you are in good company. Almost all the great people in history chose to break the mold and to walk their own path.

    Starting right now, I challenge you walk your own path and don’t compromise your beliefs for anyone.

    Take the first step and never turn back.

    Photo here

  • The Gains in Our Losses: Growing Through the Pain

    The Gains in Our Losses: Growing Through the Pain

    Loss

    “In this world of change, nothing which comes stays, and nothing which goes is lost.”  ~ Anne Sophie Swetchine

    I’ve always been a “cat guy.” This was long before my Buddhist friends told me stories of how cats are true earthly masters, here on earth to show us the way. Or, to demonstrate the meditative perfection of the feline purr. Or, how the life of a cat is seen in some traditions as reward for good karma.

    When I lived in rural Nova Scotia, the house was blessed with two cats named Midge and Mooch—tabby mixes, who would come and go as they pleased, and were kind enough, if not overly affectionate.

    I kept asking for a cat of my own, and my folks eventually buckled. For my seventh birthday, I received a black and white kitten with golden eyes and a salmon-pink nose. He took to me instantly. Love at first meow.  

    My parents kept pushing me to name him, but whenever I asked what he wanted to be called, he’d just scamper off. Cats are coy like that.

    A few weeks later, my dad pulled out a Canadian road atlas and told me to point to the first town that caught my eye. And that’s how we finally settled on a name: Kitchener.  

    I’d call for him, and he’d come without too much argument, so I guess the name wasn’t that offensive, all things considered.

    For a lonely kid who lived in the middle of Granville Ferry—population 820—this was as close to friendship as I was likely to get. And it was more than enough.  

    A week after school let out for the summer, I was playing across the road on a rope swing attached to the neighbor’s big elm tree. Kitchener would follow me sometimes, climbing up the trunk and perching above as I swung. I’d lean back to scan the sky, comforted by the blurred canopy of branches, and the tiny black and white face nestled within.

    I heard my mom yell that dinner was in 20 minutes. It was a Sunday, so that meant pizza night; homemade dough, tomato paste, cheap chunks of pepperoni, and cheddar cheese were manna from heaven for a seven year old. I leapt off the dangling wooden plank and ran across the road.

    I didn’t hear Kitchener yowl behind me. I didn’t hear the hooded jogger, approaching in the looming dusk, shout an urgent warning. I didn’t hear the engine of the ‘68 Chevy growling down the highway, its elderly American passengers ripe with thoughts of seaside picnics and historic lighthouses. The only thing I heard was screaming. Mine.  

    Screaming through the pain, and blood, and terrifying confusion. Strobing in and out of consciousness, I remember my dad suddenly appearing over me, pale and distraught, and tearing off his flannel overcoat. For some reason, he started beating my leg with it.

    I screamed again—howled, actually. He rolled me over, and almost fainted.

    I’d find out later that my shoe and pant-leg were on fire; I had slid across the road so fast after the impact that they ignited. It didn’t help that I flew face-first. Or, that I had a compound fracture.  

    I can’t imagine how my father felt when he flipped me over and saw the sticky crimson mask, and the shattered fibula and tibia tent-poling through my jeans and flesh. His only child—adopted, no less—the source of all this horror.

    The rest of the injury tale is for another day. Suffice to say, I was hospitalized, hammered and stitched, physio’ed, and sent home with a cast up to my hip. But I wasn’t sad.

    Even with the permanent loss of 100% mobility, and the fact that we had just installed an aboveground pool. (Yup, the Simpsons copied my life. I’m assured the royalty check is in the mail.)

    I wasn’t sad because I had my kitty to come home to. Kitchener would be there for me no matter what, because that’s how best friends roll. 

    Except that he wasn’t. I’d call from my army cot in the living room, louder with each passing day, but only Midge and Mooch would come sniffing. I asked my parents to look for him back in the garden and across the road. They’d just wring their hands and promise to try.

    You see, I’d been in the Halifax Sick Kids’ Hospital for nearly a week. My folks would make the 150-mile trek every day, bringing hopeful smiles, get-well cards from neighbors, and portable cribbage and chessboards to play on. They’d sneak in cake and popsicles, help the nurse with my bedpan, and keep me from picking the scabs off my face.

