Last night, a Buddhist group held a benefit concert for the homeless shelter I work at. When the organizers had first come in to talk to me about the idea, I'd agreed, not really knowing what the event would look like -- What an amazing evening!
There were seven performers, all classical and jazz musicians, including one performer who happens to live at the shelter. The 300+ people who attended were treated to an evening of Mozart, Bach and inspired jazz renditions of pieces such as Somewhere Over the Rainbow.
At the beginning of the evening, 12 members of The Tzu Chi Foundation who sponsored the evening, gave a sign-language demonstration of a piece of music. They played the piece of music twice. Once with English soundtrack. Once with a Chinese soundtrack. What struck me most about the performance, aside from the fluidness and beauty of their movements, was the fact that no matter what language the song was song in, the signing told the same story.
Sign language fascinates me. Every element of communication is used when signing -- including voice. In 'ordinary' communication, we use words to tell our stories, communicate ideas, facilitate contact and often don't consider the relevance and importance of the 93% of our communication which is non-verbal.
There are a thousand ways to say, Heart -- depending upon whether you are English, French, Chinese, Dutch, etc. heart has a different set of vowels, consonants, symbols. There's one universal symbol for heart -- in every human being, the heart is located in the same place. It is there the signer points when indicating the heart.
No matter what I say or do, when I connect through my heart, I am part of a universal lanugage that touches everyone -- regardless of race, creed, economic or social status. Like the signers last night, when I am 100% committed to communicating from my heart, I connect 100% to those I am involved with.
Last night, a group of signers and musician used music to connect to their audience. They opened their hearts and let their musical talents pour out. For those of us in the room, that out-pouring of heart-felt beauty was an inspiration.
As I watched and listened last night, my heart was lifted, and I felt part of the incredible possibilities of what can happen when we put aside our differences and celebrate what it is we share when we communicate through the heart. Love.
Sunday, May 13, 2007
Saturday, May 12, 2007
When Good-bye Is Never Spoken
This post is dedicated to anyone who has come out of a relationship -- good or bad -- and searched for a way to say good-bye to someone who isn't there anymore. It was written some time ago as I struggled to help a friend find closure from a relationship gone wrong without having the opportunity to say good-bye.
For such a little word, good-bye carries a mighty wallop.
Good-bye can mean, see you in a while, or see you in a year. It can carry us into the night on the hope of tomorrow or it can sweep all hope away as we look back and see there will never be a next time, another day, or a new tomorrow.
For those who have journeyed into the valley of an abuser, good-bye is a word fraught with the fear that once spoken it can never be returned. In its silence we fear the door is always open as we stand upon the precipice of tomorrow without him or her. In our sorrow, it lays frozen upon our tongues, our minds numb in the fear it might slide out on a breath of air and change our lives forever. Terrified we might slip, we pack our hopes and dreams into that one little word and stuff our pride and dignity into the cracks of our pain seeping in beneath the door held fast against our fear.
And all the while, we search for the perfect last words that will either make it all right or make him hear us, just this once, before he slithers off into the past from whence he came. And as we flounder in the depths of empty words and promises, we pray that there will never be a time to say good-bye but rather welcome back, I've missed you. Spiraling into the darkness of the painfully long good-bye they began when they said, hello, we silently hold onto the word that will set us free and stumble through the words of begging them to please not say it.
But destiny waits for no man, and the door we fought so hard to keep firmly closed always finds a crack through which it can be opened, until, eventually we must face the reality that we will never have the chance to say our fond farewells. They have already left. Gone in search of new tomorrows. Of some other happily ever after, without us.
In their passing, we are left holding the shreds of our battered hearts in the basket of our dreams, frozen in time. Alone, forlorn, we whisper, good-bye, into the empty space that lays before us, hoping they will hear the soft promise of our hopes they will find 'out there', that which they could never find in us. We peer into the darkness of the lengthening shadows, our tears puddling around our feet, falling into the river of our sorrow. We flail about in desperation searching for solid ground as our fear of drowning rises with our tears as we cry out for one last chance to say good-bye. It’s such a little word but it keeps us stuck on the dream of wanting them back so that we can say, Good-bye. In the end, there are no words to answer our despair, just the good-bye we whisper to ourselves as we pick at the scab of our wounds that never seem to heal.
To begin again, we must accept that we will never find the key to unlock the secret door of their understanding. It resides somewhere in the dark, beyond the edges of the light.
As our acceptance of our truth grows, beneath the scabby, jagged-edge scar of our disbelief, new skin is forming. If we leave it alone long enough to heal from the inside out, we will understand that it was our shadow we feared, for in their darkness our light was blocked. We breathe.
In time, one day not yet here, we will lift our heads and see, the sun is shining. Into it's beckoning warmth we will step into the light of finally knowing, the only way to say good- bye to what can never be, is to accept it never was.
For such a little word, good-bye carries a mighty wallop.
