Remembering Our Affection For One Another

"But, we have always had so much more in common with each other than in disagreement."

Senator John McCain

Recently, during a conversation about our deeply divided country, and the concern we share for its future, a friend said something I haven't been able to forget: 

"We need to remember our affection for one another."

Those words resonated deeply, and they continue to reverberate in my heart like an echo off of the walls of a deep canyon. They ring as words of a distant truth that we once knew, but are in danger of forgetting.

"We need to remember our affection for one another."

As citizens, it seems we are increasingly choosing to stand on opposite sides of a deep canyon, shouting across the widening chasm at one another. I wonder, if we stopped shouting, and bent our ears to the canyon edge, might we hear the distant echos of our shared affection for one another? 

"We need to remember our affection for one another."

While I never voted for him, and I often disagreed with his perspectives, I've always felt a deep respect for Senator John McCain. I felt a kinship with him as a fellow American, and I am saddened that his fierce spirt has left the earth. But I imagine if I were to bend my ear close to the edge of the canyon, I would hear his words ringing back...

"My fellow Americans, we need to remember our affection for one another."

I offer this post in honor of and in gratitude for Senator John McCain, and am humbled and inspired by his final words below. 

A final statement from Sen. John McCain, who died Saturday at 81, read by his spokesman Rick Davis:

"My fellow Americans, whom I have gratefully served for 60 years, and especially my fellow Arizonians, thank you for the privilege of serving you and for the rewarding life that service in uniform and in public office has allowed me to lead. I've tried to serve our country honorably. I've made mistakes, but I hope my love for America will be weighed favorably against them. I've often observed that I am the luckiest person on Earth. I feel that way even now as I prepare for the end of my life. I've loved my life, all of it. 

I've had experiences, adventures, friendships enough for ten satisfying lives and I am so thankful. Like most people, I have regrets but I would not trade a day of my life in good or bad times for the best day of anybody else's. I owe the satisfaction to the love of my family. One man has never had a more loving wife or children he was prouder of than I am of mine. And I owe it to America to be connected with America's causes, liberty, equal justice, respect for the dignity of all people brings happiness more sublime that life's fleeting pleasures. Our identities and sense of worth are not circumscribed but are enlarged by serving good causes bigger than ourselves. 

Fellow Americans, that association has meant more to me than any other. I lived and died a proud American. We are citizens of the world's greatest republic. A nation of ideals, not blood and soil. We are blessed and a blessing to humanity when we uphold and advance those ideals at home and in the world. We have helped liberate more people from tyranny and poverty than ever before in history. We have acquired great wealth and power in the progress. We weaken our greatness when we confuse our patriotism with rivalries that have sown resentment and hatred and violence in all the corners of the globe. We weaken it when we hide behind walls rather than tear them down, when we doubt the power of our ideals rather than trust them to be the great force for change they have always been. We are 325 million opinionated, vociferous individuals. We argue and compete and sometimes even vilify each other in our raucous public debates. 

But, we have always had so much more in common with each other than in disagreement. If only we remember that and give each other the benefit of the presumption that we all love our country, we'll get through these challenging times. We will come through them stronger than before. We always do. Ten years ago, I had the privilege to concede defeat in the election for president. I want to end my farewell to you with heartfelt faith in Americans that I felt so powerfully that evening. I feel it powerfully still. Do not despair of our present difficulties, we believe always in the promise and greatness of America because nothing is inevitable here. Americans never quit, we never surrender, we never hide from history, we make history. Farewell fellow Americans. God bless you and god bless America." 

POLITICO

"We need to remember our affection for one another."

High Anxiety

“If a problem is fixable, if a situation is such that you can do something about it, then there is no need to worry. If it's not fixable, then there is no help in worrying. There is no benefit in worrying whatsoever.”

 Dali Lama XIV

Recently some good friends moved away. They had taken jobs two states away and were in the process of wrapping up life here, and unwrapping it there. This is a good move for them, and they are excited about what lies ahead. As we were visiting one morning, it was clear that while they felt good about the move, they were also anxious about how the whole picture was going to come together. That concern was making it hard to make progress on the list of tasks yet to be accomplished. 

"What is causing you the most anxiety and stress right now?" I asked.

