Tiny Buddha

Tag: hopes

  • Finding Magic in the Dreams That Didn’t Come True

    Finding Magic in the Dreams That Didn’t Come True

    “Most of us have two lives. The life we live, and the unlived life within us.” ~Steven Pressfield

    I was born a decade too late in 1975 in a small Pennsylvania town. By the time I was old enough to buy a record, the legendary rock and roll culture of the 1960s and 70s was a distant memory. To some, it might have even seemed uncool by then. But to me, a teen in the late 80s, the era of sex, drugs, and rock and roll was everything.

    I spent hours writing song lyrics in my flowered journal, watching MTV, and poring over Circus and Rolling Stonemagazines, trying to catch glimpses of the personal lives of my favorite rock stars. I strummed my guitar and pretended I was Janis Joplin. I was a dreamer, obsessed with poetry and music and the romantic notion of traveling across the country to see my favorite bands.

    At twelve years old, I took a bus from my small town to Philadelphia to see the band Heart. At fourteen, my parents drove me hours away to see Stevie Nicks. Then, in my late teens, I drove all the way to Ohio and Las Vegas, Nevada to see her again. No distance ever seemed too far to travel for my favorite music.

    Back then, I envisioned myself following bands and living a carefree, hippie lifestyle where my only concern was getting to my favorite artist’s next show. And most of all, I dreamed about a concert at Red Rocks Amphitheater in Colorado.

    But somehow, by my early twenties, that dream felt out of reach. I met a man, got married, and had a daughter. Our life was filled with routines that were so different from the vagabond life I’d envisioned for myself. I traded spontaneity for discipline and gave up my dreams of traveling for the security of a stable life and a house in a good neighborhood.

    Eventually, the responsibilities of marriage, career, and never-ending to-do lists made my dream of going to Red Rocks feel more and more like only that—a dream.

    And it went on like that for seventeen years. Then, after years of doing what I thought I was supposed to do, my husband and I decided to separate.

    I embarked on life as a single mom. And as I did, I reflected on the last two decades. We’d married young and, in retrospect, I realized we probably weren’t a good match. He was a real estate attorney with a strong personality and even stronger opinions. I gave our marriage the best of me that I could, but it felt like I was always being who he wanted me to be.

    I had lost myself. I’d lost sight of my own hopes and ambitions. I’d never even made it to Red Rocks.

    In 2016, newly single, I felt eager to date again, so I downloaded Bumble and set up a profile. Not long after, I matched with Jerry. He lived on the West Coast but was in my hometown of Philadelphia for a Dead and Co. concert—the same one I had tickets to.

    Jerry had told me he’d followed the band as a teenager, but he hadn’t stopped going to concerts like I had. He’d held onto his dream and seen them at least 500 times. It was almost like he’d lived the life I’d imagined for myself way back when. We seemed to be kindred spirits. But I had a type, and that was someone who was within a fifteen-mile radius, so I decided not to meet up with Jerry at the concert, despite being intrigued.

    Jerry and I kept in touch over the next four years, although I never held out any hope for anything more. He was a divorced man with children, on a dating app; I assumed he’d meet somebody close to home, and I’d eventually stop hearing from him. But to my surprise, he reached out periodically, often to talk about what was happening in the world of Grateful Dead concerts. It seemed he wanted to stay on my radar. He was always polite and respectful, never creepy or pushy.

    Jerry was ten years older than me, but somehow reminded me of my younger self. He had a refreshingly youthful spirit, which was completely different than any man I ever dated. Like me, he had a corporate job, but he didn’t let that stop him from following his band across the country. Music was a huge part of his life, like mine.

    We kept in touch, and by the summer of 2021, the pandemic restrictions had started to loosen. Outdoor events resumed. I’d been itching to go to an outdoor concert, and that’s when Jerry told me he had an extra ticket for Dead and Co. Honestly, when I accepted the ticket, it wasn’t to finally meet Jerry in person. I was just tired of being stuck at home.

    I didn’t have any expectations. But the first time I saw Jerry smile in person, I had this feeling my life was about to get a lot more adventurous. And I realized I liked him. He was intelligent, polite, and handsome, and he loved all the same music that I had loved for years.