Good-bye can mean, see you in a while, or see you in a year. It can carry us into the night on the hope of tomorrow or it can sweep all hope away as we look back and see there will never be a next time, another day, or a new tomorrow.
For those who have journeyed into the valley of an abuser, good-bye is a word fraught with the fear that once spoken it can never be returned. In its silence we fear the door is always open as we stand upon the precipice of tomorrow without him or her. In our sorrow, it lays frozen upon our tongues, our minds numb in the fear it might slide out on a breath of air and change our lives forever. Terrified we might slip, we pack our hopes and dreams into that one little word and stuff our pride and dignity into the cracks of our pain seeping in beneath the door held fast against our fear.
And all the while, we search for the perfect last words that will either make it all right or make him hear us, just this once, before he slithers off into the past from whence he came. And as we flounder in the depths of empty words and promises, we pray that there will never be a time to say good-bye but rather welcome back, I've missed you. Spiraling into the darkness of the painfully long good-bye they began when they said, hello, we silently hold onto the word that will set us free and stumble through the words of begging them to please not say it.
But destiny waits for no man, and the door we fought so hard to keep firmly closed always finds a crack through which it can be opened, until, eventually we must face the reality that we will never have the chance to say our fond farewells. They have already left. Gone in search of new tomorrows. Of some other happily ever after, without us.
In their passing, we are left holding the shreds of our battered hearts in the basket of our dreams, frozen in time. Alone, forlorn, we whisper, good-bye, into the empty space that lays before us, hoping they will hear the soft promise of our hopes they will find 'out there', that which they could never find in us. We peer into the darkness of the lengthening shadows, our tears puddling around our feet, falling into the river of our sorrow. We flail about in desperation searching for solid ground as our fear of drowning rises with our tears as we cry out for one last chance to say good-bye. It’s such a little word but it keeps us stuck on the dream of wanting them back so that we can say, Good-bye. In the end, there are no words to answer our despair, just the good-bye we whisper to ourselves as we pick at the scab of our wounds that never seem to heal.
To begin again, we must accept that we will never find the key to unlock the secret door of their understanding. It resides somewhere in the dark, beyond the edges of the light.
As our acceptance of our truth grows, beneath the scabby, jagged-edge scar of our disbelief, new skin is forming. If we leave it alone long enough to heal from the inside out, we will understand that it was our shadow we feared, for in their darkness our light was blocked. We breathe.
In time, one day not yet here, we will lift our heads and see, the sun is shining. Into it's beckoning warmth we will step into the light of finally knowing, the only way to say good- bye to what can never be, is to accept it never was.
Friday, May 11, 2007
The Brat
When I was growing up I had a nickname. I don't remember how I got it, nor how old I was when first anointed with its label, but it was the name my family used and I conformed to throughout my growing years. It wasn't until I was in my twenties and about to be married that my mother suggested it was perhaps time I quit signing my letters home with my nickname.
I happily did so. It wasn't a name I ever recalled asking for, nor was it one I felt proud of. It was just one of those carry-overs from childhood that I had dragged along with me into adulthood like a child clinging onto her security blanket when going to a sleep-over. I didn't think what life would be like without it, I simply believed it was part of my world, something I could not let go of because I believed it defined me, and didn't recognize I defined my life through the filter of its name.
I hadn't thought much about my nickname for a long time. But yesterday, while sitting having dinner with a couple of friends, my girlfriend mentioned the loving nickname her family called her while she was younger.
I laughed and said, "Mine was, The Brat."
My girlfriend looked at me and cried. "Seriously? That's awful."
I shrugged my shoulders. "I haven't thought of it in years. It was just the name everyone in my family called me. I even called myself The Brat."
I told her the story of my mother suggesting I quit using it. I remember her writing in a letter that "The Brat" wasn't an appropriate name for a married woman to use. At the time, I hadn't wondered much about what made it appropriate in my childhood to call me "The Brat", I'd simply quit signing my letter with the nickname, and started signing them as 'Louise'.
Ask my sisters and they will tell you as a child I was often called a 'spoiled little brat'. The youngest of four, I was always an inquisitive child, asking 'too many questions', and always wanting to know 'why'. At the time, I don't believe any of us consciously thought about the impact of those words on a child. In fact, until my mother suggested I quit calling myself, The Brat, I hadn't thought much about the power of the name to define me and my behaviour. I had been The Brat for so many years, it had become part of me, a name I conformed to within my family, a set of behaviours that didn't create a lot of peace in my life, but definitely allowed me to be irresponsible, unaccountable and immature for many years.
Being The Brat had its advantages. It gave me a lot of freedom to step outside the confines of my familial mould and explore the world without having to worry about the consequences of my words and actions. "Oh, that's just The Brat," my family would respond when I had done something embarrassing or unbecoming. "Yup, that's The Brat. She never thinks of anyone but herself."
I woke up this morning, and The Brat was on my mind. Funny how something that I haven't thought of in years can surface in a conversation one night and linger into dawn the next morning, pulling with it vestiges of a restless past.