They didn't skip a beat. 

"Where we are going to live."  

Anxiety about that particular piece of their relocation puzzle was making it hard to keep track of all the other things that needed to happen. If that piece could fall into place, the rest of the pieces would probably follow suit. It did, and, they did. 

If you're like me, you probably prefer not to think about whatever is causing you distress.  But no matter how hard we try and push it down, it is still there. Like an app that runs in the background on our devices, it drains the life of our battery. The sooner we address the source of our worry, the more energy we will have for the life in front of us. Worry often doesn't seem to have rhyme or reason. Avoiding a small thing can make it almost impossible to take on a big thing. A big thing left undone can get in the way of little things that could easily be accomplished. Important things left unaddressed, can make it hard to tackle the more mundane but necessary things. Whatever the reason, worry can wreak havoc on our days.

If you took care of the source of your worry, what other pieces of your puzzle would fall into place?

Grab a pen.

"What is causing you the most anxiety right now?"

Hi Anxiety.

How  may I help you?

Happy Anniversary

"The greater danger for most of us lies not in setting our aim too high and falling short; but in setting our aim too low, and achieving our mark. ”
- Michelangelo

One night in 1993 I was making a fire. It was a Friday, which in our house meant pizza and a movie in front of a fire. Crumpling up some pages from the Willamette Week, the hip, professional paper in Portland, Oregon, two words in bold print caught my eye: Romantic Scientist. Now there's an oxymoron for you. Pre e-harmony, Tinder, and It's Just Lunch, the paper was known for its personals ads. The truth was, I wan't looking for love. I was just building a fire. Five years out of a destructive marriage, I was 40 years old with two young daughters, a good job, and a nice little home in a lovely neighborhood with good schools. Life. Was. Good. But there was something about that ad that intrigued me. Whoever wrote it sounded like someone I'd like to meet. I took a deep breath and what felt like a big risk, and answered the ad. Wrote a letter, stuck it in an envelope along with a photo of the three of us, and drove it to the post office so as not to talk myself out of it in the morning. A few weeks later we had our first date, and the rest, as they say, is history.

Today marks the 24th year of being married to my romantic scientist, and I offer this post in gratitude for every one of those years. For the love we share, and for the magical partnership we've created in our years together. I have to say, it honestly feels like a match made in heaven, even though we've had to work harder than hell to get here.

We couldn't be more different. I'm an introvert. He's not. He's good at math. I'm not. I care about form. He's all about function. I'm an external processor. He's not. He loves world travel. Nothing makes me happier than being at home. He's a peacemaker. I'm a disturber of the peace. His love languages are touch and quality time together, which means he loves it when I hang out with him, and reach out and touch...his hands, his face, his arm, his... well, you get the picture.  Mine are words of affirmation, and space and autonomy, which means please tell me I'm beautiful, and then just go away. I'm messy. He's a bit more buttoned up. I talk about myself too much. He should speak up for himself more. He struggles to find words for his feelings. I have more than enough for both of us.

Our first marriages taught us what we didn't want, and when we got together we tried our best to learn what we did. While we both understood that it would require us to "show up  and do the work", we had no idea what that meant. Early on I came up with what I thought was a great analogy. It would be like the two of us going to the doctor's office for an exam. We would both need to strip naked, get up on the exam table under those god-awful lights, and be willing to examine every lump, bump, spot, and imperfection. We'd be willing to bare it all. He nodded in that peacemaking way that makes me think he's totally onboard, when really he's just trying not to rock the boat.

Early on, so many differences didn't  make for smooth sailing. Somewhere about year eight, an especially big storm hit, and we were heading for some rocks. While neither of us wanted another boat, we needed to learn how to steer the one we were in. Sitting over coffee I told him that the marriage we had wasn't the one I wanted, and tried my best to explain what I meant by that and why. There were tears (mine), a boatload of emotions (mine), and a lot of silence (his). Reaching the end of my explanation rope I said, "I feel like I'm up on the exam table, naked as a jaybird, and you are sitting in the chair with all your clothes on, taking notes on a clip board. Get naked and get up here with me. Now!!" And he did.

