Tiny Buddha

Category: letting go

  • Don’t Let Anyone or Anything Dim Your Inner Light

    Don’t Let Anyone or Anything Dim Your Inner Light

    Find Your Inner Light

    “The more light you allow within you, the brighter the world you live in will be.” ~Shakti Gawain

    I was born with it. I know I was. There was a light within me that showed in my smile, my dancing around the house, my love for life, for friends, for family, and my bright future.

    I don’t remember the exact day it happened, I don’t remember the last event that did it, but my inner light went out. I was no longer the happy-go-lucky girl I once was; I became lost in an abyss of darkness and sadness. Happiness and joy were thing of the past.

    Was it heartbreak over the guy I was supposed to marry who broke my heart? Was it the fact that my parents got divorced and I was suddenly in the middle of it? Was it because I never stuck up for myself or spoke my truth? Did I do anything so horrible that my “karma” was kicking in?

    I couldn’t figure it out. I was suddenly paralyzed in fear and my world became a place where I no longer wanted to be; I wanted out.

    I was diagnosed with stage three melanoma at the age of twenty-one. The doctor who performed the biopsy called the house to let me know the results and left a message. I deleted the message.

    About an hour later my parents asked me if the doctor had called. I told them yes and that I had deleted the message. They immediately called the doctor’s office in the other room.

    A few minutes later they came into my room crying and told me I had stage three melanoma and needed to have it removed immediately. I wasn’t scared. In fact, I was relieved in a sense that there may be something that removed me from this world of pain I now lived in. I was numb.

    I no longer had the ability to form friendships; I lost that knack which used to come so easily to me. I didn’t allow anyone to get close to me. My walls came up so high and I swore no one would ever get in.

    The shame, the guilt, the embarrassment of the girl I had become began to eat me up alive. Why was I even here anymore? What was the point?

    From the tender age of eighteen I suffered daily with pain and fear, and constantly had to tell myself out loud, “I can do this, I can do this,” whether it was showing up for work or any other area in my life.

    In order to deal with all this emptiness and fear, I felt the only way out was to drink, do drugs, and self-destruct in any way I could.

    I drank to the point where I would black out because that is where I found peace, a total escape from my reality. It didn’t matter to me if I was putting myself in harm’s way or ruining the relationships with those close to me, I had to do it. I didn’t care anymore.

    The last straw was on New Year’s Eve 2001 when I went out and went into my usual blacked out state. I ended up telling my friend I wanted to kill myself. The next morning, my mom, who I had a strained relationship with because of her inability to watch me self-destruct, called me and was in tears.

    She told me my friend called her and told her I said I wanted to take my life. My mom pleaded with me to get help as soon as possible.

    I thought about it for a minute and pondered what she said. Live this miserable life of self-hatred and addiction, or get help. The decision I made was to get help because I had reached my bottom emotionally, physically, and spiritually and had a tiny grain of hope that I had a chance.

    Attending my first rehab at the age of twenty-seven was the beginning of my road to recovery and freedom. I wish I could say I got it my first time around, but that’s not my story. Two rehabs, countless relapses and lost relationships, and continuous fear and anxiety consumed me until the age of thirty-eight, when I finally surrendered and saw that I could not do this life thing on my own.

    Fear ruled my life. It was the gripping anxiety I felt on a daily basis in my stomach and in my heart. I have heard the acronym for fear, which is “Future Events Already Ruined.” I expected the worst to happen in any situation of my life.

    It wasn’t until I realized I wasn’t in charge and my self-will had taken me to these dark places that I felt a load off of my jaded soul.

    I began to see spirituality as a solace to my pain. I had hope (“hang on, pain ends”) that there was a light beyond my darkness.

    I heard you gain strength through trials and emotional bottoms. The fact that I saw others who had suffered and found a way out made me feel like I could do it too. I wasn’t the only one who wasn’t able to cope with life.

    I started to see meditation as a way to find the answers to life’s challenges and struggles. This came as such a relief, because I used to think I had to come up with the answers in my head, which was a dangerous place to be since it had led me to this place where I no longer wanted to live.

    I began attending twelve-step meetings specific to my struggles, which helped me learn skills on how to live my life in a healthy way. I related to people and their pain, and was able to share mine.

    Finally my pain was paying off. It allowed me to help others so that maybe they would not have to suffer as long as I did. I was no longer a victim of my life. I had appreciation and gratitude for my dark past.

    I began to pray to a higher power. I learned for the first time in my life to let go. Let go of the outcomes, the fear, reactions or actions of other people, my career, my job, and my relationships—all of it.

    Am I practicing letting go on a daily basis? No, but the key thing is that I have a willingness to try. Just knowing I have the option to try to let go gives me a peace of mind that I have not had for a very long time.

    I had allowed people and situations that hurt me to burn out my inner light. No one turned off my light; I did. Knowing this gave me the freedom to find it again.

    Everyone is born with an inner light. Some of us can hold on to it and others lose it and have to work extremely hard to get it back. My road back to my light has been painful, scary, exciting, and fulfilling. I would not change any of it. I am a stronger woman because of it and for that I am eternally grateful.

    Photo by Stacy Kathryn Holst

  • Say Goodbye to Your “I” and Hello to Freedom

    Say Goodbye to Your “I” and Hello to Freedom

    “More important than the quest for certainty is the quest for clarity.” ~Francois Gautier

    It’s the last place in a million years I ever thought I would find myself.

    Stuck in a day job I had originally taken to fund my art and still feed my family when times were lean. It all sounded so logical back then.

    Except that after several years, this “I” that was showing up to work had zero passion, was totally unmotivated, and not exactly someone I was too proud of.

    Which was very strange since I was always so committed with my dedication to my artistic endeavors, prior to this particular career move. “Who was this guy?” I thought.

    But hey, it was all to keep the music train rolling along while I worked on my art and building up our fan base.

    Then the band broke up.

    Suddenly without the vehicle to deliver my artistic message I was like a ship without a rudder. The job felt like I was still living the joke but couldn’t remember the punch line anymore.

    But then I was in a bit of a conundrum.

    There was this other “I” who, during this same period, had rediscovered the storyteller I had always been since childhood.

    This “I” started blogging, writing posts to inspire others to unearth their own unique story and live their passion. A first eBook was near completion. People were commenting and signing up regularly to my list.

    This “I” felt totally alive. Totally confident. Like I was doing some good in the world.

    Likewise, when I was playing guitar or producing other musical artists. People were consistently saying thank you whenever I was engaged in this work.

    Hmmm.

    So then who exactly was this “I” who was showing up to that day job? This self that was feeling so stuck? The one with all these self-limiting beliefs?

    It was almost like I had a different “I” for different situations in my life. It was really confusing.

    Did you ever have that feeling?

    I finally found the clarity I was seeking after attending a Buddhist lecture series recently.

    The Buddha says that since beginningless time, we have been grasping at a self that doesn’t really exist—a self that changes like clouds passing overhead.

    According to Buddha, this self-grasping is the root cause of all human suffering, because we’re clinging to the delusion that this self and our own happiness is more important than anyone else’s.

    I know, that sounds scary, right? Clinging to someone who’s not really there?

    Now this might be a good time to ask an obvious question you might be wondering.

    If our “I” doesn’t really exist then who’s driving the bus, right? Who decides we’re going to wear that blue shirt today? Who tells us to take a shower and get ready for work?

    That’s a fair question. (I was thinking the very same thing when this was first presented to me)

    But I learned that if you really believe there’s this independently existing fixed self called “you” then you should be able to point to it, right? Like your refrigerator over in the corner. “Yes, there ‘I’ am.”

    So to see if this was true we went through the following exercise.

    You get to a centered place in your meditation (or just a quiet place, if that’s not your thing) and you contemplate a version of a self you’re very familiar with. Preferably one that feels stuck in some aspect of your life. (Bingo! The guy at work. That was easy)

    Then you just try to observe this self in action, as though in your mind’s eye, you’re looking over their shoulder and they don’t know you’re there. Then you ask yourself, “Is this really the person I always wanted to be?”

    Well, it was quite obvious to me the answer was no. So then you set out to locate this self to test the theory.

    Now if you just use common sense and look in the mirror you basically have only two choices where you might find this self. Either your “I” is located within your body or it’s in your mind, right? Where else could it be?

    So for example, when “you” decide to go shopping do you say, “My body is going shopping now?” No, you say, “I’m going shopping now,” right? As though this “I” is some entity other than your body.

    So this self is not located inside your body, would you agree?

    Okay, so then is your “I” located inside your mind?

    Well, think about it. You wouldn’t say, “I’m taking my mind shopping” either, would you? As though your thoughts are off to the mall? I’ll just leave my body home since that’s not me. No, you wouldn’t say that either.

    And something else: don’t you say, “These are my  thoughts” as though your “I” is in possession of them? Logic dictates that the possessor (your “I”) can’t also be the possessed (your thoughts) at the same time.

    So if this self can’t be located in your mind either, then where is it? What are we to conclude?

    It doesn’t really exist. It’s an idea, a name you ascribe to this collection of changing thoughts you call “me.” An insinuation.

    But fear not. You do exist.

    Just not in the fixed reality you thought you resided. You cannot point to this self because it’s nowhere to be found. Really, try to point to it right now.

    So if your “I” is really just an “I”dea, then what would you do if you came up with a bad idea? Like say, a self that believed they were stuck in a day job?

    You’d drop it right?

    What’s the opposite of self-limiting beliefs?

    Unlimited possibility.

    Why not identify with that instead?

    When I walked out of that class and began meditating on this concept over the following weeks and months, something eventually happened.

    I didn’t view this job in the same way anymore. It’s not that I had any renewed passion for it. I didn’t. But I realized that all the years I’ve been in this field have not been for naught. It served my creativity in a way I never saw before.

    I’ve been working in high end audio visual technologies with some of the wealthiest New Yorkers, living in these amazing spaces most only get to see on TV. Some are characters I could never invent in my wildest imagination. So the job has become the muse for a book I’ve been writing over the last few years now.

    Writing has opened up a door and shown me new possibilities with my career. Suddenly people are asking to pay me for my writing.

    An audience is building. A tiny voice says, “Keep going.” It’s the voice of a different self. One who knows it’s all going to work out.

    There’s another premise in Buddhism called patient acceptance. You can’t force life to change. You create the conditions for change to come about. Then you accept that it will come when its time has ripened. Not before.

    Maybe you can’t always change a situation by just snapping your fingers and making it go away. But you can change your perception of it.

    Change your perception and you change the world.

    Literally.

    If you’re free to realize that this self is just an idea, then you’re also free to let go of those selves that don’t serve you because they don’t produce a positive perception of events.

    You can learn to recognize them when they crop up. You can even have some fun and give them names. When they show up you can just say, “Take a hike, Larry (or Mary)!”

    You’re free to see a seemingly difficult situation as a challenge instead—an opportunity to transform it into something positive.

    And you’re free to watch with wonder what happens when you view each moment of your life in this way.

    Freedom is yours when you let go of “you.”

    Here’s to your freedom!

  • Let Go of Attachment: You Can Be Happy Even if Things Change

    Let Go of Attachment: You Can Be Happy Even if Things Change

    Let Go

    “Letting go gives us freedom and freedom is the only condition for happiness.” ~Thich Nhat Hanh

    A wise old soul once told me that I needed to practice not being attached.

    I honestly had no idea what he was talking about. I remember he gave me a very intelligent and understandable definition of attachment, but because it made such little sense to me, there was very little I could do with it. It was incomprehensible.

    I have found that, like the definition of attachment, it isn’t the teachings themselves that give us the answer; it is our own discovery, in our own experience, of the truth and wisdom of the lessons.

    At that point in my life, I hadn’t discovered for myself what being attached looked or felt like. 

    I was doing the “normal” things a “normal” person does. I had gotten through school, failed at a few relationships, bought a house, got a car payment and a cat, and was building a business.

    Life was just going along, seemingly building on experiences and things as the years went by. I was building the life I thought would make me happy.

