A Sense of Entitlement

When you hear the word "entitlement" what comes to mind? Those people who want something for nothing? Sometimes at our expense? How dare they?! Easy to smugly think that I'm not one of those people. 

The other morning while happily working out, pushing through an interval training session on the elliptical machine, I was listening to Typology - a favorite podcast featuring Enneagram teacher, episcopal priest and co-author of The Road Back To You, Ian Cron. The podcast "...explores the mystery of the human personality and how we can use the Enneagram typing system as a tool to become our most authentic selves." I love this podcast, and anything that can add to my attempts to become my most authentic self is good by me. As a 4 on the Enneagram, authenticity gets straight to the heart of my matter.

On this particular morning at an especially juicy part of the episode, I accidentally caught my headphone cord on my arm while reaching for my water bottle, simultaneously ripping my earbuds out and flinging my iPhone to the floor. I guess my most authentic self loves to yell the "F" word, and smack my hand on the elliptical handles. More than once. The feeling I had could perhaps best be described as a fiery hot flash of anger. How dare that happen to me?!

Climbing off the machine to retrieve everything, I started to wonder why that little, teeny, tiny, mishap had gotten under my skin so quickly. As things go, this was a nano-thing. It wasn't like my bank account was overdrawn and I couldn't afford groceries for my family, or didn't know where I would sleep that night because the homeless shelter was full. A loved one hadn't just tragically died in a suicide bombing, nor had I lost my home to a hurricane. I wasn't the subject of identity theft, not had I been subjected to sexual harassment in return for another day of work. Nope. My $700 iPhone had dropped on the floor, safe in its $69 waterproof, shockproof case, and my ears were a little irritated from the ripped out earbuds. Let's talk First World problems here. The word "entitlement" quietly slipped into my mind. I'm not fond of that word, especially when applied to me, as it conjures up images of people who don't want to put in the work. All of the glory, none of the guts. Their needs always matter more. The world owes them. The college graduate who doesn't want to start at the bottom and earn their way up. The driver who endangers everyone else by cutting in and out of traffic because apparently her time is more precious than ours. Entitled people are the ones who think the rules don't apply to them. How dare they?!

That's. Not. Me. 

Well then, exactly what did I imagine I was entitled to in that moment when my iPhone went sailing to the floor? No discomfort? The right to finish the podcast in peace? No obstacles in the way? Smooth sailing? And then I remembered a few other occurrences that showcased what was looking like my own subtle brand of entitlement. Like the time not too long ago when I was driving out of our driveway for a meeting, and  my cup of coffee spilled all over my oh-so-casual-but-carefully-chosen outfit. I screamed so hard and so loud that my throat hurt for the next two days. Think Linda Blair in The Exorcist with her head spinning around, a guttural, other-worldly sound coming from a very, very dark place. Or the time when I banged my knee on my open filing cabinet drawer and slammed it shut so many times that it required the help of my husband (who never seems to scream, slam, or spill anything) to finally pry it open. Do you see a theme here? Yeah. Me too.

Those outward immature temper tantrums point to something deeper and hidden below my mature looking surface. It seems that I have a deeply rooted belief that nothing should get in my way, or ruin my plans. That I have a right for things to work out as I think they should, and that I deserve to proceed along my merry way uninterrupted. I hate to admit it, but those sound strangely like  senses of entitlement. So, where else might it raise its ugly little head? How about when I'm savoring my first cup of coffee in the quiet morning hours and someone calls on the phone. How dare they?! I am entitled to these few moments of peace and quiet dammit! Or when I've cleared the decks and have a whole day at my desk to write, and suddenly someone needs my help. Right now! How dare they?! Don't I have a right to an uninterrupted day? Don't get me wrong, I am all for self-care and the importance of making time for ourselves, our health, our loves, and our work. But that's not what I'm talking about here. This is about the underlying belief that I have a right for things to work out exactly how I want, when I want, and where I want.

Time to look even deeper.

My latest book came out last year. BLUSH: Women & Wine felt  important to write, and it was. It is well written, has a relevant message, and has the potential to touch people's lives for the good.  But now that it is out in the world, it isn't getting the notice I think it deserves. And perhaps even more embarrassingly honest, I'm not getting the attention I think I deserve, the speaking gigs I love, or the opportunities to showcase what I have to offer. As a 4 on the Enneagram, I'm long on big dreams, but can fall short of taking the consistent small steps it takes to bring a vision to life. I talk about it with my coaching clients and in my workshops, but I am lazy about actually doing it myself. Recently a good friend (and fellow Enneagram 4) sent me a link to a Will Smith video about the self-discipline it takes to achieve success. He's talking about material success, but it's true of anything we set out to do, become, contribute. We don't deserve success. We're not entitled to it. We don't have a right to it. We make it happen. Day by day. Choice by choice. Step by step.

