Elder + Connector + Writer
When it comes to cultivating gratitude, what we focus on...
…determines what we miss.
While I haven’t mastered the art of it yet, it seems to me that gratitude is a choice, and happiness is the result.
Make something marvelous.
Create a compelling story about it.
Share the story with those who want to hear it.
That’s how it works.
Take Pop’s Eggnog for example. As I wrote in a recent post, this marvelous holiday concoction has been a tradition in our family dating back to the 1930’s, when Pop (my dad) and a few fraternity brothers made a batch together. Fast forward to November 19, 2018, and that same eggnog is being served up at Solstice Wood Fire Cafe & Bar, a kick-ass establishment that serves up food and drink that showcase the best local and seasonal Gorge and Pacific Northwest ingredients. Said establishment also happens to be managed by Pop’s youngest granddaughter.
Solstice decided to offer Pop’s Eggnog and share the story of how it made its way from a kitchen in a fraternity house more than 80 years ago, to the kitchen of one of the Columbia River Gorge’s most beloved restaurants. They’ve made something marvelous. The’ve created a short, but compelling story about it. They’ve shared that story with those who want to hear it.
And Pop’s Eggnog? It’s flying off the shelves.
That’s how it works.
Here’s the thing: What worked for Pop’s Eggnog can work for us too.
Make something marvelous. It doesn’t have to change the whole world, just the world of those who want what we have to offer.
Create a compelling story about it. It doesn’t have to resonate with everyone, just with those who want what we have to offer.
Share the story. It doesn’t have to reach every audience, just the audience that wants what we have to offer.
That’s how it works.
New Year’s resolutions have been around for thousands of years, and while many of us seem to make them, not so many of us seem to actually accomplish what we set out to do. Or not do. Whether you are a fan of making some sort of promise to yourself as the calendar turns over to another year or not, there seems to be a cultural expectation that we make one. 2019 is looming large, and it can be easy to consider the current year a done deal. Too soon to set our resolutions for the year about to begin, and too late to make any for the one about to end.
But this morning it dawned on me that there are still 38 days left in 2018, and in order to have a sense of contentment and satisfaction about ending this year well, I’ve decided to start a new tradition: An Old Year’s Resolution.
When the shotguns go off in our little valley at midnight on December 31, 2018, what would I like to be true?
What would I like to have accomplished?
Done?
Not done?
Grabbed hold of?
Let go of?
If I had the courage, what would I do before ringing in another year?
In his poem, Start Close In, David Whyte writes:
Start close in,
don’t take the second step
or the third,
start with the first
thing
close in,
the step
you don’t want to take.
An Old Year’s Resolution is a chance to start close in. To take that first step. The one we’d rather jump over and get on to the next steps. The one we’ve known we need to take, but haven’t found our way to do actually take it.
What is the step I don’t want to take? I’ll take that one.
What is the step you don’t want to take? Maybe you’ll take that one.
There’s still time.
38 days to be exact.
Whenever we walk our local wildlife refuge, a mandatory stop along the way is the viewing platform. Located at about the halfway point of a three-mile loop, from that vantage point we might catch a glimpse of one of the local elk herds, pairs of Sandhill Cranes, flocks of waterfowl, and on a clear day, a straight shot at Mt. Adams, known to Native Americans as Pahto.
The viewing platform is a spot to pause and take in a larger view than what is visible along the forest trail, and while we don’t always hit the wildlife spotting jackpot, the view is always worth the trip.
Time on that simple structure is a chance to gain perspective, and see one’s life as a small part in the bigger scheme of things. It is an opportunity to catch sight of something that takes our breath away and inspires us to imagine new possibilities. Or, on a foggy day, only hints at what might lay just beyond our sight. A few moments on the platform provide a brief respite to gather our strength, and it is a place to leave behind the old in order to make room for something new.
We all need a viewing platform from which to consider our small part in the bigger scheme of things. And from that place, we can remember where we’ve been, and set our sights on the trail ahead.
Conboy Wildlife Refuge, Thanksgiving morning, 2018
“Gratitude is the way home.”
Brené Brown
Most years, Thanksgiving means a houseful of people, an abundance of cooks in the kitchen, and little ones in the midst of it all. We subscribe to the-more-the-merrier philosophy, and most years we are more than merry.
This year however, it will be just the two of us, and we couldn’t be more thankful. Not because we don’t want everyone gathered here, but because everyone will be gathered exactly where they are supposed to be.