    I had been practicing not being attached to material things. But that wasn’t a grueling stretch for me. I had grown up in two modern American households where I never had to wonder if we would have food to eat or if my dad would buy me those ever so important designer jeans. Life was fine; everything was going my way.

    Then, like magic, life started to give me opportunities to discover for myself what those smart people were really teaching about attachment.

    Two years ago, I lost my house. I remember my mother asking me if I was really sad to be losing the house where both of my children were born. I was embarrassed that the thought hadn’t even crossed my mind. I thought there was something wrong with me that I hadn’t put any significance on that.

    Ah Ha! My first discovery about attachment: I had the choice to give significance to any circumstance. I could choose to make it mean something that caused me to suffer, or not.

    I thought, “Hey, I’ve got this un-attached thing mastered.”

    Right.

    Very recently I was blind-sided with the possibility of losing the business that I have spent the last 15 years creating.

    There was no shedding of blood or sweat (I sit at a computer and on the phone) but I’ve fully invested my heart, my energy, and my spirit in this business. People know me as my business; my identity is tied up in it.

    I started looking from every tool and teaching I had ever learned about dealing with challenging situations. I remembered the lesson on attachment. I actually found the notes I had written down, a gift from that wise old soul, so many years ago.

    He had said, “Attachment is the emotional dependence we put on things, or people, with some degree of our survival interwoven into the precious thing we hold so dear.”

    I had practiced not being attached to “stuff.” But for heaven’s sake, this wasn’t stuff! This was my business!

    But the lesson doesn’t say: don’t be attached to material items. It says, don’t wrap yourself, your identity, and your survival around anything or anyone.

    Ugh. I guess that means my business too. That thought annoyed me, and I was vehemently resisting even considering that.

    I’d gotten angry at the circumstances that caused this to happen. I’d made myself wrong for putting so much into something that seemed to be real, but turned out to be quite elusive. I played the victim and wondered why in the world this was happening to me.

    And then I realized that all of that chatter in my head, and all of that upset and suffering was a function of me throwing a childish little (ok big) temper tantrum because things weren’t going the way I wanted them to go. The universe was not aligning itself around what I wanted.

    And then I had another thought: maybe all of that stuff I did and built, to have the life I wanted, wasn’t it. What if I didn’t know better? What if the universe was providing me with what I needed?

    What if what I needed to get what I really want in life—peace and happiness—looked different than what I had imagined?

    That was worth pondering. If I was brutally honest with myself, my business didn’t bring me real joy; it was just something I was good at.

    I thought, “Wow, maybe this is the opportunity to really pursue what I want to do with the rest of my life! What if the universe was just gently pushing me out of my comfortable nest, and forcing me to fly?”

    And thus I have discovered: Sometimes the dreams we chase and the life we design for ourselves really do provide us with happiness and peace, and yet sometimes it takes letting go, and having faith like we have faith in our next breath, that there is a divine and perfect order; we just might not be seeing it at the time.

    Photo by yosoynuts

  • Embodied Presence: Find Freedom from Your Thoughts and Emotions

    Embodied Presence: Find Freedom from Your Thoughts and Emotions

    Embodied Presence

    “To be alive is to totally and openly participate in the simplicity and elegance of here and now.” ~Donald Altman

    Embodied presence probably sounds superfluous. How else would we be present but in the body? If we leave our bodies, then we are by definition deceased. No longer present.

    The simplicity of this embodied presence idea belies its depth though. The issue isn’t that I’m ever literally disembodied, but that I’m often unaware of my body-mind connection to the point that I’m not sufficiently mindful of the moment.

    I know I’m not unique for this. We all do this. It’s called being distracted. I can get so lost in my thoughts that I lose touch with what’s actually happening, right now.

    For example, not too long ago, I was sitting at home one evening. I was feeling really peaceful and at ease. Then, my iPhone chimed alerting me to an email. It was a message from my boss. I read the email and my whole emotional state changed.

    My heart pounded, energy surged through my arms, and my chest and face felt hard and tight. Based on my body’s response, it would have seemed my life was in danger.

    I attached meaning to the email I read. My interpretation registered the email as a threat. My body did what it’s supposed to do when I perceive a threat.

    I immediately started typing my reactive email response. It was sharp and curt. Then, I stopped. I paused. I’m not sure what triggered my drop into my body’s senses, but that drop into my body saved me. 

    My awareness dropped from my thoughts to my body’s current sensations. With that drop, I was present in the moment. The investigation of my body’s sensations—the pulsing, tingling, hardness, tightness—was so interesting that my drive to immediately react dissolved.

    After that body investigation, I labeled my emotion. It was anger. I was feeling angry because of a perceived threat. Then, I slowly responded to my boss’ message. I still felt the anger, but I wasn’t blindly driven by it.

    I decided to carefully respond to the content of the message without indicating my reaction to her tone.  She responded later that night. Her message was so gracious.

    She simply misunderstood something and my reply clarified it for her. That was all. There was no problem. My initial reaction was rooted in my own story about her email.

    “It isn’t what happens to us that causes us to suffer; it’s what we say to ourselves about what happens.” ~Pema Chodron

    How do I stay in my body? Each morning and evening, I meditate for 30 minutes. During those meditation sessions, I concentrate on the sensations my breathing creates in my body: my heaving chest, the cool tickles through my nostrils, the expansion of my lower abdomen, even the slight spread of my shoulders each time I inhale.

    This training helps anchor my mind to my body in a way nothing else does. There are so many other ways to get into your body though (e.g. yoga, tai chi, arts and crafts). Finding a way that suits you so that you can support yourself by doing it consistently can help change how you experience the day.

    This is beneficial to you and to those with whom you interact. When I’m feeling a difficult emotion, I often invite myself to feel the emotion in my body—rather than creating a story line in my conscious mind—by asking myself the following question: how do I know I’m angry? 

    This question always helps me drop from my conscious mind down into my body and thus into the present moment. I have made the conscious choice to return to what John O’Donohue calls the temple of my senses.

    “My body knows it belongs, it’s my mind that makes my life so homeless.”

    My conscious train of thought can sometimes get so destructively creative in its interpretation of the moment that I’m attaching meaning to the moment that causes harm to me and others.

    Through my body practices, I’ve learned three important lessons.

    1. The body offers helpful insight.

    Thinking isn’t the only way to relate to my life. My body experiences the moment and collects data that my conscious mind, in all its effort, can’t even see.

    I find that after scanning my body and then returning to my thinking, I operate with greater clarity. When I feel a strong emotion, it’s helpful to me to investigate the sensations in my body before I label the emotion.

    I may have labeled an emotion “anger,” but after scanning my body to get in touch with a deeper wisdom, I might realize it’s fear. I’m not angry, but I’m feeling threatened because of meaning I’ve attached to a situation.

    Sometimes, it’s not nervousness I feel; it’s excitement. Opening into my body along with my mind allows for greater clarity and higher intelligence. I’m free to then respond appropriately to the present moment instead of being blindly driven by unexamined emotions.

    2. Emotional states are universal.

    I find this fact incredibly supportive: emotional states are universal. My anger isn’t my anger. My sadness isn’t my sadness. It’s the anger and the sadness that touches us all. Difficult emotions feel less personal and more universal when I pay attention to them.

    I felt angry about my boss’ email because the adrenaline was still coursing through my blood. My body produced adrenaline because I interpreted the email as a threat. That’s all. It’s just my body doing exactly what it is conditioned to do in response to perceived threats.

    I didn’t, however, have to perceive it as a threat.

    3. Emotions pass more easily when we shine the soft light of awareness on them.

    There’s this dreadful sense of solidity that sets in when I start to believe my emotions and thoughts are the only absolute reality. When I forget that what’s actually happening is separate from what I feel and think about what’s happening, my dread cements and I feel hopeless.

    As soon as something unexpected happens, like someone I barely know smiles at me or a person I thought dislikes me makes sure I get a bottle of water at a meeting, the solidity dissolves.

    That solidity gives way to a sense of openness and possibility that I temporarily lost touch with while believing my ego’s diatribes. I love it when something happens that breaks my ego’s trance. I am so thankful for those mindful moments that rescue me from my sometimes destructive inner monologues.

    Living an embodied life is one of those paradoxical experiences. It’s hard, but it’s easy. 

    It’s easy because it’s a matter of focusing on what is happening now. Staying present. That’s all. It’s hard because our minds often want to create stories about what is happening. Why? Because it can. Our conscious minds are doing what they do: producing thoughts.

    I can choose to see those thoughts as nothing more personal than anything else my body releases (for example, a sneeze or cough).

    Our minds care so much for us and want to help. I sometimes try to calm my busy mind by reminding it that it doesn’t have to solve every problem right now.

    If we open to the moment through our bodies, a whole new level of insight and wisdom can support us in ways our conscious mind cannot. May we all open to a greater level of embodied presence.

    Photo by Sage Ross

  • Why We Sometimes Enjoy Pity and How to Stop

    Why We Sometimes Enjoy Pity and How to Stop

    Sad Face

    “A man cannot be comfortable without his own approval.” ~Mark Twain

    When I was younger, I remember occasionally hurting myself while playing outside.

    If I rolled my ankle, I might fall to the ground clutching it, but not feel too bad overall. Then, when someone from my family or a friend would run up to me and see if I was okay, I’d start getting choked up.

    At the time, this confused me and made me even more upset. Why could I not control myself?

    I experienced a lot of self-pity, because I felt like I was weak and could not handle my emotions. And then I would break out in tears.

    None of this made any sense to me then, but it would happen the same way every time.

    Now that I’m older, I think I “get” it. I actually enjoyed the feeling of pity, and would subconsciously seek it out.

    This doesn’t just happen in children. Did you ever notice how when some people get sick or injured, they will practically brag about it?

    “Hey everyone! I totally broke my arm the other day. Look at me!”

    This whole “enjoyment of being pitied” business is a particularly nefarious form of attention-seeking behavior.

    It is a sign of insecurity. We want to be pitied because we crave attention, and without pity, we worry that nobody will care about us.

    Pity is a form of external validation that is based off feelings of inferiority. The desire for external validation and the internal lack of self-esteem is a serious one-two punch knocking down our happiness levels.

    How does this sort of behavior start? What is the original cause? Why do we think this negative external validation is a good thing?

    We all have beliefs about ourselves that require some form of validation for us to convince ourselves that these beliefs are true.

    There is something inherently alluring about having a victim mentality. If you believe yourself to be a victim, you surrender your personal responsibility, which essentially gives you “permission” to blame someone or something else for your negative situation.

    It also means that you “deserve” pity.

    So if something bad happens, your ego seeks out pity in order to reinforce a victim mentality, which then allows you to abdicate your personal responsibility to do something to change your circumstance—while receiving attention that you might associate with feeling important or loved.

    This sort of process is most likely internalized through childhood conditioning. For example, when I was visibly in pain, everyone focused on me, which I enjoyed, so I learned to prolong that by crying.

    And pity-seeking behavior goes hand in hand with self-pity, which presents a huge obstacle to happiness since you can’t feel good if you’re choosing to feel bad for yourself.

    Of course, like all of our ego’s defense mechanisms, pity-seeking behavior will try to hide itself from you.

    How Can You Recognize These Behaviors?

    You may be seeking pity if you:

    • Frequently start sentences with “I didn’t deserve…”
    • Regularly tells others that life or parts of your life are unfair
    • Repeatedly talk about how someone has harmed you
    • Draw attention to your problems and ask why they had to happen to you
    • Subtly wish for negative outcomes so you can talk about them
    • Get caught up in your own head and become unaware of other people
    • Look at someone else’s misfortune through how it negatively impacts you

    With that last one, someone else’s troubles allow you to create a story that you can use to garner more sympathy for yourself.

    An example would be a person who explains to her friends about how her husband lost her job. Instead of feeling compassion for him, she focuses on how she’s affected by his loss, as if it’s harder for her than him.

    We all do this time to time, but when it becomes a habit, it can interfere with our happiness and our relationships.

    How Do You Stop?

    As I said earlier, the two main drives that cause these behaviors are a reliance on external validation and a low self-esteem.

