Category: Be Kind

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The mother within us

MotheringToday is Mother’s Day and I’m thankful to have both of my children with me. Whenever my boys visit, they shower me with love and endless mocking. Yes, you read that right, mocking. We were alone during their adolescent years and developed a way of interacting all our own. A little poking here and there, but all in love, all in fun. That’s continued as they got older, and I actually enjoy watching them collaborate and laugh about the typically mom things I do.

I’ve noticed, as they’ve gotten older, gone from being children to grown adults, that the relationship changes. Awkwardly. Any mom’s out there feeling that? They’re biologically wired to start pushing away from their mom in the later teen’s, and by then we might be ready to be done anyways, at least some of the time. They want to be an adult, they’re not ready to be an adult. It’s a push pull that can be hard to navigate. But we do. Because we’re mom’s.

Parenting an adult child can be challenging because, as mom’s, I believe we’re always slightly tethered to them. The feeling fluctuates, but, let’s be real, we grew them in our bodies. There’s a bond there like no other. But as adults, we have to let them live their own lives. There are lessons we can’t learn for them, that they have to experience on their own. It’s from those pains, the successes, that they grow, and become resilient, responsible individuals. Separate and apart from us. It’s their path.

It’s the same thing our own mothers went through, God bless them. I don’t know about any of you, but me, in the teenage years… I would have wanted to be done with me. Cranky, hormonal, snippy, not kind to my mother for several years. But she stuck in there. When I became a mother, I gained a new appreciation for my own. I also had a bonus mom, my stepmother, who was like a mother to me in an infinite number of ways. For both her and my own mother, I am beyond grateful. They put up with me, know me so well they call me on my crap, and love me, unconditionally. That’s what mom’s do.

At the same time, I am mindful today that not everyone has that experience. Mother’s are people, and they have their own “junk,” (yes, me too), that can interfere with healthy parenting. In this phase of life, midlife, each of us has a choice, to hold on to that baggage from childhood, or to forgive. Let go of the ongoing impact. I believe that people, mothers included, do not show up each day wanting to suck. They want to do their best. But sometimes they don’t know how, or they’re managing pressures we have no clue about, that we can’t even imagine. Forgive.

My heart also breaks today for those who have lost their mother. The natural progress of life leads us to that point as we age, but others lose their mothers far too early. In cruel and unexpected twists, mothers are taken, forever impacting the lives of their children. I think of Rachel Held Evans who lost her life last week after what started as a simple infection. She leaves two small children and her husband. Forever impacted. Because of her presence in the progressive Christian “space” (for lack of a better name), people are coming alongside her family, supporting them, loving them. But the impact will be long lasting. Our job, those of us who are fortunate to continue on, is to come alongside families like hers, and those who no longer have their mother. Because we have abundant love to share.

I’m reminded of the idea “it takes a village.” We celebrate our own mothers today or because we’re mothers, but it took a village to get us here. And it will continue to take a village. Women supporting other women, because that’s what we do. The circumstances may be different, but we come alongside, and we support. In a way, Mother’s Day is for all of us. I’m thankful for my village, for each of you, and wish you a happy mother’s day.

 

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You are loved

For God so loved the worldToday marks the beginning of the biggest week in the life of the church. Palm Sunday. The day that Jesus entered Jerusalem for the final period of his life leading up to Easter. When I visited Israel last year, we walked down the same path Jesus would have walked on that journey. Down a hill with a beautiful view of the gates of Jerusalem. It’s the beginning of the week that symbolizes the fulfillment of scripture, and brings to mind the verse, “For God so loved the world.” The verse continues with “that He gave his only son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have everlasting life.” (don’t get lost in the details if I don’t have that 100% right. It’s from my sleep hazy, coffee fueled mind – but you get the point).

For God so loved the world. I found myself getting stuck right there yesterday. It rolled around in my mind while I meditated. We’ve heard it said over and over, but I think we lose the essence of it. It gets watered down, or we focus only that later part of the verse. Don’t get me wrong, that part is critically important, I believe it and find peace in it. But God so loved the world.

Loved the world. That means every single one of us. He loved us. That means me, that means you.