    But what they didn’t do—what they failed to tell me—was that Kitchener was dead.

    They found him on the side of the road one morning, on the way to visit me. In the same spot where I was hit. He was less than a year old. Almost seven in human years. The same age as me.

    They buried him on the back acreage, near the edge of the vegetable garden. Beside the old colonial graveyard where I used to lay on stone slabs from the 1700’s and see faces in the clouds. Where Kitchener would stalk mice and bees, while making sure I didn’t get too lost in heavy, lonesome thoughts.

    My dad put me in a small utility trailer attached to the riding mower, and took me out to see the grave. It was just a small mound of dirt, crowned by hollyhocks, bluebells, and long grass. I don’t think I cried then. I only remember not looking at that mound of dirt again until months later, when I was able to hobble there by myself.

    I was seven years old when my cat died. I’ve tasted death since. Other pets. Family members.  Good friends. Lovers. But Kitchener was my first. And when my young, broken self stared down at the tiny grave months later, a calm washed over me as the tears began to flow.

    It was like a contract had been fulfilled. A life for a life. A great love. A tragic loss. And, a profound lesson.

    During our brief time together, Kitchener brought the fuzziness of my existence into focus. Up until then, I had felt distant from life. Removed. Like I’d never truly be understood, so therefore I wasn’t meant to be a part of the world around me.

    But his presence snapped a fearful, self-absorbed child out of his shell. His touch made that boy feel more connected to another living being than he had ever dreamed of feeling. His purr filled that young, damaged heart with such complete joy that the thought of ever losing it wasn’t ever a consideration. 

    I’ve learned that not all attachments are bad, even when they hurt (especially so)—unlike our expectations, our whims and desires, our material goods, or our fair-weather friendships. The real bonds—the ones we form on the deepest, most meaningful, most vulnerable levels—they touch us, and change us, and the truth of them endures.

    My little friend and I will always be together. Always. Frolicking in sunbeams in the infinite moment. But he could only teach me this by breaking my heart in death.

    My first guru had four feet. I guess my Buddhist friends were right after all.

    Sometimes we gain through loss. We just need to be willing to see the lesson and let ourselves grow through the pain.

    Photo by Lel4nd

  • The One Thing You Need to Know to Overcome Perfectionism

    The One Thing You Need to Know to Overcome Perfectionism

     “You’re imperfect and you’re wired for struggle but you are worthy of love and belonging.” ~Brene Brown

    There’s nothing perfect about me, and I’m okay with that… now. This wasn’t the case for most of my life, though. In fact, I’ve been a perfectionist for almost thirty years. I’m not counting the first five years of my life when I was free to be as messy and magical as I wanted.

    In third grade I asked my mom to buy me a stack of lined notebooks and colored pens. I spent hours neatly labeling each notebook by class, date, and assignment deadlines. If I made one mistake, like a jagged cursive letter or a misspelling, I’d rip out the page and begin again on a fresh sheet.

    This was tiring but it was also a compulsion. Everything had to be neat and ordered or else—or else I’d be out of control, scared, and overwhelmed.

    Before the divorce, my parents rarely fought, but my father’s frequent absences and his coolness toward my sister and me sparked a firestorm in me.

    Expressing anger wasn’t a thing in our family, especially for women. That simply wasn’t Christian enough or loving enough or good enough.

    So I denied my anger and my sadness and, most of all, my fear that my family was breaking apart and I couldn’t do anything to stop it.

    Inside I burned like coals after a long night’s fire. I never let it get too hot. I played the good child, the loving daughter and sister, but my life was out of control. Thus began my long dance with perfectionism.

    In my twenties I tried to be a perfect girlfriend, perfect student, and perfect employee, all the while denying the expression of my full self, imperfections and all. Even when I dressed the part of the disaffected adolescent, I was perfect at it all the way down to my spiked hair and scuffed Doc Martins.

    At parties, I perfected the art of banter and hosted like no one else. All was accounted for, each detail a way for me to control life.

    I never realized that perfectionism was an attempt to avoid all rejection, all criticism, and all failure. It was a matter of life or death.