To replace my newly recognized and embarrassing sense of entitlement with a much more energizing sense of accomplishment, I've implemented a new practice. Do at least one thing a day to further my progress.

Oh...And count to ten before swearing, screaming, or slamming. 

Winter Outside. Winter Inside.

It's early in the morning, and as is our custom, my husband Tom and I are taking time to do a little reading, attempt to meditate, and savor that first sacred cup of coffee. The view out our great room window, however, is depressing. It has been raining for days. Never quite cold enough to snow. Never quite warm enough to melt the dirty white patches underneath the pine trees, remnants of that first pristine snowfall on Christmas Eve. The dismal weather set in a few weeks ago, and isn't showing any signs of lifting. 

Dark. Gray. Gloomy.

I have an interior sense of gloom and sadness that has settled in, and it isn't showing any signs of lifting either. Familiar with depression, this scares me just a little. It's hard to find the motivation to do almost anything, and the pressure to just do something is building. A month of 2018 is already behind me, and what do I have to show for it? What if the words don't start to flow onto the page again? What if the ideas I've been nurturing never flourish? What if the seeds I've been planting never put down roots and become something alive and vital?  

The view out our window only reinforces my internal dismal weather pattern.

Dark. Gray. Gloomy.

Wrapping my hands more tightly around my coffee cup, I say to Tom, "My insides feel exactly like it looks outside". 

Dark. Gray. Gloomy.

He doesn't say anything, and my internal ground-fog  settles in lower.  As is his way, he is slow to speak, and when he finally breaks the silence, here is what he says;  "This is the only time of the year that the earth gets to just be. To simply lay there and soak up the rain. It is almost as if you can hear the earth exhale a sigh of relief at the forced rest of the winter months. Nothing to do but quietly receive." Tom is a geologist and has spent his life studying the ground beneath our feet. As a man who has lived his life close to the earth, he has learned to recognize her ancient wisdom, her deep knowing that there is a time for everything, and a season to every purpose under heaven. 

I try to let his words sink in, and attempt to do nothing but quietly receive the perspective he is offering. Looking out the window again, something shifts inside. I begin to let go of the fear that the sun will never break through my clouds, and find instead a small handhold of faith that in good time, it will. Rather than anxiously hold my breath, I slowly exhale, and find a quiet sense of relief. Instead of grasping at straws, I take a stab at receiving the gifts of quiet and stillness that this dark, gray, and gloomy day might offer. 

There is a time for everything, and a season to every purpose under heaven. Including this one:

Dark. Gray. Gloomy.

And it is not for naught. It is for the purpose of preparing the earth for what is still to come, nourishing her for the work of the coming season. Looking out the window again it dawns on me that it would be wise to listen to this ancient wisdom. Heading upstairs to my desk I decide that this must be the time to faithfully show up at my desk, trusting that the words will again begin to flow.  It is the time to purposefully water the ideas that are quietly germinating. And, this is the season to nurture the seeds that are too busy putting down roots to show themselves above the quiet earth in which they have been planted. 

There is a time for everything, and a season to every purpose under heaven.

Amen.

Time For New Stories

As I reflect on this new year, I want to share a singular thought that keeps coming to me—2018: The Year of New Stories.

I’ve decided to consider what old stories are ready to be put to bed. Those stories that might have served me in the past, or maybe never did. The stories that I don't want to take with me into 2018. And, with more room in my heart, mind, and soul, what new stories might I be able to write? To tell? To create? To live? 

Our stories can keep us stuck in old patterns, and confine us to small dreams and fruitless actions. Or, they can open the doors to new ways of being in the world and in relationship with ourselves and with one another. New stories offer us a vision of how things could be, and invite us to take daring and necessary leaps of faith. Sometimes they even weave new patterns in our hearts that allow us to make peace for the first time with who we are in all of our glory and our brokenness. 

As 2018 begins, I find my heart overflowing with gratitude for you...for those of you who are near and dear, those with whom I have only recently crossed paths for the first time, and, for those of you I may never meet but who share this planet we all call home. You matter in so many ways, and my life is abundantly filled with love, deep joy, and meaning because of what each of you bring to the world.