During my meditation as I listened for the still, small voice, I sensed the deep meaning of God loving us. It’s more than we could ever fathom. It’s as we are, in the moment, each day. He formed us in our mother’s womb. To me that means He knew what was coming next. He knew how we’d turn out. Me, with my birth defect and later amputation – check – knew it was coming. He knew our wiring, it’s how we were made to be. From the beginning. And He loved us.

As those thoughts rolled around in my head, I felt that still small voice telling me, “now you’re getting it.” And I listened. Knowing that the love is for all of us. Without exception.

What if we believed it? Those of us who feel unlovable. Who feel like we need to be someone different that who we are to be loved. Who engage a practice of holding off loving ourselves until we reach some magical state. The right weight, a level of success, a point in our relationships where we have it “just right.” We don’t allow ourselves to feel love that is freely available to us because we condition that love. We listen to other voices telling us there is something else to it. Something else to that acceptance.

If you truly believed that love what would you do differently? Knowing that you are loved beyond measure – a concept which our minds lack the ability to truly comprehend. But even if you do, just a little, it’s a game changer.

The message that God so loves the world gets lost in a puzzle of rules or conditions, but the message is simple. Let it sit in your heart. God loves you. Feel it in your heart. Now…share that love with others.

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It’s a big deal

you matterIt’s not infrequent for me to meet someone and months later, they realize I have a prosthetic leg. Maybe it’s winter, or they never see me in a skirt, and I certainly don’t start my elevator speech with “Hi, I’m Lisa and I have a prosthetic leg.” In fact, it’s something I rarely mention, so often goes unnoticed. Until it is.

And when it is, the uncomfortable conversation ensues. They ask, I have my synopsis, birth defect, amputation, and without fail, I end that explanation by saying, “it’s not a big deal.” Partially, I say it so that if the conversation started awkwardly, I let them off the hook. But I also say it to minimize it and move on.

But it is a big deal.

It’s a big deal that I overcame. With help, but I overcame it. When I was a little girl, it was amputated and I spent a few months in the hospital normalizing it, i.e. playing, swimming, learning to walk with a prosthetic, getting me back up to four year old speed so I could launch back into the world. My parents were fantastic and treated me as though nothing was different, my friends honestly never knew me without my prosthetic, and life continued.

But it is a big deal.

I find it fascinating to watch people who’ve experienced a hardship in their life. Perhaps medical, maybe relational, financial, job loss. You can see the discomfort they feel when someone comes alongside them. To sit with them in the middle of the “stuff.” You’ll hear that familiar phrase, “it’s no big deal.” The brush off. Nothing here to see.

We minimize and, in that moment, lose an opportunity to connect on a deeper level. To allow ourselves to be close up in life with another person, to allow them to share our story. We want to be soldiers, like the one I was as a little girl. Or like a stubborn child who says “I can do it myself.” People, we’re not wired like that. We try, I try, oh do I try. But we’re not fundamentally wired that way. Others want to come alongside us not out of pity, but because they care about us.

It’s a big deal. What’s a big deal is that some of us do it in hard times, AND we do it when we’re rockin’ it. When we have crushed our goals, or a project, or an accomplishment. We say it’s not a big deal, we deflect, we play small. Why do we do that? Honestly, I know you’re out there, person like me who falls into this camp. Why?

What would it look like to stop deflecting? To stop making light or small of our life? What if I could say, “My foot was amputated when I was four due to a birth defect,” and stop right there? What if when congratulated for an accomplishment, we said thank you, and stopped right there? If I’m telling the truth, I feel a bit squirmy thinking about it. But the opposite of making ourselves smaller isn’t boasting, or being grandiose, it’s simply being. Acknowledging. Accepting. Being grateful for our journey.

Standing in our own space, it’s a big deal. It feels bold. It’s who we’re called to be. Thanks for being on the journey with me.

 

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Preparing for Christmas

Christmas PrepOver Thanksgiving, I was visiting family in Florida and over the weekend, we started the process of decorating the house. More like, it was our job to bring the decorations and tree up from downstairs in preparation for my stepmother’s decorating extravaganza. By the time she’s done, the house will be photo shoot ready – Christmas coming out of every nook and cranny in an explosion of holiday cheer. H Her decorations are elaborate and worthy of many Pinterest holiday inspiration posts.