I like to listen to my subconscious. When it speaks I know it's asking me a question. Where The Brat's concerned, the question is, how does being The Brat manifest itself in my life today? Am I still clinging to it's conflicting messages, roll-playing my way into being unaccountable, rebellious, defiant?
As I look at all I am, and all I do today, I still see areas of my life where being The Brat is an automatic response. A habit that undermines my goals, my dreams, my purpose.
Some weeks ago I was thinking about how being a rebel doesn't work for me anymore. The thoughts had started to formulate in my mind, but were still unclear. A gentle mist rising that as my thinking heated up began to turn into a fog of ill-defined thoughts that needed the heat of the morning sun to clear away the tendrils of their confusion. Thinking about my nickname and its impact on my psyche is just the bright light needed to clear away the fog around my rebellious nature.
One of the reasons I was given the name The Brat was because, as my mother often told me, I always had to do things my way. I couldn't just take her word for it, I had to find my own path.
Now, as an adult, seeking out my own path, mapping out my own journey is a strength -- but I can see that as a child it could be interpreted as stubborn, rebellious and disrespectful. As a child, my thinking was not that devious. I just always wanted to know how far I could push my thinking, expand my wings to determine for myself how high I could fly -- or fall.
Challenge is, The Brat still impinges on my relationship with my mother. I often revert into behaving like "The Brat" in my interactions with her. Quite possibly, she still thinks of me in terms of The Brat when looking at who I am today. I do not conform to her world view. I do not behave in ways she wants me to -- and thus the conflict continues. In my struggle to define myself beyond the confines of the past, I awaken her fears of being all that I am meant to be when I fly away from the nest that held me so securely and lovingly as I grew up. Yet, because our mother daughter balance of child/adult has never grown beyond the limits of our relationship from the past, we struggle with our adult/adult roles in the present.
This weekend is Mother's Day. A time when children, young and old, honour their mother's for their hard work, their unceasing commitment to their children, and their undying devotion.
I always have trouble with Mother's Day, at least where my mother is concerned. I hadn't really thought about it in the past, but The Brat has kept me stuck, reminding me of who I was; a rebellious teenager struggling to find her way in a world of confusion, defining her actions not by what she believed in or who she wanted to be or do, but rather through the filter of her rebellious eyes seeing her family as the cause of her pain and taking action that kept her stuck in being who they saw her as, The Brat.
Perhaps the gift my mother gave me in all of this was the day she wrote and told me it was time to quit calling myself, The Brat.
She was right.
When first employed The Brat was a name that fit the circumstances. Being The Brat was a comfortable shirt I stepped into that kept my arms pinnioned to my sides so that I would not fly free. Good, bad, or indifferent, it was a name no one spoke up against -- especially me. It wasn't a particularly nice name. It wasn't a name to proudly hold onto, nor one that lifted me up. Holding myself within its bonds today, I hold myself back from claiming my unique place under the sun. In lovingly accepting it was not a name given me with the intent of hurting me or holding me down, I set myself free from blaming the past for who I am today.
Time to take off the shirt of bratdom! Time to fly free of rebellious streaks that mar the purity of my journey when I travel consciously through being all that I am meant to be.
As a child I did not know my truth. I did not know I had a unique voice nor the power and the right to use it. Today I do.
Today I proudly claim my brat free life. I joyously step into my power to speak up for myself, to spread my wings and fly free of the bonds that tethered me unwittingly to the ground and kept me stuck in behaviours that do not reflect my journey today.
Here's to all the brats in the world and those who carry names they struggle to shed as they learn to step into their skin and claim their own unique place in the sun. And here's to the Mother's who give their children courage and strength to fly free.
I happily did so. It wasn't a name I ever recalled asking for, nor was it one I felt proud of. It was just one of those carry-overs from childhood that I had dragged along with me into adulthood like a child clinging onto her security blanket when going to a sleep-over. I didn't think what life would be like without it, I simply believed it was part of my world, something I could not let go of because I believed it defined me, and didn't recognize I defined my life through the filter of its name.
I hadn't thought much about my nickname for a long time. But yesterday, while sitting having dinner with a couple of friends, my girlfriend mentioned the loving nickname her family called her while she was younger.
I laughed and said, "Mine was, The Brat."
My girlfriend looked at me and cried. "Seriously? That's awful."
I shrugged my shoulders. "I haven't thought of it in years. It was just the name everyone in my family called me. I even called myself The Brat."
I told her the story of my mother suggesting I quit using it. I remember her writing in a letter that "The Brat" wasn't an appropriate name for a married woman to use. At the time, I hadn't wondered much about what made it appropriate in my childhood to call me "The Brat", I'd simply quit signing my letter with the nickname, and started signing them as 'Louise'.
