Tag: wisdom

  • 4 Ways to Know If You’re Ready for a Simpler Life

    4 Ways to Know If You’re Ready for a Simpler Life

    “Be who you want to be, not what others want to see.” ~Unknown

    Growing up in a consumer society has its obvious advantages—technology is abundant, restaurants are everywhere your eyes can see, and grocery store shelves are always full. All of this leads to the illusion that everything is available, in quantity, all of the time, and for the most part it is.

    I was born and raised in a consumer culture and I thought I had it all; the ability to buy whatever I wanted and needed was deeply ingrained in my psyche. In my childhood I had toys, stuffed animals to decorate my bed, Nintendo, a swimming pool in the backyard, a unicycle, my own little black and white portable TV, and a closet full of shoes.

    My tastes changed over time, but until I became an adult at the age of twenty-eight my perception about shopping and acquiring stuff was on the naive end of the spectrum.

    It didn’t matter where things came from, so long as they came and there was a temporary happiness associated with each and every purchase.

    Change. Something must change. I heard whispers in the night.

    The things I had accumulated were not bringing joy; what was more, they weren’t even being worn or used. I thought about the excess, my excess, others’ excess, the excess from stores that never gets sold and has to go somewhere, then I considered for a moment the environment.

    My husband and I moved from a one bedroom apartment in Seattle to the plains of southeastern Hungary to immerse ourselves in quiet country life.

    We had a strong desire to get away from the hustle and bustle of city life. We purchased a five hectare farm with cob buildings, built without foundations and just silt under the tile floors. Electricity, but no running water.

    It was ours—the trials, the warmth of the fireplace, the peace and quiet to reflect on life.

    After five years of spending mornings in silence, listening to the sounds of pheasants, guinea, and owls, our closeness to nature started to become rapidly apparent. Simplicity crept into our lives as an inkling of an answer of previously soft-spoken whispers.

    Drawing water from the well, bucket by bucket, spinning wool, and preserving fruit, the introduction of self-reliance into our lives was profoundly exciting and exhilarating at the same time.

    Paring down and wising up, we slowly became eco-minimalists.

    There are downsides to being “different”: We have lost friends along the way, our parents don’t quite understand our determined stance on living a simple life, and it isn’t easy being green. So, is living an unconventional simple life worth it? By all means, yes!

    The rewards are beautiful when you truly accept gratitude into your heart. Gratitude for the little things in life: the meaningful conversations, the love, the laughter, the roof over your head (never to be taken for granted), the ability to cook for yourself and sew your own clothes.

    How do you know if you are suited for a different kind of simple living? You are ready to live life on your own terms, for your own pursuit of happiness.

    Distancing yourself from society may be necessary to get out of the brain smog, so that you have the ability to think for yourself without the white noises of traffic, bells, and life on the street. Spending time in silence does wonders for restoring the soul and giving you time to emerge into a new persona, a more intelligent version of your former self.

    1. When memories become the real worth in your life, not things.

    Think about your past, your childhood. What memories stand out? The number of toys you owned or the family and friends that you shared those special toys with? That you got to go hiking in a canyon or shopping in a cityscape?

    Chances are good that it was the experiences that made life enjoyable, not the stuff—the people that you remember, the good times and the bad, the memories that last a lifetime.

    2. When connecting with nature is a desire, not a chore.

    Getting outside for fresh air daily is not only good for your lungs, it may help to simplify your life. It gives you the opportunity to walk, ride a bike, and move your limbs, a natural way to keep fit.

    Connect with the earth by walking barefoot, laying in the grass, looking up at the sky and by allowing yourself to feel small in the vast universe.

    3. When you are tired of the chase.

    A life lived slowly is a life well lived. When we rush we miss expressions, we miss flowers in bloom, and we miss moments that will fly right by. Slow down!

    Life is not a race. There is no competition; there is no need to whiz by. There is however a need to enjoy the details, to smile at the clouds and have the ability to wait. Patience is an esteemed virtue that we can all strive for.

    4. Interest-led learning excites you!

    Simple living is all about self-reliance. The ability to learn things on your own shows your determination, flexibility, and open-mindedness. When you learn new things out of your own interest, you are sure to embrace new ideas and take them far.

    We didn’t become the architects and engineers our family and friends wished us to be, we didn’t even become who we thought we would be. Instead, we became us—and we are extremely joyous and grateful for that.

    Wherever you go, be the change you would like to see in the world.

    You don’t need to change addresses or move mountains to discover simplicity. You don’t even need to travel. You can find it right in your own home. Create new memories, go for a walk and connect with nature, explore self-reliance and be open to taking your new life in, slowly.

  • Finding a Good Match: Know What You Want and Need in a Relationship

    Finding a Good Match: Know What You Want and Need in a Relationship

    “You’ll never find the right person if you never let go of the wrong one.” ~Unknown

    I recently left a relationship that I was not happy in. Although my ex was definitely an unconditional lover, it painfully bothered me that the man I loved was not taking care of his responsibilities.

    Since I’ve entered my twenties, I’ve been looking for more than just a good time; I need a stable partner who will be able to meet our shared expenses and obligations in the future. So, I was faced with the crucial, inevitable decision of calling it quits.

    I cried the first few nights, but every night after was a learning experience. I realized that no matter how much he loved me, I needed more from the relationship than he could give.

    While I was still in it, he kept telling me that I made the entire relationship about me, saying, “You are only worried about your happiness. What about mine?”

    Although he was right about his happiness being important, I realized something: my happiness is just as important, and I cannot—and should not have to—sacrifice mine for his.

    Half of a couple can’t be happy while the other half is miserable. If neither is happy, then the relationship is already over.

    A few weeks after the big break, I began asking myself what I wanted out of a relationship. Who am I? What do I need?

    I wrote down a list of my nice-to-haves and my non-negotiables. This allowed me to see my past relationship for what it was: not what I really wanted. And thus, I experienced little pain and was able to move on gracefully.

    Don’t get me wrong, I felt incredibly terrible for breaking his heart. I have always been the one to break things off, but I wasn’t so sure if I ever broke a guy’s heart until the day I broke his.

    But I had to learn to forgive myself because I knew the relationship wouldn’t last. And it was better to break his heart now than to stay in it for far too long and inescapably break it later.

    He eventually told me I was his only source of happiness, but just as you shouldn’t sacrifice your own happiness, you shouldn’t be responsible for another’s happiness either.

    Happiness should come from within. If you have it before you enter the relationship, once ties are severed and the mourning phase is over, you will surely have it again.

    The greatest lesson I learned is that you have to know what you want before the relationship starts.

    When people say, “I don’t know what I want, but when I see it, I’ll know,” they are usually the ones who stick around in a relationship longer than necessary because they weren’t sure of what they wanted from the beginning. This causes unnecessary trial and error and a lot more pain.

    It doesn’t take long to ask yourself what it is you desire and write it down. You may not know for certain right away, but you should at least have a rough idea. Getting to know yourself better can help with this.

    Dating can also help refine your list, but making a serious commitment before really understanding your requirements in a relationship can be detrimental.

    Typically when we go into a relationship without truly understanding our requirements, we end up trying to change our partner, which never ends well.

    A loving relationship is meant to be the reward of knowing what you wanted and receiving it. Getting into a relationship in order to figure out what you want is backwards.

    Ask yourself what it is you appreciate in a partner. What will cause you to write off a potential partner (perhaps not having the same goals and dreams)? This is important because if we don’t determine what we will and will not accept, we end up accepting anything.

    But even more importantly, don’t forget about yourself. Get to know your own personal likes and dislikes. This is the one time where everything can be about what you want.

    When we’re in a relationship, we’re always so busy trying to learn about another person’s wants, needs, goals, and aspirations that we oftentimes forget about our own.

    During this time you don’t have to ask anyone for affirmation. All of your decisions are your own. No one can tell you who to be.

