Of Our Own Making

We all do it.

In one way, shape, or form, at one time or another, we get in our own way, are our own worst enemy, and step on our own hose. Life is hard enough as it is without adding unnecessary anguish and pain. The world is in enough trouble as it is with without adding avoidable difficulty and distress. And yet, that’s just what we do. We live in misery of our own making.

These were my thoughts as I drove into town. The idea had merit and seemed worth writing about. And then it happened. Going around a curve, my very-cool-looking-but-not-very-practical travel mug filled with bulletproof coffee tipped over, spilling the contents into another cupholder where my cell phone rested. After a short guttural scream of a word starting with the letter ‘F’, I burst out laughing.

Talk about a silly case in point.

I knew that the travel mug had a lid that didn’t close, was perched precariously in a cup holder that was too small, and could easily tip over. And yet I did it anyway. Created a little misery of my own making, which of course would require extra time, attention and energy to clean up.

Spilled coffee is one thing. Making choices that keep us stuck in old patterns, stories, and ways of thinking and being is quite another. The inconvenient truth is that whatever we ignore, leave untended, or are unwilling to face spills over onto others. Starting with those that we care about the most, and then splashing out from there. Whatever hardship we create for ourselves requires extra time, attention, and energy to clean up. All things that for most of us are in short supply these days.

So it seems like a question worth asking:

What is misery of my own making?

And.

Most importantly.

What am I willing to do about it?

The Weight Vest

I’ve started working out with a weighted vest, a training tool that is pretty much like it sounds. A vest with individual pockets into which weights can be added, 3 pounds at a time. A way to incrementally add effort to any activity, with each additional weight block my workout is initially harder. But after some time at that increased weight, I’m ready to add more.

The weight vest strikes me as a particularly practical metaphor. Just as my vest adds effort to my physical body in order to strengthen it, life seems to have a way of adding weight to help me develop greater inner strength too.

Every courageous conversation strengthens us for the next one.

Every difficult decision readies us for the ones still to come.

Every obstacle overcome prepares us to take on new ones.

Every time we take on the hard work of mending what’s broken in our hearts, we increase our capacity to love wholeheartedly.

Every courageous step emboldens us to take the next one.

Maybe what is true of a weight vest is true of the rest of life too. Added effort today strengthens us for what life brings our way tomorrow.

No Strings Attached

The other morning I woke up decidedly on the wrong side of the bed, and it went downhill from there. My feelings became the filter through which I saw, heard, and interpreted everything and everyone, and it wasn’t pretty. I felt like a marionette. You know. One of those puppets with strings attached to different parts of the body, including, at least in my case, my mouth. Like The Lonely Goatherd in The Sound of Music, I was at the mercy of the circumstances and emotions pulling on my strings.

Control, it seemed, was out of my hands. Or was it?

What if instead of a marionette I could be more like a hand puppet? Like Daniel Tiger, X the Owl, or Lady Elaine Fairchilde in Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood, it could be my hand in charge. A hand puppet isn’t pulled about by external forces. Guidance comes from within.

As a 4 on the Enneagram, emotions are my thing. There isn’t an emotion I haven’t experienced, and the ones that a lot of people work hard to avoid come easily to me. Because big emotions don’t scare me, I can be the calm in the midst of your storm. A quiet, safe place to show up with your grief and sadness, anger and fear, I won’t try to talk you out of how you feel.

As it turns out, being a feeling kind of girl is my gift.

It’s also my curse

Because I tend to lead with my heart, I can easily turn over the controls to my feelings and react accordingly. With, as you might imagine, very mixed results. I’ve been practicing not letting my feelings run the show. Catching myself before losing myself to the emotions of the moment, and that practice is paying off. But this puppet metaphor feels next level. There are no strings attached to those emotions, other than the ones I attach myself.

Turning In Circles

Do you have a dog?

Do you know how sometimes they turn around, and around, and around, and then around some more, before finally plopping themselves down to settle in to just the right spot?

Do you ever feel like that dog?

Me too.

In fact, lately, I’ve felt a lot like that dog. Maybe you have too. We’ve been turning around, and around, and around, and then around some more, all in an effort to plop ourselves down and settle in to just the right spot. It can feel like we’re wasting time, not getting anywhere or making any progress. But the good news, for that dog, and for us, is that when we are turning in those circles, we’ve found the right spot. We’re just not quite ready to plop ourselves down and settle in there yet. There are a few more circles to turn before we settle down to write that book, start that new painting, or sign up for that class. With a few more spins under our belt, we’ll be ready to find a therapist, get serious about our health, or make a long-awaited change. A couple more circles, and we’ll finally find the courage to ask the question, have the conversation, or face the issue head-on.

Take it from that dog. With every circle, we are a little bit closer to plopping ourselves down to settle in to just the right spot.

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.)