    After that first concert, Jerry told me he was falling for me and that he wanted to see me again on his travels with the band. When I reminded him that I was a single mom with a full-time job and couldn’t follow a band, he offered to take me to Red Rocks for my birthday.

    I couldn’t say no. Jerry was handing me my childhood dream on a silver platter, and I wanted to eat until I was full.

    He pursued me relentlessly, and it was exhilarating and romantic. Nothing like that had happened in my adult life before him. We spoke daily, and our adventures over the next two years were amazing.

    But about two years into our relationship, I began to realize that Jerry and I might not be forever. We led such different lives. His was wild and interesting; mine was more predictable. And as much as I loved his spontaneity, I began to see how chaotic his personal life was. I started to wonder: Was I in love with Jerry, or was I in love with the way he had stayed connected to his childhood dreams as an adult?

    After two years of seeing each other periodically and talking daily, the facade started to fade. The rose-colored glasses were off, and I was seeing things more clearly. While professionally successful, Jerry jumped from job to job. He lived in constant drama with his family, and all his traveling took a toll on his health and his relationships. I also started to wonder if there were other women like me in his life.

    I never doubted that Jerry cared deeply for me, but I couldn’t help but wonder if he had women like me in several states. I never asked him. I wanted to stay in my bliss, living out my childhood dream of music and love—to stay in the bubble of contentment and happiness with what we had, with one exception.

    I wanted to see more of him. And, ultimately, I wanted to know that I was important to him.

    Jerry couldn’t do that. He had a hard time committing to anybody or anything other than the band. I understood. It was that lifestyle that drew me to him in the first place, but I couldn’t continue a relationship like that.

    The last time I saw Jerry, as I was dropping him off at the airport to fly home, I started to cry uncontrollably. I realized that the free-spiritedness of dating Jerry had a dark side: uncertainty. Every time he left, I never knew if or when I would see him again. Like the bands I had loved to follow, everything was on his terms. He decided when, where, and how, while I just showed up. It was incredible, but I wanted—needed—more.

    When I told Jerry that I wanted more commitment, I thought for sure that he would choose me. It’s what I would have done. But he didn’t. And it broke my heart. At least for a while.

    Once my relationship with Jerry ended, I had time to reflect. I realized that in our pragmatic world it’s all too easy to exist on autopilot. Still, we shouldn’t abandon our childhood dreams because they connect us to our inner truth and reveal the magic that surrounds us—and not only in iconic destinations like Red Rocks or in grand gestures like love-bombing and being swept off my feet.

    Magic also exists in the beauty of a cotton candy sunset while driving home after a long day at work. It exists in the time I spend with the people I love, like my ninety-year-old mother, whose short-term memory no longer exists, but when we sit hand-in-hand and play Frank Sinatra’s “New York, New York,” we smile and sing every word and feel joyful in the moment, even if we’re off-key.

    Magic surrounds me when my ex-husband, who I consider a friend now, and I watch our magnificent eighteen-year-old daughter live her life, and beam with pride at the amazing young woman she’s become.

    Most days, though, I find that when I listen to music, attend concerts, and spend time writing, those are the moments I know who I am, and my childhood dreams come to life.

    And, of course, falling in love with Jerry taught me a valuable lesson:

    Relationships don’t have to be long-lasting to be impactful. Sometimes, a short-lived experience, like those concerts I chased all my life, could contain years-worth of depth, love, and meaning.

    And, I learned, dating doesn’t have to lead to a ring. Sometimes it leads to living a childhood dream and falling in love under a clear Colorado sky.

    Sometimes, that’s enough.

  • How To Make Peace with Regrets: 4 Steps That Help Me Let Go

    How To Make Peace with Regrets: 4 Steps That Help Me Let Go

    “Under any circumstance, simply do your best, and you will avoid self-judgment, self-abuse and regret.” ~Don Miguel Ruiz

    The other day, I told my adult niece that I regretted selling my downtown condo several years ago.

    “On no,” she said. “You told me back then that you were finding the lack of light was getting to you. You weren’t happy there.”

