Delight

God looked over everything God had made;
    it was so good, so very good!
It was evening, it was morning—
Day Six.

Genesis 1:31

I’ve always loved the biblical story of creation. Not because it is literally true, but because of the much deeper truth contained in that story. It says, in no uncertain terms, that this is a good place. So good in fact, that gazing out over all that She had made, God declared it not just good, but very good.

In other words, God was delighted, and wants us to be too. Delight is woven into the fabric of the world as a reminder that we live in a very good place. Moments of delight await us if we but keep our wits about us.

Take this past Wednesday for example. On my way back from an appointment I heard my inner marching orders. Get thee to the Goodwill. Now, finding a parking place in Hood River, Oregon at the start of the tourist season can be a miracle in itself, and after a couple of laps around the block I was tempted to forget it and head back home.

Get thee to the Goodwill.

Alright already, I hear you.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

My favorite hiking boots—ever—are my Lowa Renegades. They are nothing short of a match made in heaven, so shelling out the $250 for them at REI a few years ago wasn’t an act of faith, it was a no-brainer. Recently I’ve been thinking about purchasing another pair before they are discontinued. I want to be as well equipped for the trail for as long as I can before it’s time for me to exit stage left. However, seeing as how the stock market ain’t what it’s been the last few years, I decided that fiscal prudence was the better policy.

Back to the Goodwill.

Car finally parked, I headed up the block. Walking through the door I was on the lookout for whatever it was that I was there for. Rounding a corner, nestled on a rack, was a brand new pair of Lowa Renegades. A perfect pair. Of my favorite boots. In my size. It was also Elder Appreciation Day which meant that with my ten percent discount, I’m delighted to say, they were only $44.99.

Now I know that one girl’s delight can be another man’s dismay. Walking through the doors of a thrift shop might not ring your chimes, but something will. Be on the lookout for it. Watch for it. Listen for it.

If we keep our wits about us, moments of delight will appear on our path to remind us that despite any evidence to the contrary—and there’s plenty—we are part of a world that isn’t just good. It is very good.

Let’s delight in that.

From The Rooftops

Recently I wrote a review of More Human Than Otherwise: Living & Leading With Humility by my dear friend and most trusted colleague, David Berry.

David’s book is for anyone in leadership, considering leadership, or wondering about leadership. It is a book to give as a gift to someone you know who is seeking to be the kind of leader others would willingly follow. If you are looking for a meaningful graduation present for someone about to step onto the leadership trail, look no further. While you are at it, get a copy for yourself and dive in. After all, you are more human than otherwise too.

After posting the review on Goodreads I noticed a tiny box that could be checked to post my review on a blog, and checked it immediately. Why didn’t I think of that, I wondered, as it’s kind of a no brainer to share good news with as many people as we can, whenever and wherever we find it. In fact, given the state of the world, we should be shouting any and all good news from our rooftops to the world within our reach.

Well, this is me, shouting from my small but mighty rooftop.

David Berry asks us to consider what it takes to become a leader others would willingly follow. It is at once a question and an invitation. It is the question anyone desiring to lead well must not only continually answer but live into every day. Beyond that, it is an invitation to transformation, which is the journey of any leader worth her salt. Because transformation is what happens when we are willing to learn from and be changed by our experiences. All of them, and perhaps most especially, the difficult, painful, and humbling experiences that help us gain more clarity on who we are and how we are showing up in the world as a human being leading other human beings.

One of the many things I appreciate about this book is how David created a safe space for the reader’s own courageous thinking. He does this by modeling a critical element at the heart of leadership. What it looks like to go first. To be the kind of leader that says, “It’s ok. I’ll go first. I’ll show you ‘mine’ (the good, the bad and the ugly) so that maybe you will be willing to show me ‘yours’. He does this by sharing his own experiences, what he learned, and what has changed in him as a result.

It quickly becomes clear that David takes seriously his call to help equip and support the next generation of leaders. Leaders who will be courageous enough to become evermore self-aware. In multiple ways this book reminds us that telling ourselves the truth about who we are is foundational to being a leader others would willingly follow. To do that we need the help of others. Cultivating the practice of seeking feedback on a regular basis, learning in community, and engaging a therapist are but a few of the ways suggested in these pages.

I highly recommend this book for anyone in leadership, aspiring to leadership, of wondering if leadership is for them. To that last point, leadership isn’t confined just to those with the title. To be more human than otherwise is to answer the call to love, help, and heal the world within our reach, which sounds a lot like leadership to me.

Endorphins

It was really hard work this morning as we made our way up the logging road. It’s a steep1.7 mile uphill climb all the way from where park to the top. Hiking it twice a week, it’s our way of training to get stronger. It’s always hard at the beginning as our bodies adjust to the effort. Some days it gets easier as we make our way to the top, other days not so much. This morning was one of those not-so-fucking-much times. With the end in view, we pushed hard for the last 50 yards or so. I sounded a lot like Roy Kent from Ted Lasso as I growled his favorite word with every step.