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.

Superpowers

We all have at least one superpower.

One of mine is knowing when and how to connect people I love and respect with other people I love and respect. It is pure joy. Nothing to be gained on my part other than knowing that when people connect in the right place at the right time, really cool stuff happens. And I get to be part of the magic. And so do you, every time you exercise your own superpower.

The thing about them, if we’re being honest, is that we can’t take credit for having them. We come with them already baked in. Our task is to discover what they are, and put them to good use for the good of the world within our reach.

Using our superpower, we get to momentarily slip into our superhero suit and save the world just a little bit.

How fun is that?

Super fun!

Superhero: Gracie-the-Chocolate-Labradoodle

On A Whim And An Audit

A lover of all things language, early in his college experience he declared himself a German major. Already fluent in Danish after living in Denmark for his senior year in high school, and with German under his linguistic belt, he was about to take his first class in Russian. Scanning his horizon, he imagined himself on his way to a life in academia.

But then something unexpected happened.

On a whim, he signed up to audit a geology class.

He’d loved collecting rocks as a boy, and thought, “Heck. Why not? It might be fun.”

And it was.

Before the semester was even over, thanks to a quietly charismatic professor who obviously loved what he was doing, this college sophomore knew what he wanted to do with his life. He would become a geologist.

His professional career spanned 38 years, leading him to become a world renowned expert in his field. As a research scientist, his work often dropkicked him out of the office and into the natural world. He engaged in field work close to home and around the globe, finding himself in circumstances that the world of academia might have had a hard time matching. Stranded on the top of an 18,000’ Andean volcano in fog so thick that the helicopter couldn’t find them, he and his colleagues had to find their way back down on foot. In the Philippines he made his way through shoulder-high grass, home to three different species of cobras, and oh-so-many other poisonous things, and lived to tell about it. Work in anti-American rebel territory in Columbia was done under the protection of a security force armed with automatic weapons. He rafted the Grand Canyon, attended a banquet as the guest of the Sultan of Central Java, spoke at the UN in Geneva, and was momentarily mistaken for the Crown Prince of Japan.

Regardless of where we find ourselves in life, it’s easy to get stuck thinking that in order to find success we have to follow the rules, check off the right boxes, and make carefully calculated decisions. We have to stay the course and follow the route we’ve mapped out for ourselves.

But maybe not.

At least not always.

This geologist would say his professional life was more than he ever could have imagined. And it happened on a whim and an audit. Because of what seemed at the time, an inconsequential decision. It wasn’t a strategic choice, or the next step in a plan hammered out with his academic advisor. It wouldn’t add to his GPA or satisfy a course requirement. He simply thought, “Heck. Why not? It might be fun.”

And it was.

Dr. Thomas C. Pierson a.k.a. the geologist I sleep with

A Dream Come True

Start where you are.

Use what you have.

Do what you can.

~ Arthur Ashe

My husband had a dream last night where someone combined dirt and chocolate chips to create a kind of fabric that could be used as a protective covering.

If anything has been constant in our neck of the woods these days, it’s been dirt and chocolate chips.

Our daughter and her family moved in with us for what was supposed to be a two-week layover on their way to Scotland, where they will be living for the next few years as she pursues her Ph.D. We are now going on eight weeks, and everyone is going a little, or a lot depending on the day, crazy as we wait for their approved but yet to be seen travel documents to arrive.

Dirt and chocolate chips create a protective covering helping to hold our lives together. It’s like a dream come true.

Our wee grand boys, ages 5, 3, and 1 1/2, love nothing more than playing in the dirt. Some days it seems like it's what they live for. They pile dirt into small dump trucks, scoop it up by the handful, roll in it, run in it, and when no one is looking, fling it at each other. At the end of another dirt-filled day, their dirt-brown clothes piled on the floor of the mudroom ready for another whirl in the washing machine, the three of them head upstairs for a bath to get the dirt out of every nook and cranny.

Sometimes there’s nothing better than a chocolate chip cookie, so there is always another batch ready to be baked. No need to look up the Smitten Kitchen Crispy-Chewy Chocolate Chip Cookie recipe, because we know it by heart. We eat them warm out of the oven after naps, grab one to go with a cup of coffee or tea, sneak one before bed, or forgo the oven and just shovel the dough straight into our mouthes.

This experience together is nothing like we ever imagined, harder than we ever expected, and yet miraculously, more than we ever could have hoped for. One day at a time, one dirt pile at a time, one more load of laundry, bath, and batch of chocolate chip cookies, we are learning in new ways what it means to stay the course, hang together, and love each other well, come what may.

So take heart.

When things are nothing like we ever imagined and harder than we ever expected, sometimes all we need is a little dirt and some chocolate chip cookies to form a protective covering to remind us that somehow, some way, life is miraculously more than we ever could have hoped for.