    In order to fully eliminate these behaviors, you need to address both of these causes.

    The first step is to consciously recognize that you are engaging in these behaviors. Once you’ve accepted this, you should take some time to meditate on the effect they have on your life.

    Are you more frequently in a bad mood? Do you find yourself sabotaging your own efforts? Have your relationships suffered?

    Perhaps you can’t emotionally connect with others since you are so focused on yourself. Or maybe you’re keeping yourself stuck personally or professionally because you’re committed to talking about the unfairness of it all.

    Recognizing these effects builds leverage that will help motivate you to change.

    Now, when you notice yourself engaging in pity-seeking behaviors, short-circuit your conditioning by practicing gratitude and recognizing how good it feels.

    Instead of focusing on how you have been wronged or hurt, immediately think about something positive in your life. Sure, you broke your arm while skiing, but you were able to use your two legs to take a walk in the park, and you enjoyed that without needing any type of negative attention.

    Repeatedly practicing gratitude will reverse the conditioning that caused your behaviors in the first place and help you create positive feelings without needing negative reinforcement.

    Over the long term, you need to build a sense of self-worth by accepting personal responsibility for your life and consciously choosing to change the situations that aren’t working for you. When you feel like you control your own fate, you stop being a victim and you feel far more valuable as a person.

    It feels much better to actually enjoy your life than it does to talk about how much you don’t.

    This isn’t an issue that you deal with once and then it goes away forever. It is deep seated within us, and it requires consistent self-improvement to minimize it.

    As I grew up, improved my self-esteem, and started to take responsibility for my life, my pity-seeking behavior decreased drastically, but it still exists.

    What’s important isn’t to eliminate the behaviors entirely, but to deal with the underlying causes as best we can.

    Do you enjoy seeking pity? Why do you think you do it?

    Photo by lupzdut

  • Silencing Your Lizard Brain: Stop Feeling Pressured and Inadequate

    Silencing Your Lizard Brain: Stop Feeling Pressured and Inadequate

    Holding Head

    “Serenity comes when you trade expectations for acceptance.” ~Unknown

    Damn lizard brain, I hate you sometimes. Why do you always have this thirst for more? Why must you have such impossibly high expectations for everything?

    It’s good to have standards, but when is it too much?

    Things can be going great for me and I could have the entire world love me, yet it wouldn’t be enough.

    I still wouldn’t be happy even every human on Earth left me a voicemail to tell me I’m wonderful. Instead, I’d be wondering how everyone got my number.

    Why is it never enough? It’s because the moment it slows down, my lizard brain is going to eat at me again. It always wants more.

    My mind needs to be constantly bombarded with success and pleasure.

    It will tell me I’m not good enough; it will tell me how I should probably just give up, because what’s the use if I’m not constantly getting results?  

    Yesterday, I had around ten new people follow me on Twitter, six new people subscribe to my newsletter, and over twenty new comments on an article. Today, I had only four more people follow me, several others unfollow, no new newsletter subscribers, and two new comments.

    Lizard brain, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t beat yesterday’s achievements.

    The problem with this is that I set high expectations in at least 10,000 areas on a daily basis. This is draining because it is unrealistic to be able to hit all those marks and exceed all the time.

    This adds up and really affects my happiness, because there are these expectations I feel I have to meet.

    Over the years, I’ve noticed this about myself and try my best to stop my lizard brain during its peak hours.

    You probably have an annoying lizard brain too. It’s the part of you that controls you, makes you afraid, and pushes you because it says you’re a failure.

    If your lizard brain is bothering you, here are some reminders that might help:

    You can’t always win.

    I have to constantly remind myself it is simply impossible to always beat yesterday’s achievements. Think about it. If you land on the moon today, what are the odds of you going to Mars tomorrow?

    Celebrate your victories from today and don’t worry about the next day. You can worry about going to Mars maybe a month from now. You already made it to the moon, relax.

    Celebrate and truly appreciate your accomplishment.

    Besides, you can’t always win. So even when you fall just remind yourself you’re growing and you’re a work in progress. Use your failure as a motivator or a marker for where you need to be.

    You can’t always win. Accept that.

    Stop comparing.

    “The reason we struggle with insecurity is because we compare our behind-the-scenes with everyone else’s highlight reel.” ~Steve Furtick

    Steve Furtick’s quote is gushing with truth. We often compare ourselves to others’ achievements and then we beat ourselves up.

    Well, chances are we’re all just comparing our weakest moments to everybody else’s strongest. See how ridiculous that is?

    You can’t possibly outshine everyone’s highlight reel. You have your own highlight reels too, but they’re not always playing. Stop comparing yourself to others because that is a sure way to feel dissatisfied.

    What you can do instead is focus on your own highlight reels and then work on your behind-the-scenes by learning from them.

    Eventually, others will be in awe at your highlight reels and they won’t even notice when you’re not at your best. It’s okay to slow down every now and then because not every day has to be breaking new ground.

    Don’t let the journey bring you down or the end of the path won’t be as great as it could have been.

    Remind yourself that no one cares.

    This is a harsh truth, but in reality, no one cares. No one will realize how many times you’ve failed or every time you smile funny. Everyone else is the protagonist in his or her own story and you’re just a side character.

    When you remind yourself that you’re not in the center of the universe and not everything revolves around you, things get easier.

    This may be the hardest part for me. For some reason, I always feel like all eyes are on me and that every micro-movement will be noted by literally everyone in the room and eyes will be rolled as I adjust my leg positions. “Ugh, who does Vincent think he is? Sitting all cool like that…”

    See how ridiculous that is? I highly doubt thirty people are constantly watching me for as little as a leg twitch. Chances are people just don’t care or are too busy with their own problems.

    Keep reminding yourself that others have things going on too. You’re not the protagonist in their book; they are.

    Meditate.

    When I’m meditating, my lizard brain just does what it wants, but I act as the detached observer. I let it talk but I don’t interact. I watch it babble on and on as I crack a smile, because when I meditate, I no longer care.

    Then I take it to the next level by focusing in on my breath. I make sure that the only thing I’m worrying about is breathing. My lizard brain doesn’t have anything on me now because it slowly starts to fade away.

    There are tons of extensive guides on how to meditate. Pick a method that seems interesting to you and try it out. You can be the detached observer or the silencer.

    What do you do to silence your lizard brain?

    Photo by Gibson Regester

  • Dance Through the Storm of Uncertainty: 5 Tips for Grace and Peace

    Dance Through the Storm of Uncertainty: 5 Tips for Grace and Peace

    Dancing in the Rain

    “Make the best use of what is in your power and take the rest as it happens.” ~Epictetus

    I am in an unfamiliar place and I find myself waiting. It is not clear who or what I am waiting for.  I then hear a gentle tapping at the door. I approach the door, but stand before it in silence.

    My pulse quickens as I wait. I make no attempt to answer the knock until a voice whispers, “It is me.”  This is when I open the door. 

    I awoke from this dream feeling a bit unsettled. I couldn’t remember the exact quality of the voice. Whether it was male or female remains a mystery. But I did recognize this dream as a metaphor for all that was happening in this particular period of my life.

    I was faced with a life-altering decision—something I had emphatically said “no” to at an earlier time.  My best childhood friend had offered to be a gestational surrogate for my husband and me after multiple miscarriages and two pre-term birth losses, but I wouldn’t even consider it.

    That is not the way nature intended it, was my initial thought. A child should be created out of love, I had said in response to her offer.

    In time, my perspective began to shift and I recognized that this was truly an act of love. A trusted friend was willing to help me in bringing a desired child into the world. Why would I not accept this beautiful gift? 

    It was easier for my husband to come to this decision than it was for me. I had to replace a long-held dream—the natural childbirth experience I had once imagined.

    This would also be the ultimate lesson in letting go. So much would be beyond my control.

    After months of introspection, research, guidance, and prayer, it then felt right to walk through this new door that had opened up to us.

    Saying yes to this process was creating an opportunity for new life. It was an opening to another experience that the hand of life was extending in my direction.

    Still, there was much uncertainty in daring to venture onto this new path of assisted reproduction. The series of legal and medical steps seemed enormous before we actually experienced them. But each step leading up to the actual procedure went better than expected.

    Now after two unsuccessful outcomes, I have had to again re-adjust to a different reality than the one I had come to embrace. It has been a process—releasing what should have been in order to accept what is.

    “The odds are in your favor,” the doctor had originally said. I knew there were no guarantees, but I hadn’t truly considered this daunting possibility. Why then was I led down this road of uncertainty? 

    I have come to see that at times there is no definite answer to the question “why?” Life is not a straight, newly paved highway where we can clearly see in the distance. Even when we intuitively get a glimpse of what’s ahead, we still have to deal with how best to get to where we hope to be.

    Instead, life appears to be more of a dance with its twists and turns. There is a rhythm and flow to each step, even though we may not yet be comfortable with all the transitions. Each movement leads to a fuller expression of our greatest potential. 

    How do we best learn this dance? Experience is the greatest teacher I know. Still, we need guidance. Life is not a solo act.

    Here are five guiding principles to assist you in your dance with uncertainty:

    1. Practice integrity, intention, and purpose.

    That is the basic choreography. It requires that you pay close attention to your beliefs, thoughts, words, choices, and actions. What lends purpose and meaning to your life? Natural talent matters, but practice is what develops skill.

    Integrity: Be honest in all aspects of your life. Seek to know who you are and who you ultimately want to be.

    Intention: Be clear about what you most desire and take steps in the direction of your dreams.

    Purpose: Know why you want this new reality. Does it add meaning to your life?

    2. Be flexible. 

    See every challenging step as an occasion to stretch. Stand tall as you grow in resilience. Breathe deeply and rise to the occasion when presented with new choreography.

    3. Know when to “freestyle.”

    Freestyle is improvisational dance. We are creative beings and while there are necessary steps to be taken, there is still plenty of room for spontaneity and artistic expression.

    Take risks and embrace your unique style. You might step on a few toes, but always remain true to what is essential in you.

    4. Trust your partner.

    Whether you practice a traditional religion or view spirituality in universal terms, trust life to lead the way. Unleash your greatest effort and then relax into the arms of grace.

    Know that there is divine order to this dance we call life. Whatever is meant to happen, will. Whatever is meant to be, will be. Do what is within your power and surrender the rest.

    5. Enjoy the dance.

    Life is meant to be fun. Lighten up and release the need to get it right the first time. Perfection is subjective and trophies collect dust. Laugh at yourself and keep moving. It will all come together. At times, better than you expected.

    Photo by Angela Gonzalez

  • Scared to Try: Moving Beyond the Paralysis of Perfectionism

    Scared to Try: Moving Beyond the Paralysis of Perfectionism

    “Fear is inevitable, I have to accept that, but I cannot allow it to paralyze me.” ~Isabel Allende

    I am a recovering perfectionist.

    Up until now, this is the only way I’ve known how to live. The thrilling burn of perfection invaded every aspect of my life to the point that I became paralyzed by fear. If I couldn’t do it right, I didn’t want to do it at all.

    When I was younger, I allowed the desire for perfection to control all of my actions. In music, if I couldn’t sit first chair, I didn’t want to play an instrument at all. In sports, if I couldn’t play first singles, I wanted to put the tennis racket down.

    All of the choices I made reflected back on what I could do perfectly.

    Several things happened.

    First, I was never satisfied. Even when I was the best, I was always looking over my shoulder at someone else who wanted my spot. I also doubted my accomplishments and thought, “Anyone could’ve done this.”

    Second, my admirable drive to succeed transformed into something ugly. I became paralyzed by fear. If I couldn’t play my scales perfectly, I stopped practicing for fear of hitting a wrong note.

    And then the fear turned into anxiety. I fretted about going on auditions because someone who doesn’t know her scales certainly isn’t going to get chosen for first chair. I was stuck between the wanting and the work.

    I wanted to be the best, but I didn’t want to work at something that I might not ever achieve. The threat of failure was too much to bear.

    As I got older, my perfectionism made me more and more miserable. Reasonable goals that were attainable as a child morphed into more challenging goals that were more difficult to achieve as an adult. My ultimate goal: I wanted the perfect life.