24 years later, here is what I know about navigating our marriage waters: It's taken lots of hours in a therapist's office, and putting into practice what we learned there. We've discovered how to tend to the pain sooner rather than later, allowing our wounds to heal into scars. And in that knitting back together, that which connects us is stronger than before. Because our love is fierce, we fight for it mightily. Because we've had to learn that it is fragile, we tend to it gently. We've learned that the truth is what sets us free, and that living together means giving each other room to roam. We've learned to wire together our differences so that the lines of communication stay open. With endless opportunities to practice, we continue to master the art of forgiveness, both the asking for and the extending of. We work to be long on grace and short on judgment. We've come to have faith in one another's strengths when faced with our own weaknesses. He has taught me to "love by listening", and I've helped him learn to find words for his feelings. 

We still have to get naked under those god-awful lights and climb up on the exam table. But I know I'll never find myself up there alone.

Happy Anniversary.

ATG Photography

Laying On The Horn

Earlier today I was driving a car that belongs to someone near and dear to me. It looks good, is comfortable to drive, and seems to be in good working order. Up ahead there were some cows walking along side the road. I put my hand over the center of the steering wheel in case I needed to lay on the horn to keep them from jumping out in front of the car. They paid no attention as I passed by, so just for fun, I honked the horn. Except the horn didn't honk. I pushed down a few more times, and tried different spots to see if I could get a beep. Nothing but the sound of silence. 

My guess is that the owners don't even know it isn't working. A car horn is only there in case we need it. But if we haven't needed it for a while, we'll probably assume it is in good working order. We've got things to do, people to see, and nary a cow in sight. We won't notice that it isn't working until it's too late.

We all have our blind spots and can't always see when danger is headed our way. That's why we need each other. 

As the saying goes, if you see something, say something.

Honk Honk

Baggage Claim

"The cost of a thing is the amount of what I call life which is required to be exchanged for it, now or in the long run."

"Henry David Thoreau

Yesterday I started packing for an upcoming trip that Tom and I are taking to Europe. I've never under-packed for an excursion, but I most definitely have over-packed. What I am trying to do for this trip is right-pack. Having what I need and not burdened by what I don't. It's an art for sure, and one that I've yet to master. This trip is yet another opportunity to hone my skills. I think the trick is in considering what will be needed to navigate where we're going. How will we spend our time, and in what conditions? By the end of the day, my bag was looking pretty good. With a week and a half to go before leaving on a jet plane, I've got time to toss in a little more or take a little less. 

Life is a trip, and we are constantly packing our bags for what lies ahead. The same principles apply. What will we need to navigate the road ahead? How will we spend our time, and in what conditions? Wherever we're headed, a right-packed suitcase is one that will equip us with what we need but not encumber us with what we don't. 

Lately, one of my favorite questions to ask is "What don't you want to carry with you into your next chapter? Whether I pose that question to clients, family, friends, or to  myself, I am always struck by how quickly people arrive at an answer. Whether they share it with me or not, they can almost always identify something that they know has become a burden. It no longer serves them or maybe never has. Whatever it is, carrying it any further down the road will only wear them out and weigh them down. 

Our bags are our own to pack and to carry.

The contents are ours to choose or to chuck.

What is one thing that you want to leave behind? An old story? An obsolete belief? A depleting relationship? A long held habit? A lingering resentment? Sometimes leaving something behind requires help. Who can help you right-pack your suitcase? With that "thing" no longer taking up space, what might there be room for?

We are on the trip of a lifetime, and whatever we carry in our bag claims a piece of our life. 

This post is written with gratitude for my BFF and partner in crime, Kristine. Don't ever throw out those black shoes!

B.O.U.N.D.A.R.I.E.S

Just this past week I've had at least four different conversations, with four different people,  about four different things, happening in four different sets of circumstances. But they all had one thing in common. In one way or another, every conversation was about boundaries.

Most people call me Molly. But some people call me Mol. Use of my nickname implies connection, trust, respect, intimacy, and love -  sometimes even love at first sight. Anyone can call me Molly but not everyone can call me Mol. Sometime someone I've only just met calls me that, and It is soooo OK. Other times someone that I've known for a long time calls me that and it is sooooo not OK. I know it. I can feel it. One is OK. The other is not. What stands between the two is a boundary. 

