Tiny Buddha

Tag: loss

  • Learning to Love and Live Again When Life Gets Hard

    Learning to Love and Live Again When Life Gets Hard

    “The pain you feel today will be the strength you feel tomorrow.” ~Unknown

    It’s when you’ve woken up with a full day ahead of you after only two hours of sleep.

    It’s when there’s nothing for you to do but sit by your friends as they deal with tragedies and all the hard stuff life throws at us.

    It’s when you don’t know how to handle the situations in your life that are anything but black and white.

    It’s when you feel utterly helpless and powerless as you watch someone you care about aching with the deep soul wounds that only come from losing the person that comprised the other half of their heart.

    It’s when your own heart feels as though it’s been crushed beyond recognition over and over again.

    It’s when your path is entirely unclear and you don’t know if the next step is solid ground or off a cliff.

    It’s when you’re not sure if the decisions you’ve made are the right ones.

    It’s when sometimes you realize they weren’t.

    It’s when it looks as though the world is irrevocably falling apart.

    It’s when it seems like people are becoming more and more disconnected, lonely, and afraid.

    It’s when you feel as though there’s no way you can even begin to help fix any of it.

    It’s when you realize that, in spite of it all, you really are smart and strong enough to make it through step by agonizingly slow step.

    It’s when you realize that just when you thought you had nothing left to give, you find you actually have everything left to give and more.

    It’s when you want to give up on it all, but find that one thing that drives you to keep going.

    It’s easy to love and give and feel happy and alive when things are going well, when we feel as though the world is our oyster. But what happens when life feels as though it’s caving in with a spirit crushing weight?

    Over the course of forty-eight hours I found out a friend died, two of the people closest to me are supporting their moms as they contend with cancer, several friends are struggling with family issues, and all the while I’m attempting to balance out fourteen hour work days as a counselor at a residential high school, but just wishing I was home to be with everyone.

    It reminds me a lot of when I was working out and training for hours on end. There would come times when I felt exhausted, burnt out, and desperately wanted to quit. But then I remembered my goal.

    I remembered that the pain and discomfort were temporary, and the strength, endurance, flexibility, and functionality I was gaining were invaluable.

    While working out seems like an insignificant comparison to major life events, the psychological training is the same. What you tell yourself in moments that seem unimportant is what reemerge when things get hard. As the quote goes, “You don’t rise to the level of your expectations, you fall to the level of your training.”

    You don’t grow when things are easy and effortless. You grow when you’re being challenged—sometimes beyond what you think you’re capable of handling.

    We carry ideas of what we think loving and living are until something comes along and redefines how we see it all. Sometimes it redefines it by making it appear as though it’s completely broken or entirely gone.

    But you know what the beautiful part of it all is?

    Just because we think something is broken doesn’t mean that it can’t be mended in some way.

    And just because we think we can’t see something doesn’t mean it’s not there. The world around us reminds us of it all the time. Even the sun, moon, and stars silently show us that they exist even when there’s too much in the way to see them.

    It’s not easy. It’s really, really hard. In fact, sometimes it looks nearly impossible. How are we supposed to gather our scattered bits of resolve to rebuild the will to keep moving forward when all we really want to do is curl up and hide from the world?

    It’s those times we have to step aside and heal in whatever way we can, and in that time, remember (or find) what it is that keeps us going.

    It’s when we think we have no reason left to love, and sometimes when we question our very existence, that we have to allow ourselves to find and create a whole new beauty from what may have felt like (and maybe was) an end.

    As Cormac McCarthy wrote in All the Pretty Horses, “…those who have endured some misfortune will always be set apart but it is just that misfortune which is their gift and which is their strength.”

    If we are open to the lessons from our hardships, misfortunes, and tragedies, they will inevitably build within us an increasingly unshakable compassion, understanding, and love.

    Losing so much of what I’ve loved and watching as friends contend with their own losses, I’ve learned that when it seems things couldn’t be any worse, that’s when it’s most important to gather every last bit of will and heart and forge the faith to keep believing that love and life are worth every single moment.

    Even those that break our hearts.

    It’s in those moments when we have to learn how to love and live again.

    “It’s times like these you learn to live again. It’s times like these you give and give again. It’s times like these you learn to love again.” ~Foo Fighters

  • When You Don’t Feel Good Enough for Someone Else

    When You Don’t Feel Good Enough for Someone Else

    DSC_0008

    “Your outlook on life is a direct reflection of how much you like yourself.” ~Lululemon

    I recently started going through what has been the most difficult situation I have ever had to bare in my life: the end of my twelve-year relationship.

    I have gotten to know the darkest and most hidden places inside me, and pain so deep that I did not know we as a species were capable of feeling it.

    It has been through this process and my will to endure, survive, and overcome that I have had to dig deep to find meaning and answers.

    I went through a long period of negativity and was unable to find reasons to come out of my misery.

    I became obsessed with the idea of having what I desired more than anything in the world, and nothing else in my life was worth living, or even good enough, if I couldn’t share it my life with the man I loved.

    Little by little, I started finding joy in little things. I smiled to every stranger I passed by and created deep eye contact whenever I said “thank you” to someone. I began eating again (I pretty much had stopped).

    I achieved this by accepting what was happening instead of desiring things to be different. I wanted to stop hurting and knew that the only way was to be fully present and to stop obsessing over things I couldn’t control.

    It was only because I moved from my place, took a few steps to the side, and changed my perspective that I was able to understand what was happening and where it was all coming from. This understanding gave me peace.

    Having perspective helped me see that everything that happens is a reaction to something else. Symptoms are only that; they are not the cause itself. Being able to focus on motives instead of responses gave me awareness.

    Then it wasn’t so much about the final process itself but more about what I can do now with what I have this instant.

    I began a very intimate process of gratitude. I started thanking the universe for absolutely everything that was happening in my life and even went back to my earliest memories. I started acknowledging every small moment of joy that I was fortunate enough to savor.

    When I stopped trying to ignore my deep feeling of emptiness and anxiety and started paying attention to why I felt it, I was able to wake up in the morning without feeling what I called “the black hole.”

    I realized that my body was trying to tell me something: relying on someone else for happiness, well-being, and joy was wrong. These were all things that I needed to provide for myself. It became very clear once I put it into action; the emptiness started dissipating.

    Through my great effort I got to a day when I could again breathe calmly and deeply without having that sense of suffocation that had paralyzed me for the last five months.

    I am happy to share with you a few things that I engage in daily that I consider to have saved my life.

    Practice daily gratitude.

    I express my appreciation every night for everything that goes on during the day. I thank the people who offer me support, the people who love me, the people with whom I am lucky enough to be able to talk to or share some insight, even the people that represent a challenge.

    Gratitude helps us cherish what we have right now and see life as a truly amazing gift.

    Let people know you care about them.

    If I care for someone, I immediately tell that person. I don’t hold back.

    When I open up to people, it creates a mirror effect and people open up to me. Even people who find it challenging to express their emotions give love back to me, through words and actions.

    Giving love and then receiving it helps me feel less alone and a lot more appreciated.

    Appreciating all this loving and kindness helped me rid my attachment to the one person I wanted to give me love.

    Write love letters to yourself.