And then there’s my house. For the past few years, if I get a tree up at all, it’s a miracle. I want to, but then I don’t, and I procrastinate. But this year, I am patting myself on the back that my Christmas tree is up and decorated earlier than ever. The house is getting close to done, yet…not Christmas home tour worthy, the tree is up, lights are on the outside of the house (thanks to my hubby), and there’s only a small explosion of decorations lying in my living room. I already have Christmas cards in the mail and most of my shopping done. I’m honestly not quite sure how I made so much progress so early. I must be missing something…

We often get so caught up in decorating, and parties, and the cookies, oh…the cookies, that we lose sight that Christmas is a time to come together as families. One of the challenges that comes with adulting is splitting up time so that you can spend the maximum time with the maximum number of people. This is not a new challenge for me. My parents split up when I was young and hence I began the balancing act at holidays.

All in all, we balanced the holidays well, but it always involved a back and forth. Now that I’m a grown adult, with full grown adult children, the balance becomes like a Jenga game. I will say that their father and I have navigated sharing the kids on the holidays well, but what would they say? One of my boys is not a fan of the juggle. I get it. In an ideal world, it would be easier if everyone were in one spot, at least one city. But even when they are, there’s still a mad dash. Breakfast here, dinner there…if we’re not careful we start to lose the point.

Which is connection. Maybe a different way to look at where you spend your holiday time is, who do you want to connect with? Do you want Christmas to be a logistical nightmare, or do you want to connect to your people. For some of us, that’ll be family, for others, it’ll be close friends. Whoever it is, the connection is what matters. Not having a perfectly decorated house or making an amazing meal – although food is always a plus – it’s about the time spent together.

Who will you connect with this Christmas? How can you make a choice to dial down the crazy in exchange for peace and heart connections? Will you create your own traditions that create peaceful celebrations and a time to reflect on why we celebrate Christmas in the first place, Jesus. Because if you could ask Him, I’m certain He would want us to have connection and love for each other this Christmas. If we focus on that, the rest of the details will fall into place.

 

 

 

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Everyday Courage

Courage - Mark TwainWhen I think about courage, I’m reminded of the cowardly lion in the Wizard of Oz.  In the years after the movie debuted, there was discussion that the Lion, the Scarecrow and the Tin Man were each a sliver of Dorothy that she needed to discover. The lion was “granted courage” but he had it inside of him the entire time.

And so do I. So do you. The trouble is that we forget. Or, we tell ourselves that we don’t have courage. We see it as rarely attainable. We compare ourselves to other people, and whenever we start comparing, it’s a downward spiral. If you look up courage, here’s what you’ll find: courage is mental or moral strength to venture, persevere, and withstand danger, fear, or difficulty. When was the last time you persevered? Faced fear? That’s courage.

Reflection on the times we’ve had courage isn’t something we routinely do, at least not something I do. For me, reflection is a walk down the trail of tears. The ways that I’ve failed, disappointed, fallen short. My ability to go down that path is remarkable, and my tendency is to hold myself responsible for all the ills in my life.

What I do not do is look back and acknowledge the ways that I’ve been courageous. That I’ve persevered.  Acknowledging what’s been accomplished in spite of challenges. In fact, I feel slightly paralyzed whenever I’m asked about those times. I tend to minimize them in my mind. I brush past other people’s comments about them.

Courage doesn’t have to be an action that is heroic. We get confused about that sometimes. The “use it in a sentence,” part of our brain thinks that courage is not attained by the ordinary person. But I’d disagree. Courage is an individual act, but while it does impact us individual, impact our hearts, it also impacts other people.

Courage is having a hard conversation with someone you love.

Courage is admitting when you were wrong.

Courage is continuing to show up every day when you have chronic pain.

Courage is reaching out to a friend who has hurt you…or whom you’ve hurt.

Courage is continuing to try and have a baby after suffering loss.

Courage is coming along side a friend in need and simply sitting, listening, loving.

I believe courage is within each of us. Appreciating yourself in and of itself could be an act of courage. You might be conditioned, like I’ve done to myself, to brush past it. But you work your butt off every single day to show up well. To do a good job, to engage well in your relationships, to accomplish your goals. You’ve persevered through tough times, that’s courage. You’ve had hard conversations, that’s courage. You show up, day after day, and keep going even when you’d rather curl up in bed, that’s courage.