    Perfectionism saved me from drowning, but it didn’t help me to swim. I was treading water, staying safe, and desperately trying to control my reality, which is never truly possible. What I realized later was at the heart of perfectionism is the desire for love and acceptance.

    Life is a practice and when we practice we make mistakes. The desire for love and acceptance are universal. There is no shame in mistakes, just an opportunity to learn and to grow.

    No matter the root causes of your perfectionism or your desire for it, know that it is a desire for love and acceptance and there is another path to get there. Maybe your family only showed you love and attention when you did everything right. Or your boss only notices your work when you slave over every detail.

    Maybe you feel the need to challenge yourself to be bigger and do better in your work and your relationships. This is not a bad thing. But there’s a difference between excellence and perfection.

    The One Thing You Need to Know to Overcome Perfectionism

    Surrender.

    When we surrender to the moment, to change, to messiness or imperfection, we allow the seeds of excellence to grow. Excellence is that drive toward raising ourselves up to our own highest good thereby allowing our unique gifts, talents, and personalities to benefit the highest good of all.

    Excellence, unlike perfectionism, is about lovingly pushing ourselves to act, think, relate, and create from the highest part of ourselves.

    Perfectionism is about trying to control the outcome in order to receive love and acceptance. It’s all about fear. Surrender is about accepting where we are at in any moment, knowing that we are a work in progress.

    Love and surrender gently tug us toward our own centers and ultimately to the center of the universe, which only knows love. Surrender also invites self-forgiveness, an act all perfectionists need to practice daily.

    3 Tips to Manage Perfectionism

    1. Laugh.

    About anything. Do it often. Having a sense of humor about ourselves and our actions, especially embarrassing or disappointing experiences, doesn’t have to be a shield or form of protection. Humor can heal or at least create enough dopamine and endorphins to get us through the tough moments.

    2. Forgive, forgive, forgive. Most of all, yourself.

    Forgiveness is actually a selfish act. This is not a bad thing. Forgiveness releases us from fear-based thoughts and emotions. It is the gateway to surrendering our perception of control over our lives and over the actions of others.

    3. Surround yourself by free spirits.

    If you can’t find anyone like that in your circle of friends, then read about them or watch movies about dreamers and risk-takers—people who’ve failed or made huge mistakes only to overcome them and create an even better life than they could have imagined.

    This is why mythology was used to help people transition from one phase of life to another in many cultures. There is power in story and identifying with a character who has gone through many trials and adventures only to re-emerge as the hero.

    After thirty years of perfecting perfectionism, I’ve finally learned to let go of controlling every detail of my life. It’s scary sometimes, and there are days when I want to organize and reorganize my desk instead of facing what’s really bothering me.

    But those difficult, uncomfortable, and challenging moments pass much quicker when I simply exhale and surrender to whatever is in my heart and in my mind. A softening occurs, and my body finally relaxes instead of being constantly braced for struggle.

    I may still compare myself to that social media dynamo who effortlessly attracts a huge following on Facebook or avoid looking at myself as I pass a store window for fear of being disappointed by my reflection, but now I just smile and keep going, knowing that this too shall pass.

  • Dealing with Loneliness: Hold onto Patience, Not the Past

    Dealing with Loneliness: Hold onto Patience, Not the Past

    loneliness

    “Patience is not passive; on the contrary, it is active; it is concentrated strength.” ~Edward G. Bulwer-Lytton

    Last night, I discovered the tiniest of creatures in my shower: a minute scorpion, no larger than the average human fingernail.

    I could not for the life of me work out how it had ended up here because I live on the third floor of an apartment building in a busy South African city. Nonetheless, there it was—a little fellow in the corner of the tiles, receiving ricocheted water droplets on his tiny little carapace.

    My main personal learning theme for this year seems to be patience, and, whether initiated by the universe or by my own hand,  I have set out to embrace it in everything I do.

    Starting my first job in January required me to apply patience in many ways: in my interactions with co-workers and clients, in driving in to work every morning in such a bustling city, in waiting for a slot between several adjacent meetings to eat my lunch. Most importantly, it required me to exert patience on myself.