    And while in a relationship, you still have to remember that you complete yourself. The man or woman you’re with does not define who you are, and you do not need him or her to be complete. Your self-esteem should not begin or end with how that person feels about you.

    Be willing to give the person you love the shirt off your back, but your self-worth? Never give them that.

    You have to honestly know that you will be happy with or without them. This little piece of knowledge makes it easier for you to leave a relationship that causes you anguish, and find one that better serves you.

    That’s not to say that relationships are perfect and no one will ever hurt you; that’s certainly not the case. Every person will come with his or her own flaws, and every relationship will require a little work. You just have to know what you’re willing to work through and what you’re not.

    Some words of advice my wise mother once gave me: you are the prize. How big of a prize is defined by how much you love and respect yourself. You determine how much you are worth. Nobody else.

    Sometimes love can turn into a battle that we want to win but can’t. Many relationships aren’t meant to be. That doesn’t make it your fault, and it doesn’t make it the other person’s fault; it just makes it life.

    Whatever the case, you should never sacrifice your dignity at the expense of a futile relationship.

    As for me, I couldn’t wait for him to be who I needed him to be. And I couldn’t change him either. I had to do what was best for me and for him as well.

    If it were meant to be, it would’ve been right from the beginning.

    I just have to go out into the world and find someone who better suits me. In the meantime, I am discovering a lot about myself, things I would’ve probably never known otherwise.

    You must never get so caught up in your other half’s happiness that you forget about your own, and what matters most to you.

    By the time I get into my next relationship, I will have better clarity of what I want and what I need.

    But for right now, I am the love of my life. I am hoping that eventually I can share my love and happiness with another being, and he can share his with me.

    Romance does not only consist of loving another, but also finding it easy to love oneself in the process. And I have to remind myself to never lose sight of that self-love.

  • A Lasting Romance Is Built on Flaws: 6 Tips for a Strong Relationship

    A Lasting Romance Is Built on Flaws: 6 Tips for a Strong Relationship

    “Let our scars fall in love.” ~Galway Kinnell

    We all bring our own baggage to any relationship. I know that my past relationships have shaped my approach to love and romance. When we seek out that special someone to share our life, the disappointments of our past relationships tend to get in the way of new discoveries.

    It’s human nature to size up a potential partner by drawing from past experience.

    There are so many ways to catalog the possible flaws: He’s too short. She’s too tall. Too fat. Too thin. Not enough education. Too much education. Or you become judgmental about how much your date eats or drinks or how they interact with other people.

    The perceived flaws get in the way of making a connection.

    It’s like the three bears’ approach to dating, looking for that partner who is “just right.” Too often we make the mistake of looking for a mirror of ourselves in a partner.

    After a while, I realized that the perfect mate doesn’t exist. There is no “right” person who has everything on my perfect mate checklist. And even if I found someone with everything I was looking for, wouldn’t that relationship become dull with time? They’d be too much like me.

    I finally figured out that it’s better to seek out a partner who understands and shares my failings; someone who would complement my worst characteristics. To find my soul mate, I first needed to be able to look inside, examine my character defects, and change them or embrace them.

    As I got older, I stopped trying so hard. I started to relax, be myself, and invite women to accept me for who I am, flaws and all.

    I can be geeky. I can be arrogant. I can be aloof. I can be a real know-it-all. I can be selfish. I have any number of character defects. But by taking my own inventory and laying my faults on the table for all to see, I could invite someone to accept me for me.

    I finally married at age fifty. It took me that long to figure out that I had to be true to myself in order to be true to a partner. And now I have a beautiful wife and two terrific stepchildren who love me for me—flaws and all.

    Like any family, we have our fights. When we forget how to tolerate the other’s defects, my wife and I can get into a real shouting match. It’s at those moments that I have to remind myself to embrace our flaws and follow some simple rules:

    1. Communicate.

    I tend to live too much in my head, and when I listen to my own inner voices too long, I lose touch with what’s real and start imagining the worst. Good communication solves that problem.

    My wife and I share our feelings, our anxieties, our hopes, and our dreams. We communicate, but we try not to take on each other’s problems as our own. Just simply saying “I’m having a bad day,” or “I don’t really want to talk about that now,” we can stay connected and leave the doors of communication open without getting into a fight.

    2. Respect each other.

    Even when we disagree I always try to give my wife the respect she deserves. When we do fight, we try to practice fair fighting, being respectful of the other party and hearing their side. If you are considerate of your partner, it’s easier to find a middle ground.

    3. Respect each other’s space.

    And we make sure we give each other space. We each have friends and activities we pursue on our own.

    My wife will go out with her girlfriends to hear a local band or see a ballgame, and it’s understood that I’m not welcome. I also work at home and we have set ground rules around my hours and my workspace. For example, my wife keeps our house spotless and she knows that, even though I am a slob, my office is off-limits; it’s my space.

    4. Rely on each other.

    No matter what we are doing or how busy we get, we know we can count on each other for support.

    I try to call on that support when I really need it, so I don’t take it for granted. And if my wife needs help with a technical problem or is worried about the kids, I make time to assist or lend a sympathetic ear.

    As we have grown together we have become better at triaging crises; if a problem can wait, we set a time aside to deal with it when we can both give it our full attention.

    5. Take your own pulse.

    I try to stay in tune with my own moods and feelings to make sure my inner demons don’t affect my family.

    When my inner voices start to whisper to me, I can start blaming my family for my own failings. It’s then that I pause, take a deep breath, and try to distinguish what is real and what is imagined. It eliminates a lot of family drama.

    6. Keep the romance alive.

    Despite busy schedules, my wife and I take time out for each other. Friday is date night and it’s sacrosanct. We go to dinner, take in a movie, or find some activity we can share and enjoy together. We also work to make time on weekends for joint activities, even if it’s grocery shopping or a trip the hardware store together.

    After many years of self-examination and soul-searching I understand that I am the only constant in any relationship. When I found a partner willing to love me for my flaws as well as my good points, I knew I had found the right mate.

    Even when I screw up, the foundation we have built tolerating and even celebrating each other’s faults and foibles, our humanness, is strong enough to withstand anything.

  • We Have the Strength to Move Through Pain and Uncertainty

    We Have the Strength to Move Through Pain and Uncertainty

    See the Light

    “Suffering is not caused by pain but by resisting pain.” ~Unknown

    Earlier this year our beloved puppy got sick. Not just a poorly tummy kind of sick, but proper, life-threatening, blood transfusion-requiring sick. Suddenly. Unexpectedly. She was at death’s door.

    The vet was talking to us in quiet and kindly tones. Using words like “grave.”

    Her illness was apparently unusual in a dog her age. Her prognosis was uncertain. She would require months of treatment that may or may not work. We were to watch her for signs of deterioration. Note changes in her appetite and energy levels.

    And then it was our son’s turn. He didn’t get sick. But something in his physiology concerned the doctors. That meant he had to undergo surgery in order to rule out a cancer that the consultant told us would be extremely serious for him.

    Like the puppy, we were asked to monitor his energy levels, his appetite, his sleep. We were advised to keep a close eye on him while the tests were completed. To report any changes.

    Twice in quick succession, life threw us a curve ball. Twice, the otherwise hunky-dory life we had been enjoying became something altogether less comfortable.

    We’d been happily plodding along in a bit of a smug bubble. We seemed to have it all going on. Not perfect—not by a long shot. But pretty darn good.

    Bad things, it seemed, happened to other people. It’s just how it was…until we abruptly found ourselves living in a far more anxiety provoking reality—a reality that looked nothing like the shiny existence we’d been enjoying.

    At times my anxiety was crippling. The uncertainty felt hideous. My desire to rush to the safety of certainty, and answers, was overwhelming. I was desperate to define what I was feeling, and what we were experiencing.

    Online searches of both conditions were terrifying. Hopeless. My stomach would lurch as I read yet another firsthand account of a dog, or a boy, facing these illnesses.