All four of our daughters and their families are celebrating this Thanksgiving in the way that is the very best for them. Rather than disappointment, my heart is filled with gratitude for their hard-earned wisdom to discern what will serve them well. Instead of trying to please us or anyone else, I am thankful that they are courageous enough to please themselves. Rather than sadness at their absence, I am grateful for the abundant love of my marriage.
Gratitude comes in all shapes and sizes, and if we can get let go of our expectations about how things should be, we can grab hold of the goodness in how things actually are.
This morning my sister shared her approach to the holiday season now upon us. She has decided to choose a word to describe how she would like to experience this meaning-laden, complicated time of the year.
One word that would help guide her decisions, thoughts, and actions on a daily, and even a moment-by-moment, basis.
Like a mantra, this word would protect her mind from the onslaught of thoughts that tell her what her holiday season should be, inspiring her instead to imagine what it could be.
Like a star shining brightly on a holy night, this word would guide her steps.
This one word would be the filter through which she will run all of her decisions, and she is committed to making choices that will keep her true to her chosen word…
JOY
After spending a day which included trips to Costco, New Season’s Market, a liquor store, and Target, I’ve decided I need a word of my own.
Like a star shining brightly on a holy night, this word will guide my steps, and keep me true to my chosen word…
PEACE
As you cast your eye to the other side of these long winter nights, what one word, like a star shining brightly will guide your steps?
In the early 1930’s, James Clinton Davis was a student at Oregon State and a member of the Phi Delta Theta fraternity. One year he and a few of his fraternity brothers decided to ring in the holiday with a batch of homemade eggnog. Affectionately known to his friends as Clink, and his grandchildren as Pop, he was also my dad. Originally whipped up on a whim by a bunch of fraternity brothers, our family has been making Pop’s Eggnog ever since.
For as long as I can remember, making, drinking and sharing this family nog has marked every Christmas with a tradition as sweet and rich as that first sip. My earliest memories include loading up the family car on Christmas Eve with precious jars of the stuff, and heading out to go, as Pop called it, “Christmas Calling”, to deliver liquid goodwill to good friends and neighbors. Later that same night, after attending their candlelight Christmas service, dear family friends would ring the doorbell, and over glasses of Pop’s eggnog, always topped with freshly grated nutmeg, we would ring in the earliest hours of a new Christmas Day.
As life goes, looking back, some years were better than others, and some were downright painful and hard. But Pop’s Eggnog? It was always the same. Rich, sweet, tasty, and delicious. It tasted as good when we were down on our luck as it did when we were in the chips.
Pop is gone, but his eggnog and the memories gathered over the years of making, drinking, and sharing it live on. Every year, it is made, sipped, and shared by our family, now spread out in towns and cities near and far.
And today, Pop’s Eggnog is officially being served, topped of course with freshly ground nutmeg, to welcome in another holiday season at Solstice Woodfire Cafe & Bar in Hood River, Oregon, which is managed by Pop’s youngest granddaughter.
Traditions matter, and in times of turmoil, uncertainty, and stress, they can remind us that there are some things that can always be counted on no matter what. Like Pop’s Eggnog.
Cheers Pop!
As I write this, my 2 1/2 year old grand boy is sleeping. On this gorgeous quiet Sunday, we’ve spent the day just hanging together, and in just a few short hours, here is what I’ve already learned from him.
The importance of play.
No matter what our age, play is good for almost everything that ails us. It reminds us to take life and ourselves a little less seriously.
The importance of finding something we love so much that we can’t help but practice it.
For him, that is golf. Nothing makes him happier than some time with his driver, a few golf balls, and a patch of grass.
The importance of picking up after ourselves.
Whether that means our toys or our clothes, our mistakes or our hurtful words, cleaning things up and clearing the air is our work to do.
The importance of nourishment.
Whether a tiny human or those of us further down the trail, we all need food for the journey, and a well balanced diet feeds body, mind, and spirit.
The importance of growth.
Plotting this little human’s growth since his last trip here reminded me that learning and growing never stop. Or at least they don’t have to.
The importance of standing on our own two feet.
We are not meant to live in the shadow of others, but to find our own solid ground from which to cast our own.
The importance of rest.
Life requires a lot, and bringing our best selves to the party can only happen when we build in times of rest.
Speaking of rest, I hear a little voice calling. I can’t wait to find out what else he has to teach me.
Out of the mouth of babes…
“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.
“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?
MOLLY DAVIS is the founder of Trailhead Coaching & Consulting. She writes about lessons and adventures from the trail, and knows from firsthand experience that sometimes the only way to discover where you want to be, is to get lost where you don't. If you enjoyed this post, please feel free to pass it along.
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