Threads & Tethers

Everyone has their ways of processing the world around them and within them. One of mine is writing. The practice of putting words together on a page puts my life together a little better. It sharpens my attention, and makes more clear the lens through which I see the world.

Last spring I stopped writing on a daily basis, except for the occasional burst of creative energy or the expression of moral outrage. The absence of this practice has been noticeable. At least to me.

Writing acts as both a thread and a tether. It weaves together the callings of my heart with the steps of my feet, and keeps me in close connection to who and what matter most. Without this practice in place things begin to unravel, and there is a growing sense of being unhitched to that which keeps me grounded.

If ever we were in need of a thread and a tether it is now. Now is not the time to be at loose ends with ourselves.

Which means, there is only one choice to be made. At least for me.

Start writing again. And so I am.

What are your ways of processing the world?

What acts as both your thread and your tether?

Whatever it is, if you have set it down, now might be the time to pick it back up.

This is Christmas

It’s the most wonderful time of the year.

Except it isn’t.

Not this year. There are traditions we’ve come to count on year after year, and if we can’t honor those traditions, well then, it’s just not Christmas.

Except it is.

We have to let go of so many things that make the holiday the holiday, that it almost feels easier, more manageable, and less painful to pretend that it’s just not Christmas.

Except it is.

It might not look anything like the ones we remember, but a reminder of what Christmas has always been— Love showing up in the darkest of places and the most unlikely of circumstances.

It might not look anything like what we want, but it might be just the one we need.

If we try and make it what it’s always been, we’ll miss what it could be.

This is Christmas.

Let’s not miss it.

Whose Business Is It?

The day I created #ThePostcardProject, I felt excited and hopeful. Energized, I got to work bringing what felt like an inspired idea to life.

The day I decided to launch #ThePostcardProject, I started to feel silly and uncertain, anxious and afraid, self-conscious and small.

What if nobody thought it was a good idea?

What if no one else got on board, and I was the only one to actually do it?

What if #ThePostcardProject never got any traction? Never went anywhere? Never got noticed?

The more I marinated in those familiar feelings that show up whenever it’s time to actually put something I’ve created into the world, the more stymied I became. It was just about then that God leaned in close and whispered, “That’s none of your business Molly.” In other words, all I had to do was get about my business.

Byron Katie reminds us that there are only three kinds of business in the world—my business, your business, and God’s business. Bringing an idea to life and sharing it with the world is my business. What anyone else does with that idea is their business. And where it goes from here, is God’s business.

We never know what will happen when we offer something to the world. That’s none our business. Offering what we have to share is.

Do you have an idea waiting to come to life?

Then please, get about your business.

Fruitful

Let’s just put this one to rest—life is hard. No two ways about it. While it isn’t necessarily hard all the time or every day, over the long haul there is plenty of hard to go around.

For example:

The other night Tom and I went to bed at odds with each other. That doesn’t happen very often, but when it does, I hate it. We both do. Neither of us had the capacity to deal with it, which meant we had to sleep with it. As I turned over, and closed my eyes, a thought occurred to me. May it be fruitful.

The next morning on the porch in the cold pre-dawn darkness we sat with our coffee, trying to make sense of what had happened. It was a hard, emotional, and painful conversation. It wasn’t fun. I cried a lot. It took listening on both of our parts, and eventually we found our way back to each other.

The fruit of that hard thing was that we discovered how to be better partners to each other.

Life is harder than ever right now. For me, and for the people I love, and most of the time there isn’t much we can do for one another other than to listen and bear witness to the hard. That, and pray that whatever it is will bear good fruit. That we will lean into the pain, or the fear, or the conflict, or the anxiety, or the anger, or the loneliness, or the grief, and turn it into something fruitful.

Nothing else makes sense.

Because the only thing that makes something hard even harder is when it doesn’t bear fruit.

What Aren't You Saying?

Imagine what would happen if our thought bubbles were visible to others. It might not be pretty.

Before we heave sighs of relief that they aren’t, let’s consider what might happen if they were. I’m not talking about our snarky thoughts, or the mean spirited, sarcastic words we would never utter out loud, but love to shout behind the closed doors of our mind. I’m talking about the other ones. The thoughts and feelings that we work so hard to keep hidden might be precisely the ones that need to be brought out into the open.

What aren’t you saying?

Whatever it is, it might be what will lead to the real conversation. The one that will result in deeper understanding and closer connection. The one that will help heal wounds, mend fences, develop courage, deepen trust, and strengthen relationships.