Brene' Brown, in an On Being interview with Krista Tippet says "...'boundaries' is like a big gauzy word, but it's a really simple thing. What's OK and what's not OK."

• Is that behavior OK or not OK?
• Is that language OK or not OK?
• Is that request OK or not OK?
• Is that touch OK or not OK?
• Is sharing that information OK or not OK?
• Is that physical proximity OK or not OK?
• Is that topic OK or not OK?
• Is that expectation OK or not OK?
• Is that question OK or not OK?
• Is that sense of familiarity OK or not OK?
• Is dropping the last two letters of my first name Ok or not Ok?

When faced with a situation where boundaries are concerned, ask yourself. Is that OK or not OK? You'll know the answer. You'll feel the answer.

The boundaries we set establish more than what is acceptable and what is not. They signify who we are, and what we stand for. 

 A clear boundary says:

I may be OK. 

You may be OK.

But that is not OK. 

Practical Magic

“Imagination is everything. It is the preview of life’s coming attractions.”

— Albert Einstein

The vision for our home began almost 15 years ago on the back of a cocktail napkin, over a glass of wine. Tom and I sat at a corner table in Paradise Lodge at Mt. Ranier and began imagining what the home we hoped to build might look like. Over time I found pictures in magazines that captured the look I was after, and when the time came, we engaged an architect to turn our cocktail napkin into house plans. Plans in hand, we went about the process of finding the right builder. We talked to three of them. The first one, when we asked him for a bid, said, "I don't do bids." Not our guy. The second one looked at our plans, and said, "Ka-Ching!" Definitely not our guy. Then we met Bob. As we sat around his kitchen table and talked through the drawings and our hopes for our home, he pushed his chair back and said, "If we work together, my goal is that I will want to invite you to our annual Halloween Costume Party when we're done." Bob was our guy. 

When you build a home, there are so many practical and aesthetic decisions to be made. Lighting. Cabinetry. Paint colors. Window trim. Flooring. Appliances. It is hard not consumed by how the home will look, and easy to forget how you want it to feel and what you want to happen there. Don't get me wrong, I had very strong opinions about how I wanted it to look, and Bob quickly caught my vision. When there was a decision to be made about whether to go with plan A or plan B for a particular aspect, I usually wasn't on site to actually see what Bob was talking about. So I would ask him, "Bob, which would I like? A or B?" He always knew the answer. And, he was always right. But the truth is, I spent a lot more time imagining how I wanted our home to feel rather than how it would to look. How did Tom and I want people to feel when they came to visit? What did we want to have happen there when people came together under our roof? What kinds of conversations did we envision happening as family and friends gathered around the outdoor fireplace in the morning for coffee? 

The more I imagined the answers to those questions the more clear they became. Our home would be a place of rest, renewal, and redemption. It would be a place of love, laughter, and listening. It would be a place of grace, healing, and extravagant welcome. Our home would be a shelter from the storms that would blow through the lives of those we love, a place where people could tell their stories and be heard, and share their pain and be seen. I began to imagine  people in front of the fireplace that hadn't yet been built. I saw them sitting in as yet to be purchased Adirondack chairs out in the field as the sun went down. They were gathered around the table we didn't yet own, sharing good food, good wine, and good conversation. 

Everything that happened in my mind's eye now happens under our roof. The place has its own spirit, and the home we affectionately call "the cabin" continues to work its magic. It's like it knows how to care for those inside its walls. If those walls could talk, they would tell the accumulated stories of healing and forgiveness, grief and grace, wonder and wounds, successes and failures, and of love and loss. Truthfully, we stewards of our home more than owners. It doesn't belong to us, it belongs to everyone that comes here, and to the Spirit that turned what was imagined into what is real.

When it comes to building a home, there's more to it than meets the eye. The same is true when it comes to building a life. When we spend time not only doing what it takes to build it, but also imagining what we want it to feel like, and what we want it to offer to the world, the way it can all come together is practically magic.

PS We still go to Bob-the-builder's Halloween Costume party. 