As human beings we are storytellers at heart, and we see ourselves in one another's stories. May we be bold, and bring forth stories worthy of telling for years to come.

With abundant gratitude.

Molly

Photo: Tom Pierson

The United Church of the NFL

Most Sundays I attend the church where my husband and I are members. We are an open, affirming and accepting church which means all are invited to the table, the doors are open in extravagant welcome to any who would enter, and when we come together as a community, we try to live with the hard questions rather then settle for the easy answers. On any given Sunday the sermon challenges me to live more courageously, and to care about and work for what matters.

I love our church.

This past Sunday, it had been a long but good week, and our church is a 45 minute drive away, so God and I decided to stay home. Turning on the TV to watch a little NFL football, I discovered that I didn't have to leave home to go to church. Church came to me. Welcome to the United Church of the NFL. After reading this post I hope that you will come away challenged to live more courageously, and to care about and work for what matters.

I love the NFL

Some people will tell you that a good sermon is a 3 Point Sermon, which as you can probably guess, serves up three key points. Here are the three I received from the pulpit of the NFL.

Standing for what you believe in might mean sitting down.

Across the league teams chose to protest during the national anthem. Some sat, some kneeled, others raised fists, while still others locked arms or held hands. A few teams decided to stay in the locker room or tunnel until the anthem was over. This was not a protest against our flag or a sign of disrespect towards all who have served or are serving this beautiful, broken country of ours. It was not done in an effort to undermine the ultimate sacrifice that countless members of our military have made throughout our history. In fact, quite the opposite. The players were calling us to a higher standard for which those sacrifices were made. The were calling our entire country to a higher standard, us as individuals to a higher standard, and, they were calling the leader of this great country to a higher standard. A standard that should reflect what this country claims to stand for when we raise the American flag high in the air. The claim that all are created equal and deserving of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness, not to mention deserving of respect, dignity, compassion, and for God's sake, common human decency and kindness. And since it starts at the top, our leader should lead the way, should set the highest of high standards. Unfortunately, thus far, he has not, did not, and is not. His bar has been set ever lower, as demonstrated by yet another divisive tweet from the man elected to lead our country. A tweet that  demanded some kind of appropriate response from players and coaches alike.  Pete Carroll, head coach of the Seattle Seahawks, as a true leader does, chose to "go high" in his response, speaking truth to power in a tweet of his own. 

We don't have to agree on everything to come together for the common good.

After watching several games, numerous press conferences, and reading various commentaries, it is obvious that not everyone agreed on the approach to take regarding the national anthem. Since the Seattle Seahawks are my team (forever and ever amen) I take this second point from them. From what was shared in his Monday Press Conference Pete Carroll said that it took multiple meetings, challenging conversations, the expression of emotions that ran deep and raw, intentional listening, and ultimately, a willingness to come together for the greater good of the team. According to Coach Carroll, there were players for whom it was a painfully difficult decision to choose to stay in the locker room, and not be present on the field during the national anthem. Ultimately, what made it possible for everyone in the room to come together as a team is the same thing that is needed to bring our divided country together. Empathy. Somehow the players,  found a way to extend empathy to one another, to attempt, to at least try, to walk in one another's shoes, to see life through a lens different than their own, and to entertain the possibility that the experience of one of their teammates might have something important to teach them. That is incredibly hard work to do, and it requires more strength, courage, and resilience than any football game ever will.  But...If they can do it, I believe we can too. We have to. 

(For more insight from players, listen in as Doug Baldwin and Michael Bennett share their thoughts in their post game press conferences.)

Keep Going

My daughter has a favorite coffee mug, made by Oiselle -a Seattle-based by women, for women athletic apparel company. The mug is white with the following words on it: 

 

"There is no secret. Keep going." *

This final point in the NFL sermon was brought to life during an unfortunate play late in the first half of the game between the Chicago Bears and the Pittsburg Steelers. Marcus Cooper, Cornerback for the Chicago Bears, got his hands on a blocked field goal. Ball in hand he took off at full speed, on his way to what looked like a sure touchdown. None of the Steelers were going to be able to stop him, and it appeared that he was home free. And then he just slowed down. He started his celebration before crossing over into the end zone, which gave those in pursuit time to force a fumble at the one yard line. The result, due to a penalty on the Steelers, gave the Bears just enough time for a field goal and an additional three points. It could have been seven, but the player with the ball in his hands slowed down. He didn't keep going. 