What aren’t you saying?

Whatever it is, it might be what needs to be spoken out lout and within our own earshot. The words that will help us separate fact from fiction, loosen fear’s grip, empower us to ask for help, and shed light on our next right steps.

What aren’t you saying?

Whatever it is, it might be exactly what needs to be said. And heard.

(With gratitude to Dane Anthony for showing me the power behind this question)

Photo by Miguel Á. Padriñán from Pexels

A Holy Mess

God comes to us disguised as our life.

Paula D’Arcy

Life is so messy right now. Maybe it always is, but this feels like mess on steroids. Nothing is how it was before the world went into lockdown, which isn’t such a bad thing. The part about nothing being the same as before I mean.

Because if we’re being honest with ourselves, things weren’t working very well before. We’d just gotten used to them.

But still.

Living in the chaos of the unfamiliar is not easy. In fact it’s downright hard and scary and batshit crazy. The way forward is murky at best, and so we are stuck in the mess that is today. So just what are we supposed to do with it? The mess I mean.

To answer that question I have to take you back to my front porch earlier this morning. It was pouring rain and I was listening to a song my niece sent to me called The UK Blessing. Actually, now that I think about it, I have to take you back inside and upstairs earlier this morning. I was on my yoga mat doing a plank while listening to this song on full blast, tears streaming down my face. It just reached inside and grabbed me by the heart and said, this message is for you. Maybe it’s one for you too. The message I mean.

So, back downstairs and out on to the front porch. The rain was pouring down in a cleansing-tears-from-heaven kind of way. I was listening to the song, again, when I got a text from that same niece. She said that she had been listening to it too, because like mine, her life felt a little more than messy. The power in their home had just gone out, and so she decided to light some candles.

Which is the answer to that question. The question of what are we supposed to do with the mess I mean.

We are supposed to light candles in our darkness, let music pour into our souls, and tears stream down our weary faces. We are supposed to make a sanctuary, a holy place, right in the middle of our messy, muddled, murky lives. Whether we believe in God or not, we all believe in Love. Tomato. Tomahto. Life isn’t holy and sacred someplace else. If life is holy and sacred anywhere, it is holy and sacred right here. In the mess I mean.

(With gratitude to Katie Meleney)

Photo by VisionPic .net from Pexels

Okay With Not Being Okay

The other day I screamed at a customer service agent over the phone.

Stop! Just stop talking! Be quiet and let me finish! Thankfully I stopped short of yelling Shut the F#@k up!, but just barely.

It didn’t make me feel any better. How could it? Yelling at him wasn’t okay. But then again, neither was I. My little interchange on the phone was a clue about just how not okay I’d been feeling.

Typically whenever something isn’t okay, my first response is to try and fix it. To try and make it better. To try and get over it so that I can get on with it.

I’m trying not to do that.

I’m trying something new.

I’m trying to be okay with not being okay. It’s a stretch.

After hanging up the phone from yelling at the guy who was trying to help me, I cried for about the ninth time that day. Then I laid on the couch for a while. Then I cried some more. Then I threw the ball to the dog. Then I took a nap. Then I watched the KC Chiefs beat the NE Patriots. Then I ate dinner. Then I watched the GB Packers beat the Atlanta Falcons. Then I took a walk. Then I went to bed. Then I slept. Then I woke up. Then I had a cup of coffee on the front porch in the early morning darkness.

Things weren’t suddenly okay, but somehow that seemed, well, okay.

As I write this, there is a little more breathing room around my not-okayness. And with a little more space, I’m less tempted to run from it and more inclined to reflect on it. Instead of trying to fix it, I find myself turning to face it. Rather than hurrying to get over it, I’m slowing down so as to get something out of it. Because it’s here for a reason, and there are things that can only be discovered when we are anything but okay.

We are in a hurt locker. All of us. We’ve been through hard times before, but not these hard times. We’ve navigated hard things before, but not these hard things. With no end in sight, it only makes sense that there are going to be days when we simply are not okay.

And when we’re not, it is fertile ground for growth.

And I’m okay with that.

Photo: Rancho La Puerta

Hearing Aids

I assumed that one day I would need to get hearing aids.

Just not before I was at least 70.

Today at 66, ok, almost 67, I am officially “audiologically” enhanced, sporting my new Bluetooth enabled, virtually invisible hearing aids.