    Listing virtues that I am happy to have and reflecting on the things I’m not proud of helped me love and accept myself that much more, and build confidence and strength.

    For example, I’m happy to have a clear view on what I’m willing to accept into my life and what I’m not. I’m happy to know that I’m a good listener, that I’m responsible, and that I am capable of taking care of myself.

    I’m not too proud of my lack of patience, my intolerance, or my need to control—but I accept myself, flaws and all.

    Writing things down in this way engraves them and makes them more present and real, and not so intangible and unclear.

    Get to know yourself.

    I spent more time alone than I had ever before in my life. I went to the movies on my own, I ate dinner at places my ex and I went on a regular basis, and walked everywhere. Being alone with my thoughts helped me understand what I needed to do to gain peace.

    That was remembering that I am who I am by myself, and not who I am in response to someone else.

    This translated in me falling in love with who I really am instead of the recurring thoughts and fears of not being good enough for someone else.

    Through being alone I got to understand my values and my worth. This reinforced to me that we don’t need someone else to be complete; we only need ourselves.

    This helped me shift my perspective, to know that I am good enough, and there is no need to convince or prove to other people that I am worth their love.

    Once you start feeling love for yourself and are able to see the world as a truly magnificent, beautiful, and sacred place, you will notice how it gives back. If you pay enough attention, you can see how you are receiving gifts, constantly.

    The key is in thanking and being grateful for being alive and for the fortune of what we already have.

    Photo here

  • You Are the One: 5 Helpful Tips for the Brokenhearted

    You Are the One: 5 Helpful Tips for the Brokenhearted

    Woman in a Field

    “All the wonders you seek are within yourself.” ~Sir Thomas Browne

    Anyone who has ever gone through some sort of heartbreak knows what awful pain it can cause, both physically and mentally. It can be devastating, shattering, and overwhelming for your spirit.

    In the beginning of 2012 I had my heart broken by a person who I thought was “the one.”

    Between tears and desperate calls, I found myself searching the Internet for remedies to get over an ex. I knew I was a strong person, but I just couldn’t see anything becoming brighter or better ever.

    I constantly needed family and friends to reassure me that I was going to be okay. It even came to a point where I started worrying about the physical agony, as I felt intense aching in my heart and around the chest area. I worried that this would be something I had to learn to live with.

    One day I realized that I couldn’t let heartache and depression destroy my life, and then found some helpful ways to heal and become happy again, even finding a sort of joy and self-worth I hadn’t experienced before the break-up.  

    I also had the amazing opportunity to share these tips with Tiny Buddha readers in my first post “10 Tips to Help Relieve Depression and Heartache.”

    During my healing period I often found myself questioning the idea of “Mr. Right” or “the one”—that special someone to sweep us off our feet and make us feel complete.

    People in my life would tell me that once I found someone new I would get over my ex. This sounded comforting, but when you feel like your life is crushed, a new love interest isn’t really a top priority, even though a rebound-partner can feel like the right solution at times.

    Also, I wondered what I could possibly offer someone with my wounded spirit. I knew I had to find another type of “Mr. Right,” and to my surprise, I did. More precisely, I found “Miss Right”—and that is me. 

    For little more than a year I have been dating me. I’ve been in a loving relationship with myself that has had its ups and downs, just like any other relationship.

    I strongly believe something good always comes out of something bad. So, if you are at sitting at home with a broken heart searching the web for any kind of hope of recovering, these tips may help.

    1. Be your own sweetheart.

    Just like in a romantic relationship, where you do kind things for your significant other, you should do kind things for yourself.

    Take yourself out to the places you’ve always wanted to go. Write yourself loving notes and practice daily affirmations where you tell yourself the things you formerly wanted your partner to tell you.

    I buy myself flowers and I lovingly wrap my arms around myself while I sit in stillness to embrace self-love. Try it!

    2. Laugh out loud whenever possible.

    There is no better medicine for your spirit than a good laugh. Yes, the heartbreak will remind you of your suffering, but I’ve noticed that the human body and mind are so wonderful that they allow you to smile, even during dark times.

    Find reasons to smile and laugh whenever you can, even if it’s just for short-lived moments. (A great post to read on this topic: Why It’s Essential to Find Humor During Your Darkest Hours.)

    3. Practice self-compassion.

    When you feel sad or lonely, tell yourself the caring things you would tell a friend in need—for example, that it’s perfectly okay to feel distress and anxiety, but that this too shall pass.

    You are still a good, strong, and lovely person. The truth is, even if you are single, you are never alone. You are always surrounded by loving energy from friends and/or family, and the universe/higher power.

    4. Consider yourself single and ready to mingle—with yourself!

    Know that you don’t need a romantic partner to be complete. Be your own soul mate and strive to feel whole from within, and you will find that sense of completeness.

    When you are ready to love again, you will meet that special person to share a beautiful love story with. But for now, focus on yourself. That way, when you eventually meet someone, you’ll come to the relationship whole, not someone who feels lacking.

    5. Know that it’s okay to be angry as long as you are gentle with yourself and willing to forgive.

    You’ve probably read a lot about the importance of forgiveness. I agree that forgiveness is essential to move on, but we also need to know that it’s okay not to be able to forgive in an instant moment, weeks, or even months.

    Don’t stress out when people around you encourage you to forgive. All you need to do is have patience with yourself for not being capable of forgiving just yet. Let the emotions of anger, hurt, and disappointment be released first.

    It took me a long time to learn how to forgive myself and my ex, but I finally did and it has set me free. I now understand his reasons for breaking up with me, even though I may not agree with them.

    The key is to be gentle and keep your anger at a healthy level. Don’t punish or attack yourself for what has already happened. Instead, try to grow and learn from the experience.

    —

    Do I still look for the romantic version of ”the one”? I am not searching; I feel confident that he will show when the time is right, and when I’m ready to share my new wonderful me with someone. But for the time being, I enjoy being with myself.

    Do you?

    Photo by William Terra

  • How Feeling My Pain Made Me Feel More Alive

    How Feeling My Pain Made Me Feel More Alive

    “We must embrace pain and burn it as fuel for our journey.” ~Kenji Miyazawa

    I used to run from pain.

    My father died suddenly when I was six. For years I stuffed it down, never letting anyone know my emotions or how I was feeling, and I ran from situations that could cause me to lose, to feel pain.

    My heart would jump and feel fear every time I received bad news or a “bad” email from a boss. I only wanted to feel good things. I stayed out of relationships for fear of the eventual loss and bad feelings, not realizing that I was missing out on all the beauty in between.

    A year ago, my journey to feeling pain began. I had decided a few months before that I would open myself up to a relationship. I was ready to see what was out there. I was ready to feel, whatever it was. I met an amazing guy, and I thought he was the weirdest but most fascinating and beautiful person I’d met in a while.

    There was lots of love and tenderness between us. I think we were very similar, and we both subconsciously wanted ours to be a beautiful, painless relationship. We were precious with the time we spent together and never fought.

    The first pain between us came after a few months. I wanted to know where this relationship was “going.” I wanted him to be my boyfriend, officially.

    He told me he felt almost everything for me—intellectual stimulation, passion—but not an emotional connection. He wanted our relationship to continue on as it was: seeing each other three or four times a week, no expectations of what this was or would be.