Ask my sisters and they will tell you as a child I was often called a 'spoiled little brat'. The youngest of four, I was always an inquisitive child, asking 'too many questions', and always wanting to know 'why'. At the time, I don't believe any of us consciously thought about the impact of those words on a child. In fact, until my mother suggested I quit calling myself, The Brat, I hadn't thought much about the power of the name to define me and my behaviour. I had been The Brat for so many years, it had become part of me, a name I conformed to within my family, a set of behaviours that didn't create a lot of peace in my life, but definitely allowed me to be irresponsible, unaccountable and immature for many years.
Being The Brat had its advantages. It gave me a lot of freedom to step outside the confines of my familial mould and explore the world without having to worry about the consequences of my words and actions. "Oh, that's just The Brat," my family would respond when I had done something embarrassing or unbecoming. "Yup, that's The Brat. She never thinks of anyone but herself."
I woke up this morning, and The Brat was on my mind. Funny how something that I haven't thought of in years can surface in a conversation one night and linger into dawn the next morning, pulling with it vestiges of a restless past.
I like to listen to my subconscious. When it speaks I know it's asking me a question. Where The Brat's concerned, the question is, how does being The Brat manifest itself in my life today? Am I still clinging to it's conflicting messages, roll-playing my way into being unaccountable, rebellious, defiant?
As I look at all I am, and all I do today, I still see areas of my life where being The Brat is an automatic response. A habit that undermines my goals, my dreams, my purpose.
Some weeks ago I was thinking about how being a rebel doesn't work for me anymore. The thoughts had started to formulate in my mind, but were still unclear. A gentle mist rising that as my thinking heated up began to turn into a fog of ill-defined thoughts that needed the heat of the morning sun to clear away the tendrils of their confusion. Thinking about my nickname and its impact on my psyche is just the bright light needed to clear away the fog around my rebellious nature.
One of the reasons I was given the name The Brat was because, as my mother often told me, I always had to do things my way. I couldn't just take her word for it, I had to find my own path.
Now, as an adult, seeking out my own path, mapping out my own journey is a strength -- but I can see that as a child it could be interpreted as stubborn, rebellious and disrespectful. As a child, my thinking was not that devious. I just always wanted to know how far I could push my thinking, expand my wings to determine for myself how high I could fly -- or fall.
Challenge is, The Brat still impinges on my relationship with my mother. I often revert into behaving like "The Brat" in my interactions with her. Quite possibly, she still thinks of me in terms of The Brat when looking at who I am today. I do not conform to her world view. I do not behave in ways she wants me to -- and thus the conflict continues. In my struggle to define myself beyond the confines of the past, I awaken her fears of being all that I am meant to be when I fly away from the nest that held me so securely and lovingly as I grew up. Yet, because our mother daughter balance of child/adult has never grown beyond the limits of our relationship from the past, we struggle with our adult/adult roles in the present.
This weekend is Mother's Day. A time when children, young and old, honour their mother's for their hard work, their unceasing commitment to their children, and their undying devotion.
I always have trouble with Mother's Day, at least where my mother is concerned. I hadn't really thought about it in the past, but The Brat has kept me stuck, reminding me of who I was; a rebellious teenager struggling to find her way in a world of confusion, defining her actions not by what she believed in or who she wanted to be or do, but rather through the filter of her rebellious eyes seeing her family as the cause of her pain and taking action that kept her stuck in being who they saw her as, The Brat.
Perhaps the gift my mother gave me in all of this was the day she wrote and told me it was time to quit calling myself, The Brat.
She was right.
When first employed The Brat was a name that fit the circumstances. Being The Brat was a comfortable shirt I stepped into that kept my arms pinnioned to my sides so that I would not fly free. Good, bad, or indifferent, it was a name no one spoke up against -- especially me. It wasn't a particularly nice name. It wasn't a name to proudly hold onto, nor one that lifted me up. Holding myself within its bonds today, I hold myself back from claiming my unique place under the sun. In lovingly accepting it was not a name given me with the intent of hurting me or holding me down, I set myself free from blaming the past for who I am today.
Time to take off the shirt of bratdom! Time to fly free of rebellious streaks that mar the purity of my journey when I travel consciously through being all that I am meant to be.
As a child I did not know my truth. I did not know I had a unique voice nor the power and the right to use it. Today I do.
Today I proudly claim my brat free life. I joyously step into my power to speak up for myself, to spread my wings and fly free of the bonds that tethered me unwittingly to the ground and kept me stuck in behaviours that do not reflect my journey today.
Here's to all the brats in the world and those who carry names they struggle to shed as they learn to step into their skin and claim their own unique place in the sun. And here's to the Mother's who give their children courage and strength to fly free.
Thursday, May 10, 2007
When my magnificence touches your magnificence, the world lights up.
Yesterday I taught a class in self-esteem at the homeless shelter where I work. I started by asking the class, "Has anyone taken a course in self-esteem before?" All eight attendees said no. "Great!" I replied. "I've never taught this course before either so we can learn together."
Walking into that class I was way out of my comfort zone. What a great stretch for me. Especially as I have a presentation to make later this month at a conference -- and need the practice of standing up in front of a group of strangers.