    Patience has never really been a strength of mine, especially with regard to relationships.

    I was a serial monogamist since I was 17, bridging each ending relationship with a romance that I could immediately start. Even small gaps between these adjacent relationships were filled with several casual physical interactions just to ensure that bridge was securely built.

    But somehow, it has been over a year since my last romantic commitment to another human, and I have learned to curb my need for somewhat less committed relationships to a great extent too.

    On the second night since the little being’s arrival, I could not find it anywhere. I bent down to examine every crevice, every dimple, every crack. Nowhere.

    I was concerned it may have ended up under my duvet, but decided to deal with that concept closer to bedtime.

    For now, I could remain blissfully unaware.

    I got into the shower and, after a few moments, the scorpion appeared to me mere centimeters from where it was discovered.

    I picked it up with an ear bud and it reared its tail and claws at me, before promptly turning and marching straight down the hard plastic rod away from me. I decided it would be best to release him outside, where he would hopefully find a decent meal and undergo less stress.

    After a good couple of flicks of the ear bud outside of my window, he let go. I released him to the external world knowing that the large tree ferns below my apartment would cushion his fall.

    I suddenly felt sadness wash over me for a reason I could not instantly grapple. It was such a transient little creature and I had so little to do with its life—nor did it have very much to do with mine. So why did it make me pause to feel and think?

    It became clear that the metaphor had struck my subconscious mind and was allowing me to work through feelings, those that I had previously not fully embraced, in a safer environment.

    The scorpion was akin to many a romantic partner: showing up from seemingly nowhere, planting themselves in the heart of our lives for a moment, and then inevitably vanishing from our existence.

    And sometimes, when a romantic partner gets ripped away, we panic in the void left behind, and make hasty decisions to fill it with something or anything at all.

    When my last relationship ended, I felt so terribly empty, as if part of me had evaporated alongside him as he walked away from me for the last time. He told me that I was not “the one.” I translated this as him saying that I could not be loved by him because I was innately flawed, beyond being lovable.

    So I threw myself into an active social life. I met people while out in bars—people who seemed to see the beauty in me—and established whatever form of connection with them they would allow me to have.

    Again and again, all they allowed me was a material connection based on physical need. I was fooled by them wanting to see me again. All they wanted was a repeat of the night we met. All I needed was to be deemed loveable.

    When they saw this need in me, they ended their connection without contemplation or care, and I didn’t always see it coming. But I was dragging this behaviour out of them. I was the cause and the effect. I was the sole player in the game. They were not to blame.

    Lovers and partners may exit in innumerable ways: they may aggressively march out of your life, they may gently release you, or they may leave you breathless by their abrupt and unjustified departure. They may leave this earth physically altogether. You may do the equivalent to your lovers and partners.

    I wandered into three considerable outcomes, and justifications, of patience.

    • Only patience allows us to fully understand why important people in our lives come and go.
    • Only patience allows us to reap the lessons of a past emotional interaction in its entirety.
    • Only patience from the point of solitude onwards will allow us to wander into a truly constructive circumstance with another human being.

    To liberate others is to liberate oneself. And vice versa.

    I then recognized that I had been holding on to some things (or someones) for a long time. People that I consciously remembered had left my world, but part of whom were still with me.

    I held onto their messages, gifts to me, and belongings they had left at my apartment. I held onto the things they said to me out of sheer gratitude and love for me, and replayed these over and over in my head, out loud. I held onto the smiles that I had caused. I held onto the idea that they would come back.

    These were not the full, whole, and meaningful parts. These were exoskeletons—something left behind that the person no longer needed when they moved on, but that I held tightly in my grasp to reassure myself that I was not alone.

    And in no way will these parts ever be that person. In no way will these elements ever represent the entirety of a being. In fact, they are warped memories that are left by your mind to comfort you and nourish your wounds, but are anything but true.

    My last romantic relationship’s end had been the most peaceful departing that I had ever experienced. He had gently released me. But for a while, I was lost—with the shell of him, and (seemingly) as a shell of myself.