What can you do today to remember that you’re not the Cowardly Lion? That you have courage within you, even if you’ve forgotten about it, it’s there. It’s been with you throughout life. Today, think about those times and use it as a source of strength. You are strong, you are courageous, you are brave.

 

 

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On Becoming Resilient

IMG_6517There’s a famous scene in the movie “Moonstruck,” with Cher and Nicholas Cage where Cage’s character, Ronny, tells Loretta (Cher) that he loves her. She responds with a couple slaps across the face and says, “snap out of it!” Cher won an Oscar for that role and the scene became iconic.

Wouldn’t it be great if, in the midst of struggle, we actually could simply “snap out of it?” But too often, life doesn’t work that way. I’ve been thinking about this quite a bit and it seems to me that one component of this equation is the degree to which we are resilient. We may want to say we’re resilient but is that what we’re practicing? While I’d like to think that resilience comes naturally, I don’t know that it does for all of us.

Start with the idea that we’re all wired differently. We have our normal way of being, a set point, to start with. If you think about it on a scale of 1-10, with 1 being low and 10 being the Everything is AWESOME song from the Lego movie, each of us has a point which is “normal” for us. I might be a 6, you might be a 9, the guy sitting next to you might be a 3. No right, no wrong, normal for each of us. That point is the way you look at life, your approach. It’s the half full half empty idea.

At some point in our lives, we will face disappointment, or setback, and it’s in those moments that our resilience is tested. In context of our “set point,” we think about how far you’re knocked off course when difficulties in life arise. Do you go from an 8 to a 1 or from an 8 to a 5? Again, no right or wrong, just our natural wiring. The more we’re knocked off course, the greater effort it is to “snap out of it,” and get back to your status quo.

Resilience is something we can build, it’s a skill. It’s the ability to tackle adversity and have the strength to move through problems instead of parking on them. You can change the length of time it takes to rebound after a challenge, return to your set point. But when you’re in the middle of the tornado is not the time to focus on improving your resiliency. The time is when you’re not feeling like Dorothy, lost in Oz.

I consider myself a resilient person. I had challenges as a child and learned to adapt, maybe partially as a survival skill, but adapted nonetheless. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve noticed that when I’m under stress in general, I am less resilient. When I’m balancing 5 plates on each arm, back to my days waiting tables, all it takes is a small blip to throw me off course. But that’s not always the case. When life is humming along, challenges slide off like water on a duck.

In order to increase resilience, we need practice, and I’d hazard a guess that life is constantly giving us situations to practice. The time to try on resilience is not in the middle of a tornado, it’s in the everyday situations that come up in life. The small hurdles. Start by overcoming the small things…changed plans…a difficult conversation…a disappointment…before tackling the big stuff. Reframe. If you believe a situation is apocalyptic – you’ll approach it like that and your mental game might start swimming. It’s only a change, just a conversation, it’s not cataclysmic. You can mediate, practice mindfulness, be compassionate with yourself.

When we practice resilience, you won’t necessarily “snap out of it,” but you can minimize the degree to which you’re thrown off course. Increase the speed at which you’re back on track. Swirling in a negative perception of your life doesn’t move you towards the life that’s available for you to live, if you choose it. Honestly, I have to make these choices every day, and it’s not always easy. But worth it. Being brave is always worth it because let our authentic self shine in those moments. Be brave friends, be kind to yourself, and keep going.

 

 

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What squeaks can tell you

Squeaky meMy foot squeaks. I noticed it, not for the first time, yesterday in a Tai Chi class. Lest you think I’m a regular on the Tai Chi front, let me preface. I’m currently at a workshop at 1140 Multiversity, which is, to put it mildly, transforming! As part of the weekend, there is also a vast assortment meditation, yoga, tai chi, sound healing, dance…I could go on… available. Why would I want to miss any of that? I’m up for trying new things and Tai Chi has been something I’d been curious about.

The studios at 1440 are beautifully designed with clean wood floors and an inviting atmosphere. They are also quiet. Extremely quiet. The campus is in the middle of the woods outside of Santa Cruz. After lunch I headed to the class with a stranger – no longer a stranger – who I’d become friends with in one of the morning sessions. As we started class, I heard it. The rubber of my prosthetic foot squeaking against the floor.

Awesome.