When I first stepped into the room, I was nervous. What if they don't like me? I wondered. What if they think learning about self-esteem is stupid? Unnecessary? A waste of time?
I stopped and looked at the light side of the equation.
What if my job as the teacher was to inspire them to look at this course as the most important element of the 3 week program they're enrolled in? What if I could inspire them to look at themselves through different eyes and see their possibilities, not their limitations?
What if I let go of my fear and breathed into my courage?
So I did.
The 3 hours turned out to be exciting, fun-filled, challenging and one every participant agreed was time well spent.
When I started talking at the beginning of the class, I told them a little bit about my life -- in particular, my experiences that related to theirs. Being homeless.
As we talked, I shared a little more about my story, using my experience to demonstrate that falling on the road of life is inevitable -- How we get up is our choice, because one thing's for sure, if we're in this room breathing, we're not lying dead on the road. At one point, one of the students said, but what if you did things in your past you can't forgive yourself for?
"Why would you not want to forgive yourself?" I asked.
He looked at me and said, "I don't know."
At the beginning of the class, I had told them that one of the answers I would always challenge was, "I don't know." I told them that if they used that response, my reply would be, "You do know. It's just a habit that let's you off the hook of being accountable when you say I don't know."
I smiled and gave him my response. He didn't want to give me an answer. He didn't want to face his truth, but earlier on we'd agreed he was courageous. He was in this classroom, learning, stretching, acquiring new skills so that he could move out of the shelter and into his own life -- that took courage.
"What would a courageous man reply?" I asked.
He sat up straighter. "He'd say he didn't want to forgive himself because he was ashamed of himself."
"And does holding onto shame take you closer to your goals or away from your goals?"
"Away," he quickly replied.
"Does shame strengthen your belief you are a magnificent man or weaken your belief in your magnificence?"
Without hesitating he blurted out. "I'm not magnificent."
"What if I told you I see a magnificent human being when I look at you?"
"I'd tell you have really bad eyesight."
I smiled. "You can't look through my eyes. And I have really clear vision when I see you. I know your life is a mess right now. I know you've got challenges. You wouldn't be living at a homeless shelter if you didn't. Standing here, right now, it isn't your past I see when I look at you. It's your magnificence."
I turned to the class. "How many of you have difficulty accepting you are magnificent human beings?"
Everyone put up their hands.
"How many of you believe you're awful human beings?"
Their faces looked surprised. A couple of people sheepishly raised their hands while the others hemmed and hawed.
"That's self-esteem." I said. "Good or bad. Healthy or weak. We've all got self-esteem. It's where we place our beliefs that make the difference in how we live our lives. There isn't one person in this room, including myself, who hasn't done things in the past that caused pain -- to themselves and to others. When we turn that pain into the whip with which we flail ourselves every day, we give-away our birthright of magnificence. My goal is to speak to you from my place of magnificence. To connect to your magnificence. Your past is not my issue. Right now, in this moment, is my concern. And right now," I turned back to the student who did not accept he was magnificent and said, "I see a magnificent human being."
"I'd like to believe I could be a magnificent human being," he said.
"What if just for this moment you accepted you are? How would you feel?"
He smiled. "Fantastic."
"Great! In that moment you made a different choice and allowed yourself to feel the magnificence of your being. You have the ability, just not the habit."
By the end of the class we agreed that everyone of us in the room has a magnificent core -- it might be buried beneath life's burdens but the breath of the idea was there, the germ of our magnificence was alive -- it needed nurturing, loving, caring, and cultivating.
Being magnificent does not mean life is perfect. It does not mean I am perfect or that I do everything perfectly. To illustrate my point, I shared with them the story of the day I forgot my wallet at home and turned it into my core tape, I am unworthy. (Riding my high horse, reality falls away). In those moments of sitting in Devonian Gardens feeling less than, other than, not equal to the rest of the world, I was wallowing in self-pity and denying my magnificence because I wanted to prove myself right about my core tape. For me, it isn't what I did that makes the difference to how I continue my journey -- it's how I hold myself accountable, apologize to those I hurt, make amends, refocus my thinking, love myself even when I fall -- that's what makes the difference in my life today.
Life is a constant journey of shifting perspective, growing, stepping into muck, rising above the daily grind and learning to fly. Some days, my wings feel heavy. Some days, my feet drag behind me, weighing me down. Some days, I soar.
There is a world of pessimism out there willing and eager to encourage me into giving away my birthright of magnificence. When I do, I am the one most effected. Because in denying my birthright, I am buying into the worldview that life is a struggle. Life is a grind. Life is a why bother exercise that begins in pain and ends in sorrow.
Life is a miraculous journey. Life is all I've got to live -- it's up to me to expand my wings, stretch my spirit and soar.
When I claim my birthright, I am free to become all that I am meant to be without fear, without regret, without shame. I am free.
Yesterday, I taught a class in self-esteem and stretched myself and grew.
Yesterday, I connected to the magnificence of everyone in the class and felt my world light up.