    Wanting more, yet full of fear, I continued to eagerly seek the promise of perfection. As if to spite these desires, my world got smaller and smaller. Finally, I stopped taking any action.

    If I couldn’t be a best-selling author, I wasn’t going to write a word. If I couldn’t run as fast as the person next to me, I’d get off the treadmill. If I couldn’t decorate my house just like the pictures in glossy magazines, I wouldn’t put anything on the walls.

    And it got worse. If I couldn’t have the perfect house, I’d live in a cluttered mess. If I couldn’t be the perfect size, I’d stuff my face. If I couldn’t be the fastest and the best and the most perfect and the brightest and the shiniest and the most beautiful, I just wouldn’t do any of it.

    So you see, instead of living comfortably in the middle of perfection and failure, I went completely the other direction. Because my world was black and white—either I was successful in everything that I touched or I was an utter failure. I couldn’t live in the grey space. I couldn’t be happy with my effort—with the thrill of just trying something new.

    Finally, I came to the point where there was only one thing that I wanted to do because I knew I could do it perfectly.

    What was this magic thing that I could do without any threat of failure?

    Walk the dog.

    I could walk that dog for a solid fifteen minutes and do everything right. I’d put on that leash, walk up and down the block, give her time to do her business, pick up the business in a baggie, and return home. I was a solid A dog walker.

    But boy was I unsatisfied.

    I had dreams and passions and hopes and aspirations. But I didn’t dare touch any of those things for fear of failure. I couldn’t bear the sting of defeat.

    So I walked and walked and walked that dog. I was neglecting my other interests, which would pop into my mind and quickly get pushed out, but my joyous, tail-wagging, tongue-lolling dog certainly loved every second of it.

    And then I learned two life-changing lessons.

    My first lesson came from my dog. Just watching her pure joy of life—her contentedness to just be—had a positive effect on me. Instead of focusing on being the best dog on the block, she drank in the sunshine and set her sights on appreciating her surroundings.

    That contented dog has taught me more about life that I ever thought possible.

    My second lesson came from a day at our town’s street fair. The organizers brought in a rock-climbing wall, and I plopped down near the wall to eat a snack. I watched the kids excitedly scurry to the top and come whizzing back down.

    One girl, about ten years old, made her way to the front of the line. She got strapped into a harness and approached the wall.

    What came next was painful to watch. She tried climbing the wall and stumbled again and again. One step up, one step down.

    She couldn’t grab a foothold, and the other kids waiting their turn started to become anxious. To my amazement, she didn’t seem to notice her detractors. One step up, one step down.

    She went on like this—without making an ounce of a progress—for a good ten minutes. By this point, the kids behind her became loud and restless. They wanted her to stop trying—to stop wasting everyone’s time.

    But she kept on. One step up, one step down. Watching her perseverance, something I didn’t have at my age and certainly didn’t have at eight years old, made me cry.

    I was so proud of this little girl—this stranger who reminded me of the person I wish I had been. Even if I couldn’t be the best, I wish I tried.

    Finally, tired and sweaty, she backed away from the wall. Instead of looking defeated, she had a huge smile on her face. She turned around and ran towards her mom.

    “Mom,” she cried. “I almost did it! Can I try again later?”

    And with those simple words, I was a changed person—a recovering perfectionist.

  • Why We Need to Accept That Some People Just Won’t Like Us

    Why We Need to Accept That Some People Just Won’t Like Us

    “If you are always trying to be normal, you will never know how amazing you can be.” ~Maya Angelou

    I’ve been a world-class worrier about what other people would think about me for a long time.

    The clothes, the hair, the shoes. The books I read, the movies I liked, the music I listened to. The hobbies, the people I hung out with. The things I liked and the things I disliked.

    They all got scrutinized under the “am I doing the right thing?” filter.

    Am I being exactly the right amount of cool? Am I being reasonable and responsible? Am I being interesting enough?

    It was a full-time job, making sure I was being the “right” version of me.

    It was time-consuming. It was energy-consuming. It was draining.

    I was going through the motions of living a life that looked great. But without realizing it, I became more and more absent in my own life.

    What were the clothes that I really liked? What were the books that I really loved? What were the hobbies that could really make my heart sing and soul soar?

    Those became tough questions to answer. Those became questions I forgot to ask myself. Those became questions I stopped asking myself.

    Instead, I did the next logical, reasonable thing. Instead, I was busy reading other people’s minds to figure out what they liked. Instead, I did my best to be the flawless perfect version of me.

    Because that’s what happens when we believe that we will be happy once everybody likes us. When we believe that everybody will like us once we are perfect. When we believe that it’s possible and vital to our happiness to make everybody like us.

    I’ve learned that it doesn’t work like that. It’s not possible to make everybody like us. And it sure is not vital to our happiness. Quite the contrary.

    When we believe that we will be happy when everybody likes us, we work hard to make everybody like us.

    So we figure out who we think we’re supposed to be. We figure out the “right” things to do and the “right” way of doing things. We figure out the “right” amount of being quiet or outgoing, the “right” amount of being enthusiastic or cool, the “right” amount of being interested or bored. We figure out the “right” things to have and “right” things not to have.

    And slowly but inevitably, we turn ourselves into some manufactured version of ourselves. The “right” version. The “perfect” version.

    Even that “right” and “perfect” version cannot guarantee everybody liking us. There will still be people thinking we’re too quiet or too outgoing. There will still be people thinking we’re boring and stupid. There will still be people thinking we’re uncool and ridiculous.

    And that leaves us feeling scattered and alone, lost and insecure, small and lacking.

    Because our only conclusion can be that we’re doing it wrong. That there’s something wrong with us.

    So we resolve to work even harder to be flawlessly perfect and to do the “right” thing at the “right” time in the “right” way even better.

    The thing is that even that “right” and “perfect” version cannot guarantee everybody liking us…

    See the vicious circle coming?

    The irony is that even when people do like us, hang out with us, approve of us, we still feel disconnected and alone—because we’ve unknowingly and unwillingly gotten out of touch with ourselves.

    We are working hard to hang out with people that don’t get us. We are working hard to do things that we pretend energize us, but that, in truth, drain us. We are working hard to be someone we are not, never sure we’re “doing it right.”

    Was I too loud? Too quiet? Too thoughtful? Too outgoing? Too polite? Too harsh?

    We’re always second-guessing ourselves, eating away at our confidence.

    Not everybody will like us. Accepting that creates space for happiness to come into our lives. Accepting that creates space for us to be who we truly are.

    It allows us to hang out with people who get us, because we are willing to alienate people that don’t.

    To do things that inspire us and make us feel fulfilled from the inside out, because we are willing to be seen as boring and stupid by people that don’t get what we’re doing.

    To connect with people over something that genuinely inspires them and us, because we are willing to be seen as silly and crazy by others who don’t feel the same way about it.

    That’s a win for us.  And a win for them. Because we both get to spend time with people that are a great fit. And it’s a win for the world.

    When we allow ourselves to be who we truly are, we get to share our unique message with the world.

    We use our talents instead of hiding them because they’re “not right.”

    We use our voice instead of shutting ourselves down because we might say the “wrong” thing.

    We use our style instead of copying theirs.

    We use our ideas instead of figuring out what they’d think.

    We create our own brilliant unique work, which only we can bring into the world.

    Not for everyone to like, but to delight some, who will love it. Need it. Crave it. Get inspired by it.

    And to delight ourselves, making our heart sing and soul soar.

    We thrive and feel fulfilled, from the inside out.

    And all that happens because we were willing to upset some.

    Who are you willing to upset?

  • 4 Questions to Turn Your Anger Around and Forgive

    4 Questions to Turn Your Anger Around and Forgive

    Talking

    “To forgive is to set a prisoner free and realize that prisoner was you.” ~Lewis B. Smedes

    For a long time, I had a stressful relationship with my dad. We had a falling out after I was diagnosed with Anorexia Nervosa. He didn’t understand what I was going through in regards to eating and body image, and I tried to push him out, so we stopped talking.

    Somewhere inside of me, I had built up anger that was directed at him and I just couldn’t bring myself to forgive him or let go. And he was just clueless, not knowing what was wrong with me and why I didn’t like him, so he stopped trying, too.

    Before I knew it, it had been almost a year without saying anything to each other, and I was heading off to college. I was still angry inside until my mom gave me a book called Loving What Is, by Byron Katie. Everything changed after that.

    Not overnight, but slowly things began to improve between my dad and me.

    The book has to do with four simple questions that you ask yourself about a thought or emotion you are experiencing.

    Because I felt like my dad had distanced himself from my problems, and believed that he loved my brother more than me, I had thoughts like, “He doesn’t love me,” and “I’m never enough for him,” so I worked on these thoughts with what Byron Katie calls “The Work.”

    I took the thought “I am never good enough for him,” and put it up against the four questions.

    1. Is it true?

    Is it true that I am never good enough for my dad? Yes.

    2. Can you absolutely know that it is true?

    Can I absolutely know that I am never good enough for my dad? No.

    3. How do you feel when you think this thought?

    When I think that I’m not good enough for my dad, I feel angry and sad. I become defensive and hot.

    4. Who would you be without this thought?

    Without the thought that I am never good enough for him, I would be calm, relaxed, and not so upset. My relationship with my dad would improve and I wouldn’t worry so much about his approval.

    The next step is to turn the thought around. Here are my turnarounds with examples as to why these are true for me.

    • My dad is never good enough for me because I am constantly judging him.
    • I am good enough for my dad because he does show he is proud of me.
    • I am not good enough for myself because I do not approve of who I am.

    After doing this work on my thoughts about my dad, I began to see things differently. My eyes started to open to things I haven’t seen before.

    If I wanted my dad to approve of me and accept me for who I was, I first had to approve and accept him as he was.

    When I turned around my thought, even though it was hard to realize, I saw that my behavior toward my dad was the problem, not him. I failed to remember that he was just doing what he knew how to do; he was trying his best. It was me who needed to approve of myself, not my Dad.

    Forgiveness had never come easy to me. I always felt as though I was the one who deserved the forgiving, but something changed the day I read this book. I forgave my dad. I forgave him and accepted him, and in turn, I accepted myself.

    I gave my dad what I wanted from him and our relationship turned around. I gave myself what I wanted from him and I turned myself around.

    The Work can be helpful for every thought you have or problem you are facing, as it allows you to look at your life and yourself in a new light. I understand that sometimes it can be painful questioning your thoughts, especially ones that have been with you for a long time, and it’s not an overnight process.

    Sometimes I would cry myself to sleep over my responses or want to tear the page apart because there was no way I could forgive my dad. But if you give it time and patience, a change will start happening inside of you.

    You will learn to see the person in a different way. You will see that everyone is just trying their best with what they have in this moment, and even if you believe they don’t deserve forgiveness, you deserve to be at peace.

    Photo by morstan

  • 3 Ways to Redesign Your Life by Shedding the Excess

    3 Ways to Redesign Your Life by Shedding the Excess

    “Don’t let your happiness depend on something you may lose.” ~C.S. Lewis

    For as long as I can remember, “more” has always been better, but the word “more” is no longer what it used to be.

    Five years ago, I started exercising for the first time in my life. At first, I counted down the minutes until my workout was over. As I got stronger, though, I started staying at the gym longer and longer.

    For a while, I burned more calories than I consumed during meals. It didn’t matter. I worked out as much as I could because I liked the effects it had on my body and mind. I felt healthy and vibrantly energetic.

    But I hardly had time for much more in my life.

    I was burnt out. Some of my other favorite activities—like reading or making plans with friends—took a backseat to putting in hours at the gym. But working out in less time scared me, as silly as that sounds now. Would less time in the gym slow down my health and energy level? Would I lose momentum?

    When my loved ones started complaining, I knew I had to make a change.

    I found I could do more with less at the gym. I found that my body appreciated the extra rest more than I ever expected. I found that, by finding a balance, my life felt more at ease.

    Over time, I discovered that in many areas of my life, less is more. Carrying the excess of my life felt like pulling around a parachute, making every step more strained.