Head on the stump at the top, I caught my breath, and then gulped down some water. Looking at my watch, we’d shaved another minute off of our time. No wonder it was hard.

And then it happened.

The flood of those magic endorphins that follow vigorous exercise showed up. These miraculous chemicals trigger a positive feeling in the body and brain. It’s like Ellen Degeneres is doing her happy dance on my inner stage.

The thing about endorphins, from my experience, is that they only show up when I’ve exerted myself to the point of it being hard. To get stronger I have to push myself beyond what is comfortable. But those damn endorphins feel so damn good that it’s worth working that damn hard to have them flood me with their silly goodness.

What is true on the logging road is true in life.

Stretching past my comfort zone is where the magic happens. In every aspect of life, the only way I know to grow and get stronger is to stretch a little more, reach a little higher, dive a litter deeper, and risk a little more.

It may be hard at the time, but it’s totally worth it.

That Thing

Sometimes the thing that is needed is the last thing we want to tackle. Irritatingly enough, it’s usually the thing that we know will bring us the most relief, satisfaction, clarity, inner peace, or sense of purpose, once it’s done, and yet something keeps getting in the way. Somehow we just can’t quite seem to get around to it. Something always comes up. There’s always something, or someone, that seems a little more pressing. Whatever that thing is—that phone call, conversation, issue, task, problem, email, unfinished project, creative project, credit card bill—it’s just going to keep vying for our attention in whatever way it does—niggling inner voice, guilt, sense of obligation, worry, anxiety, fearful thoughts, tears, sleepless nights or grumpy days—until we deal with it.

So let’s back it up a little bit.

It starts with just naming it. Because we know what it is, we just wish we didn’t. Say it out loud. Write it down. Tell someone about it. For me, right now, that thing is reestablishing my writing practice. Simply showing up on a regular basis and putting words on the page. Like I’m doing now. Writing is life giving for me. I’m a better person when I do it, and it gets me one step closer to actually putting another meaningful piece of work out into the world before I’m gone.

What is that thing for you right now? That thing that if you handled it, dealt with it, completed it, started it, delved into it, or got rid of it altogether, would allow you to breathe a little (or a lot) easier, look on the brighter side of things, be a better person to be around, sleep a little better, have an easier go of things, or simply feel better about life in general. Yes. That thing.

Whatever it is, name it.

Write it down. Say it out loud. Tell someone about it.

And then, get about doing it.

For Such A Time As This

Sometimes, deep in my dark recesses, I secretly hope that I will shuffle off this mortal coil before things become even more unbearable. That I will be gone before the world goes to hell in an even bigger handbasket, which Wikipedia defines as describing a situation headed for disaster inescapably or precipitately. That about nails it these days. Makes it hard for a girl to get out of bed and greet the day with a smile on her face, much less a spring in her step and hope in her heart. It’s a view of the world that is grounded in scarcity, fear, and when it boils right down to it, entitlement. As if I deserve an easier go of things. Which I don’t.

The only way to think about the world and my place in it at this time in history is that I must have been born for these times. And so were you.

Life isn’t harder for us now than it has been for others in the past. It’s a different kind of hard. That was their hard. This is ours. This is my time. It’s yours too.

We were born for such a time as this. Yep. This broken, beautiful, messed up, and magical world is the one we’ve been given and the one we have to work with. I’ll work mightily to love, help, and heal the world within my reach, and you work to do the same within yours.

Together, we can leave the world better than we found it.

One At A Time

Every time I’m out on the trail I am reminded that the life we have is directly under our feet. Not a mile down the road. Not a mile behind us. Not behind that tree or over that hill or under that rock or around that bend. It’s right here. There is nowhere else for it to be, because life only happens one step at a time.

Real life is a messy mixture of the good, the bad, and the seriously ugly. I’ve spent a lot of time and energy wishing that I could have those served up one at a time. Just a heaping helping of goodness without having to make room on my plate for the bad, the ugly, the painful, the frightening, and even the awful that will inevitably land on my plate too. So rather than digging into the delicious, yummy good right when it happens, I’m already stabbing my fork into whatever else might get dished up, but hasn’t yet. It’s like those times when I’ve eaten a delicious meal that was prepared with love and care, and before I knew it my plate was empty and I had no idea what the food even tasted like. I’d missed the meal set before me that would have given me the joy, resilience, and strength meant to sustain me when the going got tough.

Just like hiking on the trail, life only happens one bite at a time.

Life In The Motherhood

It doesn’t matter if she is a stay-at-home mom, a mom who works outside of the home, a mom who works from an office in her home, a single mom, or a partnered mom. Life in the motherhood is a beast. A beauty of a beast perhaps, but a beast nonetheless.

