Hypothetically Of Course

It’s been a rough couple of years. People are talking about it, posting about it, writing, speaking, and ruminating about it. We may be beginning to emerge from the pandemic, but there is no getting back to the way things were. Those days are gone, which probably isn’t such a bad thing. It’s just that we’re not quite sure who we are anymore. It’s like we’ve been tossed out of the spin cycle without getting rinsed off. All of the residue from these last two years is still on us, and we don’t know what to do with it. So rather than taking the time to clean up our own acts, sometimes we take out our pent up frustrations and persistent fears on others. The chatbot who can’t seem to understand our question, the CS representative who finally answers the phone after we’ve been waiting on hold for two hours, the service provider who informs us that the supplies we need are on backorder, the driver who won’t move out of the fast lane, those holding differing political views than we do, and the person on the other end of the line who, through no fault of their own, cannot, as much as they would like to, give us the answer we want. And then of course, there are always those closer at hand, like, say, the people we love and maybe live with, that get in the line of our not-so-friendly fire.

At least I can, hypothetically of course, find myself in at least one of those scenarios. Can’t you?

But the more I think about it, this doesn’t seem like a new thing. It’s just that the last couple of years have put a finer point on a blunt fact. Whatever we don’t clean up in our own life spills out onto the lives of others. From complete strangers to those nearest and dearest, our unhealed wounds, old stories, undealt with stuff, and unhealthy patterns make their marks on the world around us.

At least I can, hypothetically of course, find myself in at least one of those scenarios. Can’t you?

Now, if we could be our best selves on own, we would. If we could heal our own wounds, we would. If we could write new stories, unravel the tangled webs of our past, or develop healthy patterns on our own, we would. I just know that I’ve never been able to do it without help. I’ve needed the support of trained professionals, as well as those trusted few who allow me to show up as my messiest, messed up self, and who love me enough to listen, and listen, and listen some more. And then to tell me the truth, no matter how inconvenient.

It’s a lifelong process, this becoming our best self. The sooner we begin the better, and, it’s never too late to start. Imagine being able to chuckle at our “conversation” with the chatbot, be grateful when our call is finally the next in line, recognize that getting supply and demand back on track will take awhile, take a deep breath and go around the slow car in the fast lane, become curious rather than critical about the political views of others, understand that the person who can’t give us the answer we want probably wishes that they could, and, treat the people we love and live with from the very best of ourselves.

At least I can, hypothetically of course, imagine myself in at least one of those scenarios. Can’t you?

Holding It All Together

Sometimes it’s hard to hold it all together.

Last week I headed out early in the morning to The Dalles to drop Gracie-the-chocolate-labradoodle off at our vet to get her teeth cleaned. I can’t believe how much I love our silly dog.

And.

As a dog, she receives better dental care than the estimated 74 million of my fellow citizens without access to dental insurance, who, when financial push comes to dental shove, have to choose putting food on the table over a trip to the dentist.

And.

Driving through the jaw dropping beauty of the Columbia River Gorge that I call home, I was overcome with awe and wonder for this spectacular corner of the world. One of the top destinations in the country, people come here to live, hike, kite-board, wine taste, and of course, fish for salmon.

And.

This was once the home of Indigenous peoples long before those who looked like me arrived on the scene, colonizing, displacing, and destroying their homes and ways of life. The once abundant fishing sites, central to tribal cultures, diets, societies, and religion, were destroyed by dams. Today, traditional fishing, and often living, take place at “In-lieu” Sites. These small, poor parcels of land, often without utility services, are supposed replacements for lost livelihoods.

And.

After dropping Gracie off at the vet, I test drove a late model Toyota Sequoia, and fell in love with it immediately. I called my husband, and before the day was over, he had traded in our other car, drove the new one home, and parked it in our garage.

And.

Heading home later that same day I stopped to grab some groceries. A family sat at the corner with a sign, asking for help with rent. Our new car cost more than the first house I owned, and could sleep a family of 5 in a pinch.

And.

Yesterday I paired my iPhone with the car audio system, making it easier to make and receive calls while on the road, listen to podcasts, and car dance to my favorite tunes.

And.

The parts for that iPhone were likely produced with slave and child labor.

And.

On our nightly walk lately, the stars have been out in spades. It’s almost like God is showing off, as only She can. We turn off the flashlight and take in the wonder and magic of the night sky, grateful to live in a place where we feel safe as the quiet darkness settles around us..

And.

The night sky in Ukraine is lit up by incoming bombs and missiles, killing thousands of citizens, destroying property, and sending thousands of others to makeshift bomb shelters and fleeing across borders. As Russia wages a ruthless and evil unprovoked war, God can only be shedding tears at this devastating display of human hate and hubris.

Like I said, sometimes it’s hard to hold it all together. How do we hold on to two huge opposites at the same time—all the good in our lives and all the terrible things happening in the lives of others— when both are real and both are true?