Our country is in trouble, and it is going to take all of us to fix it. It isn't going to be easy. It isn't going to be quick. We have to keep pushing forward We have to keep our eye on the prize, which is a country in which the flag we raise reflects liberty and justice for all. A flag for which we are all proud to stand.

Amen.

* mug no longer available for sale on Oiselle website

The United Church of the NFL

Most Sundays I attend the church where my husband and I are members. We are an open, affirming and accepting church which means all are invited to the table, the doors are open in extravagant welcome to any who would enter, and when we come together as a community, we try to live with the hard questions rather then settle for the easy answers. On any given Sunday the sermon challenges me to live more courageously, and to care about and work for what matters.

I love our church.

This past Sunday, It had been a long but good week, and our church is a 45 minute drive away, so God and I decided to stay home. Turning on the TV to watch a little NFL football, I discovered that I didn't have to leave to go to church. Church came to me. Welcome to the United Church of the NFL. After reading this post I hope that you will come away challenged to live more courageously, and to care about and work for what matters.

I love the NFL

Some people will tell you that a good sermon is a 3 Point Sermon, which as you can probably guess, serves up three key points. Here are the three I received from the pulpit of the NFL.

Standing for what you believe in might mean sitting down.

Across the league teams chose to protest during the national anthem. Some sat, some kneeled, others raised fists, while still others locked arms or held hands. A few teams decided to stay in the locker room or tunnel until the anthem was over. This was not a protest against our flag or a sign of disrespect towards all who have served or are serving this beautiful, broken country of ours. It was not done in an effort to undermine the ultimate sacrifice that countless members of our military have made throughout our history. In fact, quite the opposite. The players were calling us to a higher standard for which those sacrifices were made. The were calling our entire country to a higher standard, us as individuals to a higher standard, and, they were calling the leader of this great country to a higher standard. A standard that should reflect what this country claims to stand for when we raise the American flag high in the air. The claim that all are created equal and deserving of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness, not to mention deserving of respect, dignity, compassion, and for God's sake, common human decency and kindness. And since it starts at the top, our leader should lead the way, should set the highest of high standards. Unfortunately, thus far, he has not, did not, and is not. His bar has been set ever lower, as demonstrated by yet another divisive tweet from the man elected to lead our country. A tweet that  demanded some kind of appropriate response from players and coaches alike.  Pete Carroll, head coach of the Seattle Seahawks, as a true leader does, chose to "go high" in his response, speaking truth to his power in a tweet of his own. 

We don't have to agree on everything to come together for the common good.

After watching several games, numerous press conferences, and reading various commentaries, it is obvious that not everyone agreed on the approach to take regarding the national anthem. Since the Seattle Seahawks are my team (forever and ever amen) I take this second point from them. From what was shared in his Monday Press Conference Pete Carroll said that it took multiple meetings, challenging conversations, the expression of emotions that ran deep and raw, intentional listening, and ultimately, a willingness to come together for the greater good of the team. According to Coach Carroll, there were players for whom it was a painfully difficult decision to choose to stay in the locker room, and not be present on the field during the national anthem. Ultimately, what made it possible for everyone in the room to come together as a team is the same thing that is needed to bring our divided country together. Empathy. Somehow the players,  found a way to extend empathy to one another, to attempt, to at least try, to walk in one another's shoes, to see life through a lens different than their own, and to entertain the possibility that the experience of one of their teammates might have something important to teach them. That is incredibly hard work to do, and it requires more strength, courage, and resilience than any football game ever will.  But...If they can do it, I believe we can too. We have to. 

(For more insight from players, listen in as Doug Baldwin and Michael Bennett share their thoughts in their post game press conferences.)

Keep Going

My daughter has a favorite coffee mug, made by Oiselle -a Seattle-based by women, for women athletic apparel company. The mug is white with the following words on it: 

 

"There is no secret. Keep going." *

This final point in the NFL sermon was brought to life during an unfortunate play late in the first half of the game between the Chicago Bears and the Pittsburg Steelers. Marcus Cooper, Cornerback for the Chicago Bears, got his hands on a blocked field goal. Ball in hand he took off at full speed, on his way to what looked like a sure touchdown. None of the Steelers were going to be able to stop him, and it appeared that he was home free. And then he just slowed down. He started his celebration before crossing over into the end zone, which gave those in pursuit time to force a fumble at the one yard line. The result, due to a penalty on the Steelers, gave the Bears just enough time for a field goal and an additional three points. It could have been seven, but the player with the ball in his hands slowed down. He didn't keep going. 