If I’m honest, I don’t know that anyone else heard it. But I did. Louder than ever. It’s one of the hazards of having a foot that is constructed of fiberglass and rubber. It squeaks every time I walk right now because the foot shell rubs against the main part of the leg.

When it started squeaking in class yesterday, I felt a familiar rise of heat in my chest. Embarrassment. I could blame it on being a hot flash, but I’m pretty sure it was that feeling of being an oddity, of standing out, of unwanted attention being drawn to me.

If you were to ask me about my leg today, my first response would likely be that “it’s no big deal.” Well, that’s partially true. It is a big deal in that I work diligently for it to not be. I don’t want to draw attention to it. Squeaking goes against that.  For a few years in school, with kids I’d known my whole life, I tried embracing the “uniqueness” it created in me. I would use it as a prop. Apparently, my strategy was to use laughter to deflect from how I was feeling. Let’s remember, it was high school. Is there anyone who didn’t feel awkward during that time?

We had an hour bus ride and a driver who loved to tell us to keep our feet out of the aisle. One day, we took my foot off and put it in the aisle. It stands by itself, and there it was, standing in the aisle. We saw him look in the mirror and then look away, he had nothing to say. Well, probably in his mind he mumbled something like, “Damn kids…” As an adult I can say, yep, that sounds about right. We got a great laugh out of that one. I let a friend I’d gone to high school with and then college take one of the old ones and keep it in his dorm window – maybe that was in the leg lamp era. High school is so difficult, I could offer all kinds of hypothesis on why we used the leg for our amusement.

I’m a lot of years past that now. And it’s no longer a prop. The unwanted attention from having something that is “less than” causes a sense of shame. That’s where that heat rises from. And although it comes up frequently, I have chosen, and will continue to choose, to keep plowing ahead. That’s the thing about any challenge in our life, we may feel shame or less than, but we can change our narrative.

I’ve chosen to bring the challenge along for the ride. To hear the squeak in the silence and do it anyways. I wrestle with the feelings, but I also know that every single one of us has a thing. A quality or aspect of themselves that they wish was different. It’s a collective struggle. Remember that. I know that to the degree I’ve struggled, the person sitting next to me has too. I believe that makes us relatable. And when we admit and embrace the challenges together, we’re stronger.

The class I’m in at 1440 is Brave Magic with Elizabeth Gilbert and Cheryl Strayed. There have been a million moments of wisdom during this weekend, but one that speaks to me in this moment is about fear. Whether we like it or not, fear is always with us, but we don’t have to let it drive. We can choose to fight it or choose to be curious about it and understand that it’s part of us but keep going anyways. That’s been my choice. My foot is “no big deal,” but it is a big deal, it’s that I choose to keep going. To manage that fear of being different.  I’m not letting the fear drive.

It would be inauthentic to say fear isn’t part of my equation or yours, I suspect. How can you look at it differently today? Get curious about what it’s trying to tell you. Everyone of us can be brave and do it, whatever it is, anyways. What do you need to thank fear for showing you? After you thank fear…keep going. You are brave.

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Lessons from Mr. Rogers

Mr. RogersI’m late to the game. I know the Mr. Roger Neighborhood documentary/movie came out months ago, but it came to my home screen the other night. I can remember watching Mr. Rogers when I was little as it was one of 2 shows my mom approved me to watch. I will admit to sneaking in a little Wonderful World of Disney and their weekly movie on my little 13 inch black and white TV in my room. But on a more regular basis, Sesame Street, followed by Mr. Rogers.

Here’s the truth. I can remember watching Mr. Rogers and thinking, “move…it…along.” Seriously. Was I 5? 6? Not sure, but not much older and I can remember it seeming slow to me. Get to Make Believe Land already! These were the early years of Mr. Rogers, it aired the first time when I was a year old. But I don’t think it ever lost that pace.

Looking back, I wonder if my little self was either missing, or didn’t want to hear the message he was sharing. I’ve read, and now watched in the movie, about the messages he shared with children. It seems to me that his greatest desire was to listen to children and to normalize what was going on in the world around them. He tackled racism, death, divorce, fear, not being like other people…topics that as grown adults we shy away from, not to mention the multitude of others that he talked to kids about day after day, week after week.