    Focusing on the necessary, on the positive, on the essential may grant you the freedom you desire. Here are three areas in your life you can redesign:

    1. Your Relationships

    Growing up, my friends and I counted and compared how many toys we had, how many books we read, how many good grades we achieved. Only now, decades later, have I dropped that habit of thinking “more” is better.

    When I quit my job and started my own business, I never thought that my biggest obstacle would be the people I chose to accompany me on that path. Once I hit that roadblock, it took great courage to cut the ties that were holding me back.

    The people we come across and spend time with become a part of our lives. That doesn’t mean they necessarily should. It’s up to you to choose.

    Jim Rohn once said, “You are the average of the five people you spend the most time with.” If that is true, could your relationships serve you better? If you could choose, what kind of people would you surround yourself with?

    2. Your Material Goods

    Someone once told me, “The fastest way to get a pay raise is to spend less money.”

    Quitting my job last year meant watching how I spent money. This was a blessing in disguise.

    Every single time I browsed the web for a beautiful new handbag, I stopped myself, thinking: “What am I trying to find in this handbag? What am I looking to feel by buying this?”

    Over time, this spread to the material goods I already have, not just the ones I hoped to purchase. I gave away some things that would be more useful to people in need. Living in a third-world country made that process easier, giving me a chance to give back to the communities around me.

    The items we hold around us pile up over time, but the purpose of that is not always clear. What are you looking for within those items: happiness, status, or is it something else?

    If you are interested in living a life with less stress, try asking yourself why you hold dear the possessions around you.

    3. Your Expectations

    For much of my life, I gave in to my emotions. With a blindfold over my eyes, I stumbled through life at the whim of my mood swings.

    Very often, I spent my days feeling angry, jealous, or doubtful. I was unaware of the reason behind these emotions. I let them run free, untethered inside my heart and mind.

    Until someone introduced me to a book called Man’s Search For Meaning by Viktor E. Frankl.

    In his book, he writes:

    “A man’s suffering is similar to the behavior of gas. If a certain quantity of gas is pumped into an empty chamber, it will fill the chamber completely and evenly, no matter how big the chamber. Thus, suffering completely fills the human soul and conscious mind.”

    Whether the situation is big or small, every single person decides just how much to suffer for it. When faced with the same situation, each of us decides just how to frame and feel that situation.

    The biggest reason I let my emotions run wild was because I was not aware of my expectations. I imagined life to be a certain way, and I was torn when reality didn’t match up.

    Wiping my mind clean of how life should play out, I allow myself to accept each moment as it comes, for better or for worse. The calm I feel at shedding expectations is extraordinary.

    When I set out to redesign my life— quitting my job, starting my own mini-business, spending more time writing—I never thought I would also start a quest to shed many parts of my life.

    None of this is easy, but it is worth it. I grapple with it everyday, but that grappling makes all the difference.

    Are you looking to redesign your life? Share your stories in the comments.

    Photo by The Green Party

  • Lessons from Dogs on Being Present and Healing After Loss

    Lessons from Dogs on Being Present and Healing After Loss

    Dog

    “If you learn from a loss you have not lost.” ~Austin O’Malley

    Every experience, including every loss, has something to teach us even when we are not up for a lesson.

    Losing one of my pets has been a chance for me to reflect on the value of the present, and has strengthened my commitment to engaging in each moment and not letting my worries and anticipation erode the possibilities of the now.

    In December, my fourteen-year-old golden retriever passed away. Ripley was an incredible companion who saw me through several jobs, moved with me five times, and outlasted my longest boyfriend by over ten years.

    If I was sick, she would curl up on next to me and ask for nothing until I felt better. If I was sad, she would push her head into my hand and offer as many dog kisses as I could stand. If I was just being lazy, she would bark at me until I got off the couch for a walk or a fierce game of tug.

    I was fortunate that she was a happy, vibrant dog up until the last few days of her life when she simply slowed down and passed away peacefully.

    The decision to let her go wasn’t easy but it was uncomplicated, and I felt a sense of clarity throughout the process of saying goodbye.

    What I didn’t anticipate was the depth of loss I have experienced since she passed. And I certainly didn’t know that my other dog, Keaton, would help me so much through the loss and guide me back onto my path.

    Ripley died a couple weeks before the holidays, which meant the weeks following were hectic and spent with people closest to me who understood the significance of my loss.

    After the holidays, Ripley’s absence started to sink in at the base level of loss that shows itself in the shift of your daily routines and spotlights the silly, simple ways that someone or something becomes ingrained in your life.

    It’s then I realized that as much as letting her go hurt, it wasn’t her actual passing that was the most difficult. It was going to be the gap created by her absence that would hurt and challenge me the most.

    The pain of saying goodbye was nothing compared to the poignant ache that was created once she was gone.

    Keaton is a tall, goofy, five-year-old golden retriever, and from the day I brought him home as a puppy, he pledged his allegiance to Ripley with the dedication of a novice cult member.

    When she passed, he spent the first week searching the house and whining in what I projected onto him as sadness; so there was some sort of transition happening that he could not have anticipated.

    The week before she died was filled with lasts—the last time they ate together, the last time they wrestled playfully growling fake growls, and the last time they banished the squirrels from the yard like a superhero and her faithful sidekick.

    And all the time he was sharing those experiences with her, Keaton wasn’t wondering when she would leave or what it would be like without her. Whatever he experienced was free, unmitigated by what might happen and unscathed by concerns if it was going to ever happen again.

    He reminded me of one of my favorite poems, The Peace of Wild Things, by Wendell Barry. In particular, one line reads, “I come into the peace of wild things, who do not tax their lives with forethought of grief.”

    Keaton and I are going through the loss in our own canine/human ways, but he never wasted time worrying about the possibilities, the future, the maybes and what-ifs that can rob us from a full experience.

    Whether those experiences are good, bad, joyful, funny, challenging, exhilarating, or exhausting—they are the beautiful arenas in which we exist, triumphing and screwing up just the same. Keaton’s moments with Ripley weren’t perfect because the squirrel was caught (they never caught one); they were perfect because they happened.

    How often do we step ahead of the moment and step toward concern, negativity, and anxiety? How easily are we drawn away by our thoughts of what might happen next? How hard is it, once we’ve taken that step away from the moment, to step back into the present?

    We are all on a path toward greater mindfulness (we’re all reading Tiny Buddha, right?) and the universe is always offering simple reminders and lessons that might lead us to profound change.

    I was crushed when Ripley passed, and was in no mood to look for lessons or even accept them. Perhaps thinking about Keaton’s experience with Ripley and then without her gave me the perspective from which I could accept the lesson being offered.

    My dogs have been great teachers, reminding me that disarming the anxiety of what may be, and the pain of what has been lost, frees me up to more fully engage in the present and challenge myself to bask in the joy of each moment. And that each of those experiences is invaluable.

    There will never be another moment just like that, no matter how good or bad, and that makes it precious.

    Every time I would let the dogs out, Ripley would stand at the edge of the deck, bark confidently, and then wait to see which neighborhood dogs would respond. All the while, Keaton never barked. The day after she passed, I let Keaton out and as I turned to go back into the house, I heard a deep, unfamiliar bark.

    I turned to see Keaton standing on the edge of the deck, looking across the yard with his ears up and tail wagging.

    Ripley was gone and Keaton was stepping up and into the moment. In that simple bark, he reminded me the best way to honor what has passed is to step into the present fully with my ears up and tail wagging.

    Photo by thezartorialist.com

  • How Death Teaches Us to Live Fully: 7 Enlightening Lessons

    How Death Teaches Us to Live Fully: 7 Enlightening Lessons

    “We meet but briefly in life, if we touch each other with stardust, that is everything.”  ~Unknown

    We had baked chicken and mashed potatoes with gravy that evening. It was the kind of hearty meal that warms you up on a damp March night.

    As I said goodnight, I couldn’t have imagined that in just a few hours I would return to my parents’ house and everything would be changed forever.

    But so it goes. Nothing in life is permanent.

    I’ll never forget that phone call. I felt everything drain out of me and then it seemed as though everything stopped. My mind couldn’t seem to absorb that my father had died.

    I kept saying, “But we just had dinner.” “He was getting better.” And,  “Everything was okay”

    When I arrived back at my parents’ house, it was surreal.

    The quiet conversation and enjoyable meal we’d enjoyed only a few hours ago had been replaced by a chaotic, confusing scene.

    I remember flashing lights, lots of people running around, the sad scared faces of those I loved, and tears, lots of tears.

    I was a wreck at the funeral and not sure if I could speak, but as I stood at the podium, a strange peaceful feeling come over me. A sort of clarity and profound realization. A deep connection to life that I’d never felt before.

    Nothing helps you understand the fleeting beauty of life more than death. Nothing helps you understand what is important in life more than death.

    And most important are the people in our lives. The connection, the bond, the love, the nurturing, the stories, and the memories that we share.

    These are the great gifts of life, and death teaches us to grab hold of them, because we know they won’t last forever.

    I thought I knew life but I didn’t, until that day.

    Enlightening lessons death can teach you about life:

    1. The power of love

    A few months after my father died, I found myself stuck. I was angry that he died and angry that I couldn’t do more to help him. With the loving support of the people in my life, I was able to move past the anger and start to focus on the time we had together.

    The power of love saw me through those dark days.

    If you’re struggling after the death of a loved one, reach out for support and pay homage to your loss by letting your love shine. Although they are no longer with us, our loved ones live on in our hearts, our minds, and our dreams.

    Love is universal and transcendent; it knows no boundaries and reaches far beyond the physicality of this world.

    2. The power of impermanence

    Have you ever experienced a loss and felt like you were losing control? You desperately try to pull in the reigns, but you can’t.

    We all like to have a sense of control, and a certain degree is important in terms of our survival. If we don’t organize our lives, follow rules, and work within the structure of society, we’ll find ourselves in a state of chaos.

    When someone dies, you realize that life is not permanent and that nothing will last forever no matter how much control you try to exert. This is actually what makes it so profound.

    Life is like a rainbow. The light and rain form its beauty, and then it fades. The gold is the shared journey and the profound expression of our lives.

    3. The power of acceptance 

    The grieving process is difficult.

    I remember being in denial and saying things like, “I can’t believe it’s true.” I spent a lot of time being mad at the world and myself.

    I bargained by thinking, “If only I’d done this” and “I should have done that.” The void of depression took the form of, “I am so sad; I’ll never get past this.”

    And finally, I accepted that he was gone and I needed to move forward.

    During this process I resisted the reality of my loss. The stages of grief gave me time to come to grips and handle what had happened.

    Ultimately, the resistance melted and I was able to lean into life again. You can’t move forward without acceptance. 

    4. The power of transformation 

    Loss and struggle hold the seeds of transformation. I don’t think anybody wants to experience pain. I know I sure don’t.

    But as I have experienced loss and struggle in my life, I have noticed a pattern: I get stronger, and the seeds of that struggle result in growth.

    Life is a continual process of struggle, transformation, and growth. Although it may not always seem obvious, if you look at growth you can always trace it back to the struggle that preceded it.

    You may be hurting now but something good is on the horizon.

    5. The power of awareness

    It is possible to go through long periods of life without ever expanding our consciousness.

    Prior to my father’s death, my conscious awareness was limited. I was in a safe, secure bubble, casually going about my life.

    I didn’t question life and I didn’t question the choices I made. I was not fully aware; I was not on purpose. I did not have a sense that my time was limited, nor did I get that life was a gift.

    Death can initiate the process of expanding your awareness, because it challenges you to question your view of life itself and what you do with yours.

    6. The power of presence

    So much of life is consumed by the struggle to survive and compete.

    I spend most of my time trying to cover my family’s basic needs, striving to succeed, and wading through the bombardment of materialism.

    When I find myself getting distracted by the “stuff” in my life, I try to take a step back and focus on the warmer, more soulful parts of me that make me feel alive and present. I take time to get away from the noise and distractions, and focus on spending time with the people in my life.

