Hidden Gems

Last night we had dinner at a little restaurant nearby, and it was fabulous. But that wasn’t what we were expecting.

We are staying a bit outside of the Munich city center, and an abundance of good food hasn’t been in evidence. Not ready to succumb to another overpriced Schnitzel, or an underpriced one for that matter, I spent a little time researching options within walking distance, and this one showed up on the radar screen. It was Italian. It had me at “No Schnitzel.”  

Without Siri’s help, we could have easily missed it, as it was located next to a laundromat, in a modest, ordinary residential neighborhood, with an entrance that was well below street level. All underwhelming indicators to say the least.

Then we went inside and sat down. 

The food was heavenly, the service refined, the wine divine.

This place was a hidden gem. It wasn’t just the food either, although that was top notch. It was the people that took it up an even further notch. Our server was quietly attentive, and extended gracious and generous hospitality, without an ounce of pretense. The owner made it a point to connect with us over the course of the evening, and she struck me as a no nonsense straight shooter, with a big heart and a passion for serving up incredible food. She oversees everything, and the recipes are all hers. Mid-bite I was reminded of the words a good friend inscribed in a cookbook.. “Cooking is an act of love. Pass it on.”  Last night, there was love in every bite that came out of that underground kitchen, next to a laundromat, in an ordinary, modest residential neighborhood.

An extraordinary gem hidden beneath everyday ordinariness.

I wonder how many people walk past the stairs leading down to that establishment, and have no idea what they are missing.  

I wonder what we walk past in our daily rounds, having no idea what we are missing.  

I wonder who we walk past, having no idea who we are missing.

I wonder what we’ve forgotten about ourselves, having no idea what we are missing. 

I wonder what gems are hidden all around us, just waiting to be found. 

Let the treasure hunt begin. 

Where The Heart Is

Love is like a home for your heart.

This thought first occurred to me as I was preparing to give a toast at one of our daughter’s pre-wedding dinners. While at the time I was thinking about love in the context of a marriage, the same holds true in any relationship where love resides. 

 Like any home, the shared dwelling place for our heart is best built working from a good design, on a strong foundation, and with quality materials. 

A good design takes into account the needs of those inhabiting the space. Expansive enough for all to breathe and have room to roam, and yet intimate enough for the close encounters that create intimate connection.

A strong foundation provides solid footing. It is the deep, load-bearing understructure that helps  ensure that the home can withstand the inevitable storms that will blow through the relationship.

Quality materials take into account both form and function, and work together using the unique stuff of those involved to build a love that is both beautiful and practical.

Having built our first house 10 years ago, we learned a lot about home building. The more thought that goes into how you want to inhabit it, and what you want to have happen there, the more likely you are to build a place to call home.

The same holds true for a relationship. 

Even with great design, a firm foundation, and the best of materials, if you live in a home long enough, some changes will be in order. The space that once worked no longer does. Stuff breaks, and things get scratched, warped, worn thin, and outlive their usefulness. Clutter accumulates. So it’s  back to the drawing board you go. A wall taken out here, a few windows added there, new color on the walls, repairing what is broken, and throwing out what is no longer needed.  

The same holds true for a relationship.

Whether talking about a marriage, a friendship, a family, or, dare I say it, a workplace, when we make the effort to build a home within which love can both dwell and grow, there’s no place like it.

Traveling Mercies Part 2,3, and maybe 4

Sometimes life’s a bitch and you just want to slap her. But then you remember why you’re here. To love, help, and heal the world that is within your reach.

Or at the very least, like the Hippocratic oath suggests, “to do no harm.”

Today, wow did I want to slap her silly. After months of planning, anticipating, and dreaming of this long awaited trip Across the Pond, we arrived at the airport, only to find that the first class seats we had booked were no longer ours. Apparently the plane originally intended for our flight had 28 such seats. The one that is actually waiting for us at our gate has 16. Someone, somewhere, randomly decided that we, along with 10 other passengers, could move a little closer to the back of the airbus.

We’d decided to cash in all of our mileage chips for our seats because (A) It is a retirement celebration for Tom and his glorious career, and (B) I’ve been rehabbing my hip and the ability to actually lay down for a good portion of the overnight flight would “do no harm.”. Sitting is harder than almost anything.

The agents at the gate were gracious and kind messengers of a disappointing message. I’d hate to have their job. As we were about to board the plane we learned that we had been downgraded even further, and found ourselves shuffling even farther to the back of the plane. The good news? We were closer to the bathroom. The bad news? We were closer to the bathroom. 

