Tag: midlife women

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Pay attention and do the next big thing

Paying attention to yourself is a learned skill. Truth is, it’s easier to listen to the people around me instead of what my heart is whispering, or my body is telling me. I’m a pro at following external advice. I’ve been known to seek it out. Except, it can become a never-ending cycle of trying this or that while the chasm inside seeks the true answer. At the same time, our body and mind tap at us to pay attention. It reminds me of my little brother’s game of ‘aggravate my big sister’ when we were young. Once bigger than me, he’d pin me on the floor and sit on my chest while tap, tap, tapping on my chest. Hey, hey, hey, hey…until I relented. That’s how our bodies gain our attention, until we have no choice. For me? The tap, tap, tapping has become too much and I’m entering a new phase of paying attention.

I’m angsty

I had someone recently describe me as ‘cool,’ and not in a good way. They’d come up behind me to say hello and my response was halting. A mutual friend explained that’s just how I am. Ugh…and true. Though effusive and friendly to people who are friends, I’ve also been told I appear serious. Probably because I am. So much rattles around in my mind and the exterior result is a mask of non-emotion, aka cool.

But lately, I’ve legit been feeling angsty because the volume of ideas, passions, projects, tasks, and on and on never end. Never. It’s one long list. And the other day, during one of my meditation times while mesmerized by the black line running the length of the pool, it occurred to me that I had a pattern of putting myself in situations that replayed stressful feelings within me. Forced to pay attention because it was me, my mind and the water, I a) realized I wasn’t smart enough to figure that out in the moment, b) my body, intuition, the divine within…was nudging me to consider the facts, and c) to consider if I was doing it again with the volume of things I piled onto my internal to do list.

Talk it out

Do you ever find that you solve your own problem when you simply talk through it out loud? On more occasions than I’d like to admit, I’ve called the Help Desk at work, imploring them for assistance, only to solve the issue by explaining it to the poor person on the other end of the call. Same was the case during a coffee date with a friend yesterday. As I shared my angsty pool realization, the act of verbalizing it clicked the pieces together.

The angsty space I was in was one I knew how to operate in. I know how to manage scarcity, stress, sadness. I’m reading Waking the Tiger by Peter Levine in which he explores the somatic side of trauma. Throughout the book, there are activities and in one set, there are three scenarios. The task is to notice your body’s response as you mentally put yourself in each situation. There was a car crash, witnessing someone having a medical emergency, and a personal breakup. I expertly navigate the first two, mentally jumping into go mode, ready to take charge and deal with all the stuff. But the third. That’s when my gut gets involved. It’s matters within me that stick around, take up residence and invite friends for the ‘let’s watch her suffer through this one’ show. It’s a space I’m accustomed to. Not a pleasant one but familiar, nonetheless.

Ugh…hard choices

This space, angsty, whether I would have called it that or not, is traceable, back to early childhood. It’s the stuff the Enneagram is based on. The mechanisms we develop in early childhood to keep ourselves safe. The emotion wasn’t the way, it was the internal response. But back to paying attention. If we want to break our internal patterns, it doesn’t happen overnight, we must make choices. Part of which can be letting go…of the thing that has become the extra puzzle piece.

I started writing this blog 5 years ago and, missing only one, have written every single week since. I’ve loved most moments of it. It’s been external digestion of my internal life, which, not surprisingly, includes themes we all share. But (and it’s a big but), remember those passions, ideas, projects I mentioned? One of them is to write a book. Another is to continue digging in to let go of internal patterns. After an appropriate amount of angst-ing about it, I’ve decided to stop my weekly blog. You’ll continue to hear from me, but perhaps monthly. Yes, monthly, let’s try that. That journey we’re all on, it has turns, and doing our work, occasionally means putting something we love to the side. I hope you’ll keep walking out your journey and consider if there’s something you need to put to the side to focus on the next big thing. I’m with you every step. Sending so much love and gratitude. Lisa

 

 

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Celebrating the 4th AND…we’ve got work to do

My maternal grandfather was born on the Fourth of July. I remember celebrating his birthday along with the U.S. of A. Cake added to the festivities otherwise consisting of standard barbeque fare and likely a scrumptious pie baked by my grandmother. He’s been gone more than 30 years now, unexpectedly gone far too soon, but the 4th of July brings him to the forefront of my mind. This year, I’m also thinking about our country, and find myself pondering our annual celebration. Admittedly, pondering what we celebrate but also feeling a pull to consider how far we must go as a country. We became free from British rule long ago but have constructed our own formal and informal systems of ‘rule.’ Celebration creates conflicting feelings within me because those ‘rules’ restrict true freedom for all. And we can’t ignore it. Collectively, we’ve got work to do.

As children, we take in the rules we’re given

‘Back in the day’ (which characterizes anything from my youth in my kids’ opinion) we embraced the Fourth of July. Celebrating with gusto our freedom from British rule. Never did I question those celebrations, and even today, view them benignly. Because the celebration was solely about our freedom as a nation. Children follow along with our parents’ traditions.

As children, we view through a narrow lens. Primarily for our own safety. We don’t have the mental capacity to navigate the complexities of life. Thank goodness. Honestly, I’m a proponent of letting children be children. Kids have their own work to do learning how to walk, talk, ride a bike, eat popsicles without getting an ice cream headache…normal kid stuff. We’re also learning how to navigate our family structure. For the first 18ish years of our lives, we blindly accept what our parents tell us as truth, because it is. It’s their truth. Intended to keep us safe and indoctrinate us into the ‘ways of the world’ in the manner that worked for them.

