My Own Medicine

As a writer, speaker, and coach, I help others connect who they are with how they live. It’s great work, and I love supporting people as they endeavor to live authentic, wholehearted lives. One of the things I find myself doing frequently in that process is encouraging them to trust that things will work out despite all evidence to the contrary.

The problem with my work is that in order to be authentic and wholehearted myself, I have to be willing to take a dose of my own medicine more often that I’d like to.

Take this morning for instance when the day before leaving on a bucket-list horse pack trip to celebrate our 25th anniversary, Gracie-the-chocolate-labradoodle decided to go into heat.

Things will work out.

Which meant that our well made plan to drop her off at her favorite boarding facility went out the window.

Things will work out.

Not many places will even take a dog in heat, not to mention that this is prime boarding time as people head out on vacation.

Things will work out.

At this late date, we stand to lose a substantial chunk of change if we have to cancel the trip.

It was getting harder to see how things would work out,

What to do?

At 10:30 in the morning there is only one thing to do. Make BLTs with extra bacon and extra mayo, split a beer, send up a short fervent prayer for help, and then start looking for other options. All the while trying to remember that things will work out despite all evidence to the contrary. Which they eventually did.

We just dropped Gracie off at her temporary digs. She will be alive and very happy to see us when we return, but it was hard work practicing what I preach. So for good measure we just stopped at Starbucks for grande mocha Frappuccinos. As it turns out, a spoonful of sugar really does help the medicine go down. Even my own.

Growing Up

We never stop growing up. At least I don’t. Even with 65 years behind me, I still encounter parts of myself, on an almost daily basis, that need to grow beyond lingering childish behaviors and ways of reacting to the world, and relating to the people around me. Especially to those who matter the most to me.

Growing up means not taking myself so seriously.

Growing up means seeing that I am but a small part in a very, very, very big picture.

Growing up means owning my life. All of it.

Growing up means learning that it’s not all about me. In fact, it’s hardly about me at all.

Growing up means leaving behind ways of responding to the world that might have kept me safe in the past, but that now keep me stuck in old patterns and habits.

Growing up means not getting what I want at the expense of others.

Growing up means not taking everything personally.

Growing up means letting go of the past and heading out into an unknown future.

Growing up means taking full ownership for myself and how I respond to the people in my life and the circumstances life brings my way.

Growing up means digging deep when I’d rather give up.

Growing up isn’t for the faint of heart, because in the end it means taking my own hand and stepping out onto the trail ahead.

This Not That

Some mornings we start our days with steel cut oats topped with fruit, almond milk, some nuts, and a little butter and brown sugar for good measure. Each ingredient adds to the whole, but can stand alone on its own. Even the butter. It’s delicious and we both love it. Tom however, chooses to ruin his by stirring it all up together into something I call “glop”. I love oatmeal. I hate glop. It is hard to distinguish one flavor from the other, and it’s not much to look at either.

Stick with me here, but a bowl of glop is a lot like how we can handle interpersonal challenges, especially in our long term relationships. We stir everything up together until it is almost impossible to tell one situation or issue from other ones.

Stirring everything together sounds something like this: You always… You never… This is just like when you… All the ingredients of the current issue get glopped together with a bunch of other ones, until every bite tastes the same, and it is nearly impossible to tell this from that.

Not stirring everything together sounds like this:This morning when you___ I felt… When you didn’t follow through on your commitment, this is how it impacted me. I want to talk to you about something that happened recently. Each issue or situation stands on its own.

Learning to take our issues one at a time and separate one from the other is one of the ways we grow up into the people we are meant to be (a lifelong process). It’s hard work. It means we have to take things as they come, deal with them as they come, and stay in the conversation about them. Some conversations are a one-and-done deal. Others come around again, and again, and again, each time an opportunity to show up more fully and with more personal accountability and ownership for our part of the bargain. And there is always a part of the bargain that is ours.

In my unhealthier moments, I can take a current issue, conflict, or challenging situation, and stir it up with a whole bunch of other ones from the past. Or take one thing and make it about everything. But as I choose to stop, sift through the emotions and particulars of the situation, I am learning to separate this from that, and bring this to the conversation, and leave that out.

Take it from me. It tastes really good.

Photo by Daria Shevtsova from Pexels

This? Or That?

Did you have the time you wanted? I asked.

Not exactly…but it was good. She answered.

What an inspiring answer to my question.

Summer is a time of setting expectations for how things will be, good, and bad. Road trips, family reunions, summer vacations and staycations, obligatory visits, home improvement projects. But it isn’t just summer. Anytime of year we look ahead and expect, imagine, hope, dread, or anticipate, that things will happen a certain way. They never do. Not exactly. Sometimes they are just as we expected, sometimes worse than we imagined, and sometimes, more than we ever could have hoped for. It’s just that it never turns out exactly as we expected.

We thought it was going to be this, but we got that.

We imagined it working out like this, but it worked out like that.

We wanted things to go this way, but they ended up going that way.

That’s why I love the response I got to my question, and am inspired to go forward holding my intentions with an open hand. Maybe you will be inspired too.