And I wonder why that is? Why is it so difficult to have conversations about certain topics? Particularly with children. Imagine as a child feeling like you’re not like other kids, or that kids don’t like you, or make fun of you. I think that’s every child’s experience to some degree or another. I actually think it’s many adult’s experience as well. But instead of talking about it, we try and make it go away. We try and fix it. We dismiss it. With adults, we tell them to get over it, or to not worry about what others think.

But that doesn’t make the feelings go away. In my mind, what assuages feelings is acknowledging them. Normalizing them. Conversations that help people see that they are not alone. That someone else has felt the way they do.

I have coffee every Saturday morning with a girlfriend. We’re both early risers and are at our local Starbucks by about 6 a.m. We’re the same age and met a couple years ago when I was intent on meeting other women and making friends. It all started over a shared love of Athleta workout pants. She had a brightly colored pair and I commented. The rest is history. And yes, there was coffee that day.

One of the aspects I love the most about those mornings is that we share experiences and it’s confirmation that we’re not alone. We’ve had similar experiences and if one is wrestling with something, the other has probably been there and normalizes it. Having people in your life who can relate to what you’re going through is critically important. I believe for both men and women, though I can only talk about my experience as a woman.

It’s a lie that we have to go through life on our own. And, honestly, there are some areas where we need to talk to other women (or men as the case may be). I think my husband is thankful I have my coffee talks, I work through a lot of the craziness in my head over a Venti. Plain coffee for me, you didn’t ask, but I’m offering…nothing fancy.

Back to Mr. Rogers, that’s who he was for children. Every day. He’d tackle topics that adults are often hesitant to talk about with kids in a gentle way. He made them normal. He used Daniel Striped Tiger, King Friday XIII, Lady Elaine, and others on the show to talk through real issues children were facing. And he did it all while acknowledging kids for who they were and loving on them. That’s what we all want, to be known and loved.

If you haven’t watched this movie, it’s worth it. And the brave step I’d encourage you to take today? Love each other. Just as Mr. Rogers did, just as God calls us to do. It doesn’t have to be complicated, or over intellectualized. Just…love…each…other.

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Why don’t my shoes fit? Looking for true answers…

Wrong FeetI was pretty sure my foot had grown, deformed, or something else had happened overnight the other day to explain why my shoes were SO uncomfortable. All day, I was wiggling my foot around, side to side, trying to adjust it. Convinced my foot had decided to make a bigger footprint, literally, I had decided to throw the shoes away when I got home. It’s not you, shoes, it’s me, but we’re breaking up.

Cut to a video meeting I had the afternoon of that same day. A demo, actually. I was feeling fairly snoozy and looking for ways to stay awake. I looked down at the shoes that had betrayed me and realized they were on…the…wrong…feet. I was so startled that I, in all professionalism, stopped the meeting to call myself out on it. I mean, I’m a 50-year-old woman, what the heck?

I’d spent all day in discomfort, thinking something else was wrong, that it wasn’t the shoes, that maybe my shoes were in Honey, I Shrunk the Kids, and forgot me. But no, it was a situation I put myself in.

My shoes made me think about those times in life when we’re in uncomfortable situations. When it feels like our life is out of sync. So often, we put ourselves there in the first place. And in the same vein, the change to be more comfortable is one that we must initiate. No one can do it for us.  But how quickly do we turn to wanting to ditch that which causes discomfort? And what does that do?

Nothing. Sure, in my case my foot would have been more comfortable…but I would have been out a good pair of shoes. But, let’s say the problem really was that my foot had spread out like peanut butter on a hot day. Throwing the shoes away would have done nothing to solve that challenge. We’re so quick to jump to the solution that causes us the least struggle, that puts the onus on someone or something else. But unless we look at the piece of the struggle we’ve caused, we’re no further along.

Shoe-gate also made me key into my intuition. It was a simple situation, but I knew something was off and I couldn’t quite get to the answer. I had the feeling it was something else besides the idea that my foot had grown, but instead of trusting myself and my intuition, I kept looking outward. I believe my intuition is strong, but my past pattern has been to rely on what I can see and touch rather than what I know.

Trusting our intuition is part of looking inward. Trusting ourselves instead of external forces. We know what is true for us, what we need. We’re programmed to not trust that, but instead to look externally for answers. I’ve been challenging myself to trust my intuition, to tap into it. It requires tuning out the noise of the world and tuning into that still small voice inside of me.