    There was no certainty. No answers. No comfort to be had. Answers, good or bad, would take time. I was in pain. I felt like I was falling. I felt an intense kind of shame at our overt imperfection as a family.

    We were becoming other people. The other people who I had always had sympathy for, but apparently no empathy.

    I had protected myself from their pain, and my fear, by subconsciously telling myself they were different somehow. I jealously looked on, as those around me appeared to be enjoying a carefree existence filled with a certainty that I was being denied.

    Fortunately, this story has a happy ending. The dog recovered, against all the odds. Our boy was found to be cancer free. I am grateful beyond measure for both these outcomes.

    But I am also profoundly grateful for what these experiences taught me.

    They showed me that when adversity hits, there’s no value in running or hiding. While the drive to do this is so incredibly understandable, and our instinctive need to take flight to keep ourselves safe can feel overwhelming, it just doesn’t help.

    I realized that despite my deepest held wish for all the hideousness to disappear, to be relieved from the pain I was in, there was no way around it.

    When life throws you a curve ball, I realized that you have to feel the feelings. You have to sit with the deep discomfort of the uncertainty you face. You have to breathe through it, even when it feels like it may swamp you entirely.

    It’s like sitting at the water’s edge and letting a big wave hit you. It’s like allowing yourself to be swept up, tossed around in the water and dumped mercilessly, sandy and undignified on the shore.

    And here’s the thing that was the biggest revelation for me: All the while this is going on—when life appears to be showing you no mercy—you have it in you to give yourself the soothing comfort you so desperately crave.

    You can sit in solidarity with yourself in your pain. You can rub your own back as you sit, head in your hands, despairing at the edge of the road.

    You can encourage yourself to breathe in and out. Remind yourself that you’re not alone. That all humans know the pain of uncertainty and fear. That while your circumstances may be unique, your suffering is not.

    Which ultimately gives you strength to look your pain in the eye. To sit with it, acknowledge it, and move through it.

    My experience has left me changed—humbled, and a little bruised by having to recognize my utter vulnerability in the face of life’s randomness. But it’s also left me hopeful that when adversity does strike again (and I have no doubt that it will) I have it in me to see my way through the pain.

    And so do you.

    Photo by Martin Fisch

  • 4 Tips to Help You Keep Going When You’re Filled with Doubt

    4 Tips to Help You Keep Going When You’re Filled with Doubt

    “Begin doing what you want to do now. We are not living in eternity. We have only this moment, sparkling like a star in our hand-and melting like a snowflake.” ~Francis Bacon Sr.

    “Just research, research, research. That’s what grad school is.”

    It seemed as though that was all I was hearing from my professors, and it wasn’t helpful.

    Since returning to school to get my master’s degree, I had maintained a 4.0 average, but I also hadn’t taken more than two classes at a time. Until now.

    When I enrolled for the fall semester, I chose to take twelve hours, or one full class more than the nine maximum hours recommended. I did this against the advice of my advisor, and I did this knowing that I also had three jobs and three children.

    I told myself then that it was only sixteen weeks, and anyone could get through sixteen weeks. I told myself that my kids were older (sophomore, junior, and out of school) and didn’t need me like they used to. I told myself that I was unstoppable.

    And I did feel unstoppable. Until I actually started the semester. Suddenly, juggling fifty hours of work, ten hours of commute, and twelve hours of school seemed like the dumbest thing I could do to myself. I had no days off. I had to budget my time down to each hour. I rarely saw my kids.

    My husband travels for work and he was on a long job in Canada, so that helped as far as my guilt over not being around for him, but he was due to come back soon, and I was going to be too busy to spend quality time with him.

    So it was, upon hearing the seminar speaker recommend researching exhaustively, that I felt dangerously close to tears.

    What am I doing? I thought to myself. Why am I even here? There’s no guarantee I’ll find a job after graduation. A master’s degree doesn’t equal a guarantee. Why am I doing this and missing all this time with my kids? Why am I doing this at my age? I have no right to be here. I’m too old. I’m not smart enough. Everyone else seems so with it. How much longer can I fake my way through this?

    If I hadn’t already paid (and that was another thing, why did I waste this money that could have gone toward something worthier, like my children?), I would have dropped out. I continued to go to every class, feeling like I was losing my grip a little more week by week, growing ever closer to complete panic.

    Then one day I walked into my International Communication class, and a fellow student asked if she could share a video. The professor agreed, and so it was that I watched something that changed my thinking.

    The video was called “Your Body Language Shapes Who You Are,” and it was a beautiful speech by Amy Cuddy about learning to understand your own abilities. It was very motivational, dealing with power poses and teaching yourself confidence.

    The video itself put me in my place. But it was one line in particular that really struck me.

    “Fake it until you make it,” Cuddy said, “and if you don’t, fake it until you become it.”

    She was speaking of her own journey returning to school after a debilitating brain injury, but she was also speaking of a student she had advised who had come into her office ready to drop out because she just wasn’t smart enough to keep going in her program.

    Seeing this woman, who had once been told her head injury was so great that college would no longer be an option for her, who had been told that she would be lucky to hold a job, speaking about her long battle to return to school, really hit me.

    Here was someone who had fought a real battle. She had struggled for years to be able to return to school, and here I was whining about sixteen weeks? I didn’t even have a disability to overcome—except the power of my own negative thinking.

    From that point forth, I decided that I did have a right to be sitting in that classroom. I did have a right to be enrolled in the graduate program, and I did have what it took to graduate. So I made myself a little list of motivators.

    1. Give up attachment.

    In my case, it was crippling fear, but in generalization, it’s attachment to any negative self-talk you have.

    I attached fear to my enrollment in the graduate program, and it had been overriding everything and holding me down.

    By giving up my attachment to that abusive inner dialogue, I was able to release some of that fear and anxiety I associated with school. I was able to look at it objectively by removing myself from it emotionally. I have to remind myself every day to hold onto that objectivity and release the fear, but so far it’s working.

    2. Fake it until you make it.

    This is obviously right out of Cuddy’s playbook, but she was right. When I started to pretend like I was just as smart as everyone else in my classes, I felt a little ridiculous. But after a couple of weeks, I started to realize that I had just as much to contribute as anyone else.

    We’re all different people, so wouldn’t it make sense that we approached the class differently? Once I realized that different didn’t mean smarter, I was able to relax and actually absorb some knowledge.

    3. Remember that nothing lasts forever.

    If I had dropped out of the program, I obviously wouldn’t graduate. This stress is only temporary. When it’s over, I’ll have a master’s degree, and nobody can take that away from me. It will be worth it in the end, and I’ll be a stronger person for it.

    4. Take it one day at a time.

    There is no use holding onto stress and misery over something in the future. Do what you can today. Then repeat it the next day. But this moment is all we have. Seize it.

    Am I magically a more well-adjusted, intelligent, and super-fun person as a result of all of this? Absolutely not. I still struggle almost daily, but it’s different now.

    I know what I have to do, and I broke it all down into manageable pieces. I tell myself, “This is all you have to do today.” It truly makes a difference.

    If you’re struggling over an obstacle in your life, remind yourself that all you can do is live in the moment you’re in right now. Don’t believe everything that you think. And you are good enough. We all have anxiety and we all have stumbling blocks. Think of them as inner strength boosters.

    As for me, well, I’m halfway through. But that doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is today. And it’s a pretty good day.

  • 5 Surprising Things I Learned During a Year of Silence

    5 Surprising Things I Learned During a Year of Silence

    “Freedom is instantaneous the moment we accept things as they are.” ~Karen Maezen Miller

    Four years ago I spent the better part of a year being silent.

    A friend had told me that in silence, the bits of you that need healing heal themselves. He was talking about the bits of me that had pushed me until I was sick and depressed, too anxious to answer the door.

    I call it my year of silence, but it was more like a year of “doing nothing” because I wasn’t silently reading a book or silently reorganizing my cutlery drawer; I was just sitting. The not doing was the really challenging part.