Today, I am committed to living my birthright without fear. Courageously claiming my unique place in the sun so that I can inspire everyone I meet to claim their birthright too.
In this moment, I see your magnificence. Can you see it too?
I am a fearless woman touching hearts and opening minds to set spirits free.
Nameste.
Walking into that class I was way out of my comfort zone. What a great stretch for me. Especially as I have a presentation to make later this month at a conference -- and need the practice of standing up in front of a group of strangers.
When I first stepped into the room, I was nervous. What if they don't like me? I wondered. What if they think learning about self-esteem is stupid? Unnecessary? A waste of time?
I stopped and looked at the light side of the equation.
What if my job as the teacher was to inspire them to look at this course as the most important element of the 3 week program they're enrolled in? What if I could inspire them to look at themselves through different eyes and see their possibilities, not their limitations?
What if I let go of my fear and breathed into my courage?
So I did.
The 3 hours turned out to be exciting, fun-filled, challenging and one every participant agreed was time well spent.
When I started talking at the beginning of the class, I told them a little bit about my life -- in particular, my experiences that related to theirs. Being homeless.
As we talked, I shared a little more about my story, using my experience to demonstrate that falling on the road of life is inevitable -- How we get up is our choice, because one thing's for sure, if we're in this room breathing, we're not lying dead on the road. At one point, one of the students said, but what if you did things in your past you can't forgive yourself for?
"Why would you not want to forgive yourself?" I asked.
He looked at me and said, "I don't know."
At the beginning of the class, I had told them that one of the answers I would always challenge was, "I don't know." I told them that if they used that response, my reply would be, "You do know. It's just a habit that let's you off the hook of being accountable when you say I don't know."
I smiled and gave him my response. He didn't want to give me an answer. He didn't want to face his truth, but earlier on we'd agreed he was courageous. He was in this classroom, learning, stretching, acquiring new skills so that he could move out of the shelter and into his own life -- that took courage.
"What would a courageous man reply?" I asked.
He sat up straighter. "He'd say he didn't want to forgive himself because he was ashamed of himself."
"And does holding onto shame take you closer to your goals or away from your goals?"
"Away," he quickly replied.
"Does shame strengthen your belief you are a magnificent man or weaken your belief in your magnificence?"
Without hesitating he blurted out. "I'm not magnificent."
"What if I told you I see a magnificent human being when I look at you?"
"I'd tell you have really bad eyesight."
I smiled. "You can't look through my eyes. And I have really clear vision when I see you. I know your life is a mess right now. I know you've got challenges. You wouldn't be living at a homeless shelter if you didn't. Standing here, right now, it isn't your past I see when I look at you. It's your magnificence."
I turned to the class. "How many of you have difficulty accepting you are magnificent human beings?"
Everyone put up their hands.
"How many of you believe you're awful human beings?"
Their faces looked surprised. A couple of people sheepishly raised their hands while the others hemmed and hawed.
"That's self-esteem." I said. "Good or bad. Healthy or weak. We've all got self-esteem. It's where we place our beliefs that make the difference in how we live our lives. There isn't one person in this room, including myself, who hasn't done things in the past that caused pain -- to themselves and to others. When we turn that pain into the whip with which we flail ourselves every day, we give-away our birthright of magnificence. My goal is to speak to you from my place of magnificence. To connect to your magnificence. Your past is not my issue. Right now, in this moment, is my concern. And right now," I turned back to the student who did not accept he was magnificent and said, "I see a magnificent human being."
"I'd like to believe I could be a magnificent human being," he said.
"What if just for this moment you accepted you are? How would you feel?"
He smiled. "Fantastic."
"Great! In that moment you made a different choice and allowed yourself to feel the magnificence of your being. You have the ability, just not the habit."
By the end of the class we agreed that everyone of us in the room has a magnificent core -- it might be buried beneath life's burdens but the breath of the idea was there, the germ of our magnificence was alive -- it needed nurturing, loving, caring, and cultivating.
Being magnificent does not mean life is perfect. It does not mean I am perfect or that I do everything perfectly. To illustrate my point, I shared with them the story of the day I forgot my wallet at home and turned it into my core tape, I am unworthy. (Riding my high horse, reality falls away). In those moments of sitting in Devonian Gardens feeling less than, other than, not equal to the rest of the world, I was wallowing in self-pity and denying my magnificence because I wanted to prove myself right about my core tape. For me, it isn't what I did that makes the difference to how I continue my journey -- it's how I hold myself accountable, apologize to those I hurt, make amends, refocus my thinking, love myself even when I fall -- that's what makes the difference in my life today.
Life is a constant journey of shifting perspective, growing, stepping into muck, rising above the daily grind and learning to fly. Some days, my wings feel heavy. Some days, my feet drag behind me, weighing me down. Some days, I soar.
There is a world of pessimism out there willing and eager to encourage me into giving away my birthright of magnificence. When I do, I am the one most effected. Because in denying my birthright, I am buying into the worldview that life is a struggle. Life is a grind. Life is a why bother exercise that begins in pain and ends in sorrow.