 

 

When you build a home, there are so many decisions to be made, and it can be easy to get consumed by how the home will look, and forget how you want it to feel. Don't get me wrong, I had very strong opinions about how I wanted it to look, and Bob quickly caught my vision. When there was a decision to be made about going with plan A or plan B for a particular aspect, I often wasn't on site to actually see what Bob was talking about. So I would ask him, "Bob, which would I like? A or B?" And he always knew the answer. And, he was always right. But the truth is, I spent a lot more time imagining how I wanted the cabin to feel when we lived there, than how I wanted it to look. How did Tom and I want people to feel when they came to visit? What did we want to have happen there when people came together under our roof? What kinds of conversations did we envision happening as family and friends gathered around the outdoor fireplace in the morning for coffee? 

The more I imagined the answers to those questions the more clear they became. Our home would be a place of rest, renewal, and redemption. It would be a place of love, laughter, and listening. It would be a place of grace, healing, and extravagant welcome. Our home would be a shelter from the storms that would blow through the lives of those we love, a place where people could tell their stories and be heard, and share their pain and be seen. I began to imagine  people in front of the fireplace that hadn't yet been built. I saw them sitting in as yet un-purchased Adirondack chairs out in the field as the sun went down. They were gathered around the table we didn't yet own, sharing good food, good wine, and good conversation. 

Everything that happened in my mind's eye now happens under our roof. The place has it's own spirit, and the cabin continues to work it's magic. It's like it knows how to care for those under its roof, and has accumulated stories of healing and forgiveness, grief and grace, wonder and wounds, successes and failures, and love and loss. Truthfully, I feel like Tom and I are stewards of our home more than owners. It doesn't belong to us, it belongs to everyone that comes here.

When it comes to building a home there's more to it than meets the eye. The same is true when it comes to building a life. When we spend time imagining what we want it to feel like, and what we want our life to offer to the world, the way it can all come together is practically magic.

PS We still go to Bob-the-builder's Halloween Costume party. 

Help Wanted

It's such a simple thing.

Just ask for help. 

But simple is not the same as easy.

Somehow, many of us have come to the conclusion that asking for help is a sign of weakness. We should be able to figure it out for ourselves, and if we can't, we sure as hell don't want anyone to know. The thing is, the longer we wait to ask for the help, the more help we need. The more help we need, the harder it is to ask for help. The harder it is to ask for help, the less likely we are to ask. The less likely we are to ask, the more help we need. V.I.C.I.O.U.S. Cycle. 

As I see it, there are three types of help. 

Level 1: Preventative Care

Help before we need it.  

• Changing the oil in our cars every 3000 miles
• Putting on a life jacket before leaving the dock
• Regular medical and dental check-ups
• Building relationships of trust and respect with colleagues at work. Even the ones who drive us crazy. Especially the ones who drive us crazy
• Enlisting the help of experts at the front end of almost anything... parenting, investing, or becoming a pet owner
• Telling our partner what we need, rather than expecting them to figure it out
• Getting a therapist before a crisis hits 

Level 2: Roadside Assistance

Help when the unexpected occurs.

• Getting our car into the shop when we first hear that weird knocking noise 
• Calling for the coast guard when our boat engine dies
• Making an appointment when we first find that suspicious lump
• Having a conversation with a co-worker to clear the air
• Enlisting someone who can coach us through whatever is going on with our children, our money, or our dog.
• Staying in the conversation with our partner rather than pulling away
• Scheduling a meeting with our therapist, sooner rather than later

Level 3: 911

Help in an emergency

• Dialing 911 when our car is on fire
• Sending a flare up when the boat has capsized
• Dialing 911 when the pain hits our chest
• Meeting with our HR department to stop the bleeding
• Finding an expert help for our children, hire a financial advisor, or send our dog to a trainer
• Investing in couples therapy or an intensive relationship retreat or both
• Calling our therapist. Now.

I don't know about you, but I continue to get by with a little help from my friends...and my mechanic, my dentist, my doctor, my colleagues, my husband. Oh, and my therapist.