Our country is in trouble, and it is going to take all of us to fix it. It isn't going to be easy. It isn't going to be quick. We have to keep pushing forward We have to keep our eye on the prize, which is a country in which the flag we raise reflects liberty and justice for all. A flag for which we are all proud to stand.

Amen.

* mug no longer available for sale on Oiselle website

The Thread

For months and months my writing had a clear, specific focus to it, as I worked to complete the manuscript for BLUSH: Women & Wine . Daily, and with purpose, I would head to my desk, sit down, and allow the message to find its way onto the page. Some days the writing was harder than others, yet slowly but surely, the thread that wanted to run from beginning to end began to shimmer and weave the words forward into my long imagined book. The thread, I explained to those who wondered, wasn't about the fact that I had long used my nightly wine ritual as a way to distance myself from pain, stress, and uncomfortable emotions and issues. Nor was it about my commitment to changing an unhealthy pattern. The thread ran, and runs, deeper than understanding and changing a habitual coping mechanism. My thread, the one I have attempted (with varying degrees of success) to hold on to over the years, is made of the these three deeply held strands of belief:

1. We are all created in the image of God.
2. We are all called to live as authentically and whole-heartedly as we are able.
3. We are all here to love, help, and heal the world that is within our reach.

Anything that gets in the way of our ability to hold onto our thread is deserving of our full attention. Wine was getting in my way. Thankfully, now it isn't. 

However.

After the book was published, my thread sort of disappeared. Life became about promoting the book, creating buzz, garnering more attention, and increasing sales.

Not. My. Thread. 

In my efforts to promote the book, I forgot about my purpose. When I most needed to remember it, the following piece, written by my good and wise friend David Berry, showed up in my in-box. His words led me back to my thread. My purpose. Which is to help people live authentic, whole-hearted lives, in order that they might better love, help, and heal the world that is within their reach.

I'm feeling the silkiness of the thread in my hand again, and my commitment to hang on to it is renewed. I know it will lead me to the next right steps. As it always does. I'll keep you posted.

Until then, I invite you to pour a glass of your favorite wine, savor David's words, and hang on to your thread.

You Have To Explain About the Thread

JULY 10, 2017DAVID BERRY

“The Way It Is”

There’s a thread you follow. It goes among
things that change. But it doesn’t change.
People wonder about what you are pursuing.
You have to explain about the thread.
But it is hard for others to see.
While you hold it you can’t get lost.
Tragedies happen; people get hurt
or die; and you suffer and get old.
Nothing you do can stop time’s unfolding.
You don’t ever let go of the thread.

– William Stafford –

I was captivated this week by the most recent episode of the podcast, This American Life. Specifically, a segment featuring the magicians Penn and Teller describing their process of developing a new trick. Teller, the conspicuously silent partner, has fallen in love with the idea of recreating a classic floating ball and hoop routine. Penn is less enthusiastic, as in not at all. As Teller works and works to make the trick worthy of their show by the standard they have agreed to over 40 years of collaboration he falls short time and again.

A breakthrough comes when they agree that the way to make the trick compelling to both themselves and their audience is to let the audience in on it from the very beginning. The trick begins with Penn’s announcement: “The next trick is done with just a piece of thread.”  And off goes Teller, beautifully and brilliantly manipulating a ball with nothing more than a piece of thread.

What Penn and Teller understood and acted upon – after years of work on one specific illusion – is what William Stafford implores us to do in the poem above: “You have to explain about the thread.” 

I am often in a position to do exactly that. In the classroom or at a speaking engagement I am frequently asked about my own thread. Why do I do what I do? How did I get started? What are the steps I took from there to here? I always respond in the same way, that I knew exactly what I was supposed to do with my life when I was 17 years old. A bright red thread emerged through my experiences in musical performance and student leadership. I was intuitively aware that the abilities developed and practiced in those early settings were the strengths I would call on throughout my adult life. I held onto the thread through the first few years of college but lost it completely once I had to marry my intuitive sense of it to the harshly practical world of “knowing what you want to do with your life.” I didn’t know how to manifest my nascent understanding of my thread into a next step. And I was too afraid to explain about the thread. I wasn’t willing to say, “This is my thread. I don’t know much about it but I do know a few important things, not least of which is that it’s mine. Will you please help me figure out where it leads?”