And then…there’s college

Fast forward to college, aka, the stage in which we know more than anyone else. Especially our parents. We meet people from different corners of the country who introduce us to new perspectives. Ones we’ve haven’t considered. Many of which seem valid and true to us. And so, emboldened with our newfound independence (whether you’re in college or simply 18 and ‘launching’), we try on ideas of our own. Ideas which often conflict with those we were raised to believe.

With gusto we espouse newly formed beliefs without fully thinking them through, because…our brains are not yet fully functional. Until we’re 25 or so, we operate from the Amygdala, which is the emotional part of the brain. In the years that follow, our prefrontal lobe is fully formed and we’re able to exhibit better judgement and comprehend the long-term consequences of our actions. Oh, the grief that would have saved me…

Coming into our own

Armed with our ideals from college, we progress through adulthood. At some point, coming into ideas and beliefs of our own. If I’m brutally honest with myself, I continued to follow the ideas prescribed by my parents well into my early adult life. Because they were safe. I’m also a recovering people pleaser and branching out with ideas of my own, with the possibility of running afoul of those I trusted was too unsettling to attempt.

Granted, the purely stupid things I did in my early 20’s, which I won’t bore you with, diminished. Thank the good lord in heaven. But I followed the pack until the crashing waves of midlife descended upon me.

Opening our eyes to the world around us

I’m a bit jealous of those whose awakening began earlier. And by awakening, I’m not talking about running around naked in the rain and chanting. Unless that’s your thing. I attend a good number of meditative/soul connection/ women’s events that are, maybe, slightly, woo-woo. Bring on the woo. A friend of mine asked me upon returning if I was naked. Apparently, woo = naked. It’s become our thing and I do not mind it one bit. Curiosity marks this phase in life resulting in what sometimes feels like endless personal work. Worth it.

The result? Sorting through the ideas I’ve believed as true to determine which are true for me. The other result? LOTS of reading and personal growth. Curiosity has also led me down a path to understanding that which I wish I’d learned in school. The actions taken by our forefathers that may have led to freedom from foreign rule but created systems of oppression within our borders. For people of color, women, LGBTQIA+ rights…for those different than those leading the country. It may be 220 years later, but those systems are not extinct. We’ve got work to do.

Impact your world

I often feel my voice doesn’t make an impact. And you might feel similarly. But here’s what I know.

We can impact our world. Those within our sphere of influence. The people who we interact with. Not by smashing them over the head with fear tactics or a barrage of accusations. Personally, that would land me smack in the middle of an anxiety attack.

Nope, by sharing the truth. Sharing a different perspective. Sharing impact. Drawing closer. Because up close? It’s hard to hate people. We follow the systems and rules that keep us safe, those we learned as children, and that makes it hard to change our minds. It can feel like turning our back on family and those we’ve trusted. But it doesn’t have to be. It’s a matter of knowing that they we’re ‘wrong,’ they were a product of their system. We can make other choices, influence those around us. Create new systems that pave the path for true independence. We’ve got work to do, but I believe in us. Be brave my fellow journey-people. The road is long but we’re on it together.

Happy Birthday Grandpa.

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Why don’t we listen to our own voice?

Tell me what to do. Countless are the number of times I’ve uttered that phrase in the span of my lifetime. I, we, are constantly searching for instructions. As recently as thirty minutes ago, I pulled out the instruction manual to put together a bike – ok, not sure if it’s called a ‘bike’ for a one-year old, but I’m claiming it – for my niece’s birthday. There was literally one screw and I nonetheless pulled out the instructions. We rely on those directions for the things in our life, but also to help us understand how we’re supposed to go about living. Why is it that we tap into, listen to, our own voice last?

Show me how to do it

Given I have a niece, well, several, but one who is on the cusp of turning one, I observe the way that she learns. Much of what she does is trial and error until one of her parents tells, shows, her the ‘correct’ way. I can recall the same with my own children. From learning how to use a spoon, hold a cup, tie their shoes, ride a bike to how to load a dishwasher, clean the house, wash a car, drive…we provide instruction throughout their lives. It’s our job.

But is it really? Of course, it’s our job for developmental purposes, but we persist. If you continue the list, we ‘instruct’ how to do things ‘in our family,’ what to believe, what we do for holidays, the activities we engage in, who to vote for…if we’re not careful – which, to be clear, is usually the case – the result is prescriptive rather than helpful. We’re sharing how we believe, vote, practice holidays and on and on and on. What is true for us without given our children an opportunity to decide for themselves what is true.  Any opportunity for children to listen to their own voice is often squashed under the guise of parenting.

We’re not taught to listen to our own voice

My nature is to keep everything and everyone around me happy. Often at my own expense. And truthfully? That’s no one’s fault by my own, at least largely my own fault. I was not taught to listen to my own voice, that voice in my head, my intuition. And I know I’m not the only one. It’s no ding on my parents, on most parents really, including myself. We do the best we can with the knowledge and awareness we have at the time.