    Our relationship was already beautiful. Why did that need to change? We committed to only seeing each other without calling each other boyfriend and girlfriend.

    As time went on, I stuffed down all of my doubts about our relationship. I pushed away the full days when, for some unknowable reason, I wanted to end it. (I had no solid explanation, but a feeling.)

    I ignored the red flags of someone who was just not ready to commit. I ignored my heart telling me that this wasn’t the kind of relationship I really wanted. But I continued on as before, making the moments we had together as happy and as beautiful and as magical as I could, and he did too.

    Until right before I was leaving for a weeklong work trip. He asked me out of the blue what I thought about seeing other people. Valentine’s Day had been a week before, and I had seen no signs of him feeling this way. He had gifted me with a small figurine of an elephant carved inside a latticed egg because he knew I loved elephants.

    I felt sharp pain and shock. We were walking my dog, and I walked away from him and was silent until we made it back up to my apartment. “Lauren,” he said. “I just want to talk to you.” Please just let me do that, his eyes said.

    So we did; we talked: He told me how in the past he’d had relationship doubts and hadn’t expressed them and how he felt that relationship had gone on without him. The next morning gave no conclusion, but we were tender with each other, and he whispered, “I’ll miss you,” before he walked down the subway stairs to work.

    When I returned a week later, he picked me up at the airport, and when we got back to my apartment, he coldly told me he couldn’t sleep over: He wanted to be emotionally open to other people.

    My heart broke. I cried and made him stay the night. And I was a wreck the whole next day. But something in me felt freed; something in me felt that this was the best thing that had ever happened to me.

    I had been so afraid to tell him how I felt, to tell him my own doubts and insecurities about how he made me feel, that I just didn’t tell him. Crying and feeling the emotional hurt of the split was incredibly painful, but it was the truest and most raw emotion I’d felt in months.

    When I looked at the elephant figurine he had given me, I realized that it wasn’t beautiful; it was trapped inside a structure of its own making.

    The fear that was holding me back had come true: that we could break up. But it happened, I felt it, and I was still there, still very much myself.

    Two weeks later, I found out my beloved dog Bella had cancer, and a week later, I had to do one of the hardest things I’ve had to do—take her to the vet and put her to sleep.

    Even as her body broke down, her spirit stayed strong: At the vet, I left her on a friend’s lap and briefly left the room, and when I returned, she tried to jump into my arms.

    Two of my closest friends were with me in the room, and after it happened we just hugged each other and cried. It felt strangely good and freeing to be able to cry together with someone, to feel pain together.

    A part of me thought that the loss of my relationship was just preparing me for this loss.

    Through all of this, my older brother had been fighting cancer.

    He was diagnosed almost three and a half years ago and had fought it with his life ever since. In between chemo and radiation, he surfed, traveled, coached his kids’ soccer teams, and was an inspiration to all who knew him.

    A month ago, he needed an emergency visit to the hospital: He had fluid in his lungs and spent five days with a nurse visiting his home to drain them. I went home to see him and he was thin, carrying an oxygen tank around with him, but his spirits were high.

    He was happy to see me. I told him about a recent trip to Turkey, about Bella, about my relationship. He listened to my pain and gave me advice.

    A couple months back, he succumbed to his disease, surrounded by his wife and two children. At his funeral the priest, who knew him well, recounted how my brother told him that the past three years had been some of the happiest of his life.

    I know my brother felt great pain, physically and emotionally, and he hid it from most of us. But he pushed through it to give his wife and daughters as much of himself as he could.

    And now I’m in so much pain that it all runs together. The relationship, my dog, my brother—I don’t know what to feel first. But the strangest thing is that it is the most alive I’ve felt in years, allowing myself to just feel all that I am feeling, and not judge it or push it away.

    Allow yourself to feel pain, to sit with it. To build relationships that you may one day lose, for whatever reason.

    Holding pain will be the hardest thing you do. Feeling pain is the bravest fight you will fight. Running, avoidance, fear in whatever form—it all brings you further away from being a full, feeling person.

    Pain is clarifying, cleansing. True.

    You feel this pain because you loved so hard, because you felt so hard.

    Walk bravely through pain’s cleansing fire, although it scares you, although it burns so bright that you walk in knowing it will hurt. You will come out on the other side stronger and more complete.

    I don’t know what your pain is. We all hold some pain inside of us; we carry it with us. And that’s fine. It really is.

    There is a beauty in pain that that even happiness cannot touch, because you risked, you loved, you let yourself feel. Pain will be the thing that brings you to yourself, before and after pain—before, there is happiness; after, there is transcendence.

    Pain is a part of your experience, not something to run from or escape. Pain will find you somehow, and going through its cleansing fire will be one of the truest things that can happen to you in your life if you let it.

  • The Gains in Our Losses: Growing Through the Pain

    The Gains in Our Losses: Growing Through the Pain

    Loss

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    Photo by Lel4nd

  • 5 Ways to Thrive When Life Feels Chaotic and Uncertain

    5 Ways to Thrive When Life Feels Chaotic and Uncertain

    Standing in the Storm

    “All great changes are preceded by chaos.” ~Deepak Chopra

    A personal tempest blew through the doors and windows of my life, and I am forever changed. Think major upheaval in every area of your life. Conjure Dorothy Gale, Robinson Crusoe, Job, yeah them.

    In the process, I’ve learned that the disorienting storms of life are not just about survival but of learning to thrive. It is not in spite of daunting circumstances that we grow but because of them.

    For three years, painful and unexpected events descended all at once. My long-term marriage, often filled with anger, hurt, mistrust, and not surprisingly, a lack of intimacy, was imploding. My teenage son, who had been very ill, was hospitalized.

    In the midst of this, my three children and I moved from our family home of twenty years to a new town. When things seemed to quiet down, my eldest daughter was diagnosed with a chronic and life-altering disease. Oh yes, and I was restarting a career.

    Chaos. The utter confusion left in in its wake caused me to stop and reevaluate many of my assumptions about myself and life.

    What made this period even more difficult to endure was a sense of abandonment by some whom I thought would always be there, yet perhaps through a sense of helplessness or their own fears could not. Maybe they thought I was contagious. I started to wonder about that myself.

    The irony of all of this was, through the lens of the outside world, my life had been seemingly idyllic before. Or had it?

    I began to see that my tendency to avoid chaos at all costs lead me right into the belly of it. As humans, we desire harmony and seek order, in our surroundings, our relationships, and in our daily routines. We all crave certainty.

    I found the paradox is that when you cling to the illusion of safety, you chain your ability to change.

    I also discovered several anchors that kept me grounded in the midst of feeling uprooted. In fact, they never failed me.

    Here is what I’ve learned that “worked’ consistently:

    1. Surrender.

    This is a difficult concept to grasp on an emotional level. This is because we are hard wired, evolutionarily, to fight or to flee when experiencing turmoil. This response served us very well when we were being chased by saber tooth tigers. Unfortunately, it creates more conflict internally.

    It takes courage to allow strong uncomfortable feelings, whether grief, anger, or loneliness, to just be instead of trying to force them away. But acceptance brings relief.