    The fear of not being complete when solitary can be devastating. You are more inclined to stick with people who abuse and degrade you. You are more likely to pass up opportunities that may lead you to fulfilment in your career and personal life if they don’t allow you to stay with the person you’re bound to.

    Your confidence and lust for life diminishes when you are alone, and you may make harmful and self-destructive decisions.

    The time I have spent “alone” has been remarkable. I have embraced my deepest fear: loneliness. I have been afforded the opportunity to see my courage, and my scorpion-like perseverance.

    Now that I hold onto patience and not the past, I am more free. My confidence has been amplified, my sleep and concentration have improved, my moods have stabilized, pursuing my passions has a daily place in my life, I show more love to the people that matter, and I am a more easy-going person. In an interesting way, this all sets me up to meet the right people as a side effect.

     I encourage you to hold onto patience, and not the past, too.

    One of the easiest ways to instantly gain patience is to carry out a kind of on-the-spot meditation. When you are feeling overwhelmed or flustered by guilt, sadness, or regret from your past, stop your thoughts altogether and focus on the tension in your muscles, especially your face, neck and shoulders.

    Blink slowly, and let this tension go with a deep breath. You are not your worst mistakes. You are not the person from yesterday, or last month, or the previous year. You are present in this moment as a full human being. You have the ability and freedom to make new choices.

    Photo by Raj

  • Be the Hero of Your Story: Make Your Life Count

    Be the Hero of Your Story: Make Your Life Count

    Seize the Moment

    “Bad things do happen; how I respond to them defines my character and the quality of my life. I can choose to sit in perpetual sadness, immobilized by the gravity of my loss, or I can choose to rise from the pain and treasure the most precious gift I have—life itself.” ~Walter Anderson

    Flying. I love flying.

    No, I’m not some sick person who likes getting strip-searched by TSA, or waiting several hours to board a flight that should have arrived at my destination already. I hate that part, but I love the part when the plane takes off, and I especially love the part right before the plane touches down.

    Maybe its because I’ve inhaled so much recirculated air, or maybe its because I’m jet lagged and in some overly tired, trance-like state, but I love the initial descent.

    During the initial descent the destination becomes clear when you look outside the window. Oh, I love the window seat. Every time without fail, I gaze outside and look at the lights of the houses and buildings as the plane flies by.

    Every time a very similar thought comes to my mind: Inside each house there is a person or a family, people experiencing highs and lows, people laughing and crying, people living and people dying.

    For some reason this obvious thought is comforting to me. Maybe it’s because it’s proof that although we are all infinitesimal in the grand scheme of things, we are all sharing in a collective human experience.

    I think there is meaning in life, which made this plane ride ultimately more difficult than any other, because I was returning home to bury my twenty-seven-year-old brother.

    A day after the burial, my father and I met up with some of his close friends to collect my brother’s personal belongings and view the site “where it happened.”

    I remember that day so clearly. It was bright and warm for the chilled wintertime in northern California. It wasn’t the type of day you’d expect for death; it was as if the weather didn’t care.

    People asked me why it was so important that I know how it happened. 

    I tried to explain that I just wanted some answers, but a common response was that “knowing” wouldn’t bring him back. Obvious, true, and painful, but I’ve always had a need to know, and I was determined to try and make sense of it and uncover what had happened.

    At the site, I went over all of the possibilities in my head as if I were the investigator. Maybe he’d tried to answer his cell phone? Maybe he’d fallen asleep? Maybe the truck had malfunctioned? Maybe? Maybe? Maybe?

    I needed to know what had caused the one-ton truck to blow over a power pole and crash forty feet across a water-filled ditch into a dirt embankment, causing the truck to fold like an accordion.

    Maybe I needed to know because I have an image in my head of my brother lying helpless in the mangled cabin of that truck, waiting, hoping for someone to come out there and help him.

    According to the traffic and police reports, it was almost two hours until someone arrived on scene because he was commuting in the country. In fact, if he hadn’t hit a power pole, and someone hadn’t been unable to watch their midnight TV programming, it may have even been longer till someone got out to the site.

    The police report said that my brother was pronounced dead at the time of arrival, but still, my thoughts turn to those unaccounted-for two hours.