Somedays it feels like life throws us constant curveballs, but I’d suggest it doesn’t have to feel like that. What if what we face is not really a curveball at all, but a chance to turn internally and make a choice to let it slide by? To ask ourselves if it we need to respond at all? And to trust what comes up. It may be that the curveball is an opportunity to grow part of us, or an opportunity to let go of a belief or action that no longer serves us. Reacting to the external curveball won’t produce growth, looking internally will.

Listening to ourselves, to the inner voice, making a choice to respond, or not…it’s all part of shaping our authentic self. Of sorting out life and determining which pieces we want as part of our story. It’s being brave. It’s looking past the obvious, the shoes, to see what else could be happening. And knowing in some cases it actually is the shoes and to save our energy for other true changes.

Today, can you choose to let those so-called challenges sit in front of you and simply observe them? Don’t react. Observe. And trust that you have the answer inside you. Trust your intuition. You’ll find peace in staying within your true self. And you may even keep that pair of shoes.

 

 

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Lean into what brings you joy

What brings you joyI make cards for my husband. I started writing the cards when we were courting – moving towards reconciling our marriage. I write a little bit of what’s on my heart each day and then when the card is full, I leave them lying on our shared desk for him. The first few times, I bought cards. But then I thought I’d try something new and started painting them. Let’s be clear though, I am an accidental artist.

You see, Pinterest is my muse. I see something I want to try, usually I’m not even sure I can do it. But I know I can give it a college try. Now I make cards for him, for birthdays, for the office, and the pure act of creating brings me joy, especially when it’s for someone else.

I started to figure out along the way that joy was possible this way. I’d start a creative project and completely lose track of time. It was a little like meditation. My mind would focus on what was in front of me, nothing else. I can remember other creative projects I’ve tried in the past – short lived – thankfully there are no photos, but I was all in.

That’s how it is with writing. The other day I was wrapping up an online class I too, Daring Leader, through Brene Brown. Great class (don’t go looking for it though – she’s taken it down and created new content to coincide with her new book coming out in October – Dare to Lead) and as part of the final assessment I had to provide essay answers to a few questions demonstrating that I’d actually learned something and not just phoned it in. Because the course content is within my sweet spot, inner work for outer results, I became immersed and lost track of time.  It brought me joy.

While I’m loving exploring my creative side, it’s not without a little angst. The voice in my head still tells me I should be doing something. Painting, writing, those passions are mentally active, but not out and about active. Until the last couple of years, physically active was imbedded in my definition of doing something.

When I was about 40, I had started cycling and was training for my first century ride. I met a group of amazing cyclists and quickly got pulled into their orbit. The next few years I spent every free moment cycling. It was my social life, my exercise, and it got me outside, which I loved. We travelled by bike, rode to places in California I’d never seen even though I lived here my entire life. We competed in ridiculously long rides and along the way I met even more kind, generous hearted people. I looked forward to those events because of the accomplishment at hand as well as the camaraderie. They were my people.

Now?  My bike is hanging in my garage. I haven’t been on it in over a year. And I beat myself up about it for the first six months. It had been a big part of my life and when I’d go out for a ride, I was doing something.

What I’ve wrestled with is letting go of my own definition of doing. I believe the feeling that I need to be actively, i.e. physically, doing something at every minute of the day was someone else’s definition. It’s normal to adopt the definitions about life from those we spend time with. Letting go has been hard. I’ve had to push back on my internal, not so friendly dialogue. It’s a healthy process for anyone to go through, particularly at this phase of life. I’ve had reasons I stopped cycling, but it wasn’t easy. And I still long for that camaraderie. But challenging my thoughts about why I should do it was a healthy process.

I believe each of us would benefit from taking time to reflect on life and look at what truly brings you joy. What are you doing that makes you lose track of time? What are you involved in that you continue because it’s what you’re programmed to do? Programmed by someone else.

I am creative, it brings me joy and is an area I plan to expand, using it to connect with and help others. I think the two will go hand in hand. That’s the intention I’ve set, living out my authentic self. I’d encourage you to take a minute today and think about the patterns of your life. What are you doing that brings you joy? What are you doing that fits someone else’s definition of what it means to play, or work, or rest? Wrestle with how your authentic self would look at those areas. What would it take to be truer to the call of your heart. Today, be brave and take a step towards your true self.