Life is a miraculous journey. Life is all I've got to live -- it's up to me to expand my wings, stretch my spirit and soar.
When I claim my birthright, I am free to become all that I am meant to be without fear, without regret, without shame. I am free.
Yesterday, I taught a class in self-esteem and stretched myself and grew.
Yesterday, I connected to the magnificence of everyone in the class and felt my world light up.
Today, I am committed to living my birthright without fear. Courageously claiming my unique place in the sun so that I can inspire everyone I meet to claim their birthright too.
In this moment, I see your magnificence. Can you see it too?
I am a fearless woman touching hearts and opening minds to set spirits free.
Nameste.
Wednesday, May 9, 2007
In the grace of the moment
On Monday I had lunch with a friend from my past. In our early twenties we worked together. Just the two of us at first in an office that eventually grew to +20 people. For my friend, Leslie* and for me, this was an exciting, and a stressful time.
We both grew up in similar circumstances where alcohol played an enormous role in our formative years. We both had older siblings and we both had dreams we were too afraid to speak. My friend Leslie was the first woman I knew who married an abuser. I remember at the time I didn't go to her wedding because I could not in good conscience wish her well -- I knew the things he did to her before they married. Why would she marry him, I wondered?
Aahhh, the things time teaches us!
When we met on Monday we spoke of those years when between us we did some pretty stupid things that we are amazed we survived -- but are grateful we did.
I mentioned to Leslie that having come through the Conrad experience, I felt grateful for the gifts I had received. As I thought about that statement this morning I realized how far I've come from those first frightening, but heady, days of freedom.
On May 21 it will be four years since he was arrested. What once felt like a burden too heavy to carry. What once felt as though it would bury me beneath its weight of sorrow and shame and guilt no longer weighs me down.
The lightening up of the load has been a gradual yet steady progress. It has been a step by step journey into the light of knowing, without doubt, that I am a magnificent human being on the journey of my lifetime. I am confident in my truth that what happened to me yesterday is nothing compared to what I am capable of doing today. I'm okay.
What an awesome place to be.
When I first got my life back I knew where I wanted to go -- away from that pain and sorrow. Away from feeling less than, other than, not enough, not worthy. I knew that peace of mind was where I wanted to live -- I just wasn't sure how to get there.
But, like any good journey, with a destination in mind, I started to take steps towards my target -- a joy-filled life.
The first step was to accept.
Accept that what I had done hurt those I love, including myself. Accept that while he was/is accountable for his actions, I too am accountable for mine. Rather than make excuses for myself, I accepted that I had hurt people.
In acceptance, I asked for forgiveness. From those I love, and from myself. The details, circumstances, litany of my sins or others sins against me were not the issue, embracing my forgiving state of mind was my goal.
With forgiveness, I was able to step into treating myself with tender loving care. I had been abused. I did not need to continue to abuse myself by dragging myself through the past. I needed to step into the moment, embrace my wounded heart and soul and mind, and treat myself tenderly. Treating myself with tender loving care meant honouring my journey, honouring myself and protecting myself from harm -- both within my mind and the outside world.
I also needed to exercise the muscles of my mind so that I did not trap myself in repeating, again and again, the litany of 'what he did'. I had to exercise my mind to embrace the truth of my life away from him. His abuse was over -- it was my duty, my responsibility, my right to treat myself with respect, and care, so that I could end the abuse in my life -- with and without him. Something I have noticed with other women and men I've spoken with is the human tendency to repeat the 'story' of how we were wronged. For me, repeating the story of what he did, kept me focused on him. Finding my story without him meant giving up his part of my life, and claiming centre stage of my own life. To do that I had to keep exercising, body, mind and spirit. I had to move away from the story of him, into the story of ME.
In that process, I recognized, especially in those first months away from his abuse, that talking of him was dangerous for me. I was not strong enough at first to face some of the truths of that relationship. That's why it was so important to me that I move into forgiveness. In forgiveness I continually embraced what I'd done, what had happened to me with a loving heart, not an angry mind. I had to wait to let my angry surface because I was afraid of anger -- and I was not strong enough initially to face my anger alone. It took until I began to write The Dandelion Spirit before I could look at the specific 'events' of that relationship without fearing pulling myself down or backwards into despair.
Finally, to claim my beautiful life, I had to rejoice in my freedom -- and continue to focus, everyday on what was right with my life in that moment, not what was wrong. My humanness often meant I slipped into thinking about the hugeness of the problems before me. Whenever I did that, I would feel depressed, dispirited, overwhelmed. So I stopped doing it. I chose instead to focus on what I could do in the moment that added value, that created another step in my journey forward. I focused my thinking on what I could do for myself in that moment to heal, and quit focusing on what I could do to 'fix my life'.
Fixing my life thinking had kept me stuck in believing there was a magic wand that would miraculously change my life while I was with him. There was no magic wand. In fact, with or without him, there will never will be a magic wand that will fix my life.