That voice in our head, call it whatever you want, it’s whispering what’s true for us. The challenge is that the external voices are louder. They bounce around in our heads muffling our own voice. The external is the authority and that’s ok when we’re small children because, for the most part, the intent is to keep us safe. But as we grow and become independent, our own individual self, we need our own voice to guide us and inform our decisions and choices.

Our own voice tells what’s true for us

When I was 18, I returned home from college on a break and dutifully attended our tiny chapel on a Sunday morning. The minister could be described as conservative, consistent with his southern roots. On this Sunday morning, he preached about a woman’s role in the home. I can recall his teaching as though it happened yesterday…a woman’s role is in the home…submissive to her husband. Immediately, my own voice showed up. Ummm…I don’t think that’s the way it has to work. Because, I was in college and knew everything, duh. And that wasn’t what I knew to be true.

That moment stood out to me as did other teachings from ‘the church.’ But what do you do when you’re taught by an authority figure to adopt a belief that contradicts what your internal wisdom tells you is true? Usually you adopt it. At a minimum you don’t dare contradict it. Your own voice might sit beside it in your mind and prevent you from acting on the conflicting belief, but also not acting on your own, because if you did, you risk conflict. Being told that you are wrong, or that in challenging the ‘church’ you’re in conflict with authority and you’re challenging God.

Conflict may arise when you trust your own voice

There’s a psychological phenomenon known as cognitive dissonance. In my words, it’s when you are told to believe one idea when you know another to be true. In those conditions, dissonance occurs within our minds which struggle to align the conflicting beliefs. You could experience it when you experience a person’s behavior as hostile, but they assure you is well. Your mind wrestles to make order of what you’re being told and what you observe, what your own voice tells you is true.

Real life opportunities abound to listen to your own voice

A challenge within many ‘churches’ currently surrounds beliefs about homosexuality. It’s one that struck a nerve within me and has for years. In my recollection, I’ve known people within the LGBTQIA+ community throughout my life without thinking twice about it. In fact, though I dated infrequently in high school, two of the boys I connected with later came out as gay. Couple that with a lifetime of friendships and there has never been an ‘issue’ in my mind. But from the pulpit of churches I attended throughout my life, the message was otherwise. From people in the inner circle of my life, the message was otherwise. The result? Cognitive dissonance. I wrestled with what my own voice was telling me versus what I was being told was the ‘truth.’

As increasing numbers of denominations shift their message about homosexuality, embrace what I believe is the truth – that there is no ‘issue’ – God made each and every one of us exactly as we are and if that is within the LGBTQIA+ realm, YAY! Uniquely you and LOVED – people are uncomfortable. I get it. I was too for a long time, particularly when being told at home I was wrong. And still, I clung to what my own voice was whispering, to my Truth. This conflict is one being experienced in real time, because it’s the ’church’ and people we love sharing a truth that we may not believe is ‘true.’ Recognizing the conflict in beliefs and talking about it, communicating, understanding, is helpful. At the end of the day, trust what your voice is telling you.

Hold on to your voice, always

Your own voice, your inner wisdom, she or he is there for a reason. In my case, she’s my intuition, nudged by the Divine. In the case of the ‘church,’ I can only share my journey. I left the church I was attending because the pulpit continued the message that homosexuality was wrong, that I should ‘love the sinner hate the sin.’ I called BS on that. That? It’s tolerance, it’s not love. My own voice persisted until I listened. When attending church made me angry instead of closer to God, I left. The result within my heart was peace, eventually. To be clear, following your own voice may result in external conflict. To say mine did is an understatement, but my truth was worth it.

The internal conflict of dismissing your own voice has long term consequences within our bodies. Dissonance cannot be maintained indefinitely. Our own voices are strong, and true, and beg to be listened to. Pay attention to what she is saying…she knows your truth. On the journey with you my friends. Lisa

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If you don’t like it, do something about it

I’m a student of human behavior, of other people’s, of my own, and of other people’s in relation to my own. It remains endlessly fascinating to learn the why behind behavior because, there’s always a why. Although we can examine factors that may lead to outward demonstrations of behavior, I often wonder, particularly with bad behavior, what tips the scale towards acting out. Towards aggression, rage, controlling behaviors…what switch gets flipped? Assuredly, countless books have been written on the subject, providing, in elaborate detail, the reasons why. Which is helpful. But what they’re not is a healing salve to the person whose been on the other end of the behavior. Those books? Harder to find. But what if we could do something about it?

Emotions get stuck

I found myself becoming irritated, ok, maybe pissed, last week about the lack of actionable steps to heal from bad behavior. There was a season in my life when a relationship was especially difficult and while I can diagnose the reasons why, that’s only helpful to a degree. I could study and understand the behavior all day long. But understanding doesn’t erase the impact on my body. Words and tension having an impact on me as though the behavior was physical.

I was probably described as an emotional child, fairly. And that continued into adulthood. Over the last 15+ years, a noticeable shift happened within me though. Emotions, both mine and other people’s…I felt them in my body. Primarily my gut. Harsh words may have well been a kick in the gut and negative emotions around me became imbedded within. I’ve learned that’s a characteristic of an Empath. You experience emotions and energy in your body. In Dodging Energy Vampires, Dr. Christiane Northrup details techniques to prevent those emotions from lodging in our bodies, because they do. I was late to the party in reading, and wish I’d had the tools earlier. To prevent the words and emotions from impacting my body, from taking up residence.