    The paradox of death is that it points to what it means to be alive. Aliveness has to do with experience, connection, and full expression. What makes your feel alive and present? 

    7. The power of connection

    Have you ever stepped outside your ego and connected to something bigger than you?

    When you’re on purpose or following your calling, you are guided internally, and yet you are also connecting to something beyond you.

    This is the experience I think most of us would like to have, but we get stuck in our ego-based thinking.

    Life events like death humble us and open us up to the possibility of waking up and stepping outside our ego. This gives us a chance to connect to something bigger than ourselves and do what is truly important.

    —

    Death is powerfully enlightening, but you don’t have to wait for someone to die to change the way you live.

    Each day you have an opportunity to create a life with purpose and meaning. Commit to being fully alive and expressing your highest self.

    Life is brief. Use it to spread a little stardust.

  • 5 Tiny Steps to Move Away from Unnecessary Busyness

    5 Tiny Steps to Move Away from Unnecessary Busyness

     

    “It’s not enough to be busy; so are the ants. The question is: what are we busy about?” ~Henry David Thoreau 

    I’m sitting on my porch watching the line of ants trail up the wall until the black line above me starts to fade into the roof. I wonder what they think about.

    Do they question the busyness of their tiny lives? Are they determined to get somewhere, or do they just focus on each tiny step forward? Do they fear the long road ahead?

    I remembered learning from my mother—when my sister and I were homeschooled in third grade—about ants’ inability to see with their eyes. I remember my mother telling me that ants see through their sense of smell.

    In order to better learn how they saw, my mother placed small pieces of homemade brownies around the house and covered our eyes with blindfolds. Hungry and determined, my sister and I scrambled around the house on all fours, sniffing for our hidden treasure.

    While I am still grateful for this lesson my mother taught me about ants, I am starting to recognize a more important lesson that has taken a bit longer to learn.

    In high school I spent countless hours with my head down studying and using my hands for various volunteer organizations. In college I worked tirelessly from class to work to home.

    Little did I know I was just like the ants marching toward some destination, but I was blind as to where I was going and why.

    It wasn’t until I reached complete burnout in my young professional career that I really started taking a look at the time I spent staying busy and getting things done. I had to take a step back and look at what I was doing with my time.

    In my younger years I could push through mild illnesses to finish term papers and tests, so I thought this would be the case with my career.

    But long hours of keeping busy at work and extracurricular activities turned into days, weeks, months, and years until my body forced me to stop.

    I suffered a neck injury that kept me from my job. In search of the answer as to how I injured my neck, I went from doctor to doctor and they told me the injury was merely overwork, not enough rest, and too much stress. The doctors simply directed me to stop being so busy, something that is much easier said than done.

    Since the injury kept me from work, chores, exercise, and most of my demanding activities, I faced the startling realization that I had to slow down. I had to start questioning why I was keeping myself so busy.

    I discovered that if I stayed busy I could ignore the pain I felt of not being good enough. I recognized that if I continued to do things, I thought I would like myself more. I recognized that I didn’t love myself for just being me.

    That injury saved my life. It made me question why I was busy.

    I still have to come back to Thoreau’s question: What am I busy about? What are we all busy about?

    First, ask: What am I doing in the day that does not serve me? Do I need to spend three hours every weekend cleaning the house or can my family divide, conquer, and clean in only one hour?

    Do I need to spend two hours each day updating my social media status or can I update my profile once a week? What am I willing to sacrifice for internal sanity and calm?

    Second, ask: Why do I do all that I do? You might be shocked to see that you cling to a number of superfluous tasks for money, pride, power, or recognition.

    Third, ask: What would happen if I stopped doing this? Clearly, if you abruptly quit your job you might face immense challenges. Maybe start by identifying something small to erase from your over-packed day.

    Be as specific as writing down each hour in your day to see where you spend most of your time and what you can remove from your day. You might surprise yourself when you see how much television you watch or how much time you spend driving around to do errands.

    Tiny Steps to Move away from Unnecessary Busyness

    1. Challenge yourself to take a few minutes to stretch your legs or to close your eyes and concentrate on slowing down your breathing.

    Clearing your head and slowing down your heart rate will allow for clearer thinking, planning, and decision-making.

    2. Take a step back and look at your life from another perspective, as if you were a friend or a colleague looking at it.

    It can help you let go of emotional attachments and see why you are hanging onto pointless tasks and activities that once appeared significant.

    3. Pay attention to your dreams.

    Besides my strong advice to take a nap everyday (something we should continue to do no matter how old we are) our dreams can be indicators of many things in our lives if we slow down to recognize what they are telling us.

    4. Unplug.

    Limiting use of computers and cell phones can open up many more hours of free time, creativity, and relaxation.

    5. Allow yourself to feel and be mindful.

    Do you feel tension in your shoulders? Are you clenching your jaw?

    When we are busy, we forget to feel what’s going on with our own bodies. Let us not be the ants, blind to our own lives, oblivious to what’s in front of us.

    Let us continue to question why we “do.” There are some things that are important to “do” in life, but there are also times when it’s important to just “be.”

    It is up to us to take more breaks in our busy days and really ask, why am I doing this? Does it matter?

    Tonight I decided to stop working a bit early. I did not respond to all the emails in my inbox. Instead, I asked myself what I want to do tonight and why.

    I spent my evening reliving my childhood and made a fresh batch of brownies. I savored each bite knowing there is really nothing left for me to do but sit back and watch the trail of ants.

  • Recovering from the Pain of Bullying and Finding Confidence as an Adult

    Recovering from the Pain of Bullying and Finding Confidence as an Adult

    Waiting

    “If your number one goal is to make sure that everyone likes and approves of you, then you risk sacrificing your uniqueness, and therefore, your excellence.” ~Unknown

    I envied the clusters of kids at recess, playing games from which I was always excluded, not just because I couldn’t play them, but also because I was the class outcast. I envied them, the ease with which they moved; their grace, speed, and precision as they ran, kicked, danced, dove. Things I could hardly hope to do.

    But it wasn’t just my Cerebral Palsy. It was something that wasn’t really about my looks or behavior or the fact that my day-to-day life was so utterly different from theirs.

    It was everything: the thick, black boys’ shoes that I wore because they could fit the orthotics strapped to my legs, and the long white knee socks that I wore with them, their cuffs folded over the Velcro straps to prevent chafing.

    It wasn’t anything you could put your finger on, something that could be explained or proven; it was in the tone of their voices, in the endless, hated laughter.

    I couldn’t honestly complain to a teacher or a principal that they were making fun of me because of the silly lunch bag I carried, couldn’t make a scene because I was the only one out of thirty kids who didn’t receive an invitation to a classmate’s birthday party or a dopey paper heart on my desk at Valentine’s Day.

    In twelve years of public school there were maybe three incidents that involved actual contact abuse: a shove, a chair pulled out from under me when I went to sit down. One time, while working on a group project, I chimed in with a comment, and one of the girls twisted my arm and told me if I spoke again, they would kill me.

    The rest of the time, it was subterfuge, gaslight incidents, “pranks” that were anything but comical.

    They would rifle my coat pockets, not to steal anything valuable, but for ammunition: every tiny detail of my life was mocking-fodder, something to be laughed about behind palms, whispered through textbook pages; nasty comments and caricatures doodled on notebook paper and passed when the teacher wasn’t looking.

    Those girls were suspicious of something they didn’t understand, and jealous of what they thought of as special treatment. When they paid attention to me at all, it was pointedly catty. The rest of the time, they were cold.

    They would rearrange things in my desk when I was out of the room, hide things or simply mess them up. I was too damnably, painfully shy to confront them; the few pathetic times I managed to bring it up they feigned utter innocence and acted like I was crazy.

    It became almost a relief to be ignored, even though it was incredibly lonely. When you are abused every day, to be passed over feels like a gift. I didn’t know how to articulate my loneliness. 

    Like when I sat alone at lunch because the other girls wouldn’t “let” me sit at their table. When I sat alone with a book at recess, the yard monitor told me, “Stop reading and talk to somebody; how do you expect to make friends if you don’t hang out with the other girls?”

    She didn’t get it. None of them did, those harried, overworked authority figures. They had too much to do to pay attention to one friendless kid, and one so quiet, so polite; they had other students to deal with, the troublemakers, the ones constantly sentenced with detention, the ones from troubled families who were cutting class and already smoking at age eleven, who mouthed off and were on the verge of flunking.

    So they forgot about me.

    My parents tried to solve my problems. There were years when there were meetings with principals, guidance counselors, and the school psychologist several times a month. The bureaucrats of the school system just wanted the situation to go away.

    The school board tried to make it seem like it was my fault: I was just an awkward, oversensitive kid who needed to get along better with her peers. The guidance counselor, a Pollyanna optimist who had smiley faces all over her office and gave equally vapid advice, told me to try harder, she was sure that the girls wanted to be my friends. She was useless.

    My parents said that I would find my niche in college, that kids would mature and see how special I really was. They tried to help me. But no matter how carefully I dressed like the cool girls, or tried to talk like them, watched the “right” TV shows and read the popular books and bought pop CDs and the cute accessories that they all wore, it never worked.

    I even tried to bribe those kids to be my friends, a memory which still, after all this time, leaves me feeling a mixture of anger and shame. Anger at them for their pointless cruelty, for making me cry at night in bed, shame at myself and my behavior. I was like a woman throwing herself at a man who has absolutely no interest in her even though she is in love with him.

    They rejected me, and I tagged along after them. I found out when their birthdays were and left little gift bags on their desk. My pitiful attempts at friendship only led to more rejection, more laughter.

    Later on, when the anger surpassed the shame I felt, I longed to scream at them. Some brilliant, caustic kiss-off, an aggressive statement that would leave them shocked and gaping. I wanted to hurt them the way they had hurt me so many times.

    So often I was embarrassed by the specter of my Cerebral Palsy, the spasms, the startled jerks and twitches, my ugly leg braces, and the way everything had to be done for me, like I was an infant.

    When I dropped a heavy textbook in the utterly silent classroom, it hit the ugly industrial linoleum with a thud that seemed to echo, and my body burned with shame. The teacher gave me a dirty look for daring to disrupt the class, and the students tittered, no doubt whispering about what a spaz, what a weird, clumsy thing I was.

    I hated myself for my blind devotion to the clique, and my desperate overtures of friendship.

    I hated myself for being a skinny, ugly little freak with big glasses and unruly curls and braces on both my teeth and my legs. I hated those girls for their careless, stinging words and their easy perfection.

    Whenever I have a bad day, when I feel fragile and insecure, when my manuscript has been rejected or I am having an “ugly” day where my skin is broken out and my hair won’t behave, it all comes back to me, and the memories make me cringe.

    I spend more time than I want to admit thinking about those years when I was the class geek, eternally uncool, a scapegoat for adolescent insecurity. I spent years trying to be someone else, and when the futility of that finally sunk in, I spent years trying to figure out who I was.

    I am no longer a victim. I have a certain measure of confidence in my choices and my work, and I have scraped a veneer of self-assurance from self-help books and years of therapy.

    I recently purchased a bumper sticker that says, “There Is No Alternative To Being Yourself.”

    When I consider my life, I do not regret my own hard-won authenticity. I regret the times I tried so hard to be what I’m not. 

    I think I simply got sick of struggling to fit into some mold that was entirely the wrong shape for me. It was so much less painful to do what felt right for me, to dress how I wanted, to say exactly what I felt even when nobody else agreed, and not worry about whether they did or not. It is incredibly liberating not to care.

    There is no magical, fast-acting cure-all for alleviating loneliness and developing confidence. And the truth is, I don’t really know how it happened. I read self-help books, I saw therapists, and I had an incredible support team of family and friends who loved me and helped me believe in myself.

    I know how painful it is, and the only thing I have to offer is my honesty, my truth. I hope that my story provides some comfort and solidarity to those who need it.

    Photo by Jenna-Carver

  • Let Go and Experience Life: 8 Ways to Stop Living in Crisis Mode

    Let Go and Experience Life: 8 Ways to Stop Living in Crisis Mode

    Sun

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

    My dad had been ill, in and out of the hospital for a couple of weeks, when my mother called with news that he had been airlifted from their local hospital to a larger regional medical center. My dad suffered from Crohn’s Disease for nearly fifty years at that point and was experiencing severe abdominal pain believed to be from a perforation of his bowel.