    Fate. Is there a single force that determines our lives? Maybe there is a higher power that has a plan for all of us? Maybe we have the ability to determine our own destiny? Maybe? Maybe? Maybe?

    I don’t find comfort in answers that rely upon faith. I come from the school of doubt. I am not out to discredit anyone’s religion or philosophies on life; on the contrary, I think all can be good if they help each person live a meaningful and responsible life, but there are simply more questions than answers, and I don’t want to base my life on theory.

    I am not a pessimistic person—you can ask anyone who knows me—but I instantly discredit everything, even my own ideas. It seems there is some sort of circular logic paradox, where for every idea, there is another idea that counters it. Life is one big paradox.

    “Life sucks, and then you….”

    I’m sorry for the cliché, but this is important. We’ve all heard this phrase before, and we know how it ends: “…and then you die.”

    But if you are reading this, you are not dead yet. And if you have felt the way I’ve felt, life does suck.

    No sense trying to sugar coat it: sometimes, it just plain sucks. I’m here to tell you that that’s okay. In fact, it’s good that life sometimes sucks—and you’re not dead yet.

    I recall the last time I saw my brother alive. Fortunately, I made the decision to take additional time off of work for Thanksgiving instead of Christmas, and got a few additional days with him.

    On my Thanksgiving trip back home, we did a lot of our regular activities: We BSed about good times in the past, drank and sang karaoke at our favorite Irish Pub, singing till our throats got sore and then singing some more, and we spent time with our family and friends.

    However, this trip home, and this time spent with my brother, was different from any other time.

    My brother spent most of his adult life with a large chip on his shoulder. I suppose a lot of people have such chips weighing them down because “life sucks.” This was his attitude.

    Not all the time, of course. He had some great times, some amazing moments; I know this because we had them together. But the chip was always there, sometimes just below the surface.

    On this last trip home, something was different. We still went out drinking at karaoke, but this time he put me in the cab. This time he picked up the bill. This time his chip had some real passion behind it.

    He told me definite plans he had for the future. He had started to seriously date. He had even picked a vocation that he was happy about; he was going to be an electrician, saying to me, “I like working with my hands.”

    Make no mistakes about it: my brother had started taking responsibility for his life.

    “Life sucks, and then you die” is an incomplete sentence. It’s the wrong side of the paradox to take because meaning in life comes from what we each do. Life just is, and we are all unique artists with the ability to create our own masterpiece. If positive and negative are two sides of a coin, we don’t have to flip it and leave it to chance.

    I have often asked myself, if I died right now, how would I feel about my life? The retrospective questions seem to supply the fullest answers.

    Maybe you have done this before, or maybe this is the first time you have dared to ask such a question. Everyone’s answer may be different, and the way they feel about it may be different.

    Regardless, it can be empowering. Life is all we know for certain we have. Say what you will about religious belief and potential other planes of existence. The now is here; living it fully is about believing and having faith in ourselves.

    What I saw in my brother that day, for the first time, was a slight shift in attitude that had moved him into action. He’d started to be the hero of his own life story.

    Tragic as the brevity of his life is, the real tragedy would have been never making the change. My brother Justin is my inspiration, a source of newfound strength, and a reminder that it is never too late to start a new journey.

    During the initial descent, the destination becomes clear when you look out the window. Flying overhead I see the shimmering lights of human experience and I have perspective; when I land, it is up to me to decide what to do.

    Photo here

  • Why We Don’t Always Get What We Want

    Why We Don’t Always Get What We Want

    Lonely Man

    “Remember that sometimes not getting what you want is a wonderful stroke of luck.” ~Dalai Lama

    It’s probably happened to you. In all likelihood, it has happened multiple times in your life thus far.

    You don’t understand why it happens. And when it does, it can throw you into the deepest valleys of despair.

    Perhaps you cry out to a higher power to make things better. Maybe you just stare into the cosmos, wondering what the meaning of life is and why things get tough.

    I’ve been there. Many times. For all sorts of reasons.

    Breakups, career problems, dealing with a death, financial issues, there are a million things that can put you into this frame of mind.