Why isn’t more written about how to heal our bodies?

Why is so much written about the signs of bad behavior and how to protect or extract yourself, but it’s harder to find truly helpful articles and books to heal from the residue it leaves within your body and mind. How to heal the impact of trauma, whether big T or little t trauma, left behind, the emotional and physical hangover from the experience. We talk about talking through it and therapy is helpful, but how do we heal our bodies? Heal the emotions stuck within us?

To be clear, excellent resources can be found, The Body Keeps the Score, Brain, Mind and Body in the Healing of Trauma, Bessel van der Kolk,  Waking the Tiger – Healing from trauma by Peter Levine are two I’ve found. But people shy away from conversations about trauma. Particularly with little t trauma, their own discomfort leads to dismissal. Explaining away the experience as a misunderstanding, a mistake, or ‘not that big of a deal.’ Those comments? They further internalize the impact and trivialize what should not be ignored.

Do something about it

Anger is a funny thing. We, ok, maybe just me, have viewed it as a negative emotion. I still contend that’s fair. But, anger has a positive impact, it can propel us into action. In my own irritation/anger earlier this week, I decided to do something about it. Still a baby something in my mind, but prep work had begun. The anger is cheering me on (or more like egging me on) from the sidelines. Stay tuned for what the something will evolve to and be.

This issue, genuine healing, is personal, but also a wider issue. And though all people could be impacted by traumatic experiences, women are disproportionately so. We need to normalize talking about it because when hidden or brushed aside, the impact only grows. I don’t like it and I’m going to do something about it. From my own little corner of the world, something.

What is your ‘something’ that stirs anger within? That you’ve pushed aside but which continues to bubble up in your consciousness? If you don’t like it, do something about it. No one will do it for us and we’re in this together. It’s our journey. Be brave my friends. Lisa

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Why we need pride

In my head, the phrase is said scornfully by a ‘little old church lady’, “Don’t be prideful.” Usually with the intent of ‘putting someone in their place,’ or knocking them down a notch. I don’t know if men hear it, because I’m not one, but I’ve been on the receiving end as a female. Or, if not those exact words, the sentiment that one better not let their head swell with pride. But why not? Why has our culture, particularly what I’ll loosely call ‘church culture’ steered us away from having pride? Certainly, references abound in the Bible of pride leading to a person’s downfall. That would give you pause. Fundamentally though, shouldn’t we all have a sense of pride?

What is pride?

I think pride has a bad rap. It’s as though we see it as a gateway drug to a personal downfall. My programming, primarily a result of a woman’s perceived ‘place’ has led to pride being pushed way, way down. The other night, I was at a rare dinner with work colleagues. Out of the blue, I found myself being praised for a work problem I’d helped successful navigate. Did I shine? What do you think? No. I brushed it off as no big deal and downplayed my role. Unfortunately, I see women taking a similar stance over and over.

Consider the definition of pride. My trusty go-to Meriam Webster states:

  1. a feeling of deep pleasure or satisfaction derived from one’s own achievements, the achievements of those with whom one is closely associated, or from qualities or possessions that are widely admired.
  2. consciousness of one’s own dignity.

 

Neither definition is negative. Why shouldn’t you be proud of an accomplishment, an award, a milestone? Honestly, why shouldn’t you have pride about who you are, about your own dignity? And yet, people are told to keep themselves buttoned up. Not to let too much of what’s on the inside leak out and into the light. We are told to let others shine. This recurrent message we receive is not benign. There’s a consequence.

How pushing our pride aside shows up

When we repeatedly take in the message that we shouldn’t be prideful or have pride, what do you suppose the translation is for any normal human person? Something about you is bad. To be hidden. Don’t allow people to see the ‘real’ you lest you be rejected. The result? Shame. Brené Brown provides a definition of shame I find instructive.

“The intensely painful feeling or experience of believing that we are flawed and therefore unworthy of love and belonging.” It is “the fear that something we’ve done or failed to do…makes us unworthy of connection.”

It’s no wonder millions of women, and men for that matter – because shame does not discriminate – suffer under the weight of shame. Perpetuated upon them by systems which use shame to control the people under them. In the recently published book You are your best thing, an anthology of Black voices speaking to vulnerability, shame and the Black experience, embodiment teacher and founder of the Embodiment Institute (TEI) Prentis Hemphill shared “Shame is also the way oppression gets internalized.”

When I read those words, I had to return and reread them. More than once. Because the words, they speak to the Black experience, certainly. Pride pushed down, pushed aside, drilling into people that they do not have the right to personal dignity. They are ‘less than.’ All lies, all tools of control. But also, because they speak broadly to the stripping of pride from groups of people whose only flaw is that they are different.

We need to celebrate Pride

From June 28, 1969 to July 3, 1967, when I wasn’t yet 2 years old, people protested outside the Stonewall Inn, a gay bar in Greenwich Village. In what became a rebellion, the Stonewall Riots, the rioters advocated for gay rights. And because of their uprising, President Clinton began celebrating June first as Gay and Lesbian Pride month, which later became LGBTQ Pride month. I find it interesting that Pride is the term chosen to characterize this month because, at the core, that’s what’s needed. Celebration and a raising of consciousness in the dignity of LGTBQIA+ people.