To say that some of our fellow travelers were more than a little ticked off is putting it mildly, and in many ways, I can’t say that I blame them. Getting anywhere is hard enough without any additional troubles. But as I consider where we are headed, and the fact that in a few days we will be standing in the midst of the horror that was Dachau, it is hard to take this all too seriously. 

Tonight as we settle our road-weary selves into our sweet Airbnb in Munich I can’t be anything but grateful. Our hosts met us at the curb, helped us in with our luggage, and took groceries out of their own car so that we could end our day enjoying a little wine, salami and crackers....well...mercy me.

As I said in my earlier post, Traveling Mercies, we are, all of us, trying to make our way from here to there, hopefully as best we can. That includes the gate agents, our fellow travelers, and the somebody, somewhere who decided who would get what seat.

Traveling mercies my friends.

Traveling mercies.

Labor and Delivery

As I write this, it is the day after Labor Day, a holiday held in honor of working people. The observance has a complex history that sheds light on how we work and in what conditions. It is a day with deep economic and political roots that continue to play out in human experience. But is easy for the meaning of the day to get lost in the BBQ, Labor Day Sale, and last hurrah camping trip shuffle.

I've given birth to two baby humans. Because I chose to attempt childbirth without the pain numbing drugs, I felt every contraction. There is a reason they call them labor pains. While the memory of the actual pain is long gone, I still remember my actual experiences of childbirth in technicolor clarity. In both cases, there was a particular point in time when it felt like progress had come to a screeching halt. The contractions, however, had not, and continued with a vengeance. Even though giving up wasn't an actual option, it was all I wanted to do. It felt like I was working hard, but to no avail.  Exhaustion and discouragement began to settle in, and just when I was sure I couldn't keep going, my labor and delivery nurse looked me in the eye, took my hand and guided it down until it rested on top of something warm and wet and soft. "Molly, that's the top of your baby's head. A few more pushes and you will be holding a little human in your arms." In the midst of all of my labor, I had forgotten who I was working so hard to deliver.  She reminded me.

We aren't meant to labor in vain. 

Our hard work is  meant to be fruitful.

We need to remember to what ends we are working. 

Every now and then it helps to touch the top of the baby's head.

Photo: Jeff Berend

Traveling Mercies

" What do we live for, if not to make life less difficult for each other?"

- George Elliot

Whenever anyone in our family heads out on a trip, we send one another on their way with a prayer for "Traveling Mercies". A hope for encounters with the kindness of strangers as we encounter the inevitable bumps on our way from here to there. I love the term, and first heard it when I read Ann Lamott's gem, Traveling Mercies: Some Thoughts on Faith.  

 Whether traveling by planes, trains, or automobiles, getting where we're going is an exercise in grace, as we find ourselves at the mercy of almost everything. The weather. The traffic. The TSA. Overbooked flights. Underwhelming airplane meals. You name it. We're at its mercy.

And, we are at the mercy of one another. 

Years ago I was traveling for work. On an airplane bound for the other coast, we began to experience bumpy air. It wasn't too bad at first, and while not a phobic flyer, I'm not a huge fan of turbulence of any sort. The captain came on, ordered the flight attendants to return to their seats (never a good sign), and advised us that we were in for a rough ride. As I was white knuckling it in my seat, I heard someone crying across the aisle. Unclenching my eyes I looked over to find a young woman about the age of my own daughters. She was shaking uncontrollably, and for the briefest of moments, her fear helped me forget my own. Defying the captain's orders, and my own good sense, I unbuckled my seat belt and lurched across the aisle into the open center seat next to her. I pried her fingers off of her arm-wrest and laced them together with my own.  I didn't try and talk her out of her fear. A fat lot of good that does anyway in case you're so inclined. I didn't try and talk some reason into her by reminding her that planes are built to withstand almost anything that comes their way. An even fatter lot of good that does. And I didn't tell her it was all going to be OK, since I was pretty sure we were headed for a fiery death myself. We just clung to one another for dear life, and the tighter we held on to each other, the more the vicegrip of fear loosened its hold. 20 minutes later I was back in my seat. We didn't exchange names and phone numbers, didn't chatter about our lives back home. We just tried our best to sit back, relax, and enjoy the rest of the flight. I got off the plane grateful for a fellow traveler who helped me weather my storm, by letting me help her weather hers.