    I had no memory of that until she reminded me. And surprisingly, it lifted a great deal of my painful regret around it. It helped me change from regret to recognition that I’d made the right decision.

    That got me thinking about other things I regretted. Am I remembering them correctly, or am I revising history? In other words, am I suffering needlessly?

    Memory is a funny thing. We don’t usually remember all the details of a situation. We pick and choose.

    For example, my regret around selling my condo focused on missing its cool location, being aware of how the value had increased, and reflecting on the many fun times I had with friends and family there.

    My memory did not include how much construction has been going on in that location these past years, how my two favorite restaurants closed, and how the best neighborhood coffee shop in the world went out of business.

    My regret, my emotional pain, was based on very limited data, some that isn’t even relevant anymore.

    Isn’t that interesting?

    Is it possible that all our regrets don’t take into account enough information to help us feel more at peace with these painful situations?

    I decided to sit and reflect on some of my other regrets. Would it be possible to alleviate some of my suffering by broadening my perspective on them?

    Here’s how I made peace with my regrets:

    Step One: I reviewed the regret and thought about all the things that were going on at the time of the disappointment.

    For example, let’s take my early career as a singer/songwriter. When I looked back on it, I felt regret, deep emotional pain over never recording an album of my songs.

    There was a lot going on in those years surrounding my career. Specifically, I was never totally happy. I spent more time reading self-help and spiritual books than practicing my craft.

    I had a hard time relating to other musicians. And I really had a terrible time with the record company executives and producers. I didn’t like how they treated me.

    I even had my manager ghost me. And that was way before we even knew what ghosting was.

    In addition, I was on the road a lot, playing in smokey bars, which was really challenging given that I neither smoked nor drank.

    And because I spent a lot of time as a solo performer with just me and my guitar, I spent way too many days, nights, and weeks alone in strange communities, eating in bad restaurants, because that was all I could afford.

    Hah! You see how remembering the details around the regret can be so eye-opening? Until I did this exercise, I honestly had forgotten about all of that.

    Step Two: I reflected on how this bigger picture influenced the outcome that I was currently regretting.

    There was nothing very inspiring or exciting about the day-to-day grind of being a musician on the road for me.

    Everything seemed very hard. Finding places to play, driving long distances, meeting with executives who were judging me and my music, dealing with agents and other musicians, and missing my family.

    It was all hard. And I didn’t like it.

    I dreamed of finding colleagues who would help me to fulfill my potential as an artist. Except for a small handful, the ones I worked with seemed much more interested in furthering themselves.

    I felt used.

    Ugh!

    And although I enjoyed the time I spent living and working in New York City and Los Angeles, I was a Canadian citizen and unable to obtain a proper work visa.

    That meant I would go back and forth across the border often, keeping my fingers crossed that I wouldn’t get caught!

    Step Three: I explored another way to look at the situation, often called “reframing.”

    Reframing is exactly what it sounds like. If you had a frame, maybe 24” x 24”, and you placed it on a very large painting, you would be focused on the section of the painting within the frame.

    But what about the huge picture all around it? If you moved the frame, you’d see another piece of the picture.

    And if you expanded the frame to be the full size of the entire canvas? Now you’d see a very different picture.

    We can reframe situations in our life this way. By moving the frame around, and especially by expanding it, we simply see a different picture of reality.

    As I reflected on all the things that were going on with my early musical career, I began to see the bigger picture. And guess what? I felt the pain of regret lift from my heart.

    Of course I quit that career!

    Of course I was unhappy!

    Of course I didn’t get to fulfill my goal of creating an album. The situation was not going to support that, no matter how hard I tried.

    Step Four: I made peace with what was once a regret.

    Certainly, sitting here now with an MP3 of my songs in album form seems like a great thing.

    But there was always a good chance that it was not going to be something I was proud of. I didn’t have the support structure to make that happen.

    And what happened instead of sticking with my music career?

    I came back home to my family, went back to school, and had the best time learning, writing, and studying topics that I found inspiring and fascinating.

    Coming back to school gave me the chance, as an adult, to explore who I really was, find my true passions, and commit to how I might share those passions with the world.

    University was the best time of my life.