Because these people, these human people, have been told they should have the exact opposite of pride. That the way they were designed by God is wrong. They’ve been shamed by our culture because of who they love. Denied rights and benefits, healthcare, decency…and sadly, that continues today. Instead, we should love, affirm, and celebrate the dignity of those in the LGTBQIA+ community. For that matter, we should be doing the same for those in the BIPOC community.

Pride is not the enemy

Maybe we should be rethinking how we characterize pride. Because pride is not the enemy, shame is. When you, or me, or any person believes they are ‘deeply flawed’ and unworthy of love and belonging, there’s a problem. And the structures that perpetuate shame as a tool to oppress those who are different? Different because of the color of their skin, their sex, who they love? We need to dismantle and rebuild those structures. And if you think shame is not used as a power tool, I ask you to simply listen and watch. To the words used by those in power, to the choices made by our systems, to the underlying messages that tell people they cannot show up in dignity, celebrate who they are, without consequence.

Be Prideful. Be conscious of and celebrate your dignity as a human being. Because you have qualities and characteristics that deserve to be celebrated. Because you are loved. Be Brave my loves. Lisa

 

 

 

 

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Finding happiness in midlife

Wes, that’s the name of the lifeguard at my neighborhood YMCA who plays the best poolside music at 5 a.m. I’m all about getting my 80’s jam on, and he throws in the Cure, Smiths, Journey and a little Girl from Ipanema to keep us on our toes. Seriously, my happiness increases as each beat brings a swell of memories and I’m catapulted back to that decade.

Chloe, an early bird swimmer in the next lane and I were commenting on Wes’ absence from the deck recently and the subsequent musical decline. I shared my love of the 80’s as my high school and college musical anthem. Deadpan she looked at me and said she was born in ’85. As in 1.9.8.5. I followed my barely suppressed sharp intake of breath with, “that’s when I graduated from high school.” And as I left the pool that day thinking about the balance of our conversation…which I’ll get too…I was grateful for the happiness of this age. Unexpected happiness found in my 50’s.

Is there a secret society?

In my 30’s, as Chloe mirrored in her own comments, I thought that once my kids were out of school, easy breezy, lemon squeezy. Really. I thought that once the youngest was out of college, I’d be sailing on easy street. Oh, you silly, silly girl.

I could not have been more wrong.

  1. Kids are tougher to parent as adults. It’s a fact. Perhaps a fact I made up, but countless parents will agree.
  2. My mid 40’s were a disaster. The worst. Hormone hell. Inner turmoil. Outer turmoil. All.the.things.
  3. I felt like a significant shift was happening inside of me and didn’t have the wherewithal to do anything more than struggle through.

No one, and I mean ZERO people had even whispered to me about what came with midlife. Sure, the midlife crisis and the sports car, who hasn’t heard of that, but for women? Had my head been in the sand? Day after day of the struggle bus. Approaching my mid-40’s there should have been one of those road signs posted, “Sharp Turn Ahead.” Instead? Crickets.

But wait, there’s hope

As hope fluttered slowly to the ground and 50 stared me in the eyes, an unexpected shift happened. Life felt lighter. F’real. Turns out, plenty has been written about midlife, I simply hadn’t discovered it yet. I started to find my people, women with shared experiences. My own life thus far led me to conclude that as we age, all that stuff we a) accumulated; b) worried about; c) stressed over; d) thought was important, doesn’t matter all that much. Perhaps it was all that stuff that sparked the midlife turmoil. At 50 and beyond, I’m finding I reserve my energy for things that actually matter and care less about those that don’t.

I’m not alone in wondering about midlife as my bookshelf will attest. One source of hope is found in studies which show happiness increases as we age. There’s a name for it, the Happiness U-Curve. And midlife? Midlife is conveniently found at the bottom of the U-Curve. Because, life. Genuinely, wisdom comes with age. All the things preoccupying our minds in midlife begin slipping in importance. Priorities shift. We care more about connection than collection, comparison or competition. Life slows down and we are gifted with opportunities to appreciate it.

We discover happiness

My youngest niece is nearly a year old and I’m fortunate to live close to her since my recent move. The joy and happiness that fills my heart playing with her is…unexpected. She’s not the first niece or nephew and I love all of them. Perhaps it’s the stage of life I’m in where I feel I can immerse with her and enjoy the moment more so than I have in the past. It’s simple, and it’s pure happiness.

I’m also delighted every single day by the sunrise that paints the morning clouds and reflects on the lake beside my house. Not once has it disappointed. This phase, it’s unexpected and filled with happiness at the simple joys of life. And if I’m to believe the U-Curve, my happiness now is about the same as it was in my late 30’s…before the dark years…and not nearly as strong as it will be in the years ahead.

Perhaps that’s why I’m drawn to women my age and older. Companions on the journey facing us today. We’re explorers of new dimensions within as we strip away the layers of who we’ve been told to be to discover who we really are, and the happiness that’s found within our true nature. But for today, wherever you are on the happiness curve, it’s where you’re supposed to be. Because we require each step of the journey before the next. And I’m on that journey with you. Be brave my friends. Lisa

 

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Time to phone a friend…who will you call?