The only conclusion I can come to is that we just do. We don’t feel guilty about the good, we welcome it with open hands.

And.

We use those same hands to do everything within our power to build a better world for all.

(A guilt-free moment, loving our silly dog.)

Food For Thought From The Whole30

Disclaimer: This post is not a sales pitch for the Whole30, although I wholeheartedly endorse it. To learn more check out the link above.

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It’s the last day of the Whole30, a program that for me serves as an annual nutritional reset.

The nuts and bolts of it are as follows: For 30 days you fill your plate with protein, vegetables. a bit of healthy fat, and occasionally some fruit. During that time consume no dairy, sugar, grains, legumes, or alcohol. There are some additives to avoid, and it is recommended not to recreate favorite snack or dessert foods even if using program compliant ingredients.

Coffee is allowed or all bets would be off.

I spend most of the day beforehand getting ready for the program by roasting lots of veggies and garlic, baking chicken thighs and breakfast sausages, making mayonnaise, hard boiling eggs, and cutting up fresh veggies. And, I start watching Downton Abbey, again.

It’s a great plan for me, and I always feel better, stronger, more clear-headed and energetic. I sleep better and my body feels more like my body. (Well, maybe this is a tiny bit of a sales pitch after all.)

While it starts with food (check out the book of the same name) the Whole30 offers so much more food for thought. Here’s what I’ve been chewing on as these third days come to an end:

• It is a reminder that while food is meant to be enjoyed, it is first and foremost the fuel to power my one and only body to live my one and only life.

• Eating this way for 30 days, I am very aware that I don’t live in a food desert with limited access to affordable, healthy food, and that I can in fact, afford to eat fresh, whole food any time I want. So can my adult children and the rest of my extended family. None of my grandchildren live with food insecurity, in stark contrast to the 1 in 6 children in America who do. Recognizing this makes me hunger to be part of the solution to change that statistic. There’s more than enough food to feed everyone on the planet. Come on people. We can do this!

• The Whole30 reminds me that I don’t have to give in to cravings (hello truffle salt potato chips, way too much cheese, or a(another) glass of wine). It is a chance to take a look at what is underneath those cravings and why I turn to them in the first place. Or as someone wise I know puts it, “What am I feeling that I want food to fix?”

• Some days are harder than others when eating my way through these 30 days. On those days I am reminded that being “hangry” is a choice, and that just because something is hard, doesn’t mean it’s bad. It’s just hard.

• Some days are more uncomfortable than others. We humans tend to be creatures of comfort, and yet in reality the only way we grow stronger, more resilient, and more wholehearted is to plunge headfirst into things are uncomfortable.

• Finally, following the rules in any arena is not my strong suit, and letting someone else be in charge is not my jam. The Whole30 is an opportunity for me to let go of control and surrender to a process that has proven itself worthy of my trust time and again. And that, as it turns out, is pretty tasty jam.

Written with gratitude for my niece Lizzy who introduced our family to this program, and in celebration for achieving her CrossFit Level 2 Certification.

Breakfast: Whole30 style

Swimming In Circles

“There is so much we can do to render service, to make a difference in the world—no matter how large or small our circle of influence.”

— Stephen Covey

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Just when it seems it can’t get any worse, scarier, more hateful or batshit crazy, it does. An autocratic bully wages an unprovoked war against a neighbor, a Lone Star governor declares war on one of our most vulnerable populations, and the possibility of finding common ground with our fellow citizens seems like a bridge so too far that we can’t imagine ever finding our way across it to one another.

Given the sorry state of our beautiful but broken world, the temptation for many of us is twofold: Doom scroll through our usual sources of information that keep us solidly entrenched behind our ideological bunkers, and/or turn a blind eye to the world and go about our business, hoping it will be better tomorrow. Spoiler alert. It won’t. Not without our help. As in, all of our help.

So, just what in the hell are we supposed to do for heaven’s sake?

Always a fan of any tool that can help us make sense of complex things—like say, the state of the world—I can’t help but think of Stephen Covey and his model of our circles of concern and influence found in The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People.

Here’s my take on his model:

Imagine three concentric circles. Better yet, grab a piece of paper and draw them. (See mine below. Fill in your own accordingly.)

Label the outer, and obviously largest one circle of concern. Herein lie all of those things that keep us awake at night. Issues that try as we might, we can’t change, fix, or eliminate. From unprovoked war to extremism of every ilk, global warming to the inflation rate, hunger to homelessness, and oh-so-many-more, all are worries that are out of our control. It isn’t that they don’t matter. It’s that they are beyond our reach.

Time spent here is foolish.