    We would learn over the next few hours that even surgery to remove a malignant tumor was not guaranteed to save his life.

    Throughout the long night, my mom and brother, along with my partner and I, shared a grim, poorly lit room reserved for families of emergency surgery patients.

    Throughout the trauma of that first night and the days that followed, I made it my mission to normalize, plan, and cope. I called relatives and kept those closest to my dad up to date. I paid for hotel rooms for my mom and brother, neither of whom could afford to stay overnight near the hospital.

    I became a caregiving overachiever, connecting personally with the nursing staff but careful to not be too pushy.

    My visits coincided with physician rounds where I asked questions and kept detailed notes. Once back at work as a librarian, I used online medical databases to get all the journal articles I could find about my dad’s condition.

    I built a fortress of information for reassurance. For the next eighteen months, I accompanied my parents to specialist appointments and tried in every way possible to make life normal. I paid their bills when they could not and funded the expensive health insurance my father now required due to his condition.

    Desperate problem solving became normal, necessary, and my job. What I didn’t realize, though, was the permanent adjustment I was making to a “high alert” status.

    In this fear-based mode of living, I was on constant lookout for any sign of danger so I could switch into containment mode, minimizing discomfort as fast as possible.

    When my father‘s cancer recurred after a period of relatively good health, we were all devastated. He died nine months after the recurrence, withdrawn and sad, while receiving hospice care at home. I felt like I had failed to keep everyone safe.

    As I grieved in the months and years that followed, I transferred the high alert skills to my job as a project manager, priding myself on my ability to see risks well ahead of others. I thought this protected me from uncertainty and, consequently, fear and anxiety.

    In fact, it ratcheted my alert status up to an even higher level—one that ultimately proved unsustainable. After nearly a year of leading a highly visible and high stakes project, I found myself sitting on the couch one morning, paralyzed by a combination of fear, sadness, and rage. 

    I was unable to get ready for work. My big project had stalled, I was terrified of displeasing my boss, and I was angry that I couldn’t see my way clear of these problems. There was no bright line to the future.

    I learned that these crisis moments offer opportunities to practice letting others help us and learn new ways of living. Here are 8 strategies that have helped me: 

    1. Find a neutral advocate.

    Objective outside support is crucial during a crisis period. Friends and family can often recommend a life coach, therapist, or spiritual advisor with whom they have worked. If you are reluctant to talk with friends, you can use social networking tools like LinkedIn to see if someone in your network is connected to an individual who can help.

    2. Practice mindfulness.

    There’s value in focusing on our breath to quiet the turmoil in our minds. Look for a meditation or spiritual center that offers a basic class in meditation, mindfulness, or prayer. Even ten minutes each day in quiet reflection will improve your focus, resiliency, and peace of mind.

    3. Replenish yourself.

    You might be depleted from years of constant vigilance and striving. Commit to leave at the end of your workday, at least a few days a week, even if everything isn’t done. Reconnect with parts of yourself that you haven’t seen for a while by watching a favorite movie or surrounding yourself with your favorite color.

    4. Try another perspective.

    Most people are doing their best but are primarily caught up in the storyline of their own lives. Even thirty seconds of viewing a situation from another’s point of view can diffuse your negative inner dialogue about a person or situation.

    5. Know your limits.

    When you are feeling pressured or negative, check to see if you are tired, hungry, or otherwise not feeling well. Avoid pushing through these feelings and stop your activity. Return to your situation later when you are feeling more refreshed.

    6. Make something.

    Many of us lose touch with our creative self as work and family commitments take more of our energy.  Working with our hands can effectively pull us out of a mental rut and create pride in our own abilities.  Handcrafts like sewing, knitting, embroidery, as well as woodworking, cooking, pottery making, and home improvement projects are all satisfying ways to feel purposeful.

    7. Look for like-minded folks.

    Connect with new friends and old acquaintances that are calm, self-aware, and in touch with their own unique humanity. Finding others to share interests and a good laugh provides a balance to the more stressful aspects of life.

    8. Reconnect with your love.

    Create opportunities to deepen your conversations beyond the rushed and sometimes business-like communication of daily life. Increasing conversational intimacy will strengthen intimacy throughout your relationship.

    After a long day, when you’re tired and have slipped back into old patterns and reactions, remember that these techniques are like muscles that get stronger each time you use them.

    Photo by Sagisen

  • Get Past It Instead of Getting Even: Revenge Isn’t Winning

    Get Past It Instead of Getting Even: Revenge Isn’t Winning

    “For every minute you are angry you lose sixty seconds of happiness.”  ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

    The first thing many of us think of after someone has wronged or disrespected us is how to get even—how to hand out a dose of that person’s own medicine in an attempt to feel totally vindicated.

    Most of us have thought about revenge at one point or another.

    Maybe it’s a co-worker, a classmate, a family member, or even a boyfriend or girlfriend, but regardless of the relationship it’s often an instinctive reaction when someone attacks the deepest, most fragile part of ourselves

    Does this really accomplish anything positive?

    We might gain some personal, though temporary satisfaction, but it does little to ease the pain others have inflicted upon us.

    I recently received an unexpected email. While the sender was certainly a surprise, the content of the message and its motivation were not.

    The sender was my father, and in what has become my parents’ only way of communicating with me over the last few years, it was a familiar message filled with anger, blame, and defensiveness.

    Though this wasn’t the first time my parents had defamed me in this way, it still saddened me for much of the next few days.

    Children, especially adolescents, are known for “mouthing off” to their parents while growing up, but it’s hard to imagine this coming from someone who taught you that this was disrespectful.

    My relationship with my parents has become difficult to maintain as a free-thinking adult.

    I suppose some might say that we should always forgive family members for their faults, especially parents.

    But regardless of the relation, at some point you grow tired of others not telling the entire truth; tired of having to defend yourself; tired of being referred to as the cause of someone else’s issues.  

    Growing up I had a great deal of respect for my parents. They provided for all of my worldly needs, taught me invaluable lessons and skills, and maintained a true sense of family and tradition within the walls of our home.

    Yet something was missing for me, as I was burdened by an inner need to always seek my parents’ approval and acceptance, which rendered me incredibly insecure and anxious growing up.

    Eventually, I became completely dependent on them for emotional stability and continual guidance. I didn’t love and trust myself enough to be the keeper of myself, so I allowed my parents to fill that role for me.

    As I evolved into an adult, found someone who loved me without conditions, and began to develop a deep appreciation for the person I was, I realized I no longer needed the family dynamic that I was so dependent on for so long.

    My parents, however, had a difficult time understanding that I was no longer that insecure, anxious, easily manipulated little boy trying to find his place in the world. I was now an adult, ready to chart his own course.

    We started arguing regularly, and many times rather than deal with the repercussions, I would just say I was sorry and return to how our relationship had always been.

    This dynamic continued on for many years until one day I offered my opinion and perspective on a complex, delicate matter they were considering. I questioned their motivation and feared the possible outcome, and thought voicing my concern would be appreciated.

    I was truly stunned by their reaction.

    Letters, emails, character attacks—they even posted hateful comments on a newspaper’s website I contributed to frequently, dragging my name through the proverbial mud in an effort to convince people that I wasn’t the man I proclaimed to be.

    I never expected something so heinous from my own parents. I was so taken aback, hurt and angry that my first thought was how to get back at them—to do a little mud-slinging of my own in an attempt at destroying their character, just as they had done to mine.

    Then I stumbled upon the following quote, and suddenly everything I thought I understood changed.

    “An eye for an eye only ends up making the whole world blind.” ~Gandhi

    How could I possibly be so naïve to believe that seeking revenge on my own parents would make my actions any better than theirs, let alone change the course of what had already been done?

    My revenge would only keep the wound open longer, perpetuating my bitterness and squandering my time on something I couldn’t change. Though never easy, acceptance is key in putting the pain behind you and moving forward with your life.

    I began to ask myself: Will I find any inner solace by propagating my anger? If I succeed at getting even, will it really change my reality? Does it make me the better person to do to them what they’ve done to me?

    As difficult as it was, instead of arguing and trying to defend myself, I simply said nothing. No replies, no rebuttals, no communication, nothing to engage us in the kind of negative confrontations we were accustomed to.

    I’ve learned that living without the drama that so many people thrive on is the only way to live a meaningful life.

    I’m far from perfect and those feelings of retribution still creep up now and then, especially when I get an email or letter as I did the other day. But each time the thought pops into my head, I begin to realize something:

    Regardless of how justified you might believe you are in seeking your revenge, it’s important to remember that life isn’t a game and simply getting even doesn’t mean you’ve won the battle; it just means you’ve lost your self-respect.

    It’s taken me a while to accept that I probably will never see my parents again. Yes, there will be times when I miss the family unit I remember from when I was a little boy; but then I’m forced to remind myself that things will never be as they were again.

    It saddens me that my parents are missing out on getting to know the man I truly am, instead of the insecure, anxious little boy they’re convinced still exists.

    In truth, I would not be the person I am today without them—a person of character and integrity who’s managed to touch the lives of many, even theirs I’m sure.

    In my heart I forgive them for everything that’s gone on, and the peace that provides me is much greater than the fleeting satisfaction of seeking revenge.

    Though it might seem impossible, even the bad things that happen in life have a funny way of leading us to a better place. At least, they did for me.

    Photo by joybot

  • How the Need to Be Right Can Lead to Guilt and Regret

    How the Need to Be Right Can Lead to Guilt and Regret

    Sitting Together

    “The obstacles of your past can become the gateways that lead to new beginnings.” ~Ralph Blum

    I think we all have this issue: guilt, followed by its sister, regret.

    I didn’t realize how dark a blemish it was on my heart until I fully felt the anguish of my mother’s death. I never quite realized my full potential, courage, or strength until her passing.

    Her greatest sacrifice, leaving this earth, proved to be my greatest motivation to search myself for the answer of whom I was and why; it was the major catalyst in my life for change.

    Sometimes the best things for you are the hardest.

    Admitting the darkness you’re carrying inside is one of the hardest things to do. Convincing yourself that you have been wrong and need to change can be even harder.

    Forgiving yourself because you are human, and loving yourself enough to know you deserve more, and deserve to give others more, is the hardest task of them all.

    I was an embittered person almost my whole life. I could hold a grudge with the best of them. I felt I had a lot to be resentful for, and truthfully, much of it was not unwarranted. But with my inability to never let go of things, I was miserable, making everyone else around me miserable, as well.

    This went far beyond just being angry. I felt I was being terribly misunderstood and never heard. I also felt the constant need to have to defend myself and my views with a strong argument.

    I had a very strained relationship with my mother starting when I was 14. I was at that age when I thought my parents knew nothing and I was smarter than they were.

    I can now fully understand why I felt that way, beyond just normal teenage rebellion. I was projecting a lot of my older siblings’ perceived unpleasant experiences with my parents onto my own, and letting that determine my relationship with them.

    There was a lot of friction between them, and I somehow felt that if I didn’t share their same resentment I was somehow betraying them.

    Because of this, I went through my youth and into my adulthood expecting my mom to give more than she could and blaming her, instead of blaming myself for not having enough compassion and never taking the time to understand that she was a person, too.

    I seemed to always be aggravated at everything she did.

    I held onto the need to be right, never letting up and always needing to argue. I grew into this person who could never listen with a compassionate heart and lived with resentment instead of love, kindness, and forgiveness.

    I was very hard-hearted instead of soft and pliable and forgiving.

    We would have bouts of calm when we got along great, then something would shift in her mood or mine and it would turn volatile. I see now that, because we were so much alike, it caused much of that friction. This went on for our whole relationship, up until just a couple of years before she died.

    I’m not saying she was without her faults, too. But now that she’s gone, and since I am much older, I can see everything so much clearer. That’s where the guilt comes in.