    2. Meditate.

    Someone once told me to meditate as if my life depended on it. I do, because it does. Desperation does wonders. My more formal practice consists of twenty minutes in the morning and twenty minutes in the early evening, sitting quietly and focusing on my breathing. If my mind is especially active on any given day, I use my “mantra” (the word joy) as I breathe.

    Throughout the day, I strive to practice mindfulness, which simply means to bring my full presence to all that I do. Conscious attention to each activity and interaction brings a calm to my mind and heart. It brings me back to myself.

    Another meditation technique I found to be extremely helpful during a sea change of hard times is the meditative practice called tonglen.

    Our pain can feel such a heavy burden at times. Tonglen helps by easing the sometimes intense sense of our own suffering by powerfully connecting us with the struggles of others.

    Instead of primarily focusing on our own set of difficulties, we purposefully visualize and take on the suffering of others on the in-breath and release happiness for them on the out breath.

    It may sound counterintuitive, but I found it relieved me of my own sense of isolation and gave me the gift of perspective. It also helps me to develop greater compassion for myself and others.

    3. Observe nature.

    When a storm is coming, they hunker down. They prepare the best they can. Birds’ nests and beavers’ dams are fortified. Food is foraged. They don’t foolishly (read: egotistically) try to soldier on.

    They wait it out. They trust the process.

    When our own personal storms occur, we simply do what we need to do to protect ourselves. For me, that means to stop rushing around accomplishing “one more thing.” I take safety in the shelter of my own home, having stores of healthy and comfort food on hand, books and magazines for fun and for personal growth to read, and the perennial elixir, bath salts, to recharge.

    I do not have to fully understand in the moment why or how the storm came to be or if there is a lesson to be learned from it. I simply have to get out of harm’s way. We can analyze to no avail now knowledge that will come effortlessly to us in retrospect.

    4. Lean on others.

    We all know that family and friends are often a precious salve during times of crisis, change, or loss. Reach out. Stay connected. And realize that if you can’t immediately find someone to give you the kind of support you need, there are those to help you see the situation with new eyes.

    People came into my life during this period, serendipitously so, who were engaging, loving, and continue to help me expand and grow. The universe opens up a host of unexpected resources when you risk being vulnerable.

    5. Keep the insights.

    Some amazing realizations emerge during these times of struggle. We learn what’s truly important and to let the rest go.

    Cliché as it may sound, my health and well-being and those that I love are paramount, and I treat them as such. It’s very difficult to be happy or effect positive changes in the world if you are in some state of dis-ease.

    I’ve discovered the vitality of finding moments and experiences in life’s everyday activities that lift my spirit and make me smile. My morning cup of coffee, the soft fur on my old dog’s face, the bright pink rose bush against the white picket fence out my study window, all perfect in their simple abundance.

    As I practiced healthy behaviors like meditation, exercising, eating well, and other avenues available on the road of loving self-care, I began to heal and see situations improving.

    I also discovered that in order to cultivate this deeper, more meaningful life, I found I must maintain these practices. When things are going well, I tend to relax my vigilance. Some of the old behaviors of mismanaging stress creep in. Complacency has been a stubborn roadblock on the journey.

    There is where change can be my friend. It doesn’t allow me to be complacent. If change is accepted in this spirit, it can be a catalyst for greatness. Buddhist nun Pema Chodron affirms that “to be fully alive, fully human, and completely awake is to be continually thrown out of the nest.” In fact, it is the only way to learn how to fly.

    Looking back on my life before all the chaos, I realized I was chasing status in my work and even my family life, and choosing security (an illusion at best) over listening to my heart.

    Now I listen without jumping to conclusions or searching for quick fix solutions. I enjoy strong and vibrant relationships with my children, knowing I don’t ultimately control outcomes. I am currently in a partnership where we encourage each other to grow and risk and be vulnerable.

    My work is now more like a calling than a job, providing me with rare and wonderful opportunities to engage with people about their own personal journeys and how they make meaning in their life.

    I am amazed by the profound ways my life has “taken off,” unimagined by me, still in mid-flight.

    Photo by Eddi van W

  • After Tragedy: 3 Reasons And 21 Ways to Find Joy Again

    After Tragedy: 3 Reasons And 21 Ways to Find Joy Again

    “Life’s challenges are not supposed to paralyze you, they’re supposed to help you discover who you are.” ~Bernice Johnson Reagon

    My brother died suddenly, at just thirty-nine years old. One moment he was in the midst of a regular working day. Half an hour later he was gone. Twenty-four hours later he was buried.

    With things happening so fast, I found myself alternating between paralysis and intense waves of pain, anger, guilt, sorrow, and devastation. I guess we all felt this way. Only it didn’t quite look like we all did/

    In between waves of sadness and silence, my brother’s children were playing and having fun and enjoying an ice cream as if nothing had happened.

    It wasn’t just because they didn’t quite understand what was going on. I mean, none of us could really understand this. If you’ve ever experienced a tragedy (and who hasn’t?), you know exactly what I mean.

    Rather, the children were merely being themselves. They were simply going with the constantly changing flow of their emotions and expressing it spontaneously. That’s what children do.

    And so they expressed the wonder of being alive as wholeheartedly and as immediately as they expressed the pain of missing their beloved father.

    We, the adults, were only able to feel and express the latter.

    Does it mean that we are made of different stuff than children, then?

    Not really. It’s just that most adults have great difficulties dealing with certain emotions and situations, and the name of the problem is “judgment.”

    Back then, while watching the children play I found myself kind of baffled. I didn’t really judge them. And yet, there was judgment there. Because, in the face of such loss, joy feels inappropriate.

    I’m sure you know what I mean. Whether we’re confronted by personal tragedy, an act of terror, a natural disaster, or genocide, joy just doesn’t seem to be the right response.

    Even if there might be glimpses of it here and there, we fear that expressing joy might be mocking the tragedy. But that’s not necessarily true.

    In fact, countless people (including myself) have experienced deep joy right in the middle of tragedy, and not just in glimpses.

    Don’t get this wrong. You’re not joyful because of the tragedy. You are joyful because you are “heart-broken open,” as Kristine Carlson calls it.

    In this sudden state of openness there is a sense of deep love and a degree of emotional nakedness that we don’t usually expose to each other. Being in such a space together, being so present, so connected with each other, so united across all differences, is indeed joyful, in a mellow sort of way.

    And yet, many who experience such joy keep it secret, simply because it feels wrong somehow, even if nothing could be more right.

    Remember, “Life’s challenges are not supposed to paralyze you, they’re supposed to help you discover who you are.” And discovering who you are includes discovering that you are all your emotions, not just some of them.

    So let’s replace the idea that joy is inappropriate with something that is closer to truth!

    3 Reasons to Bring Joy Back into Your Life

    Reason #1: Joy is your nature.

    Joy flows from the same source as love and peace; it flows from your heart.

    Would you want to deny your loved ones your love and your peace? Of course not. Then please, don’t deny yourself your joy either.

    Don’t push it, either. When sadness comes, allow your tears to flow. When joy comes, allow your smile to shine. That’s how it is supposed to be. It’s your nature; it’s who you are.

    Reason #2: Joy is your light.

    Joy is the light within.

    Would you want to deny your loved ones that light? Of course not. Then please, accept it for yourself as well. When it shines, you can see the path in front of you, even if just one step ahead.