    Much of what I learned from that year was different to what I’d expected. Five things that surprised me the most were:

    1. A unique meditation

    My brief going in was “The less you do, the better.” Things I’d considered useful and productive—reading, writing, talking, cooking, and even cleaning—were now distractions. “Let your thoughts run,” my friend said. “Notice them if you want to, but leave them to themselves.”

    And so, I just sat.

    After five days I called and said, “I feel like I used to when I meditated.”

    I didn’t get it. Meditation is when you focus on one thing; I was letting my mind leap about. But when you sit without distractions you start to see your thoughts for what they are, just thoughts, and as you do, you reconnect with the you beneath your thoughts.

    It felt like meditation because it was meditation.

    I saw a poster recently that said, “I missed meditation today, which makes seven years in a row.” That’s pretty much how I used to feel too.

    Now I know that every time I just sit, without distraction, even if it’s for half an hour, it’s meditation.

    2. The din of silence

    Being silent sounds peaceful, right?

    It’s not.

    It’s like pulling up a chair with your harshest, most foul-mouthed critic and saying, “Okay, tell me what you really think?”

    And while there were some “I’m connected to all things” times, there were also the “I want to stab myself” times. (I’m only half kidding.)

    Think of your mind as a spoiled child indulged with toys and shiny objects its whole life— books to read, things to watch, goals to work toward, scrabble.

    When you do nothing, there are no toys.

    Here’s a poem I wrote in one of my sneaky, writing moments.

    Having a Knees Up
    The only place my
    head wants to be, is
    under the covers
    close to my knees.

    There is no uplifting message to this point; just wanted to say, it can get gnarly.

    3. A year of minutes

    Your mind is a doing things junkie. It almost doesn’t care what you do.

    It’s like a heroin addict. No heroin? I’ll take crack. Finished the last episode of Walking Dead; I’ll take the video of the cat in a shark suit.

    I began this not doing lark for just one day, but I carried on because, for the first time in a long time, it felt right. My mind, however, thought I was a loser. It said things like:

    “How are you going to get anywhere like this?!”
    “Let’s start a blog and write about this.”
    “Elizabeth Gilbert went to India. You should go to India.”
    “Oh, learn Māori. You’ve always wanted to do that.”

    The urge to do was gargantuan. It was also epic. Mighty. And colossal. Thank you thesaurus, I think we’ve made our point.

    And it was made worse by all the cool ideas I was having. Silence does that. And a few of them were actually cool.

    My mind was relentless.

    Early on I realized the challenge wasn’t doing this for a year, but hanging-in until lunchtime.

    The only way through was minute by minute. Not in thinking how awesomely silent I’d been the day before—nice thought—or thinking about what lay ahead, but by being present in the moment.

    As time went on it got easier. My mind got tired of being ignored and stopped talking so much.

    4. The wrong guy for the job

    There is nothing like watching your mind to really get to know it.

    I hadn’t realized how bossy it was. How much it worried. Or that it’s so terrified of change it’ll do anything to maintain the status quo, even when the status quo is you being too anxious to answer the door, or whatever hole/habit you might be stuck in.

    I began to understand my mind’s basic nature. And how the most important thing to the mind is to be alert for danger.

    I realized that the problem wasn’t my mind—it was me. I’d given it the wrong job. I’d mistakenly put it in charge of my life.

    When my body told me to rest, my mind said, “No, try harder,” so I did.

    When I had an idea to do something, my mind said, “But no one else does it like that.” And so I didn’t either.

    I constantly allowed my mind to overrule deeper wisdom and natural desire. I didn’t allow the rhythm and energy of life to flow through me; I tried to control it.

    Letting your mind rule your life is like asking your inner eight year old to organize the next presidential campaign; she doesn’t know how and spends most of her time trying to look good in front of her friends. 

    5. The holy grail—acceptance

    Silence helps you find balance.

    Silence comes in different shapes. Silence is meditation. Silence is doing nothing. Silence can be standing in line without checking your phone.

    Silence helps you see your mind is just one part of you. Silence helps you hear your wise inner voice.

    But I also learned something far deeper and even more important; the cat inside the shark suit…

    Human beings try hard. At everything. For instance, at one stage I tried so hard at doing nothing that I became phobic. (Yep.) And you might be thinking, if I were silent for a year I could be as calm and relaxed as Lisa is.

    Firstly, ha ha about me feeling calm all the time. Secondly, that’s your mind talking.

    The key to feeling self-assured and peaceful doesn’t come from some arduous journey, like being silent for a year, but in living life day to day.

    People often ask me, but how do I feel calm and “positive” all the time? The answer: you don’t. Stop trying to. And when you do, gradually the moments that feel good start to expand and the ones that don’t start to recede.

    When you have a clear moment, you have a clear moment. But those other non-clear moments, they’re perfectly fine too.

    When you have a positive, life-affirming thought, this is fine, but so are all those cranky not so life-affirming thoughts.

    Practicing acceptance is the master key.

  • When Things Don’t Go As Planned: Transform Disappointment into Action

    When Things Don’t Go As Planned: Transform Disappointment into Action

    Deep Thought

    “A man’s errors are his portals of discovery.” ~James Joyce

    I’ve had a bit of experience with disappointment. I got very motivated to change my relationship with it when I was in my twenties and starting my acupuncture practice.

    I knew it would take time to build my client base; what I didn’t realize, or more likely was in denial about, was that a very effective way of doing that was by arranging public speaking gigs. I absolutely hated public speaking. Big disappointment.

    I also didn’t consider how much work running a business really was. I had to talk to supplement vendors, deal with the landlord, make sure the copy machine was working, learn new computer programs, do the laundry, and on and on.

    I wanted to do acupuncture! I didn’t want to vacuum the floors and call about the errors on the phone bill! I realized pretty quickly I had to learn how to reassess my feelings of disappointment or I wouldn’t have the gumption and energy to continue on my quest.

    Having the tenacity to overcome disappointment is a necessary skill. Some disappointing experiences are unavoidable. Sometimes that engaging person we meet at the coffee shop doesn’t call, or the job we were a great fit for is offered to someone else.

    These things happen, and generally we can roll with it.

    However, with larger scale disappointments, or recurring disappointments, it’s great to have a strategy to transform that “down” feeling into motivated action.

    When we feel disappointed, it’s easy for us to slow down, to say, “Why bother?” and to allow ourselves to get knocked off our trajectory. The following steps can help shift our viewpoint and revamp those feelings into action.

    1. Explore your original expectations surrounding the goal.

    If there is disappointment, then there was expectation. So what was our initial expectation? The answer to this is sometimes surprising…

    Once that’s fleshed out, we can ask ourselves, was this expectation realistic? Was it well thought out? What was motivating the desired outcome to begin with? Did we do the steps that one might reasonably expect to do to experience this desired outcome?

    These can be hard questions. At times we’ll find our expectations are very reasonable. Other times, not so much. It can be tough to break down our desires, which are largely driven by emotions, in this logical manner.

    However, it’s a great practice that can help us to explore our expectations more deeply. It helped me to recognize that my initial expectations about having my own business were idealistic vs. real world.

    2. Make a decision.

    Armed with the information we’ve gathered from the previous set of explorations, it’s time to decide how we want to proceed.

    Our decision will fall into one of three categories:

    We can continue on in the same vein after the desired outcome.

    This would be a great route if we’ve decided that while, yes, it was disappointing that our favorite boutique doesn’t want to carry our new jewelry line, there are other cool shops in town we can approach as well.

    We can change the route we will take to reach the desired outcome.

    This can be the most complicated decision, depending on the outcome. We may realize we don’t have the training required to get the job we’d like, hence it being offered to someone else.

    We still want the job, so it may be time to look into continuing education or an unpaid internship to gain more experience. The outcome will remain the same, there’s just a bit of recalculating required to get there.

    We can change the desired outcome altogether.