I can already tell, or rather hear, the difference. For example, when the refrigerator door is left ajar, my husband no longer needs to call down from upstairs, “Mol, the refrigerator door is open.” Never mind that I am standing right next to it, the tone is simply one that I can’t detect. And if hearing the refrigerator is challenging, that can’t bode well for my communication with living breathing human beings.

And here’s the thing.

For me, relationships are everything, and communication is the lifeblood of connection.

If the Pandemic has shown us anything, it is that our lives are interconnected, and whatever isolates us one from another puts us in danger of losing our connection to each other. We stop talking to each other, and more importantly, we stop listening to each other.

Getting over the stigma of hearing aids as a sign of being old was a choice. One that will allow me to continue to connect with others in meaningful ways, beginning with what is needed now more than ever. Listening.

Listening is always a choice, and it doesn’t have anything to do with hearing aids.

Forging A New Path

Our bodies can teach us so much.

For the past few months I’ve been experiencing some bothersome pain in my hip that radiates down to my knee. Nightime is the worst, the pain often waking me up in the middle of the night. It isn’t excruciating, but noticeable enough to interrupt an otherwise good night of sleep, and make itself known throughout the day. I have been wondering if I’ll just have to learn to live with it.

Enter Dr. Erica Figge.

Erica is a dear friend who also just happens to be a world-class athlete, strength and conditioning coach, and chiropractor. This morning as we caught up over a virtual cup of coffee I was lamenting about this low-grade but constant pain. “Tell me more” she said.

Before long we were both down on our yoga mats, practicing a movement that might alleviate the pain. Mine has a typical pain referral pattern, and the longer I allow it to go on, the deeper the pain-message pathway in my brain. Thankfully, it is possible to create a new pathway by engaging my body in a way meant to address the source of the pain. The possibility of an uninterrupted night of sleep and a more pain-free experience was all the incentive I needed to commit to getting down on my yoga mat several times a day and see what my body, brain, and I could accomplish together.

What is true of the body is true of the heart and soul. The longer we live with the pain of past injuries and wounds, the more deeply etched those painful message pathways in our brain become. Unaddressed, we grow so accustomed to the pain that we begin to believe we have no choice but to live with it. Today, my body, along with the help of a good and knowledgeable friend, reminded me that we don’t. We are blessed with a brain that can rewire itself. It is willing to develop new, better, and more life affirming pathways, if we are willing to take the time, put in the work, and engage good help.

During this current life-altering time, we have been forced to come face-to-face with ourselves and those we share life with. Old injuries are more evident. We’ve nowhere to run, and it becomes increasingly hard to hide from what hurts. The pain of one injury can begin to refer far beyond the source, inflicting further harm to ourselves and those around us.

In the strange ways in which only struggle and hardship can, this time of being held captive offers us a chance to take ourselves and our own hurts on. Once this time of isolation and quarantine is over there will be more to distract us from ourselves, and the inner work that is ours to do could easily get lost in the shuffle of life on the other side.

The longer we wait the harder it becomes to overcome our old stories of pain and suffering.

But.

If we are willing to take the time, put in the work, and engage good help, our brains are ready and willing to create new pathways. Ones that lead to lives of greater authenticity, wholeness, and wellbeing.

Let’s get to work.

(Note: If you live in California and are ready to take the next step in your health and wellness journey, contact Figge Chiropractic)

Come To The #wakeupappreciaterepeat Party.

This is a repeat of an earlier post. Given the ongoing COVID-19 crisis, I’m sharing it again in the hope of transforming this post into a shared practice.

If you want to join the #wakeupappreciaterepeat party, you are invited to post your three appreciations for the day on Instagram along with the hashtag, and invite any and everyone to join in.

Gratitude and appreciation matter more than ever.

Let’s get this party started!

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How we start any given day sets in motion our eventual arrival at the end.

I’ve done this particular practice on a hit or miss basis in the past. Not any longer. All hit, no miss.

It’s a simple practice and one that didn’t originate with me.

The very first thing, or no later than my first cup of coffee, I identify three things that I appreciate. To be honest, some days it is harder than others to come up with one, much less three. Thankfully, Sleepy Monk Coffee is an automatic go-to, because no matter how bleak or bright the day, I am always grateful for that first sip, which means I’m already a third of the way to my goal. One down, two to go.

To stay on track, I text my three things to the daughter who shared this practice with me in the first place, and she texts her three back, along with the practice hashtag.

Sleepy Monk Coffee

My husband Tom

Connection - Virtual or otherwise

#wakeupappreciaterepeat

Not a bad way to start the day.

(With gratitude to Lo for sharing this life-giving practice.)