I think about that experience every time I get on a plane. 

We are all just trying to make our way from here to there, hopefully, as best we can.

Traveling mercies my friends. 

Traveling mercies.

Photo by Tom Pierson

Travel Lightly

"Everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms—to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s own way."

~ Viktor Frankl

My husband and I are getting ready to head Across the Pond for a long planned and highly anticipated trip to Denmark and Germany. In Denmark, we will be revisiting an earlier chapter of my husband Tom's life, where he spent his senior year in high school as an exchange student. Along with sleeping in the same house that was, and still is, the country home of his host family, he will have a chance to re-kindle his fluency in Danish, renew old friendships, and eat his weight in pickled herring. I'm looking forward to all of the above. I love to crawl into any bed with him, he's especially sexy when he speaks Danish, (which is crazy, because to my ear, it mostly sounds like he is clearing his throat), and the only reason I eat the herring is to follow it with the customary shot  of Aalborg Aquavit, a 90-proof, caraway flavored distilled spirit. 

The trip to Germany,  however, will have a different flavor to it, as one of our main reasons for going there is to spend time at Dachau. One year in college I took a J-Term course called The Holocaust in Jewish Literature. For a month we steeped ourselves in  Viktor Frankl and Elie Wiesel. We read Ann Frank's Diary of a Young Girl  and The Hiding Place by Corrie Ten Boom. Ever since then, I've had a deep need to stand in the midst of one of the darkest periods in recent history. 

Our time in each country will be, in a sense, historical pilgrimages. One a chance to savor a rich time in the life of the man that I love. The other, a choice to swallow the bitter taste of death and the kind of destruction that can result when evil and fear-mongering hatred are let loose in the world. 

Both experiences feel important and laden with meaning. And they are.

Both experiences feel weighty. And they are.

To that end, I've thought long and hard about how to make the most out of this trip. 

So it was fascinating when two trusted friends, independent of one another, suggested that I "travel lightly". 

How does one travel lightly, even when visiting Dachau?

I'm not sure.

But I think it has to do with leaving behind expectations and preconceived ideas, and making room for wonder and surprise no matter where we are.

Shutterstock Image 393313726

Commonalities

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

~ Senator John McCain

Throughout my career, a large percentage of my work has been facilitating learning in the workplace. The format is often a one-day workshop, and classes are filled with individuals who may not know one another well, if at all, and the desire to be there falls anywhere on the spectrum from enthusiastic and eager, to detached and disinterested. Much of the potential learning comes from the wisdom in the room, and the willingness of the people in that room to engage in conversation with one another. Therefore, one of my most important responsibilities is to get people talking to one another as soon as possible.

One of my favorite tools to accomplish this is an exercise called *Commonalities.

It goes like this. 

I divide participants  into small groups of 4-5, and instruct them to find something that they all have in common. Easy, right? But then I give them the caveat. It has to be something that is really interesting. For example, if everyone had a childhood hobby, that might be sweet. But it's not particularily interesting. However, if they all raised and raced pigeons (like my husband)? Well now that's pretty darn interesting. The pigeon racers would have so much to talk about. What distance did their pigeons race? (Anywhere from 75-600 miles) They could share their best pigeon soothing techniques, and take turns imitating pigeon coos. 

I give the groups work 10 minutes to see if they can find something in common, and for the first few minutes it's apparent that no one knows where to start. There is a lot of uncomfortable silence and awkward shifting in their seats. Eventually, someone in each group dares to go first, and the room begins to change. Standing back, I can actually feel the energy begin to shift. Conversations become animated. Laughter erupts. People actually lean in towards one another. Often times groups can find something that a few of the people have in common, but not everybody. At this point I try to let them go a little longer as it has become obvious that they want to find that something that they all have in common. The wisdom in the room begins to kick in as they sense that if they just dig a little deeper, they will find it. And they almost always do. People have discovered commonalities in experiences ranging from spending a night lost in the wilderness to spending a night in jail. Others have found a shared passion for line dancing, while  others have a mutual fear of small things in large numbers. Some find that they are all children of college professors, while still others uncover the fact that they are each the first in their families to graduate from college. Regardless of what they find, whatever it is creates a thread of connection that they didn't know they had when they came into the room. With these new connections, all of which are grounded in common experience, the participants learn with one another, and from one another.  