Name the middle one circle of influence. This is where our rubber meets the world’s road. It’s where who we are and how we show up can have a direct impact on the people, issues, and problems we care about. Covey suggests, and rightly so, that as we invest our time, efforts, and resources here, our circles of influence expand, bringing a little more of the world and our concerns within our reach.

Time spent here is fruitful.

Finally, let’s label that small inner space circle of control. Smack dab in the middle of it all, we get to choose. It is up to us, and only us, to decide who we are and what we care about. In here we equip ourselves—body, mind, and heart—so as to bring the best of who we are to whatever time we have left on the planet. Our greatest chance of making a positive difference “out there” hinges on our willingness to take ourselves on “in here”.

Time spent here is foundational.

Every day we have a choice to make. Will we drown in our circles of concern, or learn to swim in our circles of influence? Our shared future hangs in the balance, and we will sink or swim together.

The Corner From Hell

Why does every kitchen have a corner that’s too crowded? The one where attempting to put something into the microwave means reaching over the head of the person unloading the dishwasher. In our kitchen, it’s the corner where pouring a cup of coffee, stirring something on the stove, and reaching for dishes to set the table all converge. Working there by myself is fine. Given my claustrophobia, throw one more body into the mix and it’s the corner from hell.

Defined as an intense fear of confined or enclosed spaces, claustrophobia impacts about 12.5% of us. It is a phobia because the fear is greater than the perceived threat. For me, the mere thought of spelunking, traffic coming to a stop in a long tunnel, the window seat in the last row of the plane on an international flight, or taking the Chunnel under the English Channel makes me start to hyperven… Can we just talk about something else??

While not included with the 5 love languages, one of mine is space and autonomy. I’ve worked hard to develop my sense of self and independence, and I feel loved and seen when others recognize that. Becoming strong and capable in my own right has come at a price, and when that gets threatened it elicits a powerful, visceral response I’ve come to recognize as emotional claustrophobia. It gets triggered when someone, (unfortunately usually someone I love) steps in to help me when I haven’t asked for it. It feels like they are hovering over me and attempting to rescue me from something I’m totally capable of handling myself. Left to its own devices, my lizard brain takes over and I find myself in full fight or flight mode. It’s not pretty.

When triggered, most of us don’t respond from our best selves, and I am anything but an exception to that rule. Perceiving a threat where there is none, I’ve hurt the feelings of the people I love with my fear-based reactions and harsh words. To learn to respond from a better place rather than react from an unhealthy one, I’m working to identify the feeling when it occurs. Instead of acting on that inner claustrophobia to protect myself, I describe what I’m experiencing to the person I deem to be doing the hovering and helping. It’s my intent to share that with them in a calm and respectful way, a goal that is still somewhat aspirational. But I’m making progress.

This practice is a way of living from the inside out. A way of bringing to the light what we are tempted to keep in the dark. Disclosing when we are feeling triggered rather than keeping it to ourselves, those long held and often irrational fears begin to loosen their grip. Learning to communicate about our triggers in real time can be a game changer in a relationship. It is a way of holding ourselves accountable to show up differently, and an invitation for others to show up differently too.

By understanding what fuels the unhealthy patterns that show up in our relationships, we have the possibility of creating new healthy patterns together. But only if we talk about them.

Maybe just don’t try talking about it in the corner from hell.

Rethinking Obedience

I’ve never loved the word obey, or any of its derivatives. They all imply submission to an authority figure, the exertion of control over my choices, and a loss of personal agency.

Not my jam.

Recently however, the phrase a long obedience in the same direction showed up in a text of encouragement from someone I love. There was something about that gathering of words that had the rich ring of a deep truth.

In a culture that lives on clicks and instant feedback, going the long haul for something that matters can be a tall order. My family and I are in the midst of one such long haul, and maybe you are too. That’s where the whole obedience thing kicks in.

It isn’t submitting to someone else’s authority. It is staying true to our own.

It’s not turning over the controls to someone else. It is continuing to stay our course.

And It’s not a loss of personal agency. It is the exercising of our will to achieve something worthwhile.

A long obedience in the same direction gives us the power to hold true to a vision worth waiting for and working for.

“The essential thing ‘in heaven and earth’ is that there should be a long obedience in the same direction; there thereby results, and has always resulted in the long run, something which has made life worth living.”

~Friedrich Nietzsche

Choosing Hard

This past Monday morning, partway up the logging road we’ve been hiking a couple of times a week for the last fifteen months, it occurred to me that every trip up that road isn’t without effort. It is always some form of hard, which is probably because we attempt to push ourselves a little harder whenever the going gets a little easier.

In other words, it is hard by choice.

Over time, all of those trips up and down that road have made us stronger, readying us for more demanding hikes and greater physical challenges.

What is true on the trail is true in every area of our lives. Doing one hard thing equips us to do other hard things. And while life is full of opportunities to choose hard over easy, many of the difficulties we encounter come our way unbidden. They land on our doorstep whether we want them to or not.