Debuting in 1999, Who Wants to Be a Millionaire challenged contestants with fifteen increasingly difficult questions and corresponding payouts. Answer all fifteen questions correctly, as twelve contestants have, and you win $1,000,000. Regis Philbin, always the charming host, offered struggling players a lifeline. And while there were at least a dozen variations of the lifeline, one that continues to roll around in my head is phone a friend. Of course, the hope was that your ‘friend’ had the chops to provide the needed answer, otherwise, it was their 30 seconds of fame. I’ve often wondered, given the same option, who would I call? And while game show star is missing from my resume, the need to phone a friend remains a constant part of life.

The playground – aka – The Hunger Games

Between age 8 and 14, I moved to a couple different town. Leaving the safe bubble that was Yosemite for 6 years and living in parts unknown. Transplanting a child from one school to another is increasingly challenging. I now contend that kids generally need to be in their spot by junior high which is the absolute worse phase in human history. Truly akin to The Hunger Games, kids vie for inclusion in the cool kids club. Like Katniss Everdeen, it’s about survival, where having allies is your best strategy.

Me? I was cool kids adjacent. Never the popular girl, I was on the fringe, with my posse of girls who made junior high survivable. Debbie, Michelle, Jennifer, Lisa (because in the 1960’s, the name Lisa reigned supreme and I literally had another 1-2 or more in my class throughout school), we were the smart girls who also dressed up like the band KISS in 6th grade for Halloween. Photos exist, it was…a look. Hence, cool adjacent. But we had each other. Debbie and I were BFF’s and through those years when hormones and boy crushes overtook our lives, we had each other.

Where did my friends go?

Time. Time and children, moves, life. Factors within and outside my control resulted in a slow diminishing of my core friends. I say this not in a woe is me way, but in fact. Remaining were a handful of women I’d known since high school and met through the years. I was friendly with dozens of people. The group I rode with, people at work, the clerk at my grocery store…I had people who knew me, and others to occasionally hang out with (while navigating the teenage years with my own children).

Another move, a marriage where I was encouraged to be with my husband above anyone else and again, life. The result? Core friends tapering off except for rare phone calls, and in a new town, I didn’t have that sense of being known.

The need to phone a friend

Once the marriage ran its course (I’ll leave it there for now), a near desperate need to cultivate friends arose. Perhaps due to the approach of 50, but also, the craving for human connection, I found myself randomly talking to a woman in Peet’s and kept having coffee with her on Saturday mornings until my recent move.

At the core of it, each of us wants to belong. I watch the ducks in the lake outside my kitchen travel in flocks, providing aid, companionship (in a ducklike way) and safety for each other. The ducks, and a majority of creatures in the animal kingdom, have their flock, herd, swarm, convocation (eagles – you can look it up), their place of belonging and protection. Friendship can provide that sense of belonging for you and me. In her book, Braving the Wilderness, Brené Brown addresses the nature of belonging.

True Belonging. Be vulnerable. Get uncomfortable.

Be present with people without sacrificing who you are.

True belonging is ‘being seen,’ it’s showing up authentically. I contend that by our late 40’s, if not earlier, belonging is the true desire for women. Perhaps for men to, but I can only speak to the female experience. We desire to be seen and are tired of fitting into a carefully constructed persona. The few friends I’ve had for a million years, and those few I’ve gathered in the last 5ish years give space for authenticity. We question and wonder and doubt the systems we’ve been ingrained to believe and not only does space exist for our conversations, there is no judgement. The result, belonging.

Will you be my friend?

The most terrifying question one child can ask another. Tentatively approaching a solo child on the playground and making the simple request, “Will you be my friend?” At 53, still terrifying.

In the busyness of preparing to move, moving, and settling, I haven’t thought much about friends. Absent the few women I know and call friends in my new town, I have family, which fills a gap. But yesterday, it dawned on me I need to cultivate my people. My people with whom I have belonging. Those friends and family are my people, but as I chatted with a fellow swimmer during my Saturday laps, one who’d also relocated from California, also done triathlons, had similar references…I found myself pepped up. A feeling of being seen, shared experiences…sort of… It made me crave ‘my people.’

We need our people. Catapult yourself back to Who Wants to Be a Millionaire. When given the choice to phone a friend, who will you call? Over coffee on a Saturday morning, are you working through your true thoughts or comparing the weather and books you’ve read? For me, the ability to admit the foibles and struggles of life without judgement, that’s the belonging I crave. That’s the friend I want to phone. We all want that friend and can be that friend, and if you don’t have those people, your people, you sacrifice your sense of belonging. I, for one, want to see you. Find your people, my friends. Be Brave. Lisa

 

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Does what you reflect create an impact?

Spectacular beaches of fine white sand… fascinating turquoise blue sea…so reads the promotional page for Cancun. A destination I visited…in another life…where I could have stared into the sea 1,440 minutes a day. Turquoise blue accurately describes the water that in fact, is perhaps only slightly blue, if not clear. Water absorbs light that is red, yellow, and green but it scatters blue light because the rays are shorter. Larger bodies of water appear deeper blue due to the larger concentration, but cupped in your hand, water will appear clear. Images cast on it are reflected, creating a mirror image. Not unlike people. We create dual reflections. Both of what’s happening inside and a reflection of the people who impact us most.