Photo by Valentin Antonucci from Pexels

Road Trip

A good friend who is no longer with us was fond of saying that when God wants to teach us something, He takes us on a trip. I love that idea. Kind of like She is riding “shotgun” next to us, and of all the possible trips we can take, the most insightful, instructive, and inspiring, a road trip wins out, hands down. Extra points for other people in the car.

A road trip requires us to pack for the trip to the best of our ability, and yet it teaches us that we can never be prepared for every contingency, and if we try, we will be burdened with too much stuff, and miss the opportunity to get creative, wing it, and work with what we’ve got.

A road trip taken with others gives us the chance to connect in new ways, hold new kinds of conversations, and, find new ways in which we drive each other crazy. Enclosed in the same vehicle, headed in the same direction, we might just discover new ways of being on the same page.

A road trip lets us get up close and personal with anything that grabs our interest along the way. If we build in enough time to allow for a few side trips, detours, and unexpected surprises, we return home more informed, inspired, and possibly inclined to learn more about something we encountered along our way.

A road trip always has a snafu, big or small. A flat tire, road work delays, the campground that is full, the trail that is closed for the season, or the unexpected snowstorm with our chains still in the box…back in our garage. It is the snafus that make the story interesting and worth telling again, and again, and again in the years ahead.

A road trip brings out the best in us, and, the worst in us, and when those two collide, well, that’s why God took us on the trip in the first place. Stuck in a car, with miles to go, we have a chance to bring out more of the best in us, and leave behind more of the worst in us.

Roadtrip!

Equipped

We want to be equipped for whatever comes our way.

Sometimes we are.

Sometimes we aren’t.

Whenever we come to the edge of our capacity, we have the choice to retreat back into our safe arenas, or step out into the risky territory that spans the gap between who we are now and who we want to become. It is there, and only there, that we are challenged to show up more fully, and bring more of who we are to our relationships, conversations, and the world around us.

It isn’t easy and it’s scary as hell to risk new ways of being in the world, but it is the only way I know of to become more well equipped for the life I am here to live.

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The Chase

Chasing squirrels is high on Gracie’s to-do list any day of the week. Because she can’t safely be off-leash out in our neck of the woods, that makes actually chasing one a moot point. If she tries, as she did yesterday, forgetting that she is tethered to an old stump, she will get caught up short in very short order.

The thing is, the squirrels don’t know she is on a leash.

This morning a tree squirrel who calls our property home was afraid to make a run for the woods, never realizing that freedom was his for the taking. Flitting from branch to branch he chattered constantly, trying to scold and scare her away. She circled the tree, jumped up on the trunk of the tree, and sat by the tree, but no matter how much Gracie wanted to chase that squirrel down, her leash wouldn’t let her do it.

Sometimes I want to put my thoughts on a leash. You know the ones. The ones that chatter and scold and scare us and just won’t shut up. What if we put them on a leash and tethered them to an old stump? And when those thought show up chattering and scolding and scaring, we remember that no matter how much those thoughts want to chase us down, the leash on which we’ve put them won’t allow it.

Pick a thought, put it on a leash, tether it to a stump, and head out into the woods where freedom is ours for the taking.

Something’s Gotta Give

Only you know what it is. Nobody else can tell you what it is. If you don’t know what it is now, you will. Or you can, if you want to. It may take a little time, more than a little courage, and a splash of grace, but if you want to know what has to give in order for something else to show up, you will. Trust me on that.

What takes up space leaving no room for what wants to expand? What consumes your thoughts leaving no room for new ones to emerge? What takes up your day leaving no room for what brings you energy?

Something’s gotta give? What is it?

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Being Present

This morning three things occurred in quick succession:

I tripped over a rock that holds our screen door open because I wasn’t looking where I was going.

I ran into the door of the dog crate because I hadn’t closed it properly.

I was hit on the head when something fell off of a hook because I was moving too fast.

Life was trying to tell me something.

Be present. Instead of being where we are, we look ahead and miss what is right in front of us, or in this case, right under our feet.

Be present. Instead of tending well to what is called for now, we move ahead leaving a trail of unfinished business behind us.

Be present. Instead of running the race set before us like the long distance event that it is, we sprint ahead until life crashes down around us.

In all three instances in that short chain of events, the message was the same.

Be present.

Photo by Martin Damboldt from Pexels

Creating Space

Last night as we sat outside with a glass of wine and our calendars, we looked back over the last few weeks, and out over the ones ahead, and it was obvious that our days had been, and will be, filled with things that matter. What wasn’t obvious was space, and space matters too.

There were things that couldn’t be taken out, but some that could. One, in particular, stuck out as negotiable. It needed to be done. It just didn’t need to be done right now. With one click I deleted it off of my calendar, and not only did space open up in my days, but in my chest as well. My breathing slowed, my shoulders dropped, and an inner window opened wide.

It’s amazing what can happened when we build space into our days. Sometimes it’s easier said than done, but like anything, it’s a habit to be cultivated. Who knew rescheduling a colonoscopy could be so good for your soul?

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