The Hose We Step On

 “Letting go gives us freedom, and freedom is the only condition for happiness. If, in our heart, we still cling to anything – anger, anxiety, or possessions – we cannot be free.” Thich Nhat Hanh

If you are anything like me, it is so very easy to get in our own way.  To hang on too tightly. To listen to the voice of fear, and then choose to believe it. To project ourselves into the worst case scenario, and then proceed to live there. Or, as my favorite (ok, my only) brother-in-law irreverently and succinctly puts it, we step on our own hose.  

All of these self-protective maneuvers do one thing, and one thing only. They stop us in our tracks. Hunkered down in our self-made bunkers, imprisoned in the midst of our fear, uncertainty, and desire for control, we forget that we hold the keys to our own freedom. But we are clinging so tightly to our imagined control that our hands aren’t free to grasp them.  

When stuck in our own muck, as my favorite (ok, my one and only) sister says, it’s time to make friends with the truth. It’s time to take stock of exactly where we are, and exactly what we have to work with. Armed with the truth, even if we don’t like it, we can begin to cast our eyes to the necessary road ahead, and as we envision the light at the end of our tunnel, it becomes the beacon towards which we walk. One step at a time, taken as quickly as we can manage and with as much courage as we can muster, we create momentum in the right direction. Add to that a  few trusted souls in our camp, and we are on our way.

The antidote to fear is the truth, and the truth sets us free to take action.

It’s as simple as that, and as hard as it gets.  

Onward. 

Upward. 

Together. 

Causes For Hope

 “Hope, like every virtue, is a choice that becomes a practice that becomes spiritual muscle memory. It’s a renewable resource for moving through life as it is, not as we wish it to be.” —Krista Tippett

At the end of her interviews, Krista Tippett, host of the On Being podcast, has taken to asking her guests some form of the following question:

What is giving you cause for hope right now?

With dire warnings from U.N. Scientists that we have little more than a decade to get climate change under control, the deadly California wildfires, widening political divides, and toxic tweets meant to fuel fear and incite anger, it seems a question especially relevant to our times. When we train our attention on all of the individual and collective problems around us, it is far too easy to lose hope. Since hope deferred makes the heart sick (Proverbs 13:6), and if, as Ms. Tippett suggests, hope can become a practice that becomes a resource for living with the life we have, I’ve decided hers is a question worth answering on a daily basis. Maybe you would like to join me.

As I have embarked on this new spiritual practice, my eyes are beginning to glimpse causes for hope everywhere, and in unexpected places. 

The Lyft driver who fled Vietnam decades ago, who has a business that exports old plastic fishing nets used on commercial fishing boats back to his home country where they are put to use by fishermen there. When no longer useable, they are melted down and reused to manufacture other goods. Prior to his business, many of those nets were simply discarded into the ocean. 

The new wave of young women elected to political offices around the country. 

Young parents in our family raising their little boys to give words to their feelings, and their little girls to speak up for themselves.

A school educating girls to think critically, lead confidently, and live honorably. 

Girls who code. 

Climbing hills pain free after almost a year of slow but steady rehab. 

And, true confession, the Seattle Seahawks beating the Green Bay Packers. 

What is giving you cause of hope right now? 

Not My Shoes

When someone we know goes through something difficult, it can be tempting to assume that how they feel in the midst of it is the same as what we would feel were we in their shoes. But we’re not.

Because we think we know how they are feeling, we assume we know what they need to do. But we don’t.

Years ago when I made the decision to leave my marriage I met with one of the pastors of our church. It was hands-down the hardest decision I’d ever made for a whole host of reasons, not the least of which was the poor light in which the church cast divorce. That being said, I felt certain of my decision, and hopeful for a different future. But sittting in his office I braced myself for  his words, expecting to hear that while he might understand how I was feeling, he needed to help me see the error of my ways  and how I could remedy them. However, after a few quiet moments, he simply said, I know what I am supposed to say, but I haven’t walked in your shoes. How are you feeling today? How can I best help you?

I’ve never forgotten that experience. Rather than burdening me with his expectations, he lightened the load of my experience. When someone is in the midst of the inevitable pain that comes with life, they are most in need of our quiet presence and a few simple words.

 I know what I am supposed to say, but I haven’t walked in your shoes. How are you feeling today? How can I best help you?

With gratitude to DR for knowing that we wore different shoes.

Walk This Way?

At the airport I almost always take the old-fashioned route to the gate. In other words, I walk under my own power rather than hopping on the moving walkway. Part of the reason is admittedly to get a bit more exercise, but it also scratches my itch to exercise my own free will.

It is so easy to fall in line with the crowd, to allow someone, or in this case, something, to dictate how to get from here to there. To take the expected route. To let the majority rule on how we do what. To allow group think to crowd out our own good thoughts.