    This is not about experiencing defeat or throwing in the towel. Rather, sometimes this type of deeper exploration will help us to further refine what our desires are.

    For example, I have a friend who wanted to go back to school for a degree in childhood education. After applying to several programs and being turned down, despite a great application and transcripts, her disappointment was pretty evident.

    I suggested these steps to her, and through personal question-asking she came to realize she didn’t want to go back to school at all. The key was that she wanted to work with children, so she decided to change the focus of her current profession, physical therapy, so that she specialized in working with kids.

    3. Install some new expectations.

    While the second step may have seemed like the last, don’t skip this third one!

    Regardless of which of the three types of decision we make, we want to make sure we toss out the old expectations and replace them with new, updated, and perhaps more informed (or more realistic) versions.

    If we have never jogged for exercise but want to start, setting a goal to run a 5k in six months time is more prudent then planning on a marathon. Making dinner for a friend when we are first learning to cook is more sensible then attempting a five-course dinner for 12.

    Keeping our incremental goals levelheaded while we dream big is a great way to reach those dreams.

    It’s common for successful people to describe their journey as a long series of minor and major obstacles, infused with a few glorious moments of achievement. Their ability to withstand disappointment, reassess their route, and continue on their road is an incredibly important part of their success.

    What disappointments have you overcome in your life and how did you grow from them?

    Photo by Shayan USA

  • When You’re Hard on Yourself: Replace Guilt with Self-Compassion

    When You’re Hard on Yourself: Replace Guilt with Self-Compassion

    “Be gentle with yourself if you wish to be gentle with others.” ~Lama Yeshe

    “Guilty,” admits an offender. “Guilty,” proclaims a jury. Things are pretty black and white in trial verdicts and courtroom pleas (although there are still plea bargains and hung juries, mitigating circumstances and appeals).

    Life is rarely as cut-and-dried as the criminal justice system.

    I’ve experienced guilt in different shades of grey—in rational and many irrational ways that bear no real relation to the “crime” at hand, or to any crime at all.

    I’ve experienced guilt simply for how I think, how I feel, not for anything I’ve actually done or failed to do. Shame, really.

    And I’ve suffered guilt like a chronic disease, believing that I could never be “good enough” unless I somehow felt guilty, because of course I could always do/be better. (You see the strange logic, don’t you?)

    I’ve been far from gentle with myself.

    Guilt is a signal that you are striving to be better, and unless you’re doing that, you’re not good enough, or at least not acknowledging all the ways you aren’t perfect. Apparently! There’s always room for improvement, and guilt is the electric prod to remind you, lest you ever get self-satisfied.

    I’ve been unpacking, or should I say undressing, the anatomy of guilt lately. In true Irish Catholic tradition, I feel guilty for that!

    This ingrained religious belief came down my family line, passed on subconsciously most of the time, at other times with sharp criticism.

    I reckon the whole confession tradition encourages you to look for all the things you’ve done wrong rather than celebrate what you’ve done right. The doctrine reinforces all the ways you are fallible and unworthy rather than focusing on how you are simply human and born “good enough.”

    I was good at school, but that, in itself, didn’t make me good (which is just fine). Sure, I was praised for my grades, but I had a sense that it was never enough, even though my parents didn’t pressure me to achieve and correctly taught me that grades aren’t everything.

    Yet somehow there was almost too much pride in any kind of achievement, too much selfishness in any kind of ambition—guilt even made being good feel bad!

    It wasn’t so much about being a do-gooder, as only being allowed a very small quota of acceptable selfishness before guilt kicked in. As it should (or so I thought)!

    I heard the “love they neighbor” bit loudly, but forgot to listen to the “as you would love yourself”—the irony being that you can only love your neighbor based on how much you love yourself.

    Guilt can be fuel to change, to make amends, and that’s fine. Sometimes we need a guilty conscience to remind us that our thoughtless actions can have negative impacts, even if unintended. Remorse must surely come after criminal acts, or there is no room for rehabilitation.

    But when I find myself feeling guilty for feeling (not acting) selfish, I’m stuck in that shame spin cycle, going round and round.

    This was how I felt during our long struggle for children—infertile, guilty as charged. How irrational is that?

    I realize that I suffered a guilt complex along with the depression that descended in the mire of many cycles of IVF.

    Now as a parent of two beautiful adopted children, I’m trying not to pass on the guilt gene.

    And I have some tips on reframing guilt in your life.

    1. Only allow guilt as insight.

    This is the only positive version of remorse. If you’ve genuinely done something wrong, focus on the lesson and the alternative ways you’d act in the future as your “contrition” and motivator to change.

    2. Apologize, and then let it go.

    If you’ve done something that has hurt someone, apologize if you can and then let it go. Accept the gift of forgiveness graciously rather than beating yourself up. And if someone won’t forgive you, accept that your genuine expression of sorrow and regret is enough.

    3. Apply the logic test.

    Most guilt is illogical but it still feels the same way as “useful” guilt. Guilt does not equate to wrongdoing any more than joy equates to a new possession. If it doesn’t make sense (apply the objective test of a judge), then the verdict is “not guilty.”

    4. See guilt as a symptom of fear, more than a sign of caring.

    Often feeling guilty is a symptom of our fear of change—especially when we put off doing something for ourselves.

    You can make excuses that you’d feel bad (guilty) taking time out from looking after others to pursue a passion, when in fact you’re simply scared of chasing your dream. Of course, it’s good to care for others; just don’t use guilt as an excuse to care for yourself.

    5. Be compassionate.

    Start with being gentle with yourself and you’ll learn to be gentle to others. Be gentle with others and you’ll learn to be gentle to yourself.

    Being compassionate means you are “being good,” which should leave you with few (logical) reasons to feel guilty. Being self-compassionate means you’ll find fewer (logical) reasons to hold onto any remaining guilt.

    Guilt isn’t real; it’s only an emotional response, and often an irrational one.

    Compassion, on the other hand, is tangible and felt by others, played out in thoughtful actions, spoken in kind words, expressed in good deeds and in forgiveness.

    Guilt can’t exist where there is compassion, because compassion is understanding and non-judgmental.

    Guilt may have its place in courtrooms, but my verdict is the real answer lies in compassion and gentleness—starting with yourself.

  • Developing Self-Compassion When You Don’t Think You’re Enough

    Developing Self-Compassion When You Don’t Think You’re Enough

    sad face

    “He who knows that enough is enough will always have enough.” ~Lao Tzu

    I’m at war with enoughness.

    My stomach isn’t flat enough; I’m not extroverted enough; I don’t have enough money in my wallet; I’m not creative enough; I’m not getting enough work done.

    There are times when the Jaws of Life cannot free me from my expectations and negative self-talk. The battle with enoughness is a vicious cycle. 

    Here’s an example: I’m both shy and introverted, so I’m afraid of being judged and I prefer quiet environments.

    I was easily overlooked in school because I was reluctant to participate verbally in class.

    During work meetings my ideas were mere whispers compared to the loud shouts from some of my extroverted coworkers.

    Because I prefer staying home on Friday nights, my peers often ask me, “What’s wrong?”

    I’ve convinced myself that something must be wrong with me, so when I have the opportunity to do something social, I either don’t go or I walk into the situation feeling self-conscious and inadequate. 

    Both of these choices fuel criticism. “See, I told you so,” my inner critic says. “You really aren’t enough!”

    The Merriam-Webster Dictionary defines enough as “occurring in such quantity, quality, or scope as to fully meet demands, needs, or expectations.”

    When I criticize myself for not being enough or having enough, whose expectations am I trying to meet?

    It’s too easy to point my finger at society—the society that favors those with the loudest voices; equates self-worth with “what I do for a living;” and glamorizes infidelity, drug abuse, and teenage pregnancy. We’re all affected by the society we live in, there’s no question about it.

    With that said, we have to take full responsibility for our lives, and that includes tending to our own impossible expectations. 