    One step at a time, toward light—isn’t that a fine way to respond to tragedy?

    Reason #3: Joy is your power.

    The deep joy flowing within you is a healing force. Its warmth has the power to melt the inner paralysis. Its energy has the power to fuel your journey toward a life in alignment with your heart’s desire.

    Would you want to deny your loved ones that? Of course not. Then don’t deny yourself the power of your joy either. Because your heart’s true desire is to live, and to feel joy.

    But how? After tragedy, how do you even open your heart and mind to joy?

    It depends on who you are. In other words, discovering who you really are also means finding your way back to joy.

    In that spirit let me present to you some of the infinite numbers of ways in which you could bring joy back into life. Perhaps even more ideas will show up in the comments section.

    In any case, I invite you to look at all these ways as possibilities, nothing more. Ponder them for a while, and then find out which one you feel most drawn to.

    Pick that one, and then start practicing joy in this way, daily. Here they come, in no particular order:

    21 Ways to Bring Joy into Your Life

    1. Spend time with children (there are children everywhere).

    2. Discover something refreshing (or surprising).

    3. Feel your body (you are a miracle of life).

    4. Read a novel (fiction, stories, not the usual self-improvement stuff).

    5. Travel (any distance).

    6. Look for smiles in people’s faces (on the street and on TV).

    7. Write thank you notes (to yourself too).

    8. Create a rhythm for your daily life (simple things will do).

    9. Exercise (in a way that makes you smile).

    10. Help someone (with something you enjoy doing).

    11. Find a color that makes you feel good (and wear it).

    12. Enjoy your spiritual practice. (Enjoy!)

    13. Spend time with nature (plants and pets are nature, too).

    14. Do something creative (just for yourself).

    15. Accept help from people (strangers, too).

    16. Learn something new. (What have you always wanted to learn?)

    17. Listen to music (and let your body move along).

    18. Walk barefoot (slowly).

    19. Savor simple pleasures. (What’s that?)

    20. Give yourself a break (in every sense of the word).

    21. When you have a choice, choose joy.

    I believe most of these suggestions are pretty self-explanatory. If in doubt, just ask in a comment and I’ll respond ASAP.

    Also know that once you decide to allow joy back into your life, joy will show you the way.

  • We Can Control How We Respond to Things We Can’t Control

    We Can Control How We Respond to Things We Can’t Control

    Deep in thought

    “When we can no longer change a situation, we are challenged to change ourselves.” ~Viktor Frankl

    Every year, March 13th is difficult for me. This year, I marked the day with a long hike in the woods near my house and an extra-long hug for my wife, Kathleen. My sisters and I called each other and just said his name out loud. Wherever he is, we want him to know he is gone but not forgotten.

    March 13th would have been my brother Jimmy’s 64th birthday. He only made it to 26.

    But March 13th is also a time to reflect on what Jimmy meant to me, because although his death was a tragic event, it inspired me to choose a better life.

    April 23rd, 1975. A day that will be in my consciousness as long as I breathe.

    It was my sister Elizabeth’s 17th birthday and the day that my brother Jimmy, whom I worshipped, died.

    I was 11; Jimmy (as I said) was 26. My other older brother Robert (I am the youngest of eight) broke the news to me and my three other closest siblings, Michael, Madeleine, and Elizabeth.

    Robert told us and then held me in his arms as I screamed, “That’s not true! Jimmy can’t die! It’s a mistake!”

    But it wasn’t. He was gone, and my life changed that day forever.

    This devastating change was not my choice, but what I did next was. It was always my brother’s dream that his seven other siblings would escape our abusive father. I knew that, to honor Jimmy, I would never go back home.

    My mission from that day forward was to grow up and take control of my life. In the darkest moments—fighting with my foster parents, for example—I would say to myself, “Stay strong for Jimmy.”

    My path was far from smoothly paved; many bumps lay ahead. But I knew at that early age that whatever the universe threw at me, I could at the very least control my reaction and my journey forward, out of darkness into light.

    We choose to quit jobs, get married, adopt an animal, but of course there are many life events we don’t choose—a divorce, an accidental pregnancy, or the death of a loved one. Yet we can still choose how we deal with and react to these occurrences in our lives. 

    During tough times, our emotions run the gamut: denial, anger, fury, despair, numbness, isolation, desperation. In order to heal, we must feel. But we have a say in what we do with our feelings. 

    There are no right or wrong reactions, only what serves us and what doesn’t.

    It may help you to be angry and express your rage; it may help to be alone for some time. What is crucial when moving through a crisis is maintaining self-awareness.

    Check in with yourself daily, perhaps through meditation or journaling, and ask yourself: Where am I today? Is this helping me? What might be the next phase of this transition?

    While we have to relinquish control over the circumstances, we can still maintain our connection to ourselves. We can work with this knowledge, to paraphrase Victor Frankl, to face the challenge of changing ourselves.

    “Change” has become a dirty word in today’s world; advertisers avoid it because consumers associate the word with challenge and difficulty. 

    But whether we like it doesn’t really matter—life-altering events will change us, in one way or another. Instead of tuning out to avoid the pain, dealing with and even embracing tragedy and its consequences gives us an active role in guiding our own change and growth.

    Transformation is all around us. Transitions are the birthing pains, alternately exhilarating and difficult, that can bring wondrous, challenging, beautiful changes into our lives.

    What change are you dealing with now, and how are you responding to it?

    Photo here

  • Tragedy Can Help Us Find Our Life’s Purpose

    Tragedy Can Help Us Find Our Life’s Purpose

    Alive

    “Sometimes in tragedy we find our life’s purpose. The eye sheds a tear to find its focus.” ~Robert Brault

    Just over two decades ago, I happened to be planted in the Midwest. Chicago. The southside to be exact. A location once recognized as a haven for successful black people handling their business while their kids frolicked throughout the streets, making up secret handshakes, basking in the sun and enjoying their youth.

    And then, as the years progressed, things began to change; our haven was becoming less safe.

    As if a nebulous cloud began to form over our neighborhood with a torrential rainstorm of bullets impending, some parents forced their children to stay inside as the lightening and thundering began to rain down.

    The unfortunate news is that some children of varying generations were left out in the storm, with many, many lives lost due to senseless violence. And I wondered, “Why me?” Why do I deserve such shelter while so many of my brothers, sisters, aunts, and uncles must brave the storm and suffer?

    “Why was I so blessed?”

    You see, I may not have grown up with the riches of the world, but I was indeed wealthy—inundated with support, guidance, education, and love. I was recognized as “one who would make it out,” and indeed I did, but not without the scars, physically and emotionally, to show for it.

    As I journeyed forward, attending a top twenty university, my erudite persona led many of my classmates to believe that my younger years were a cake walk—that I must have come from a rich, wealthy and white neighborhood. But in fact, I was born amongst my own, tender brown, beautiful skin.

    But still, my peers did not believe me. I was in a battle. Lest did I know, it was much with myself.

    So I began to fear and hate where I was from so much that I often cried to my mother, screaming that I did not want to return home during the summer months. But I had to anyway. So I did—in mental steel shackles—going straight from work to the gym to home everyday in fear, feeding the hunger of my hatred even more.