    We had been working on our relationship, though we didn’t acknowledge that openly, and we were really making headway. You see, I couldn’t even hug her, hadn’t done since I was a kid. But I was getting closer to her and hugging her more because I knew she needed it, and so did I.

    My great wall was crumbling.

    We had always done things together for years, not that that stopped the bickering. But that was all but over for a long while. Not long enough, though. And this is where the regret comes in.

    I wasted so much time being angry and self-righteous that I missed out on having a better relationship with my mother.

    If I had only known then what I have learned in the last few years and especially since her death, I could have saved myself the burden of that guilt and regret.

    There are so many moments each day where I will have a memory of us together and I will feel shame for the way I reacted to a situation. In my mind I can change the outcome to something that I should have done to handle the situation better.

    When she would be difficult, and she could be at times, why did I have to make it worse? Why couldn’t I have just stayed calm and had compassion for her feelings instead of getting overwhelmed and lashing out?

    I was incapable of doing that at the time because it’s hard to do when you are totally unconscious. You act before you think, lash out before you embrace.

    Oh, how I wish I had known this calm before it was too late! I think about the agony I could be saving myself now, and I am filled with remorse. But it doesn’t have to be that way. You can save yourself from the pain that I am trying to overcome.

    All it takes is a step in the right direction.

    It is so important to put your prideful ego aside and try the softer way. Ask yourself these three questions:

    1. Will it destroy me to “give in,” take the barriers down, and not have to be right all of the time? 

    When you “give in” it is not to lie down and be trampled on, but to slow down and reflect on what’s most important. The egotistical need to be right is what will ultimately destroy you. It leaves no room for compromise or compassion for another’s feelings, and will cause you more damage in the long run.

    2. Is it worth it to be right, making the argument more important than making someone else happy?

    When you constantly reinforce to the people in your life that you value your own opinions more than their feelings, it can cause a lot of hurt. Why not take the higher road and save the moment by saving your voice?

    3. Will my actions now cause me pain and regret later? 

    My biggest lesson learned was that, if I had only known then what I know now, I could have prevented so much grief.

    I wish I had had more generosity in my heart at that time. I wish I knew how to pause and let myself have that moment to feel the clarity that I needed to make a better choice in how I handled the situation at hand.

    I know that, when she did things that I considered unforgivable, it’s because she didn’t know any better and was only doing the best she knew how at that time, as was I.

    I am so grateful that I have learned these lessons now so that I can have the opportunity to live this way from here on out. I’m a big believer in things happening for a reason, and though I don’t quite know how to justify this one, I thank my mother every day for her sacrifice in that in losing her, I gained the greatest insight.

    I just wished I’d learned these lessons sooner.

    Photo by Kevin Krejci

  • Letting Go of Your Past Suffering to Feel Peaceful and Free

    Letting Go of Your Past Suffering to Feel Peaceful and Free

    “Letting go give us freedom, and freedom is the only condition for happiness.” ~Thich Nhat Hanh

    I stood alone in what had been my childhood bedroom, staring at the dresser with a familiar discomfort. My fingers clutched at the handle of the second drawer from the top and pulled hard, straining from the weight of its contents.

    I reached in with both hands, the drawer with its quarter inch plywood base teetering dangerously on the edge of the frame, and lifted them out, one by one.

    Unicorns, fairies, rainbows, mystical maidens, all disappeared as I placed the journals into the cardboard box I’d asked my mother to bring to me.

    She watched wordlessly as I carried it through the house and to the front door, then said simply, “I have to say, I’m not sorry to see those go.”

    In that moment, my mother was keenly aware of something that had eluded me for most of my life. And now, at the age of 28, I was ready to let go of something I had always been attached to, something that had caused me so much pain throughout all of the years I had been writing in those journals: my former self.

    Writing has always come naturally to me. As an only child and a classic introvert, I found it far less intimidating to share my thoughts with a blank sheet of paper than with another human being. 

    I began to journal actively at the age of twelve, filling page after page each night with my tales of prepubescent woe.

    I continued this practice until I was halfway through college, dedicating over a dozen spiral-bound volumes to a verbose body of work seeking to prove my hypothesis that my existence was pointless and that nobody loved me.

    My writing habit was far more destructive than therapeutic. It was much easier to validate my own negative emotions than it was to challenge my perceptions, ask others for help, or work to make meaningful changes in my life.

    The more I wrote about my problems, the more I allowed them to consume me. My suffering became my identity, and I didn’t know who I was anymore without it. 

    During high school, I sunk into depression and surrounded myself with other deeply unhappy people. For four years, we alternated between bonding over how miserable we all were and turning against each other in predictable cycles of emotional manipulation and abuse.

    Every night, I sat alone in my room committing all of the day’s events to paper. I chose to not only relive these painful experiences, but to continually remind myself of them.

    Mercifully, high school is designed to end. When it finally did, I cut off connections to my high school friends, but the shame that had allowed me to form those friendships followed me to college.

    It graduated with me, accompanied me to work every morning, and multiplied exponentially after the end of my first long-term relationship at the age of 25.

    It would take three years of therapy and endless support from the loving souls I now choose to surround myself with for me to realize just how much of my own suffering I have caused.

    For the better part of my life, I have chosen to view the world through a negative lens. I have resigned myself to feeling like a victim of my circumstances, instead of applying that energy to changing my perception of them.

    That night, I carried the box of journals home with me, ripped the pages from their bindings, and fed them to my shredder in small digestible stacks. I forced myself to avoid the temptation of rereading what I had written, and returning to the past.

    Watching the brightly colored words slowly disappear between the blades, I felt no remorse, only a deep sense of freedom. Ten years of writing filled four garbage bags, and their last measurable impact on me was the trip I had to take to the dumpster.

    It took me 28 years to release the attachment I felt to my journals, but I’d like to share what I learned from the process:

    Release the judgment you feel toward who you were in the past. 

    I no longer judge the young girl who worked so hard to define herself on the pages of those journals. I wish I could write to her now and tell her that she is loved, and that she does not have to wait for things to get better—that she already has everything she needs to be happy.

    I wish I could show her all that she has to be grateful for, and tell her that I am proud of who she is, and who she will become.

    Know that you are not betraying yourself by moving on.

    I have often been afraid to stop talking or thinking about the past experiences that caused me suffering because I mistakenly believed that they were a part of me. I have to keep reminding myself now that my desire is to live in the present, not the past.

    While those experiences—along with the ones I remember more fondly—have helped to shape who I am today, they are not my identity.

    It is unnecessary for me to feel any more guilt releasing them than I do giving away a shirt that no longer fits me. Remember that you are more than the sum of your thoughts and experiences, and that while you do not need to judge them, these are things that often tie you down from being in the present moment.

    Share the experiences that cause you shame with people you love and trust.

    I have not always found it easy to trust other people, and in the past, when I was not burying my emotions in my journals, I was putting my trust in people who did not treat it with much care or compassion.

    However, I am grateful for those experiences because they allow me to recognize that I am truly fortunate for the loving and compassionate relationships I have today. I have become friends with people who encourage me to share myself with them, who do not judge me for the things I think and feel, and who support me through the process of release.

    In a world where it is all too easy to form superficial connections, I encourage you to take the time to cultivate your real-life relationships. Focus on sharing raw, human emotions with a friend or partner, and on listening to them with all the passion you desire when you are sharing.

    In addition to helping to build trust between you, the courage you show in being open and vulnerable may allow your friend or partner to release one of their own burdens. There are very few things that are more rewarding and life affirming than being present in that way for someone you love.

    Photo by @Rayabi

  • The Story So Far: Your Life Is How You Interpret It

    The Story So Far: Your Life Is How You Interpret It

    “Though no one can go back and make a brand new start, anyone can start from now and make a brand new ending.” ~Carl Bard

    My life has been a long string of failures.

    The earliest I can remember is having my teeth knocked out when my grandpa braked too hard at a stoplight on our way to a church Easter pageant. I was supposed to be singing a solo, the part of the “little gray lamb,” and I did it—performing while clutching a bloodstained washcloth wrapped around ice cubes to hold to my front gums in between verses.

    Dumb kid. Should’ve worn a seatbelt.

    In sixth grade I was chosen to represent my school at the Planet Bowl at the Zeigfield Theatre in New York. I came within one warning of disqualification and yet won the competition, earning a microscope for my school and getting my picture in the paper with former Mayor Abe Beam.

    Talk about a self-centered attention seeker.

    In high school I played leading roles in musicals, composed and arranged pieces performed with my fellow students, won state-level First honors in both drama and music. I also lettered in cross country and swimming, was a national merit semi-finalist, and won a rotary scholarship.

    What an unrealistic artsy-fartsy nerd.

    I was an honor student in college, before withdrawing to join the Marines. There I tied for top scores in the School of Infantry, getting a meritorious mast. I raised one, two, and then two more daughters, working every job I could find, from short-order cook to multimedia producer to feed them, house them, clothe them, and help them turn into the remarkable young women they are now.

    What a waste. A white guy during the dot-com boom couldn’t do better than flipping burgers and pancakes? Pathetic.

    That’s the story I’ve told myself, over and over.

    I could list more triumphs, more successes, more things that I attempted and achieved, but the number of things I didn’t achieve always vastly outnumbers them.

    Either in comparison to what others have accomplished or simply in comparison to that evil little voice of “you should’ve” in the back of my head, no matter what I pull up and show, there is always a version of the story of my life where even my failures could’ve been better.

    In some ways it could be argued that this has been beneficial. I am always trying to please that voice, and it leads me to try hard, try again, and try different approaches until I find something that works.

    I got inspired by Homer’s Odysseus, whose epithet “polyteknos” literally means “man of many ways.” That dissatisfaction with the things I’ve done has led to more and more varied and unusual accomplishments in various areas, taken me around the world teaching, learning, and connecting with remarkable people.

    But always accompanied by that voice in my head, saying: If yer so smart, why ain’t you rich? Or in better shape, or more prolific a writer, or more attentive a father, or, or, or.

    Forty-three years of this, give or take. And finally, in about the past year, I’m slowly coming to realize something about this epic tale of my life.

    The should’ve’s always seem bigger than the did’s because of the stories I’ve been telling myself about them. They have no more substance than the shadow of a cloud passing over a mountain, yet they change my entire perception of what happened.

    What if I could change that? What if I could set out to tell a different story? What happens then?

    Carl Bard is right: I can’t change what has happened, but I can look at it differently, a process popularly known as reframing.

    Suddenly my parents’ divorce is what gave me three half-sisters and a half-brother. My withdrawal from college took me out of an environment toxic to my young questioning mind. The injuries to my knees that led to a discharge from the Corps let me raise my kids without the trauma of Gulf War I.

    Every mishap, mistake, misunderstanding, and misspent moment led directly to the person I am now.

    Is that person a success? Is that person a failure? Like Schrodinger’s Cat, the fact is that I am both and neither until I choose the lens through which to look at myself. Between the reflection in the mirror and my brain, the filters of experience change the feelings attached to every event and deed.

    Sometimes the mountains are in sunlight, sometimes shadow. The mountains remain, nonetheless. They can be obstacles or they can be panoramic beauty. Either way, they will inspire the story within.

    You write about the mountain and the valley and the river and all the rest of your life’s metaphorical landscape. You also rewrite that story, every day. Not only how it ends, but also how you remember it.

    There is magic in hindsight, and there is forgiveness in perspective, if you choose to accept either.

    Best of all, there is inspiration in the knowledge that the path led you to now, where you have the power to decide what will happen next.

    If you asked me, right now, what the biggest accomplishment of my life has been, it’s a no-brainer. It’s a tie between making my three-year-old grandson Harvey laugh and making my other grandson, one-year-old Victor, smile. Nothing else in my entire life has felt as worthwhile. Not. One. Thing.

    There is no way the little gray lamb, the musician, the Marine, or any other me’s could have known or planned for that. And that’s okay; I am eternally grateful for the part they played in making my life’s great work possible.

    Slowly I’m learning not to worry about writing the ending of my story or editing the beginning. I’m learning to do what is most important, every day: The story, so far.

    Photo by Bev Goodwin