    In the words of Mary Oliver, “You must not ever stop being whimsical. And you must not, ever, give anyone else the responsibility for your life.”

    I have good news and I have bad news. Here’s the bad news: No one is coming to save you from your negative self-talk (addiction, abusive relationship, or draining job).

    And the good news? Facing the truth that you’re responsible for your life is incredibly liberating.

    This truth has motivated me to start treating myself better. If you’re anything like me, you’re your own worst enemy, so we could all use a bit more TLC.  Reclaim your self-compassion with the following three steps.

    1. Open your journal and draw a line down the center of the page. 

    For one day, record your self-talk in the left column. Then read over everything you wrote down.

    How many negative things did you tell yourself? How many positive things did you tell yourself? What issues were you especially negative about (for example, body image)?

    The point here is to become more aware of your thoughts. In the right column, write a positive thought next to each negative thought. When you read over the positive list, let the truth of how wonderful and lovable and beautiful you are sink in.

    2. Set realistic goals for yourself. 

    All too often, fueled by our impossible expectations, we set unattainable goals.

    For example, I worked for an English-language newspaper in Germany, and when I went to my first meeting I wanted everyone to like me.

    I had the same goal during the second meeting and all the meetings that followed, so I was hypersensitive to even the tiniest bit of criticism. I continued to be let down, which gave me more reason to criticize myself.

    Be my authentic self during the meetings—now this is a more realistic goal. That way, if my coworker said he didn’t like one of my ideas, for instance, I wouldn’t have taken it as a personal attack.

    3. Every day write down at least one thing (or five things!) you’re grateful for. 

    Remember the children’s book Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day? Just like Alexander, we’ll have days when everything goes wrong. And that’s okay.

    When you sleep through your alarm clock, your computer crashes and you lose your report, and your date cancels at the last minute, be mindful of the simple things: a hot shower, clean socks, or your dog greeting you at the door.

    Shifting your focus from what you don’t have to what you do have will boost your well-being.

    Changing the way we perceive ourselves will change the way we perceive others.

    If we tell ourselves we’re unlovable because we don’t have a significant other, what’s going to stop us from thinking our friend is worthless when she tells us that she is getting divorced?

    Recently during a yoga class, my teacher said something that made me catch my breath (literally):

    If someone says, “I love you,” it reflects the way she feels about herself; similarly, if someone says, “I hate you,” it reflects the way she feels about herself. I’ve never thought of it this way before, but it makes so much sense!

    Practicing self-compassion is not just for our own benefit; practicing self-compassion also benefits the people around us.

    Photo by Juanedc

  • The Greatest Lesson We Learn When Someone Is Unkind

    The Greatest Lesson We Learn When Someone Is Unkind

    Lonely Girl

    “I have learned silence from the talkative, toleration from the intolerant, and kindness from the unkind.” ~Khalil Gibran

    I recently travelled to Malaysia for a friend’s wedding where I spent four delicious days communing with wild monkeys and feasting on sticky rice. The people were kind and warm, the culture rich, the trip magical.

    On my last day in Kuala Lumpur, I was headed out to buy souvenirs for family and friends when I stumbled across the most beautiful temple—filled with ornate gold and red statues, air thick with sweet-smelling smoke.

    I wandered around, overcome with majesty, trying to breathe it all in. I was still under the temple’s spell when someone spoke to me.

    “Your dress is ugly.”

    I looked to my right where the voice had come from. A woman was sitting on a bench, not looking in my direction.

    “Sorry?”  I said, thinking I must have misheard. She waved me off.

    I stood there for a moment, trying to decide on a course of action. She was American, the first and only other American I’d met during my trip.

    Had she really just said my dress was ugly? It was a simple blue affair, uncomplicated and perfect for traveling. Maybe she said my dress was pretty, I thought. I must have misunderstood.

    The hurt and confusion was rising to a crescendo in my head. But if I’ve learned anything over the last few years, it’s that we all have a choice of how we choose to respond to what we are given. I chose to engage.

    “Did you just say my dress is ugly?” I asked.

    “Yeah,” she said. “I did.”

    I took a deep breath and replied, calmly, “Why would you say that to me?”

    “I’m entitled to my opinion,” she said. “Your dress is ugly; I can tell it’s not well made. Your purse is dirty. I am free to voice my thoughts and those are my thoughts about you.” 

    To say it felt like getting slapped in the face would be an understatement; it was more of a punch to the gut. My blood boiled, my heart raced, and still I kept my voice at an even keel.

    “You are entitled to your own opinion,” I said. “But we also live in congress with other human beings. Why would you say something so aggressive and unkind?”

    At which point she reiterated her insults. Her words sliced coolly into the way I looked and the clothes I wore. That’s when I said the one thing I regret saying.

    “I wish there were fewer Americans like you traveling abroad,” I told her. “You give the rest of us a bad name.”

    I turned and walked away, and she yelled one more barb at my back as I walked out of the temple. I didn’t turn around.

    My hands were shaking as I walked down the street. I felt a strange knot of emotions in my chest: hurt, anger, fear.

    I was irrationally terrified that I would run into her again, that she would be sitting in the seat next to me on my flight home and I would be subjected to seventeen hours of her cruelty, unable to escape.

    But most of all I felt baffled. Why did this woman choose to attack me? Why had she said what she said?

    I couldn’t call my boyfriend, who was back in our sunny home in California, or my best friend in DC—both of whom were sound asleep halfway across the world. So I was left to process what had happened on my own, in a foreign country, without my normal triumvirate of “healthy coping mechanisms”: yoga, conversation, tea.

    And here’s what it all came down to: kindness.

    I had just read the wonderful convocation address given by George Saunders to the Syracuse class of 2013. George talks about something he calls a “failure of kindness,” and those three words were very much on my mind.

    Yes, you could say I had suffered from a failure of kindness. But what I realized was that I, too, had been unkind.

    I wish I hadn’t said what I said to her. That came from a place of being wounded, of feeling the need to fight back. I wish I had said: “I hope the people you meet are kind.”

    Because I do hope that for her. I hope that she is bathed in loving-kindness, that she is inundated with so much that she cannot help but share it with the world.

    While it’s true that kindness engenders kindness, the lack of it can be a powerful teacher.

    For my remaining hours in Kuala Lumpur, I was abundantly kind to everyone I met. I complimented a girl on her joyful spirit, told shop owners how beautiful their merchandise was, smiled widely and genuinely. I made a point to be kind to these warm, generous people who had so kindly shared their country with me.

    And every time I was shown kindness, no matter how small, I felt immeasurably grateful.

    That woman gave me a great gift. She reminded me that we all have a choice to be kind, and we are presented with that choice many times a day.

    Say a kind word to someone you don’t know.

    It doesn’t have to be an eloquent oration—a simple compliment can make someone’s day. If you like a man’s tie or a woman’s necklace, tell them so. And if you are struck by someone’s personality or spirit, thank them for it.

    Write a note to someone you appreciate.

    Tell a co-worker, family member, or friend what you appreciate about them. Don’t hold back. These are the sorts of gifts people treasure, often keeping that little slip of paper (or Facebook post) for many years to come.

    Tip someone who doesn’t normally get tips.

    This was easy in Malaysia, where tipping is rare—one young woman was so happy she went dancing down the hall. Tipping can be a great way to show people you are grateful for their service. I still remember the night I gave $10 to a tired young man at a Taco Bell drive-thru. His eyes lit up like fireflies.

    We’ve all committed failures of kindness when we are hurt, angry, or tired. But each of us holds within us the power to achieve triumphs of kindness every day.

    Photo by Robert Vitulano

  • A Simple but Powerful Way to Kick the Worry Habit

    A Simple but Powerful Way to Kick the Worry Habit

    “Worry often gives a small thing a big shadow.” ~Swedish proverb

    I’m a worrier by nature, and I come by it honestly.