Instead, I let it slip away. As it turns out, it did not let go of me. We played peekaboo on occasion, a flirtation here and there, but it took over 10 years and an extraordinary confluence (aka, the thread working hard behind the scenes) of people and events to land me in front of a classroom of aspirational leaders. The specifics of that first class are hazy because my memory is dominated by the aliveness I felt at having my hands on the thread once again.

Most recently, my thread has led me to the college classroom and the opportunity to teach and mentor undergraduate students. The thread has a solid sense of humor. It says, “You struggled to claim me as your own. Others struggle, too. Here is your chance to help a few people struggle a little less, to find the thread a little earlier, and to gain the confidence and declare their commitment to hang on.”

There is no “magic.” There is finding your thread and there is holding onto your thread because “while you hold it you can’t get lost.” There is demonstrating to all who cannot see it that what looks like magic is just your commitment to trust where it will lead. Sometimes, like Teller performing for a full house, we hang on with artistry and elegance. Sometimes, like Teller in the early days of practice, we hang on in spite of our fumbling because our curiosity compels us to learn where it wants to go.  And sometimes we don’t hang on at all. But it is there, waiting to dispel the illusion that we can find our way without it.

What is your thread? Where is it leading?
Who have you explained it to? Who have you asked for help?
What makes it hard to hang on?
Is there someone whose thread confuses you?
Will you listen to them explain about the thread?

For further reading, here’s another reflection on “The Way It Is” by Parker Palmer.

DAVID BERRY is the author of “A More Daring Life: Finding Voice at the Crossroads of Change” and the founder of RULE13 Learning. He speaks and writes about the complexity of leading in a changing world.

 

Behind The Curtain: The Inspiration for BLUSH: Women & Wine

I am so happy to be able to share this lovely interview, and grateful to Hélène Tragos Stelian and  Next Act For Women for sharing my story.

Writing a Book about Women and Wine: Molly’s Story

Hélène

After a long career in Human Resources, Molly found the voice she’d quieted in her youth and began to write. Her book, Blush: Women & Wine, explores how so many of us turn to wine to soothe our discomfort and avoid painful feelings. 

Tell us a little about your background.

The youngest of four...

am a Pacific Northwest girl. Born and raised in Portland, Oregon, I was the youngest of four by a long shot. My siblings are 8, 12, and 13 years older than me. My mom tried hard to convince me that I wasn’t an “oops” baby. But seriously? My parents were wonderful, loving people with busy lives of their own. My dad was....

How It Works

"There’s no nonstop flight from order to reorder. You’ve got to go through the disorder." 

- Richard Rohr

Order

 

Recently I listened to an episode of On Being, the Peabody Award winning public radio conversation and podcast, hosted by Krista Tippet. Her guest for the episode was Richard Rohr, the Franciscan priest, writer, teacher, and founder of the Center for Action and Contemplation in Albuquerque, New Mexico. In the midst of their rich and robust conversation, Fr. Rohr offered a simple metaphor for the path to spiritual transformation. He explained that he tells his students to imagine three boxes:

Order

Disorder

Reorder

That's how it works.

The only way to transformation is through each of the three boxes. And as much as most of us cling to the desire for order, often clawing and fighting to keep things neat, orderly, and all buttoned up, we can't leapfrog from order to reorder. That's not how it works. Disorder is part and parcel of the path to transformation. For a deeper dive into Fr. Rohr's wisdom on the subject, I highly recommend listening to the entire On Being episode, as well as reading his thought provoking Falling Upward: A Spirituality For The Two Halves of Life.

Reflecting on his three box metaphor, and juxtaposing it with life as I've come to understand it, his words ring true. It also dawns on me that we are presented with an abundance of opportunities, both grand and small, to practice walking the transformative path. As individuals, partners, families, communities, societies, and even as a species. Some of those opportunities are ours by choice. Most of them are not.

We recently had our great room and kitchen repainted. In the course of just one day, as we moved every single thing from the areas to be painted out onto the deck, we went from order to disorder. Anyone driving up to the house that day would have thought that whoever lived there must have died, and an estate sale was in progress. A week later, new paint on the walls and the painter paid, we began the process of reorder. It was sort of a fun-but-royal pain in the ass. It was also a subtle kick in the ass to arrange life differently. To take the time to put back only those things we love and that serve us well. A couple of  trips to the dump and the Goodwill later, our home is in the process of a beautiful transformation. A transformation made possible by the chaos that came before it. Prior to living amidst the disorder, we were unable to see the overcrowded forest for the familiar trees.