Image 108926240 (Shutterstock)

When Smoke Gets In Your Eyes

Normally, the view from our front window is a spectacular vista of Mt. Adams. Even on a cloudy day we can usually see at least an outline of the mountain. Not today. Due to the massive wildfires burning throughout the West, there is so much smoke that it is hard to even imagine our mountain. There's no way around it, the smoke is terrible. As in hell is burning terrible. Everyone is talking about it. Eyes are burning, vision is cloudy, throats are sore, hearts are stressed, lungs are taxed, heads are aching, and spirits are waning.

The pervasive smoke has gotten me thinking about how often our own vision is clouded by the smoke of the fires burning in our own personal forests. We run to put out one fire after another, leaving smoking embers in our wake, never stepping back to ask ourselves what our forests need to be healthy. The thing is, fires are a necessary part of the ecological process that keep timberlands healthy. One way to do that is to ignore the forest until one day a lightening strike or the strike of an arsonist's match sets the whole thing ablaze. When we can't see the forest for the trees, that is often the way it goes. The other option is through something called a prescribed burn, a fire intentionally set to burn away that which is getting in the way of a healthy and sustainable woodland. Rather than resources poured into disaster management, it is an investment in the future. 

The Mt. Adams Community Forest, one year after a prescribed burn overseen by Mt. Adams Resource Stewards.

Our lives are no different. Periodically burning away that which no longer serves us, clutters our landscapes, and consumes precious resources is the only way to create a healthy environment in which we can continue to thrive and grow. 

I'm thinking about what needs to be carefully, and thoughtfully burned away in my life. How about in yours?

The Difference Between Giving In & Giving Up

"It does not matter how slowly you go as long as you do not stop."

~ Confucius

Last year I climbed Mt. Adams. Together with my husband Tom and two dear and fearless friends, we made the climb to the top, and I'm not sure I've ever felt stronger in all of my 65 years. We had strategically trained to make it to the summit with hikes of increasing difficulty and elevation, time on treadmills, strength training, (mostly) clean eating, and visualizing ourselves at the top. Standing on what felt like the top of the world, I felt like I was at the top of my game. The strength I felt that day stayed with  me, and I began to imagine more hikes, more backpacking, maybe even a pilgrimage or two. I didn't, however, imagine myself back at the top of the mountain, because we did happen to get lost on the way down, and spent an unexpected night on the mountain. It was like laying in our driveway.  We shivered in the 29 degree temperature under space blankets, watched the Perseid meteor shower, and waited for the day to dawn. It. Was. Epic.

Sometime after the new year I was working out in the gym, determined to keep increasing my strength and stamina for all of the trails and adventures still ahead. Everything was going according to plan until one day when I was attempting to stand up from a cross legged seated position without any assistance. The reason I wanted to do it is because I had read somewhere that NOT being able to do it is one of 10 signs that you might die early. I  had been done it once after all of the training for Mt. Adams, but I wanted to keep the odds in my favor. As I stood up, something happened. I wasn't sure what, but it wasn't good. Over the next few weeks things continued to deteriorate, and I was in constant pain. It hurt to sit. It hurt to walk. It hurt to lay down. It hurt just looking out the window at Mt. Adams, much less imagining ever making it to the top again. 

Working with what I can only describe as my AMAZING care team, it was determined that the ligaments supporting my pelvis were injured and overstretched, and my pelvis had become unstable.  As it turns out, the road to recovery is long, the steps I've had to take are small, and the pace I've had to set is slow. Painstakingly slow. When the pain set in, so did the discouragement, and I began to wonder if I'd ever be able to walk without pain, much less hike again. If I'd be able to push myself at the gym and get the good endorphins of a good workout. More than a few times I wanted to ignore the pain and push harder. More than a few times, I wanted to just give up.

What I finally came to understand is that there is a difference between giving in and giving up. In order to get well, in order to heal and regain my strength, I had to give in to the reality of my situation. The process of healing and regeneration, stability and strength could only happen if I accepted the only road to my recovery. Small steps + Slow pace = Steady progress.

What I didn't have to do was give up on what might be possible. Wrapping my arms around the truth of my injury set me free to begin working with what I had to work with. Once again I was reminded that it is the truth that sets us free. 

I'm not there yet, but I'm getting closer. 

Remember that giving in to what is, doesn't mean giving up to what can be. It is the first step towards what is possible.

Onward and upward.

Maybe even to the top of Mt. Adams again.