Three of our daughters were married over the course of four years, and if ever there was a temptation to jump on to a moving walkway, that was it. Thankfully, we didn’t. Once we were done celebrating the news of each engagement, we engaged in a conversation about how to go about planning the wedding. Our way.  We actually talked about how we are the kind of family that walks to the airline gate rather than jumping on the walkway. While both end up at the same destination, the trip from here to there makes all the difference.

The weddings were spectacular, each in their own way, just like our daughters, and getting there was like a choose-your-own-adventure book. Weddings are but one example of the moving walkways that tempt us to jump on and take someone else’s ride. Does everyone need to go to college? Is choosing a life without children really less fulfilling or meaningful? Does your baby need to meet each milestone at the right time in order to be on the right developmental tract? Does patriotism have to mean standing for the anthem? If you don’t buy a house are you destined to miss the American Dream?

The next time we are tempted to step onto the moving walkway, let’s consider what we might miss by not making our own way there.  

Photo: NicoElNino, Shutterstock

Broken Records

Sometimes I know that I sound like a broken record, but then I guess there are some things that are worth repeating. My dad was a broken record.

Remember who you are and what you stand for.

If I heard that once, I heard it several thousand times. And so did everyone else who knew and loved him, and some who didn’t know him and if they did, they probably wouldn’t have loved him. I got tired of hearing it, and there were times I wanted to throw the nearest sharp object at him for saying it. But you know what? It stuck, and those words spoken to me, over me, and around me, have gone a long way toward helping me to become a better version of myself. There are things for which I’ve thrown my dad under the bus, but these words are not one of them. I will alway be on board the bus with him on this one. 

Recently I’ve begun to hear my own broken record. Like my dad’s words, mine are short, not-so-sweet, and to the point.

Do the work.

Simply stated, it means choosing over and over and over again, to do the hard work of becoming your best, most authentic and wholehearted self.

Do the work. 

It means uncovering our wounds (we all have them) and doing what it takes to heal them, and turn them into scars. It means sitting with our pain, anger, grief, and all of the other shadow emotions, and learning from them rather than running from them. It means asking ourselves what we are currently carrying with us that needs to be dealt with and left behind, so as to move into whatever is next with more love, compassion, freedom, and peace. It means admitting when we are wrong, and making amends. It means learning how to apologize and mean it not justify it. It means having the hard conversations and doing the deep listening. Again, and again, and again.

Do the work. 

It means figuring out what makes us tick, and what triggers us. It means taking ownership for everything in our lives. Every. Single. Thing. Not that we are responsible for everything that has happened to us, or for the wrongs committed to us by others, but that we are responsible for what we do with what we’ve got.  

Do the work.

It means finding the professional help to support our efforts. At the risk of sounding like another broken record, we all need professional help to become our best selves. Every. Single. One. Of. Us. Depending on the circumstances, that might mean a therapist, psychiatrist, coach or spiritual director, or some combination thereof.  

I’ve been heartened recently by examples of those doing their work, and heartbroken by examples of others who are not. When we do the work every one around us benefits, and when we don’t, everyone around us pays. Which is why, later today, I am grateful to be meeting with my spiritual director. I know I’m better when I do, and it’s better for everyone around me too. 

Some things are worth repeating. 

Let’s do the work. 

Intention

 “May I have the courage today

To live the life that I would love...”

(From To Bless the Space Between Us by John O’Donohue)  

The phrase “set your intention” gets thrown around enough that it can start to sound a little airy-fairy. A nice idea for those mindfulness gurus and meditators, but not very practical for the rest of us. Something to think about when away on a weekend yoga retreat, but not in the middle of our very full, and usually overcommitted lives.

I beg to differ. 

Today is my last day in Nashville, and before flying out tomorrow, my colleague and I had some important work to finish. There was enough pressure to get the necessary work done that it was tempting to just jump in and power through the list. However, we are also dear friends and wanted to wrap up our week together in a thoughtful way. Over coffee I suggested that we project ourselves to the end of the day and describe what we needed to accomplish to conclude our work, and equally important, how we wanted to feel when our time together came to a close. If that sounds strangely like that airy-fairy concept of setting our intention, you’re absolutely right.

Our answers came in short order. There were three specific work items to complete by the end of the day, and, we wanted to have a feeling of ease, space, and grace when we arrived there.

Long story short, we hit our mark.

Actually, both of them. The stuff we needed to get done, and the way we wanted to feel. 

It is easy for a day to get away from us. If not careful, before we know it, we’ve dragged ourselves across the finish line of another day, and while we know we were able to check the requisite things off of our list, that doesn’t necessarily equate to having had the kind of day we wanted or needed.