    Conclusion

    This exercise has helped me heal. I no longer have emotional pain around what I used to see as a disappointment for my life.

    I have insight now that leads me to believe that the music business was not my passion, not my purpose, and would never have made me happy.

    This great insight provides me with great relief. I have found peace where once there was the emotional pain of regret.

    I hope you try these steps for yourself and learn how to make peace with your regrets.

  • How I Created Opportunities in a World Full of Obstacles

    How I Created Opportunities in a World Full of Obstacles

    “I really want to, but I can’t because [add semi-valid reason here].”

    That’s a template sentence to let yourself off the hook.

    It’s not copyrighted, so feel free to use it any time you want to let go of your dreams and not feel bad about it.

    Honestly, it hurts me every time I hear someone say it. I see it for what it is—an excuse.

    Every single one of us has ambitions, hopes, dreams, and goals. We fantasize about them on our commutes to work and before we sleep. We talk about how we will one day achieve them, but when it comes time to put them to action, we use that template sentence.

    I had every reason to use the template sentence. I live in a third-world country in the Middle East. We suffer from a lack of water, electricity, security, and opportunities—especially for girls.

    In the Western world, if you want to learn a new skill, you sign up for a training course, get a book, find articles online, or join a club. It’s different here. Here, we don’t have training courses, libraries, or clubs, and the internet is slower than a snail crawling through peanut butter.

    During my teen years, I felt stuck in my life. I wanted to learn so many things and achieve my wildest dreams, yet I couldn’t. How was I supposed to impact people when I would only leave the house to go to school on the weekdays and grocery shopping on the weekends?

    I read stories of kids my age winning science fairs and inventing devices to solve the world’s leading issues. Yet, there I was, wasting my time at home, waiting five minutes for a single webpage to load.

    I had always imagined what my life would be like, and this is not what I had pictured. Time was passing me by, and my talents and ambitions were going to waste.

    I wanted to have an impact, but I couldn’t because I didn’t have the opportunities to learn and gain experience and feedback. (Notice the template sentence.)

    This way of thinking was eating away at my soul. Day after day, I found myself sinking into a pit of misery. I would spend my days lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. There was nothing I could do to change my life, so why try?

    One day, I had had enough. I had been lying in bed for days. It had been years since anything amazing had happened to me. I couldn’t take it anymore. I couldn’t accept the fact that this would be my life. There was an itch under my skin to make my life worth living.

    “Life is too short to waste it moping about the hand of cards life had served me,” I thought. I didn’t care what it would take. I would do whatever I could to get myself out of the hole I was in.

    I decided to use the resources I had to create the future I dreamed. “Bloom where you are planted” became my life motto. What I had access to at the time was the internet.

    In order to get out of the country I was in, I concluded that I’d need a scholarship. I set my mind on getting the Japanese Monbusho Scholarship. I found blogs, articles, and books online to become fluent in Japanese. I practiced day in and day out. I tried a plethora of different methods to learn new words and perfect my grammar. In a few months, I was able to hold a simple conversation in Japanese.

    I also realized that I would need money. I wasn’t allowed to go out and get a job. This was an obstacle I had trouble accepting. I tried to convince my parents to let me work, but they refused for my safety. My mother introduced me to the concept of passive income and showed me blogs that were making six figures every month!

    I set out to build a hedgehog care website. Every day, after school, I would research hedgehogs and write detailed articles about how to feed them, groom them, play with them, and anything else one would need to know. I went on like this for 3 years, studying Japanese and writing about hedgehogs.

    I’m sure you’re expecting a spirit-lifting ending where I travel to Japan and live off my flourishing website. That’s not how this story ends.

    I didn’t get the scholarship. The fact is, I didn’t even get the chance to apply. I ended up studying in my third-world country. I was crushed. I didn’t want to, but it was either study here or not study at all. Unwilling to accept the facts, I started an online university the next year. I now study at two universities simultaneously.

    As for the hedgehog website, it made me a total of $60 for the three years of work I put into it.

    I can stand here and tell you that I tried, but it didn’t work out. That’d be a lie. It did work out—just not the way I expected.