    You know what you want more than anything, but no matter what you do, the universe just doesn’t seem to give it to you. Why? Why can’t things just be easier, simpler? Why can’t things get better?

    Why can’t we get what we want?

    A few years ago I was going through an extremely difficult time in my life. My fiancé of four years had broken up with me. Over the phone.

    No visit. No long talk about how we could maybe work it out. She just told me she couldn’t do it anymore.

    And just like that, I was thrown into that valley.

    I spent the next few months searching for answers. I read through different religious texts, self-help sites, and scientific books. I prayed, I meditated, and I even tried to visualize the thing that I wanted the most. 

    I just wanted my fiancé back.

    My work suffered at my job, though I didn’t notice. It took an old friend, one of my bosses, calling me into his office and having an honest conversation for me to realize that I was basically coasting through the weeks.

    In the evenings, I was plagued by dreams of my ex. In them, we were happy and together. Everything had worked out.

    Of course, I always woke up in the middle of the night, sweating and crying. Yeah, I woke up crying.

    I was raised to believe in a higher power. But during those nights of torture, I found myself pounding my pillow and begging him/her to make everything better.

    Nothing ever got better, though.

    Talks with friends yielded no good counsel. As a student of the psychological sciences, and a counselor myself, their cliché words only served to frustrate me.

    “There’s a reason for everything.” “If it’s meant to be.” “Time heals all wounds.” The more I heard their fortune cookie advice, the angrier I became. 

    And the whole time, I continued to beg the higher power to fix everything.

    One day at my job, I was talking to one of the teachers I worked with. She was a huge fan of Native American history and had an interesting perspective on my predicament.

    She suggested that I go on a vision quest.

    I’d done one of these when I was in graduate school as part of an assignment. We had studied the ancient technique the natives used when they were searching for answers, so I was pretty familiar with the process.

    If you don’t know what a vision quest is, you go out to a place where all you can do is observe the world around you and focus intensely on the thoughts that come as a result.

    This time, though, the stakes were much higher than on my previous quest.

    I decided to do it on a weekend and woke up the following Saturday morning with one mission in mind: to find answers. 

    The former capital of the Cherokee nation was only twenty minutes from my house, now set aside as a state park. I figured what better place to do a vision quest than where the Native Americans used to live?

    It was a chilly morning, and the forests surrounding the historical site were thick with fog as I began my walk.

    I stopped at various points along the way to meditate and pray. There was one spot next to a gentle brook where I watched the birds and squirrels scurrying about their day, mirroring the many thoughts and feelings rushing around in my head.

    While nature was peaceful around me, a storm still raged in my heart centering around a single question: Why can’t I have what I want?

    I continued the walk, writing down every thought and emotion that came to my mind. Minutes turned into hours and, as I neared the fourth hour of my quest, I decided it was getting close to time for me to leave. Empty handed.

    I neared the top of a ridge at the edge of the sacred land and looked up into the leafy canopy of the forest. Poplar, oak, and maple leaves hung silently above me.

    “I just want to know why you won’t fix this for me,” I said out loud, bitterly.

    Suddenly, my mind was whisked back to the school where I work to a point a few weeks before and a conversation I’d had with one of my students. I’d walked into the computer classroom to see what everyone was working on that day and he’d gotten my attention.

    “Hey, can you fix my grade in this class so I can pass?”

    The question caught me off guard and I laughed. “Yeah, I can do that,” I surprised him with my answer. As a school counselor, I have access to that kind of stuff.

    His face became hopeful. “You can?”

    I went on to explain to him that I could do that, but I wouldn’t.

    He asked why.

    I told him it was because if I fixed everything for him like that, he would never learn anything.

    My brain zipped back to the moment, standing on the forest trail. The realization punched me in the face like Mike Tyson in his prime.

    A smile crept onto my face. Then I began to laugh and looked back up into the treetops.  A robust breeze rolled in, waving the high branches around dramatically.

    I continued to smile as I spun around staring dizzily into the rustling leaves.

    That was it. If someone or something always fixed everything for me all the time, I would never learn anything. More than that, I would never be able to do anything for myself in life. I would always be dependent on someone or something else to make things better for me. 