    I was such a frustrated young man who had the world in the palm of his hands, but who had not yet recognized its power.

    It wasn’t until I began traversing that palm that I realized there was a much bigger world out there and that many more people had gone through far more than me, and interestingly enough, still had enough umph to persist and fight on.

    So I decided to give it a shot. Try it out. Test it out and venture to places, near and far away, discovering more of the world while discovery myself. As I did, the pain of Chicago traveled with me. A few years ago, right after I moved to the Dominican Republic, I received this email on January 7, 2010 from my mother:

    Hey babe. Some sad news, Cody was killed on Sunday right down the street. He was with Marlon in a car and a guy walked up and shot them both, but Cody died on Monday with 14 gunshot wounds. So sad. I love you.

    And then later again that year, a few days after I followed my dreams of moving to Los Angeles, I received a phone call from my mother stating these words:

    Marlon was killed just up the block from our house. He was with some people and someone came up and shot him in the neck and back. Be Careful. Love you.

    Out of all the people in my life that had passed on, why were these two more significant?

    Sure, we did not stay in the best of contact past high school, but we shared something much stronger—something much more powerful: childhood dreams. 

    As we played football and baseball in the abandoned lot directly across the street from my house, we dreamed of growing up to become the likes of Randy Moss and Derek Jeter. We had huge dreams—dreams that we knew would one day come true.

    But after I lost both of them, the dream deflated and the big question: “why me—why am I so freakishly blessed?” returned, until I was asked an even greater question: “Why not you, Alex?”

    Instead of counting your blessings and asking why you are so blessed, why don’t you live a life focused more on sharing those blessings?’

    “Sometimes in tragedy we find our life’s purpose. The eye sheds a tear to find its focus.”

    I cried a lot and it was not until others helped me meditate upon it and realize that all the bad and unfortunate events in my life could be leveraged as lessons to help me, instead of destroy me. And indeed, they did, but it took time—years.

    The shedding of those tears did in fact help me find my life’s purpose while understanding life’s purpose, which is to teach us, to expand us, to challenge us, to grow us—to evolve us to show us that nothing is permanent in life, and to be grateful for this year, this day, this moment.

    Gratitude, once taken into practice, can change your life.

    And now, I can honestly look back with a better understanding of my past while holding gratitude for what was and what is. I choose to trust the struggle moving forward, because the more I go through and learn, the more I can help others.

    And the same goes for you. You have the power to help others.

    We are not only here to share our stories of heroism, happiness, and jubilance, but also to share our stories of hurt, pain, and sadness to be an extra shoulder to cry on and to show others that there is someone out there that not only knows their pain, but also feels it.

    So today, I ask you: what lessons have you learned from the hardest times of your life and what would you say to the person who is going through something similar right now?

    Because I guarantee there are some individuals reading your comments that could really use the love and encouragement.

    —

    This article is dedicated to Cody, Marlon, to the children of Chicago (of all generations) and to the world.

    Photo by Leland Francisco

  • Forgiving People Who Show No Remorse: Have You Suffered Enough?

    Forgiving People Who Show No Remorse: Have You Suffered Enough?

    “That which I do not forgive in you, lies unforgiven within myself.” ~Buddhist Proverb

    When I decided to forgive the driver that killed my nine-year-old son, I struggled to believe I could or should.

    In the beginning of my grief I had so much anger toward her, and because she was not showing remorse, I wanted to find ways to punish her so that she would be in the same pain that I was.

    She did not come forward to say she was sorry or try to meet up with me after the accident, and this was hard for me to understand. Trying to cope with my overwhelming grief, as well, it was easy to stay angry with her.

    It was about six months after our son’s tragic death when I began to read a few books on grief, and read that forgiveness is an important factor in moving forward.

    In order for me to even think of forgiveness, I first tried to understand the driver’s emotions, thoughts, and feelings. When I realized she also had a story of her own, forgiving her actions became plausible.

    Even though I had never met her, friends of mine had heard she was not doing well emotionally. Not long after the accident she began spending more and more time in her room, feeling overwhelmed by her guilt, and she began to withdraw from her three sons and her husband.

    They felt they had lost their mother. When I heard this, it shifted my image of her. I realized she was a mum, too, who was also experiencing overwhelming feelings, and so this softened my anger.

    Still, there was nothing easy about forgiveness. It took courage and a true consciousness of will to let go and allow myself to come to a place of peace about the accident.

    When I began to write a letter to the driver, I tried not to think too much about what I was doing and was surprised how the words flowed. I was ready to forgive.

    After finishing the letter I knew that I would have to send it without being attached to an outcome. I knew it was about a release of emotions for me, and that I couldn’t be concerned with whether she would thank me or not.

    A few weeks after sending it, I began to feel lighter, and over time I began to feel less agitated and angry toward her and more compassionate about her journey.

    I thought less about my anger and seeking justice, and focused my energy on healing and growing through my grief, even though she never replied to my letter.

    I want you to know that forgiving doesn’t mean that you have given the message that what someone did was okay. It just means that you’ve let go of the anger or guilt toward someone and yourself, and that gives you both freedom.

    Yes, it is difficult. I have found it is my daily practice of meditation and yoga that has overtime enabled me to let go. Allowing time in stillness each day helps slow the negative and guilt-ridden thoughts.

    I’ve also learned to consciously shift from negative thoughts about the accident to positive memories. We may not be able to choose our circumstances, but we can choose how we think about them.

    When you hold resentment toward another, you are bound to that person or condition by an emotional link that is stronger than steel. Forgiveness is the only way to dissolve that link into freedom.

    We need to learn to forgive ourselves too. When we have wronged others with our words or thoughts, we need to forgive and let go of our guilt and remorse.

    Whenever you feel yourself clinging to guilt or anger, go to a place of stillness and take some deep relaxing breaths. Imagine the person you want to forgive (or seek forgiveness from) standing in front of you.

    Tell them exactly how you feel or what you wished you said before. Then either ask their forgiveness or forgive them.

    Now, visualize the other person receiving those words, and see that they have accepted this offer. Then take a deep breath in and as you let go, see your guilt or anger lift from both of you, and see yourself surrounded in light. Thank this person and then release them in love.

    When we hold onto anger and pain in our hearts, we stop the flow and love and abundance into our lives.

    Psychologist Sonja Lyubomirsky notes that when we feel wronged, our first inclination is to respond negatively, and this is a natural feeling for most people. You can’t convince those in deep anger that forgiveness will help free them from pain.

    It seems that most people need to experience a great deal of suffering before they will relinquish resistance and accept—before they will forgive.  The question is: How long will you suffer before you feel it is time to work on forgiveness?

    I encourage you to consider it now, because while we are trapped in our past hurts we cannot live fully in the truth of this moment.

    When I released my anger toward the driver, I believe I released it for my family too, and unconsciously this brought us closer together and has helped us move forward in our grief.

    Denying forgiveness blocks the flow of love and positive energy within you and around you.

    If you’re feeling heavy and burdened, and are ready to stop suffering, know that when you lift the weight of your pain, you are lifting it for all your loved ones, and this is a powerful gift to give.

  • When You Don’t Get What You Want Something Better May Be Coming

    When You Don’t Get What You Want Something Better May Be Coming

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

    While every adoption story is different, they all start with a loss. Our loss turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to us.