    I’m not in Japan, but I know how to speak Japanese and have met many interesting people along the way. I learned from them and gained experience just as I hoped I one day would. And instead of one major, I now have two, both of which I enjoy learning about.

    My hedgehog website didn’t succeed, but I created a new one that’s even better with the expertise I gained. I interact with my readers often, helping them find ways they can live their dreams. I love hearing their stories and learning how I helped them build better habits or make their goals a reality.

    I still live in the same country I did before. I still have to wait five minutes for a webpage to load. However, I know that even though the obstacles are always there—and always will be—they have nothing to do with happiness, fulfillment, success, peace, and satisfaction. Some people have it better than others, and some have it worse, but every single person, regardless of circumstance, can control their mindset.

    I didn’t let my obstacles stand in my way, and I created my own opportunities when I found none. In an instant, anyone can decide to embrace the cards they’ve been dealt and create their own unique way to shuffle, redistribute, alter, or mold them into a winning hand.

  • We Can Find Reasons to Be Happy and Grateful Every Day

    We Can Find Reasons to Be Happy and Grateful Every Day

    Couple Playing in the Snow

    “A day without laughter is a day wasted.” ~Charlie Chaplin

    Many people have told me throughout my life that I sound just like my mother when I laugh. I lost her to cancer when I was sixteen, over twenty years ago. I learned from her to laugh and laugh often, even through the toughest of times. “Happiness is a choice,” she always said.

    Life has thrown a few curveballs my way over the past five years and tried to test my ability to choose happiness and laughter. My husband, Eric, and I had just started talking about having children when the first wild pitch came our way.

    Early in 2010, Eric was diagnosed with cancer. I remember how I refused to cry in front of him or in front of anyone really. I remember how overwhelmingly sad, scared, and angry I felt. I also remember the first time we laughed after we found out.

    We were sitting on our couch watching TV, and something very funny came on and we both laughed. I can’t remember what it was. I just remember looking at him and feeling a bit surprised.

    I realized that it was going to be really important for us to keep laughing, and we did, often at times when most people would think we were nuts.

    We laughed at the crazy sound Eric made when he got sick (to put it politely) after chemotherapy. We laughed when I blew into his ostomy bag to make sure it was attached correctly (a very risky maneuver considering what could have come out of there.)

    We laughed hysterically when a nurse very inappropriately commented that our sex life would probably be a lot better once he had the surgery to get rid of the ostomy.

    Fast-forward a few years. Eric was healthy and we were ready to move forward in starting a family. We knew there could be some complications, but they turned out to be worse than we thought. Cancer treatments had made Eric sterile and it turns out that I had some issues too.

    We decided to try IVF with samples Eric had frozen prior to treatment and failed multiple times. Again, we ended up laughing when most people would think we were crazy.

    We laughed when my first embryo transfer turned into a show for about six interns (thank you teaching hospital).

    We laughed when we got a box full of hormones and needles that would make some people faint.

    We laughed ourselves to tears when an employee at CVS very inappropriately asked me if I was pregnant yet because she’d seen me buy so many tests.

    We decided after two rounds of IVF and one frozen embryo transfer that we were not going to do any more fertility treatments. We had discussed adoption before, and we both agreed that we wanted to become parents this way.

    We took a good bit of time to research and discuss our options and eventually agreed that open adoption was the path for us.

    Fast-forward about a year to today and to the event that inspired me to write this post. We are in “the wait” to be chosen by an expectant mother to become parents through open adoption.

    This is something that could take months or years. Every day we are hoping that this woman, who we already love, will find us through our agency and want to place her child, who we already love, with us.

    We bought a separate phone for our toll free number to make sure we never miss a call. Today, I heard it ringing in my office and a million thoughts ran through my head instantly. Could this be her, already, we’ve only been live for a month, how should I answer, will I sound stupid…

    I ran like the wind to my office and as I was picking it up to answer, my husband jumped out from under my desk and yelled, “It was me!”

    I could have been irritated that he scared me half to death. I could have been angry that he got my hopes up that we were getting “the call.” Instead, I chose happiness and we laughed—a lot!