Family reflections

My grandfather turned 95 in April. And at 53, I considered it a gift to have a living grandparent. Throughout my life, he’s been a steady force. Humble, kind, patient…a caregiver to my Nana for close to 20 years as we walked through the slow goodbye of Alzheimer’s disease. Never complaining, never even remotely considering any option but keeping her at home. Her longevity attributed to his care.

As we gathered at his bedside last week, preparing to say our own goodbyes to this force, I thought about the reflections he’s cast. I have memories of him from the earliest of ages, visiting my grandparents in Southern California back in the 70’s. Those memories appearing in my mind as faded photographs. He was a strong, quiet presence, balancing my Nana. The impact he created within my family is immeasurable. In those moments, he talked about the past, the choices, the commitments, the shenanigans…I especially like the shenanigans…so much messing around, a la 1940’s. We laughed and smiled and said I love you over and over.

We said goodbye on Mother’s Day. A final gift to my Nana. Her beloved joining her in the forever. Those of us here on earth reflect my grandfather’s impact, evident in the memories shared over and over, slivers of a reflection which create a beautiful tapestry.

Inner reflections

As water absorbs light and glimmers, reflective of its surroundings, it also shines back, from its depths. If turbulent, we see commotion and waves, but when peaceful, the smooth surface glistens. We are not unlike the water. When we’re experiencing turbulence, get ready. I’ve been told that my face reflects each and every thing going on inside of me. And though I’d like to deny it…that would be a lie. My nose crinkles, my eyes might roll (which I’d like to claim is a medical disorder, uncontrollable…that would also be a lie), my mouth shifts…askew and twisted up as though I’ve tasted eaten something distasteful.

Time and age have tempered those reflections, but I know they’re there. Not unlike my son who told me recently he was agitated…aka perhaps not safe for human contact…and he wisely chose to be elsewhere rather than risk he and I bickering. We reflect what’s happening inside us.

Reflections can be a gift

And while we reflect the impact of the people in our live who impact our lives and what’s happening within us, we can provide others the gift of reflection. I’m often surprised by what my parents, children, close friends observe in me. I mistakenly believe they don’t see those aspects I carefully tuck away, but they do. Reminding me I’m seen and calling out what I need to see.

Those observations are a gift.

The water provides us reflection, and we can do the same for people in our lives. I’m not talking about unsolicited opinions, nope. Keep those to yourself thank you very much. Observations, considerations, attributed another may not have awareness of. Ones which offer insight and opportunity for reflection of their own.

We reflect the impact people have on us, which is observable, positive or negative. I look at my grandfather thinking about his impact and consider my own. What impact do I have on others? What do the people I care about observe in me and reflect of me? If it’s not what I desire, how can I change that? Those reflections, they are the gift that allows us to evolve and grow into the person we yearn to be.

What are you reflecting? What am I reflecting? It’s a question I’ll be pondering in the coming days, weeks. And perhaps it’s one we should always carry in the back of our minds. It’s part of our journey, you and me. Be brave my friends. Lisa

 

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Embracing the flow of water

Near the edge of the San Francisco Bay, just outside the Golden Gate Bridge, the incoming tide from the Pacific Ocean meets the outgoing flow from the Bay. During periods where both incoming and outgoing are competing for real estate, the water churns. Caught in it, you feel like you’re in a washing machine, not in the flow of water but fighting against it. On the one occasion I was in proximity to the Golden Gate Bridge, during an open water swim of the same name, our able guides gave warning to stay inside the bridge to avoid being tossed around. Believe me you, I listened. But in life, we often feel like we are being tossed around.

Water, water everywhere

I owned a Toyota Highlander for a solid 10 years. The color was Waveline Pearl. Unique, slightly blue, slightly lavender. Certainly, I wouldn’t see another vehicle that special color. But you know what? I did. Everywhere. An example of the Baader-Meinhof Phenomenon, or, frequency bias. It’s the effect of you notice what you notice. It’s not that Waveline Pearl was suddenly all the rage, it’s simply that it was new to me and noticed more often.

Same with water this week. I begin each day reading a day in Mark Nepo’s The Book of Awakening. In a recent passage, he spoke of water. Big deal, you might be thinking, but I’m fascinated by water as it is. Having recently moved and finding myself situated lakeside, gazing upon it every chance I have, including this very moment. This passage was what I like to call, a punch in the gut. One that stuck with me and I can’t seem to get away from. Nepo spoke of water, citing that ‘Most things break instead of transform because they resist it…water, accepts whatever is tossed or dropped or placed into it, embracing it completely.’ Dang, I think I fall into the resist camp. I think I can maintain a tight grip rather than going with the flow of water.

Why should we embrace the flow of water?

Its possible water evokes my attention because it is my happy place. Beginning the day enveloped by the water at the pool brings me peace, quiets my mind and relaxes my body. But life…an entirely different story. Life seemingly calls me to chart my own path. I’m the ‘let me do it’ child, the one who does things her own way. Learning, as I get older/smarter that if I look for the currents, they’ll guide me. Showing me how to proceed and avoid the rocks. Or, if not avoid, flow over.

But I still resist. I believe, genuinely, that I can ‘figure out’ a solution to any challenge. Ok, any might be a bit extreme, but many challenges. And 95% of the time, that’s probably true. I noodle my way through it, using my past knowledge to craft the solution. It could be an easy ride, or a rough one, but I get there, I figure it out.  Best solution? Maybe yes, maybe no. Yet, if I flowed with the water, letting life unfold before me instead of examining it like one of those ‘fun’ brain challenge puzzles, I would find ease. Embrace the tide.