    I’ve had two migraines in my life. Both were when I was battling infertility and in a war with my body. My brain had had enough apparently.

    The first migraine was on my way to work one day (different story), and the second was before a dinner party. My friend was inviting her close friends over to make an announcement. I knew what the announcement was.

    She was going to tell us she was pregnant. I was as happy for her as an infertile friend can be, which is not very.

    My migraine saved me that night. I didn’t have to go and pretend. Instead, I was alone in a dark room crying, which is where I would have ended up anyway. Now I know I was grieving the loss of my non-existent biological child.

    In what turned out to be an oddly not-difficult decision to adopt, my husband and I were on the way to the adoption agency for the first informational meeting when we had the biggest fight we had ever had. Uncharacteristically, I was so emotional I told him to turn the car around. I knew this was not the time to begin our adoption journey.

    About a month later we tried again. We were in the car, having just merged onto the highway on the way to the adoption agency, when we were sandwiched between two other cars in a three-way wreck. We were fine, but missed the meeting.

    Our third try turned out to be a charm as we showed up at the agency relatively emotionally stable and in one piece.

    Those who have adopted can confirm that timing is everything, especially in foreign adoptions when often the two files on the top of the pile get matched and a family is formed.

    Was something cosmic happening so that we would show up at the right time to receive the right baby?

    Once the adoption was underway and we were awaiting our sweet baby to be approved for release to us, I would talk to her. We even had a song, Coldplay’s “Yellow.”

    I would sing, “Look at the stars; look how they shine for you,” because I thought we could see the same stars. I felt closer to her, knowing we were thousands of miles apart, but could see the same sky.

    “You were all yellllllooo,” I would sing alone in my car, again and again.

    I don’t know what it is like to give birth, but I cannot imagine it is any more terrifying or exciting than meeting your adopted child for the first time. We, along with the families we were traveling with, had taken over a hotel floor when the babies started arriving from the orphanage.

    “Swenson” we heard our interpreter yell as he held out a baby, our baby. I don’t remember stumbling forward, but my husband has it on video. When I watch it I see myself holding our daughter and instinctively cupping her head and holding her to me.

    She was dressed in head to toe yellow. Shirt, shorts, even yellow jelly sandals. This. was. my. daughter.

    She was all yellllllooo.

    I did not get what I wanted. I wanted to have a dinner party and announce that I was pregnant. I wanted to carry a child in my belly. I wanted to discover how the baby looked like me and how it looked like my husband.

    I didn’t have a dinner party. I didn’t carry her in my own belly. She doesn’t look a damn thing like us.

    But what I got? What I got was even better. I got a child that was meant to be ours.

    This baby was so meant to be ours that we couldn’t make it to the adoption agency until the third try because it wasn’t time yet. This baby was so meant to be ours she was wearing head-to-toe yellow when we met after I’d been singing “Yellow” to her for months.

    So yes, sometimes not getting what you want is a wonderful stroke of luck.

    I daresay when you don’t get what you want it is because there is something better on its way to you.

    Photo by egor.gribanov

  • Find Peace Today: Stop Worrying About What You Might Lose

    Find Peace Today: Stop Worrying About What You Might Lose

    Present Moment

    “The whole life of a man is but a point in time; let us enjoy it.” ~ Plutarch

    Take a moment to think about the last time you stared up into a clear night sky, one that was gorged with stars and seemed to go on forever—one where the longer you stared, the more depth appeared.

    How did you feel in that moment? Did you feel calm? Scared? Alone? Completely content? Did you wish you could stay in that moment forever?

    Skies like that give me an incredible sense of peace and remind me to breathe deeply and contemplate how our lives are simultaneously overwhelmingly vast and incredibly finite.

    Over the years, I have struggled with allowing people to get close to me for fear of losing them the way I had lost so many before.

    After an adoption, the unexpected death of my adopted mother, my best friend, several family members, and the smattering of broken relationships, I built a solid wall against anyone who looked like they wanted to be near me.

    I finally came to terms with the fact that in the end, most people who come into our lives will leave in some way or another—sometimes by choice and sometimes not, but their presence is what matters, not their absence.

    What’s important is realizing that each moment we have with those we love is of infinite value, and we must enjoy the time we have with them while we have it instead of being so afraid we’ll lose them that we’re never really with them even when they are here.

    If we’re so engulfed in the potential for loss, we’ll not only miss the lessons each experience can bring to our lives, but the joy it has to offer. Our happiness will sit in front of us waiting for us to recognize its face and we’ll look past it like a stranger.

    People spend an exorbitant amount of time, energy, and resources on attempting to hold back aging as it is a reminder of our mortality. It reminds us that there is no permanence, so we frantically fight to find ways to extend the length of our lives, but how many focus on deepening the quality?

    Why not slow down and realize we are immortal only in the moment we are in—this moment we inhabit contains our entire past and all of our potential and possibility for the future that may or may not arrive.

    Let’s fill this time we have now with all that we are instead of fighting for more and never actually doing anything with it. It’s like collecting a bunch of empty jars but never putting anything in them. 

    I know it can be terrifying to let go and be present in the moment because we think we have to control everything; we have to be prepared for loss, for disappointment, for heartache. We don’t want it to creep up and take us by surprise, but here’s the thing: no matter what we do to prepare, we’ll never be ready for it when it comes.

    The best we can do is fully embrace the only thing we know to be certain, and that is the current moment we inhabit. This very second as you’re reading these words, you know that you are alive.

    And no matter what’s going on in your life, your life is a miracle. Right. This. Second. Your living is an amazing orchestration of a billion and one complex systems that enables you to breathe, to think, to have a heartbeat, to learn, to grow, and to love.

    It’s hard to not fear losing others. It’s hard to not fear losing ourselves, but fear is what drives away our peace, joy, and love.

    Learning to retrain our thoughts so we don’t dwell on our fear of the unknown future and grounding into the present will help us shift our focus from loss to abundance.

    When we focus on loss, it feels as though we’re always lacking and we worry we’ll lose what we have. When we focus on abundance, we recognize that our lives are full and we cultivate the faith that each moment we’re alive, we will have what we need.

    Additionally, when we focus on abundance, a sense of gratitude seems to naturally follow. How could we recognize how full our lives are and not be grateful?

    When we are grateful for the moment we are in, we will find our lives are long enough—no matter how many years they contain.

    Photo by pdam2

  • 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.

  • 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

  • Dealing with Loss and Grief: Be Good to Yourself While You Heal

    Dealing with Loss and Grief: Be Good to Yourself While You Heal

    “To be happy with yourself, you’ve got to lose yourself now and then.” ~Bob Genovesi

    At a holiday party last December, I ran into a friend from college who I hadn’t seen in twenty years.

    “What’s going on with you? You look great!”

    “Oh, well… My mother passed away and my husband and I divorced.”

    “Oh Jeez! I’m so sorry,” he said. “That’s a lot! So, why do you look so great?”

    Perhaps it wasn’t the greatest party conversation, but I did with it smile.

    “It was the hardest year of my life, but I’m getting through it and that makes me feel good.”

    Sure, what he didn’t know was that I had spent many weeks with the blinds closed. I cried my way through back-to-back TV episodes on Netflix.