Disorder

The good news is that disorder is always an invitation to put life together differently. When we chose to repaint our walls, we also chose to invite disorder into our lives.

The bad new is, that's not how it usually works. We don't choose disorder. Disorder is thrust upon us.   

The landlord informs us that she has decided to sell the house we're renting, and we have 30 days to move. 

We fall into bed, desperate for a good night of sleep, and then our baby throws up, spikes a fever, and we are on the phone with the advice nurse at 2am.

At a routine check up, our doctor finds a suspicious lump.

Headed to a crucial meeting, we miss our connecting flight.

We wake up one morning to find that our car has been stolen.

On an evening walk we get hit over the head with the fact that we have been using wine as a coping mechanism for years. 

A conversation we thought would turn left, takes a sharp turn to the right.

We suddenly lose a beloved member of our family.

The financial rug gets pulled out from beneath our feet.

We cast our vote on Election Day, and wake up the day after.

Order

Disorder

Reorder

That's how it works.  

Time to get to work.

Reorder

Hide And Seek

Dear You,

Come out, come out, wherever you are. Without you, I am nothing.

Love,

The World.

When I was a little girl, as I remember it, everyone came to our house for Thanksgiving dinner. Tables were put end-to-end to make room for our extended family, and while there was a "kids table" set up, my cousins and I preferred to hide under one of the other tables. Sure that the grown-ups couldn't see us, we sat under the table as life continued on around us, and the adults played along with our little game. What with our giggles and little feet poking out from beneath the linen table cloths, we were hiding in plain sight. Sometimes we hid for the thrill of it all,  but mostly it was a strategic ploy to avoid Uncle Blake's lumpy gravy and my aunt's famous creamed onions. But eventually we had to leave our little hidey hole, and would find, much to our dismay, our untouched plates still awaiting us, and the gravy was now not only lumpy, but cold. And the creamed onions were, well, still creamed onions.

When my daughters were little girls, they loved to play hide and seek. One of their favorite hiding places was under a blanket. Sure that I couldn't see them, they sat as life continued on around them, and I played along with their little game. "Now where could they be?" I would wonder aloud, well within their earshot. What with their giggles and little feet poking out from beneath the blanket, they were hiding in plain sight. Sometimes they hid for the thrill of it all, but mostly it was a strategic ploy to avoid any unwelcome chores, or to delay the inevitable bedtime. Eventually they had to leave their little hidey hole, and would find, much to their dismay, the chores still awaited them. And bedtime was, well, still bedtime. 

Hide and seek is not only a childhood game. Most of us play it for most of our lives. And like me, my cousins, and my young daughters, we hide smack dab in the middle of the room which is our life, hoping not to be found by whatever it is that we'd rather avoid. But unlike the unwanted lumpy gravy, creamed onions, childhood chores and the inevitable bedtime, now we hide from more serious things. Pain and discomfort, unresolved issues and challenging conversations, unanswered questions and unfamiliar territory, important decisions and necessary changes. These are the things from which I have often hidden. Still do sometimes. But when I do, the game always ends the same way. With lumpy gravy.

Every one of us does it. We play hide and seek from our own life, and, we hide under tables of our own choosing. My tables have included, but are not limited to:

One too many glasses of wine.

Taking care of everyone else.

Staying busy, no matter what.

Blaming others for the state of my life.

Binge watching my latest favorite series

We hide under the blankets of our own weaving, made up of the threads of our long held stories, fears, wounds and sorrows. My blanket has been made up of fabrics including, but not limited to: 

I am not enough.

I might fail.

It's too hard.

It will be too painful. 

I don't know how it will turn out.

But our tables don't keep us safe, they keep us small. Our blankets don't protect us, they prevent us from living the life that is ours. Hiding from our lives today only means running back into them again tomorrow. Over, and over, and over, and over, and over...

So come on. 

Come out, come out wherever you are.

It's time to come out from our hidey holes and get on with our messy, complex, beautiful, imperfect, creative, compassionate, flawed, and, one-of-a-kind miraculous lives. Our life is waiting for us, and so is the world.  And, no matter how long we crouch under our tables and huddle under our blankets, those creamed onions will be, well, still creamed onions.