Instead, I, like so many of us, waste untold amounts of mental energy figuring it out on our own.

Embrace the tide

Since I’ve moved, every moment of every day has been filled with settled. It’s nesting, but out of a sense of control. I’m that person who does not feel internal settled until the space around me is in order. About a month before I moved though, I signed up for a half-day yoga/meditative ‘Pause’ put on by The Loft on Main, a local yoga studio. It was yesterday, about three weeks after the move. Turned out, forced stillness was required to remind me to let go and embrace the tide.

Near the end of our time, our leader, Angie, led us through Lectio Devina, a contemplative practice. The focus was a passage from a speech given by Howard Thurman at Spellman College. Thurman was an educator, philosopher, civil rights leader and theologian. The idea with Lectio Devina is that the passage is read four times, each with a different focus. You take from it what you need as the words wash over you. What stuck with me was, “Will all of your life spend your days on the ends of strings that somebody else pulls? Don’t ask what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive and go do it. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive.” Ouch. I’ve been trying to hold the water.

Simply flow

Which is impossible. If you have found a way to hold water with your bare hands, tell me about it, because from where I sit, impossible.

Instead of white knuckling gripping, in the name of ‘figuring it out’ my way through life, what if I considered what strings I was holding? The ones that nagged in the back of my mind to do this and that. Figure it out. Water has been a wise instructor as it washes over me. Flowing. If we simply allow the flow of life without resisting, oh the places it would take us! To the discovery of our genuine self, which remains a recurring theme in this phase of middle life. I don’t know that we ever truly ‘arrive’ because, like water, if we’re not flowing, we’re stagnant.

Maybe allowing the flow of water, or more aptly, the flow of life, to mold and shape us, isn’t difficult at all. The shaping will leave us formed beautifully, precisely as we need to be for the moment. And time, the tide, will take us to all the places we need to be. Be brave my friends. Lisa

 

 

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Unpacking life, box by box by box

Weeks before moving across the country, thoughts of packing my life into boxes engulfed every portion of my mind. I’d wake in the middle of the night playing Tetris, packing version, in my mind. Thinking about which small piece would fill this mostly full box. And one day, after toiling away at it for untold hours, it was done. Everything packed, at least everything I wanted to transport to the next phase. After saying goodbye to the moving truck and meandering my way across the country, here I am. Unpacking life I tenderly packed up and brought with me.

Life that’s in a box

Whose life can honestly be placed in a box? That’s the reality. We pack things in a box. Silverware, dishes, books, books and more books, clothes, décor, my grandma’s Kitchen Aid mixer and china, pictures…the deeper you go, the closer to your heart the contents become. I have boxes of pictures because, well, back in the day…when you actually clicked a picture and didn’t know how it would turn out until developed…I captured my children’s youth.

And still, these are things. Things with memories attached. Or maybe better, they’re things that spark memories. Making the event return to life. Triggering the emotions and feelings that surrounded the origin. What’s within the boxes is the evidence of the string of events that comprise our lives.

Unpacking life, over and over

Therapy. That was the first place I unpacked life. Upon entering the middle phase of life, I found myself swirling with emotion.  It may have been all the hormones shifting in my body, or my ovaries deciding it was time to rid themselves of all the eggs, but the culmination was tears and emotions I was ill-equipped to navigate. I found myself sitting on the proverbial couch for months.

Making sense of the fragments of my life, the ones that resisted moving forward smoothly, that caused jagged edges. Unpacking our lives can be a fragile process and one which is best navigated with the assistance of a professional. Or as I like to call my past therapists, a paid friend.

Close to one hundred boxes of life to sort through solo? A daunting task. Yet what do you do except dive in? There is no other way but forward. With boxes and with your life.

Different but the same

Despite the fact that moving involves boxes and packages and things, unpacking evokes similar emotions to therapy. A fact that goes unacknowledged in moving guides you find online, or in the numerous blogs providing ‘Best tips for a smooth move.’ Not even a week into it, emotions flooded me the other day. Overwhelmed by the sheer number of decisions, Tetris in reverse.

Unpacking life requires decision after decision to determine where all those things belong. Where they fit. Revisiting the decisions to carry forward items in your new life, navigated without the help of your paid friend. While packing is an emotional journey in and of itself, unpacking may be the harder task.

You get to choose what carries forward. Only you. The things are simply that, things. The overwhelm? Part of the process I’ve decided. Your life is laid out in front of you ready to re-launch. It’s your move.

Truly, it’s your move

Metaphorically and IRL. In real life, the move is physical. You experience it physically. New surroundings, rooms and hiding places. Metaphorically, you’ve provided distance. In my last moments standing in my empty home of nine years in California, I pondered the life I’d lived there. If those walls could talk…I said a silent goodbye to that phase.

What carries forward is entirely up to you, to me. The memories, the decisions, who I am, I am the only one deciding what resurfaces. As I think about it, all of life is like one big move. Whether physical or not, you’re in charge of what comes forward. You can recreate your life over and over. You can. It’s your move.

As for me? Well, you’ll have to stay tuned. I’m still unpacking.