Every mom I know reaches the end of her rope more often than she would like. And then feels guilty and ashamed about how she did or didn’t handle whatever it was that happened. Falling into bed on those nights, she knows that there are no do-overs for the day behind her, only the chance to do it differently tomorrow.

Every mom I know is tired to the core, and wonders if there will ever come a day when she isn’t exhausted.

Every mom I know cares deeply about being a really good mom, and yet wonders deep down inside if she will ever be good enough.

Every mom I know, more often than not, puts the needs of her children, and others for that matter, above her own.

Every mom I know has moments of feeling alone and isolated.

Every mom I know loves being a mom and has moments when she hates being a mom, and sometimes both at the same time.

Every mom I know can’t wait until she haas more time to herself even as she senses that time is flying by too fast.

Every mom I know is clear that she needs to make her own health and well-being a priority, and yet struggles to find the energy and resources to do so.

If I could, I would make universal childcare a reality starting today, along with affordable and easily accessible healthcare (including mental healthcare), early childhood education, quality public education, living wages, affordable nutritious food, and sensible gun control. I’d remove the politicians who don’t support those things, and replace them with those who do. I would if I could, but I can’t.

So.

Why am I writing about this? I’m not exactly sure except to say that I feel compelled to name the truth of what I see. To proclaim to all of the moms I know, and all of the ones I don’t, that I see you. I hear you, care about you, and am deeply grateful for all that you are doing to raise the next generation of humans. I will listen to you without offering easy words of advice. I will be a place where you can scream, cry, vent, rage, and swear, and will share my thoughts if asked and work hard to keep them to myself if not.

It has always taken a village to raise a child, but the village is harder to come by these days. Let’s be their village.

Practicing Non-Interference

Lately I’ve been practicing non-interference. Hard work with a steep learning curve.

Non-interference is the act of not acting. Of not inserting myself into someone else’s process, problem, or plan. Of allowing others to steer their own ship, chart their own course, and connect their own dots. It is trusting a process put in motion by others, letting the puzzle pieces fall in place as they will, and bearing witness to the efforts, strengths and successes of others.

Non-interference is communication without words. Of keeping still and letting others find their way to their own solutions. Of zipping my lips and letting others do the talking. It is shutting the heck up already, and listening to and learning from the ideas and approaches of others.

Non-interference is respecting the agency of others. Of trusting that they will find a way, in their own way. And if they don’t, trusting them to learn from their experience. It is allowing them the same freedoms I want for myself.

Interference on the other hand is stepping in without being asked, chiming in rather than listening, and getting involved in it rather staying out of it.

Interference comes a little too easily to me. Maybe it does for you too. That means we get to be grateful for all the opportunities that come our way, every single day, to do it differently.

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PROJECT IN PROCESS.

NO HELP NEEDED.

It's not an oxymoron. It just feels like one.

To be active is to be energetic, engaged, and lively.

To wait is to stay put, linger, and to mark time.

Put them together and you have what is known as active waiting.

It feels like an oxymoron, but it’s not.

As I write this, winter isn’t over but spring is on the way. Snow is still on the ground while underneath things are preparing to grow. Branches are budding but haven’t yet bloomed. Mama elk patiently carry their calves while waiting to give birth once the vegetation they depend on for food is more plentiful.

Nature seems to understand the importance of actively waiting.

Human beings, not so much.

We are doers, not waiters, and trying to do both at the same time feels like a crazy maker. Like trying to rub your tummy and pat your head. We can do one or the other, but not both. We can either do something or wait, but not both.

But what if Nature knows what she’s talking about? What if she knows that wisdom lies in preparing for what is ahead by staying present to what is here now. By staying put while continuing to look down the road. Allowing things to unfold rather than forcing them before their time. Letting more puzzle pieces make themselves known while arranging the ones we have.

Active waiting might look like writing a little something everyday while allowing that creative idea to percolate. Packing up one room at a time here so so as to be ready to move there. Designing a new garden while snow is still on the ground. Applying for a job while still fully engaged in the one we have. Reflecting on what is on our side of the fence before talking about what is on theirs. Focusing on what is right in front of us while not losing sight of where we are headed. Being fully in the present while anticipating the future. Staying with what is so as to be better equipped for what is to come.

Active waiting isn’t an oxymoron.

It just feels like one.

Over Winter?

We are so over winter. At least that’s what I am hearing from almost everyone I know, and plenty of people I don’t. People are tired of the cold, the gray, the wet, and in my little neck of the woods, the snow that just keeps coming.

But what if winter isn’t done with us yet?

It’s been a long winter.

What, I wonder, is preparing to grow?

What, I wonder, needs a little more time in order to be ready to flourish?

What, I wonder, will show itself, if we are willing to wait but a little longer?

Whatever it is, I’ll bet it’s worth the wait.