    My mother was afraid to cross bridges and ride in elevators, boats, and airplanes. Her mother died of cancer at the age of forty, and my mother spent many years—including those of my childhood—thinking every sniffle, fever, or headache might be the start of something fatal.

    Although I didn’t realize it at the time, growing up with a steady dose of anxiety, like an invisible intravenous drip, had its effect on my developing mind.

    I was an introverted, timid child. Afraid of the boys who threw snowballs, afraid of steep ski trails, afraid of not getting A’s in every subject, all the time. A lot of my anxiety got channeled into perfectionism, and—just like my mother—trying to control pretty much everything.

    The gift in my anxiety was a distinct drive to find peace. That quest led me to meditation at the tender age of nineteen.

    That was more than forty years ago. I was young and naïve and really had no idea what I was doing (the belief that I could banish worry forever being just one indication of my naiveté). But I persisted—and when I lost the thread of practice, I always eventually came back to it.

    Here’s one thing I’ve learned in forty-some years of meditation and awareness practice: There is a great deal that I’m not aware of. Still.

    That could be discouraging, and sometimes it is. But what keeps me on this path, what keeps me meditating and working to bring the light of mindful attention to the dark places in my mind and life, are the new awarenesses, the small victories I feel in moments when something that was unseen is all at once seen.

    There is a thrill in that, not perhaps like the thrill of speeding down a black diamond trail or any of those other physical challenges I’ve always been afraid of, but a thrill just the same.

    One day, not too long ago, I was driving to a train station to leave my car in a long-term lot while I visited New York for a few days. I had never been to this lot and as I drove, I was feeling the pressure of needing to find the lot, find a spot, and not miss the train.

    That feeling of pressure isn’t unusual when I have a deadline such as a train to catch. But this time, for some reason, I became more acutely aware of a subtle layer of physical and emotional tension.

    Just as I often do on the meditation cushion, I began to bring the feeling of tension more fully into awareness and to investigate it as I was driving. Here’s what I saw:

    1. I was facing an unknown (inconsequential as it was), which triggered anxiety because the unknown is impossible to control.

    2. My feelings were telling me a lie—that is, that this unknown situation had life-or-death consequences.

    And most importantly:

    3. How I was relating to the unknown of not being sure about where to park and how long it would take, this is how I relate to all unknowns in my life, large and small. That is, I approach the unknown with an underlying assumption that was completely unconscious until that moment: “It won’t work out.”

    Because I had become aware of it, I was able to question the assumption. I remembered Pema Chodron’s description of a traditional Tibetan Buddhist teaching, from Start Where You Are: A Guide to Compassionate Living: “train in the three difficulties.”*

    The first “difficulty” is to see your unhelpful patterns of thought and behavior. The second is to “do something different.” The third is to continue doing that different thing.

    So, I asked myself, “What if I tried something different, and assumed it most likely would work out?” (That is, I would find the lot, be able to find a parking spot, and get to the train on time.)

    I tried to coax my brain toward this idea, and to resist the considerable energy drawing it back to the habitual, well-worn track of  “It won’t work out.”

    It felt strange, driving toward the station with the idea that finding parking and getting to the train was workable. I mean “strange” the way crossing your legs the opposite way from how you usually do feels strange. Not bad, really, but unfamiliar, foreign.

    But not too long after it felt strange, it felt incredibly liberating. Just as assuming “It won’t work out” is a pretty sure bet to breed anxiety, approaching an unknown with the assumption that it’s going to be workable is likely to induce at least some degree of calm and equanimity.

    And it did. My shoulders relaxed, my breathing deepened, and I felt a kind of mental brightening, as if a foreboding storm cloud had unexpectedly lifted.

    I’d like to say that was the moment when I cast aside the worn-out assumption that “It won’t work out” and replaced it—forevermore—with “It’s all workable.” Well, suffice it to say, I’m still working on the third difficulty: “Continue in that new way.”

    But that’s okay with me now, in a way it wouldn’t have been four decades ago. Instead of feeling impatient to get rid of that worry-driven assumption, I feel grateful that I became aware of it.

    And to me, that kind of awareness, arising seemingly spontaneously, is the fruit of meditation and whatever other ways we work to wake up. However imperfectly we make that effort, it does make a difference over time.

    Contrary to the incessant messages from our turbo-charged culture, here’s another piece of wisdom I’ve gleaned in forty-some years of meditating and sixty-some years of life: Most change happens bit by bit, one small “aha” at a time, with lots of practice in between.

    And there’s joy to be had—in each of those small awakenings, and in the winding path we walk toward the unknown, illumined by the light of one humble, thrilling realization after another.

    (By the way–no surprise—I did find the lot and a parking space, and got to the train with plenty of time. It did work out.)

  • 9 Insights on Dealing with Change, Challenges, and Pain

    9 Insights on Dealing with Change, Challenges, and Pain

    Rainy Day

    “The only way to make sense out of change is to plunge into it, move with it, and join the dance.” ~Alan Watts

    This year has been one of unprecedented change for me. From January to March, I traveled to Mozambique, Africa to do volunteer work. I did not speak the language; I did not understand the culture. I was immersed in a completely strange world for two months.

    In April, we put our house up for sale. The prospect of uprooting and moving is destabilizing, and one of life’s biggest stressors.

    Then in May my marriage failed, and I separated from my wife. We had been together for almost nine years. I became well acquainted with pain beyond anything I had ever known.

    In June I decided to attack my lifelong dream of singing in a rock band—mid-life crisis or perhaps an awakening of sorts.

    In August my son left home for university. It was a very exciting and emotional time for all of us, the end of one chapter and the beginning of another.

    And in September my last remaining grandparent, my grandmother, died at the age of ninety-seven. She was an incredible woman who saw so much change, and packed a whole lot of life into her years.

    Over the last nine months, amidst all the turbulence, challenges, and pain, a few insights gradually occurred to me:

    1. Nothing is permanent.

    Yet we are programmed for the opposite. We want life to feel safe and secure, and permanence gives us the illusion that it is.

    The reality is that nothing is permanent, and the only thing we know we can count on is change. The more we push for permanence in life, against the current, the more disappointed we become when we find it is not achievable to the extent we think it should be. But if we can accept the fluidity of life, everything changes.

    2. Time heals.

    Why is it that life can look hopeful one day, and so very dark the next? Very little of my actual situation has changed from one day to the next. But my perception of it can change minute by minute based on how I am feeling in that moment—tired or rested, peaceful or angry, whole or damaged.

    I am learning not to overreact in the moment, or make important decisions when I am feeling down.

    3. Practice gratitude.

    In the midst of turbulence, I have a strong tendency to dwell on the negative. And then everything looks dark and it snowballs.

    But there are always things to be grateful for in life—my friends, my health, my relationships, my next meal. I often think back to my time in Mozambique and remember the crippling poverty that most people live with there every day. And yet they are, by and large, a happy people.

    We can make a huge difference in our state of mind by focusing more on what we do have, how lucky we are, and counting our blessings.

    4. Be gentle with yourself.

    I am my own worst critic, focusing on my perceived failings and inadequacies. All this does, I have found, is reinforce the bad. And by reinforcing it, that is the reality I create for myself. So I am slowly learning to cut myself some slack, and perhaps even like who I am. What a concept!

    There is a direct correlation between how we treat ourselves and how we are with others out in the world. This is how we can learn to love.

    5. Be here now.

    I have a lifelong tendency to look back or forward—anything but being present. Guilt and shame look back, worry and anxiety look ahead. In either case, it is wasted energy.

    If I feel that I need to do something to set things right, then I should simply do it, then let it go and not allow these feelings to linger. For me, engaging in activities that force me to stay present helps: skiing, surfing, singing.

    6. Give up control.

    We can plan all we want, but there are much bigger forces at work out there. And the bigger plan for us may not coincide with what we think should happen or the planned timetable we have in our head.

    I will have faith that the universe wants to help me. My job is to see it, step out of the way, and let it work its magic.