Every time we choose to do something hard, we are training ourselves to be ready for the hard that chooses us.

A few more of my thoughts on hard:

Hard

Waiting Is Hard Work

It’s Just Hard

On The Docket

What’s on your docket today?

We were sitting outside finishing breakfast the other day when my husband asked me that question.

Docket commonly refers to the calendar or schedule for pending cases in a court of law. Since I’m neither a judge nor an attorney, what he was really asking me was, “What is on your agenda for the day?”

Something about the question didn’t sit right with me.

We often tell each other the anticipated goings on of our days, share our to-do lists, and look at our calendars together. I’m good with that. There is an administrative element to sharing life with someone that helps things run more smoothly, and keeps life on track.

Knowing him as I do, his question wasn’t a way to dodge a deeper dive into matters of the heart. He’s more than willing to swim in the emotional waters that are part of any relationship. However, lately it felt like the question most often asked. It was transactional, not relational, an exchange of information rather than an expression of connection.

We talked about it the next day. His question was a wakeup call. A reminder of how easily we can slide into a pattern of simply making it through our days and checking things off of our lists. Whatever else might be on our docket, checking in on how we are doing on any given day matters a whole lot more than what we are going to get done.

Photo by Karolina Grabowska from Pexels

Empty Space

There is a story in the gospel of Matthew that is often referred to as the parable of the empty house. The upshot of the story is that there was a man possessed by a demon. The evil spirit is cast out and goes in search of a new place to call home and cause mayhem. Finding no place to lay its evil little head, it decides to go back from whence it came, and finds the house swept clean and empty. And empty space just begs to be filled.

The story continues.

Not only does the demon move back in, it goes and finds seven others more evil than itself to live there too, causing even more harm, distress, and ruin.

Regardless of one’s faith, this story seems especially relevant as the pandemic moves into our rearview mirror. We all have our own inner demons and causers of mayhem, and if you are like me, this has been a year of casting out and sweeping clean. Whether cleaning out closets or casting out old ways of thinking, clearing my calendar or curbing my consumption, there is empty space, And empty space just begs to be filled.

What that empty space gets filled with is up to me.

Are the thoughts, beliefs, habits, and activities that filled my life before the pandemic the ones I want to fill it with today?

If not, now is the time to choose. Before those causers of mayhem decide to move back in.

Minus The Nitrous Oxide

Between many years that have included many hours of writing, and plenty of trips around the sun, my hands have developed enough arthritis to make it more difficult, and painful, to do many of the things I love. Rather than ignore the pain, mask it with drugs, or wait for it to get unbearable, I decided to take matters into my own hands by turning them over to someone skilled at treating them.

In my initial appointment with the doctor, who specializes in non-surgical treatments for pain management, we reviewed my X-rays and discussed options, landing on Platelet Rich Plasma Therapy— PRP—as a good approach. It uses healing growth components from my own blood to stimulate healing and repair.

Here is my laywoman’s description of the treatment.

Monday morning at 8:30 I arrived at the clinic and checked in for the first of two appointments. During the first appointment a wonderful nurse—who has clearly mastered the art of painless blood draws—withdrew a dozen, yes that’s right, 12 vials of blood, and then sent me on my way for a few hours. At the second appointment, as I happily inhaled nitrous oxide, the doctor, guided by ultrasound imaging, injected my own platelets back into the injured thumb joints. In our post-procedure conversation he reminded me that my pain level would be greater than normal for awhile, and that I wouldn’t be thrilled to have had this done for about 12 weeks. “Will I be pissed off for that entire 12 weeks until I’m thrilled?”, I asked. “No”, he replied. “You’ll probably be pissed off for a few days, and then things will slowly begin to improve.”

The pain was definitely worse the rest of the day, and I was ready for a nap when I got home. Over the course of the next three months I am to avoid taking any anti-inflammatory drugs or the use of ice, both of which would interfere with my body’s natural ability to heal and repair itself. In other words, for healing to take place takes time, and some pain and discomfort is to be expected. Which, in the overall scheme of things, seems like a worthwhile tradeoff.

The reason I both love and need to write, is that it is how I process life. Writing helps me make sense of things, and sometimes, my writing helps other people make sense of things too. Putting words on the page connects the dots of life out in the world. Writing helps me see big implications found in small everyday things:

• Some of the essential matter required for healing is found within.

• Healing usually requires the help of a skilled professional.

• Temporarily masking the pain gets in the way of lasting repair.

• It might very well hurt worse before it gets better.

• Healing takes time, and doesn’t happen without some level of pain and discomfort.

• The healing process will probably piss us off in the short-term.

• And, enduring temporary discomfort for the sake of long-term healing is a worthwhile tradeoff.

What is true for the healing of my hands is true for the healing of our hearts—minus the nitrous oxide.