When we ask ourselves what we want to accomplish by the end of the day, and equally important, how we want to feel when we get there, we have a much better chance of hitting our mark.

Actually, both of them. 

If that sounds strangely like that airy-fairy concept of setting our intentions, you’re absolutely right.  

This is how I want to feel at the end of any day. 

A Star Is Born

Thirty-seven years ago my eldest daughter Haley was born.

I thought I knew the meaning of love before her arrival, but the vastness and depth of love that a heart can hold expanded beyond what I had ever imagined possible the moment I met her.

She took her sweet time getting here, which showed me that she had her own inner sense of timing that she could trust, and that I could too.  

Her innate sense of wonder and curiosity were evident from her first moments on the planet, as she turned her eyes from my face to look out into the world around her in our hospital room. That curiosity has never left, and has led her to explore the world in her own wild and wonderful ways.

She made the perfect decision when it came to the man with whom she would share life.

I know that I was a really good mom, but watching Haley love and nurture her two little boys, and I am over-the-moon in awe. 

She knows who she is and what she stands for. Her faith is her own, and she is willing to stand her ground for what she believes, and, she will walk shoulder to shoulder with any who want the world to be more loving, peaceful and just for all. 

There are many things that I admire in this first daughter, and chief among them are her compassionate heart, fierce loyalty, and deep intellect. Add to that a wicked sense of humor, love of the written word, pie baking passion, and deep love for mending our broken planet, and my mother-cup runneth over.

Happy Birthday Haley.

Our world and my heart are better because of you.

(And to my other three daughters...be ready when your next birthday rolls around. I can’t wait to write about you, because as you know...you are each, in your own way, my favorite!)

Captivated

Several months ago I made the commitment to a daily writing practice, and there are times when sitting down and trying to put words together well is the last thing I want to do.

I feel captive to the process.

Thankfully, more days than not, it is also one of my saving graces.

Faithfulness to a practice can be its own reward, reminding us of our determination, persistence, passion, and discipline. There are also, I’ve discovered, unexpected blessings to be found in staying true to our chosen course. One of the most surprising for me has been an expanded awareness of the present moment. Every day, images of extraordinary beauty in the midst of the ordinary, and creative expression in the middle of everyday circumstances catch my eye.

Rather than feeling captive to the daily practice, I find myself captivated by daily life.

Morning walk. Radnor Lake, Nashville TN

A trail for slow wanderings. 

A miniature display of equine grandeur...in a nail salon. 

Stairway to heaven (Bell tower stairs, Viborg Cathedral)

Your 2-3 Minute Story

On my way to Nashville to facilitate a meeting for a group of educators, I wrote about their Unbreakable Commitment to GIRLS in STEM Education. The meeting is over, and as I reflect back on my day spent with them, the power and inspiration from our day together did not stem from their knowledge, expertise, and competence, although they have all of those in spades. What carried the day was their stories.

Each person was asked to come prepared to share the 2-3 minute story behind their own Unbreakable Commitment. Throughout the day we would pause from the meeting agenda and invite another person to come take the floor, in front of their colleagues, and tell their story. As they gave voice to their individual stories, the collective commitment of those in the room grew stronger, and everyone left with a deterimination to continue to hone and tell their story to those that need to hear it. 

We are story tellers at heart, and we see ourselves in one another’s stories.  What is your 2-3 minute story? Who needs to hear it? 

Stories change the world. 

The world is in need of your story.

2-3 minutes is a great start. 

Sacred Texts

There’s a lot of talk about how much technology is getting in the way of real human-to-human connection, and In some cases, I couldn’t agree more. Text instead of talk, email instead of engage, emojis instead of actual emotions.

Technology greases the skids to taking the easy way out, and can be a way to hide behind the screen and avoid having the real conversation. You know the one. The one that’s asking you to have it. My own personal rule when considering sending a text or email to communicate something important, controversial, risky, or vulnerable is the following: Am I willing to look the person in the eye, or pick up the phone, and say exactly what I am about to say in this email or text? If the answer is “No.”, then I shouldn’t push that tempting little ‘send’ button. It doesn’t mean that it isn’t a conversation worth having. It probably means it’s important enough to actually have it.

All that being said, technology can foster human connection in ways never before possible. In my world there are text streams that go on between all manner of family members and friends, and that have in fact become sacred, safe spaces to share the real stuff of life. Sometimes hilarious and at other times raw and real, with the push of a button physical distance evaporates, human connection materializing in its place.

There are times when all we have the time or emotional capital for is a text, and that little ding signaling the arrival of a new message becomes a lifeline that says someone out there cares.

Some sacred texts are written on ancient scrolls.

Others with new fangled technology.