    7. Be yourself.

    I have been a people pleaser for most of my life. There all kinds of expectations out there about what I should do, how I should do it, who I should be, and how I should fit in. And it is impossible for me to keep up, to satisfy everyone else. Far easier for me to finally learn just to be me, and to be comfortable with who that is.

    We can provide ourselves with a great deal of peace by learning to be ourselves and letting the chips fall where they may.

    8. Eat. Sleep. Exercise.

    This may seem basic, but when my life is in turmoil, I find that these can be the first to go out the window. I skip meals, or eat badly. My sleep suffers and when I am not rested, my whole perspective changes for the worse. That’s usually when I make bad decisions. I feel lethargic and tend to want to skip exercise.

    But these three are all connected, and they are some of the few things we actually can control to some degree. And when we force ourselves to practice good self-care, we feel better, stronger, and life seems brighter.

    9. Don’t fight the pain.

    It’s taken me a long time to learn this one. And I have a history of doing or using anything I can to not feel the pain. I know this doesn’t work because when I mask the pain, it never leaves. It just gets stronger, and comes out in other ways.

    Pain needs to be acknowledged. When we let ourselves feel it, it loses its grip and passes through us much more quickly.

    I have certainly not mastered any of these, but underpinning it all is a sense of heightened awareness about the feelings I have, and I’m beginning to recognize where these feelings come from. This is the first step in learning, accepting, and rolling with the changes that life offers up.

    Photo by Ben K. Adams

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

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

    friends

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

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

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

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

    My Brother’s Keeper

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

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

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

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

    Two Of A Kind

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

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

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

    Pain Is A Teacher

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

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

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

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

    An Open Challenge

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

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

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

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

    Photo by Fovea Centralis

  • 7 Ways to Form Deep, Meaningful Friendships

    7 Ways to Form Deep, Meaningful Friendships

    Friends

    “To have a friend and be a friend is what makes life worthwhile.” ~Unknown

    I am fascinated by friendships.

    Not the acquaintances you see occasionally or the Facebook friends who wouldn’t recognize you on the street.

    I’m talking about your real people. The people who know and love the deepest parts of you. Their soul sees yours.

    They’re the kind of people you can talk to about how hard it’s been to meditate lately or what’s really going on in your marriage. They’re the kind of people you call for a ride when you get a flat tire and they’re the ones who affirm and support all the “weird” things about you that make other people uncomfortable.

    They’re your inner circle people. The heart of your life.

    I’m so fascinated by deep, meaningful friendships like these because for most of my life, I’ve had none, or only a very small few.

    I always had friends, good friends, who I spent a lot of time with. We celebrated birthdays, analyzed boyfriend behavior, and discussed the pros and cons of the haircut of the season.

    But did I regularly look these friends in the eye and think to myself: Yep, you are a sister (or brother) to my soul?

    No. I didn’t.

    Admit when your friendships don’t nourish your soul.

    It’s not that I didn’t love them. I loved (and still love) them deeply.

    It’s not that I didn’t feel supported and cared for by them. I knew those things were true, beyond a shadow of a doubt.

    And it’s not that I thought I was better than them. I don’t. Acknowledging that you’re different or that you want different things doesn’t make you a snob. It just makes you different.

    According to my belief system, on the deepest of levels we’re all the same and all connected. But we also live in a human world, where personality, lifestyle choices, and values determine the way we live and relate to others.

    So I don’t think we should beat ourselves up for acknowledging that some relationships bring fluidity and symmetry to our hearts more easily and quickly than others.

    Once I faced the fact that I had very few of these profound soul friendships, the obvious next question was: Okay, so where do I find them?

    The general refrain in my head was something like:

    “Yeah, universe, I get that we’re all connected. We’re all one. Uh huh. But over here, in my corner of Planet Earth, I’m not feelin’ quite so connected these days. Where are my people?”

    A booming voice from the sky did not appear. But this old saying popped into mind:

    When you pray, move your feet.

    So I moved my feet. I turned my Soul Friend Radar to full tilt.

    I prowled the corners of the interwebs and relentlessly picked the brains of former colleagues and college friends, all in an attempt to find my siblings of the soul.

    I was determined to find the friends who I could talk openly with about my spiritual beliefs and how they informed every decision I made.

    And I wanted these same spiritually-minded friends to adore my sometimes-12-year-old sense of humor, my introversion, and my devotion to Grey’s Anatomy (even though this last one makes no sense to most of them).

    Spiritual and down to earth. Introspective and prone to kitchen dancing.

    Sounds like the duality of a perfect friendship to me, which is why I give thanks every day that I’ve now found these kinds of friends. It wasn’t that hard, actually (more on that soon).

    These friends have helped me become so much more joyous, fulfilled, and all kinds of giggly.

    And it didn’t take weeks or months for me to know if they were the soul friends I’d been hoping for. I could tell almost immediately.

    How I knew my soul knew yours.

    Stories I’d never told anyone easily fell off my lips. Sadness I thought I’d healed appeared as a crack in my voice. Our laughter together seemed like a sound I’d been hearing for centuries.

    As much as our culture waxes on and on about romantic love, some praise needs to be sent over to the soul brothers and sisters who hold us up through it all.

    The love that comes from your own, custom-made community of kinfolk is vital. Nothing is more nourishing.

    And because I wish that for you, too, here are 7 things I did to find my spiritual soul sisters and brothers. Go forth and make friends!

    1. Consider the possibility that you may already have friends who feel the same as you.

    Choose a few of your nearest and dearest and tell them what spirituality means to you and why it’s a big deal in your life. They may surprise you with enthusiasm, genuine curiosity, or a super-passionate spiritual story of their own.

    2. Be proactive in meeting like-minded people.

    Have you always wanted to go to a sweat lodge? Or do you get giddy at the thought of learning how to make your own incense? Do you daydream about being Byron Katie’s next door neighbor?

    Type whatever search terms tickle your fancy into Meetup.com, select your city, and voila! You’ll have a long list of gatherings to choose from, and they’ll be full of like-minded people who are also looking to make new connections.

    3. Run a Google search for conferences, retreats, or workshops with a spirituality theme.

    Sign up for one. Like, now.

    4. Ask your existing friends, family, or co-workers you trust for some referrals.

    Try something like:

    “Hey, not sure if we’ve ever talked about this in detail before, but I’m reeeally into [insert a specific area of spirituality that floats your boat–could be meditation, yoga, chanting, Eckhart Tolle’s books] and I’d like to connect with some local people who share my passion. Any names coming to mind? Would you feel comfortable introducing us?”

    5. When you find one soul brother or sister, tell them:

    I need more people like you! How about we plan a fun dinner/bowling night/karaoke party and invite a bunch of awesome people you know?

    6. Start a book club that focuses on spirituality/personal development books.

    Stick flyers up at your favorite yoga studios and coffee shops. You can also try posting an ad in the classified listings of your local paper, on a site like Craigslist and also on social media.

    7. If you get jazzed up by affirmations and mantras, try these on for size:

    • Deeply fulfilling friendships are on their way.
    • Love comes in many forms. I am open to them all.
    • Thank you for the friends that are coming. I know already: they’re the best!

    And remember that saying: When you pray, move your feet.

    Your friends are on their way.

    Photo by Vinoth Chandar

  • Fireflies: An Inspiring Short Film by The Jubilee Project

    Fireflies: An Inspiring Short Film by The Jubilee Project

    Since I have a chronically bleeding heart dripping down my sleeve, it’s not hard to get me teary eyed, but this video by The Jubilee Project really moved me. It’s both a touching short film, and a project with a great cause: building autism awareness.

    From the YouTube Page:

    “Fireflies” is a simple reminder that we each have beauty and can connect with others in unique ways. It is the passing glance of a stranger, the earnest offering of a flower, and the knowing smile of a shared secret. In “Fireflies,” a young boy and his new autistic friend discover a shared language of their own.