    I knitted three sweaters, two scarves, a winter hat, and a sweater coat.

    I had too many glasses of wine as I danced around in my living room to pop music, pretending I was still young enough to go to clubs.

    And at times it was hard to eat, but damn if I didn’t look good in those new retail-therapy skinny jeans.

    Another friend of mine lost his father last spring. When he returned from the East Coast, I knew he would be in shock at re-entry. I invited him over for a bowl of Italian lentil and sausage soup.

    As we ate in my kitchen nook, he spoke of the pain of the loss of his father, and even the anger at his friends who, in social situations, avoided talking to him directly about his loss.

    Looking down at my soup, I said, “Grief is a big bowl to hold. It takes so many formations, so many textures and colors. You never know how or when it will rear its head and take a hold of you. Sometimes you cry unfathomably, some days you feel guilty because you haven’t cried, and in other moments you are so angry or filled with anxiety you just don’t know what to do.”

    Grief is one of those emotions that have a life of their own. It carries every feeling within it and sometimes there’s no way to discern it. (more…)

  • Making It Through Pain That Seems to Never End

    Making It Through Pain That Seems to Never End

    “Feelings are real and legitimate.” ~Unknown

    I’ve been thinking about pain lately.

    It’s come up for me more now since my sister, Susie, has been diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis.

    Susie and I are close in age—just 15 months separate us—and close in friendship and love. So I worry about her.

    She’s an electrician and needs to be able to use her hands on a daily basis for wiring, splicing, drilling, and all of the other myriad things electricians do.

    But, of course, her hands are right where the arthritis has chosen to reside currently.

    She told me that some days the pain is so intense that she has to use both hands just to hold her toothbrush.

    So I became curious about pain. How do we manage it?

    I started to observe my own bouts with pain.

    When I’m working out and I’m gasping for breath and my body hurts.

    When my cat reaches out her paw lovingly toward me and accidentally scratches me in her attempt to get some chin scratches.

    When my hip flexor injury flares up and makes it almost impossible for me to lift my leg to get into the car.

    I watched myself and realized something.

    I could manage these painful moments because I knew they were going to end.

    My workout would end and I’d get my breath back and be able to rest my body.

    I could put some ointment on my arm where my cat scratched me.

    Taking ibuprofen greatly eased my hip flexor issue. (more…)

  • Finding Peace and Joy When Dealing with Pain and Loss

    Finding Peace and Joy When Dealing with Pain and Loss

    I am here

    “Every problem has a gift for you in its hands.” ~Richard Bach

    There are times when nothing seems to move in the right direction. We either feel stuck or lost in chaos and confusion. Days follow nights as pages on the calendar turn into months, but you remain at the same place.

    A few years back I suffered a miscarriage in the eighth month of pregnancy. I lost my baby and my dreams of motherhood. In the deep void I experienced both physical pain and mental agony.

    At such times despite your efforts, the situation turns from bad to worse until you hit rock bottom, where you are too shocked to even be angry. You are just numb.

    It took me years to understand that life’s balance sheet is not a neat account statement. Here, losses are often gains and gains are often losses.

    At that time, I found a strange peace while doing mundane everyday activities, like cleaning or removing the stalks from the green vegetables. My hands removed grass, weeds, or long hard stalks to stack in organized groups.

    Why did I enjoy doing this activity, which was a chore? It gave my hands something to do; it helped me to finish a task while giving respite to my agonized heart, as my mind was free to wander from worry to wonder.

    My heart cried but the spinach or whatever I was cleaning was getting ready. It did not stop life but helped me to go with flow.

    It taught me the art of giving in without giving up, and it made me realize that lessons need to be experienced before learning happens.

    The meditative quality of a repeated activity is therapeutic. It leads to contemplation, which has a cathartic effect that makes you calm while setting a rhythm in the chaotic mind.

    Life unfolds at its pace, and we need to go with the flow. Attachment and detachment are the two points where we oscillate as a pendulum. Wisdom dawns at this stage. (more…)

  • How to Find Happiness Through Gratitude When Life Gets Hard

    How to Find Happiness Through Gratitude When Life Gets Hard

    “In daily life we must see that it is not happiness that makes us grateful, but gratefulness that makes us happy.” ~Brother David Steindl-Rast

    In the summer of 1993, my father was diagnosed with a malignant brain tumor.

    He was only fifty-eight. Still just a kid.

    This was a devastating development, to say the least. Things had already been challenging for my family for several years before this blow.

    Dad had lost his corporate banking job in Boston—quite unjustly, in our view—kicking off a nearly three-year-long bout of unemployment.

    This was not an easy time for our family, but we pulled together in the ways we were able and never gave up hope.

    No matter how tough things became (moving three times in three years, for instance), I was always exceedingly grateful that my parents were who they were: devoted to each other and their three kids (I am the eldest), honest, loyal, sensible, and smart.

    I was also grateful that they were crazy supportive of our dreams, no matter how big they happen to be.

    In 1987, I moved to New York at age eighteen to start my modeling career with a major agency. This was in lieu of college, I might add.

    “Aren’t your parents worried?” my friends would ask, slightly marveling.

    “No, they know how important this is to me,” I responded.

    I’m sure they were concerned, but they never let it show.

    In addition, they were willing to go to the mat for us, for our educations, our comfort, and domestic stability.

    There may have been cracks in the castle walls at times, but never its foundation. (more…)

  • Brushes with Mortality: 5 Lessons On Dealing with Hard Times

    Brushes with Mortality: 5 Lessons On Dealing with Hard Times

    “When we come close to those things that break us down, we touch those things that also break us open. And in that breaking open, we uncover our true nature.” ~Wayne Muller

    As someone with a serious chronic medical condition, I have danced with mortality. Many times. It wasn’t until our most recent pas de deux, however, that I truly understood just how much this dance could impact me.

    Nowhere was this more apparent than in my work as a hospice volunteer.

    The mission of the San Francisco-based Zen Hospice Project—a Buddhist-inspired organization where I have volunteered for five years—is to bring kindness and compassion to those facing loss and death.

    I trained to be a volunteer out of a deep longing to explore and evolve my comfort level with my own illness and mortality, as well as the mortality of those close to me.

    Zen Hospice Project trains volunteers to practice the Five Precepts Of Hospice Care developed by its founder.

    They are:

    1. Bring your whole self to the bedside.
    2. Welcome everything; push away nothing.
    3. Find a place of rest in the middle of things.
    4. Cultivate the “don’t know mind.”
    5. Don’t wait.

    While I have attempted to integrate these precepts at bedside (and in my life in general), I am also aware that I have remained somewhat disconnected from them.

    For example, though I have always been able to easily listen with compassion as patients and family members voiced their feelings about dying; to hold a hand; provide a gentle foot massage; bring hot tea and fresh flowers; and sing to patients, I could not (or more aptly did not want to) fully feel the devastating grief that accompanies loss.

    Until, that is, I returned to hospice work last year after undergoing emergency brain surgery.

    Some background: As a child, I was diagnosed with a neurological condition called hydrocephalus that prevents the cerebrospinal fluid from circulating correctly in my brain. As such, a device called a shunt lives in my brain’s ventricles, keeping the fluid circulating properly. (more…)