    Laughter has kept us sane and grounded through very trying times. I’m so thankful that my mother taught me to choose happiness and that I married my best friend who makes this choice with me every day.

    Yes, there have been sad, scary and angry moments, but we have always been able to find our way to happy and hopeful, which will make “the wait” much easier.

    We are so thankful that my husband is healthy.

    We are so thankful that we have the ability and opportunity to become parents through this amazing and loving way to create a family.

    We are so thankful that we choose to be happy. We can’t wait to share our lives, love, and laughter with our child and to teach him or her to choose happiness.

    Just as my mother encouraged me, I will now encourage all who are reading this to find at least one moment during the day to really focus on what you are thankful for.

    Taking these moments to be grateful—especially on the days when being happy may seem impossible—can be just what you need to get through them.

    Through all of life’s up and downs, at the end of the day, it is simply amazing that we are here, and we need to appreciate and enjoy it!

    Couple playing in the snow image via Shutterstock

  • When Life Doesn’t Meet Our Hopes and Expectations

    When Life Doesn’t Meet Our Hopes and Expectations

    Disappointed

    “Anger always comes from frustrated expectations.” ~Elliott Larson

    I was recently watching my younger son play in a golf tournament. We had extensively prepared for this tournament over a period of several days. His technique was finely tuned. The game plan for attacking the course was in place.

    The first two holes went wonderfully.

    We arrived at the third hole, a medium length par three with water to the left.

    In the middle of his swing, a golf cart carrying bags of ice drove right in front of him at a distance of about fifteen feet. This broke his concentration and he stopped his swing. He attempted to gather himself and he proceeded to hit the shot.

    The ball went into the water.

    This was the beginning of a number of curious “breaks” that happened on almost every single hole until the final one.

    The result was a disaster. The tournament was ruined. The game plan was shattered.

    There were so many wounds inflicted that day. And I, perhaps more than him, suffered every one.

    I learned much from that day. One of them is the idea of a thin layer of space.

    What do I mean?

    The organs inside the human body sit next to one another, but they do not touch one another. They sit within body cavities but they do not touch the cavity. 

    Rather, they are separated from their surroundings by a membrane of space.

    Perhaps we can apply this ingenuity to the way in which we live our lives.

    As we experience the various emotions and events that we encounter in a given day, we feel jolts and grates and frictional rubs. We are affected by each one.

    Why?

    Because unlike the organs in our body, we live directly apposed to the events of our lives. As such, the slightest shudder feels like an earthquake. Every scratch feels like a flesh wound.

    What if we could learn to live our lives with a thin layer of space between us and the events that we experience?

    What if there was a thin layer of space between what we hope to receive and what we actually receive?

    A thin layer of space between our expectations of what should be and what actually comes to be.

    Perhaps this space would act as a shock absorber. Perhaps it would allow us to experience jolts as jolts. And scratches as just scratches.

    Perhaps this space would serve as a gutter in which the excesses of our demands and our hopes would collect and flow away, leaving us content with what is.

    Perhaps this is the only way that our lives can be enjoyed.

    Perhaps it provides us a dose of wisdom. Teaching us that life flows according to its own rhythms, rather than according to our whims.

    Perhaps it can teach us that our miseries come from seeing life through the prism of our own expectations. And that to see life in this way is to not see it at all.

    Perhaps a bump will seem more like a ride than a jolt. Perhaps thunder will seem more like a sound rather than an impending storm.

    It is our interpretation of events that gives rise to the parallel universe in which we live. As few of us truly live within the world. Rather, we live inside the mind.

    The mind sticks to everything that it experiences and we feel the reverberations of each and every one of these experiences.

    But with this thin layer of space, we can perhaps keep the tempest that surrounds us in perspective. And at arm’s length.

    This thin layer of space affords a thin window of time. Time that allows for a measured response. Time that allows for action borne of wisdom, rather than emotion.

    It is not the words, but the space between them that makes communication possible.

    Perhaps it is a thin layer of space between us and our lives that makes living possible.

    In understanding this thin layer of space, perhaps I can begin to appreciate that the events that happened on that day did not happen to my son. And that they did not happen to me.

    They just happened.

    Disappointed woman image via Shutterstock