Inside of the classroom or out in the world, we are at our best when we can learn with one another, and learn from one another. In a time of increased polarization, finding commonalities in the midst of our differences has never been more important. We are all story tellers at heart, and we see ourselves in one another's stories.

Dare to go first.

Tell your story.

Lean in towards one another. 

Who knows? Maybe you will find something really interesting that you have in common with one another. Like a group in one of my classes where every one had pulled the head off of, and plucked a chicken. Go figure.

* Thank you Joel Sinclair for sharing Commonalities with me. It is a tool that sheds light on that which connects us to one another.

Phone-a-Friend

 

"Winter, spring, summer or fall

All you have to do is call

And I'll be there, yes, I will

You've got a friend."

~Carol King

Years ago my best friend and I developed a strategy to keep in touch. We were both raising young families, and living a four hour drive away from one another the phone (the kind that hangs on the wall) was our best option. It was back in the day of long distance charges, and both being a little short on spare change, we came up with a plan. We called it Ring-Once-And- Hang-Up, and it worked just like it sounds. Whenever either one of us needed some support, were having a rough day, were having an especially good day, or just plain missed one another, we would call the other person and then hang up after one ring. Whether our phones rang off the hook, one ring at a time of course, or didn't ring at all on a particular day, that plan was a lifesaver. On the days we never called, just knowing we could kept us going. On the days that we did, in the silence following that one ring we could hear one another's voice, feel one another's love, and be reminded that despite the distance, we were not alone. 

In the game show Who Wants To Be A Millionaire, contestants are given three lifelines, one of which is called Phone-a-Friend. Contestants can use this option to call a friend or relative to get their input on the correct answer to the question before them. Contestants usually try and reserve their lifelines for later use, since the stakes go up as the game goes on.

That sounds a lot like life to me. When we're faced with the inevitable dilemmas, not sure which path to choose, uncertain which option best connects who we are with how we want to live, the good input of a good friend is always a good idea. Today alone I've used my Phone-a-Friend lifeline several times, connecting with friends and family to get input on the right answers to the questions before me. And I've had several people use their lifeline to call me.

In the game of life, the friends who are our lifelines are some of our most valuable lines of defense. When the stakes are high, it's good to have a friend to phone. Even if we only ring once and hang up.

Written with gratitude for those on the other end of my phone line.

Morning Glory

"Morgenstund hat Gold im Mund".

German proverb

Apparently, last night I inadvertently changed the setting on my alarm. After it went off this morning, I was up with coffee water heating and bed made before I realized that it was only 4:30. By that time I was too awake to go back to bed, and my French press coffee had steeped the required four minutes and was ready to press and pour. By 4:35 I was out on the front porch in the pre-dawn darkness with my steaming cup of coffee. In the kind of quiet that only comes before the sun makes her appearance, I remembered the treasures of the early morning hours. I'm a morning girl. Always have been. There is, for me, something good that happens as a new day breaks.

In the movie adaptation of J.R.R. Tolkien's The Two Towers, as hope fades for those who have been fighting in the Battle of Helm's Deep, Gandalf sets out to find and bring back reinforcements. Reinforcements that will be necessary if the fight for Middle Earth is to be won. As he leaves, Gandalf famously tells Aaragorn, "Look to my coming at first light on the fifth day. At dawn, look to the east."

Lately, I've gotten a little lazy about being up in time to pan for the morning gold. A little later to bed, a little bit more email, a little social media check-in, a little more Netflix, a little more mindless wanderings, all of which makes it a little easier to sleep a little longer. Without time to mine for the gold hidden in the silence, stillness, solitude and spaciousness of the morning, it is a little harder to be the better me that I seek to be.

There are reinforcements that arrive, like clockwork, every morning. But if I miss the hour, I miss what that hour has to offer. 

The morning has gold in its mouth.

Is This Mine To Do?

When we are in relationship with other people, it can be tempting to protect them from the work that is theirs to do. Rather than allow them to come face to face with themselves, we step between them and their "stuff". Doing this can certainly stem from our well intentioned desire to lessen their pain, fear, and discomfort. But it can also come from our desire to protect ourselves from the possibility that they won't choose to show up and do what it takes. Either way, we are getting in their way. 

It isn't that we have to go it alone. Part of being in relationship is a willingness to bear witness to, and be present for one another in the midst of the messy business of becoming who we want to be.

Others can't do my work for me, and I can't do theirs. But sometimes our solitary work is best done together.