    I would never be able to learn another language, live in a foreign environment, try new foods or activities, or grow as a person in any way.

    Sometimes in life things happen that can be difficult, and often they can be extremely painful. We must push through those moments where all seems lost. When we do, we can find a new us on the other side that is wiser and more beautiful than we ever imagined.

    By working through these difficult changes in life, we grow into something new, better, stronger.

    To paraphrase what the Rolling Stones said: You can’t always get what you want. But you get what you need.

    Photo by Zigg-E

  • You Don’t Need to Fix Yourself to Be Healed

    You Don’t Need to Fix Yourself to Be Healed

    Calm Acceptance

    “Growth begins when we begin to accept our weaknesses.” -Jean Vanier

    I used to believe the word “healed” had a very specific meaning. In my mind, it described a state of perfection that always looked very different from the chronic health challenges I endured.

    Being born with VACTERL Association, a birth disorder that causes malformations in six of the body’s systems, meant that I entered the world needing a lot of fixes. There were surgeries, hospitalizations, treatments, and medications aimed at perfecting something inherently imperfect.

    The Search

    I grew up searching. To be like everyone else. For a cure. For Peace. Clarity. Happiness. Always searching for a technique or philosophy that could mold me into the ideal woman I imagined I should be.

    My search was fueled by a very narrow view of “normal,” “beautiful,” and “successful.” Images perpetuated on magazine covers and a myriad of self-help manifestos told me that life was good only if you could figure out how to become flawless, inside and out.

    I read hundreds of books, attended seminars, journaled, meditated, said affirmations, communed with my inner child, prayed, eventually begged, finally groveled. And nothing.

    Well, there was something. I found out that I was going to need a kidney transplant.

    I assumed this prognosis meant that I wasn’t being “spiritual” enough. I needed to try harder. I saw the decline in my kidney function as a manifestation of negativity in my emotions. Maybe the damage was subconscious?

    I saw healers and hypnotherapists. I listened to subliminal message tapes. I reviewed my memories, and looked, and looked, and looked for the cause of my current predicament. And still nothing.

    All that came out of my search was restlessness and desire to search more.

    I was operating under the assumption that if I meditated masterfully, became enlightened, or at least healed old emotional wounds than life would bend toward my will. It followed that since life was not yet how I wanted it, something must be wrong with me. I needed to find the fix.

    As I stewed in my own spiritual turmoil, my kidney function continued to decline. The pressure I had placed on myself to not just find the cure, but to become the cure was making things worse.

    Life is Suffering

    I thought “healed” meant that life became the way you wanted it to be. I could not have been further from the truth. I had missed the most basic of Buddhist principles: life is suffering.

    Becoming spiritual does not mean that we are no longer human. It doesn’t take away the pain, illness, and stress; it only reframes it. Suffering tells us that we are inherently human. Coping with human challenges does not mean that we are less-than or that we are damaged; it only means that we are experiencing things all human beings experience.

    The trick is not to bend life’s will to our personal desires. It is the other way around. We must find the flexibility to bend to Life. That is what I had been missing.

    There Was Nothing to Find

    All of that searching took me to the most basic of places: exactly right where I was. Nothing to fix. Nothing to do. Nothing to become.

    I no longer see “healed” as some form of perfection. It isn’t a certain health status, lab value, or lack of a diagnosis. Healed isn’t remission or cure. It isn’t any specific thing.

    Healed is the willingness to unconditionally accept whatever life is at this exact moment.

    My kidney is now flirting with the edge of kidney failure. Transplant plans are in the works. Sometimes I feel scared or worried. Sometimes I cry. Those are things I accept too. I no longer need to always be positive. I don’t force myself to be anything other than exactly what I am.

    I’m learning to yield. It is a practice. I still have latent urges to “figure this out” or to be the miracle doctors cannot explain, and those tendencies get welcomed into my experience as well.

    That’s the thing about acceptance: it doesn’t require searching. It is always available. Simply knowing that these rough edges are part of being here in a body, on earth, lifted a huge weight off of me.

    I am healed. Even as I face surgery and a lifetime of medication, I am healed. At peace. With clarity. Content. Happy.

    Photo by Cornelia Kopp