Life is a moment by moment process. It's up to me to create the life of my dreams by living each moment with grace, ease and dignity.
When I am living with grace, I am living from my true self. In grace I move with ease and dignity through the moments of my life without fear that I am 'not enough'. Not tall enough, short enough, thin enough, smart enough, good enough. When I live in grace, there is no other 'enough'. My best is acceptable. I am enough.
Leslie and I spent an hour and a half talking on Monday about where we'd been and where we are today. In that conversation, I was reminded that where I was is nothing compared to where I am today. Yet, where I was forms the foundation of where I'm at because I have moved from being that wounded, frightened, worried little girl who believed she was not worthy. When Leslie and I were experimenting with life, pretending we were in control, having the time of our life and terrified of the consequences, we were living a lie.
Today, we both live our truth. Somedays more gracefully than others! But it is our truth. We are miraculous, magnificent human beings on the journey of a lifetime.
Today, I give up all hope that I can have a better past. Today, I embrace the truth that I am all that I am meant to be when I accept I am enough. Just the way I am. And how I am is a reflection of my inner state of being. It is a reflection of my truth: I am worthy.
Today, I see the past in a better light than yesterday. Today, I see that the past is simply the journey I took to get to where I'm at. The past is not the map for my future. It has receded into the light of knowing it was just a thousand and one points in time that lead me to today.
May you journey through your day knowing your past is nothing compared to what today may bring. May you accept yourself with a forgiving and a loving heart, treat yourself with tender loving care and exercise your mind through rejoicing in the wonder, the beauty and the magnificence of you. You are awesome.
*not her real name.
We both grew up in similar circumstances where alcohol played an enormous role in our formative years. We both had older siblings and we both had dreams we were too afraid to speak. My friend Leslie was the first woman I knew who married an abuser. I remember at the time I didn't go to her wedding because I could not in good conscience wish her well -- I knew the things he did to her before they married. Why would she marry him, I wondered?
Aahhh, the things time teaches us!
When we met on Monday we spoke of those years when between us we did some pretty stupid things that we are amazed we survived -- but are grateful we did.
I mentioned to Leslie that having come through the Conrad experience, I felt grateful for the gifts I had received. As I thought about that statement this morning I realized how far I've come from those first frightening, but heady, days of freedom.
On May 21 it will be four years since he was arrested. What once felt like a burden too heavy to carry. What once felt as though it would bury me beneath its weight of sorrow and shame and guilt no longer weighs me down.
The lightening up of the load has been a gradual yet steady progress. It has been a step by step journey into the light of knowing, without doubt, that I am a magnificent human being on the journey of my lifetime. I am confident in my truth that what happened to me yesterday is nothing compared to what I am capable of doing today. I'm okay.
What an awesome place to be.
When I first got my life back I knew where I wanted to go -- away from that pain and sorrow. Away from feeling less than, other than, not enough, not worthy. I knew that peace of mind was where I wanted to live -- I just wasn't sure how to get there.
But, like any good journey, with a destination in mind, I started to take steps towards my target -- a joy-filled life.
The first step was to accept.
Accept that what I had done hurt those I love, including myself. Accept that while he was/is accountable for his actions, I too am accountable for mine. Rather than make excuses for myself, I accepted that I had hurt people.
In acceptance, I asked for forgiveness. From those I love, and from myself. The details, circumstances, litany of my sins or others sins against me were not the issue, embracing my forgiving state of mind was my goal.
With forgiveness, I was able to step into treating myself with tender loving care. I had been abused. I did not need to continue to abuse myself by dragging myself through the past. I needed to step into the moment, embrace my wounded heart and soul and mind, and treat myself tenderly. Treating myself with tender loving care meant honouring my journey, honouring myself and protecting myself from harm -- both within my mind and the outside world.
I also needed to exercise the muscles of my mind so that I did not trap myself in repeating, again and again, the litany of 'what he did'. I had to exercise my mind to embrace the truth of my life away from him. His abuse was over -- it was my duty, my responsibility, my right to treat myself with respect, and care, so that I could end the abuse in my life -- with and without him. Something I have noticed with other women and men I've spoken with is the human tendency to repeat the 'story' of how we were wronged. For me, repeating the story of what he did, kept me focused on him. Finding my story without him meant giving up his part of my life, and claiming centre stage of my own life. To do that I had to keep exercising, body, mind and spirit. I had to move away from the story of him, into the story of ME.
In that process, I recognized, especially in those first months away from his abuse, that talking of him was dangerous for me. I was not strong enough at first to face some of the truths of that relationship. That's why it was so important to me that I move into forgiveness. In forgiveness I continually embraced what I'd done, what had happened to me with a loving heart, not an angry mind. I had to wait to let my angry surface because I was afraid of anger -- and I was not strong enough initially to face my anger alone. It took until I began to write The Dandelion Spirit before I could look at the specific 'events' of that relationship without fearing pulling myself down or backwards into despair.
Finally, to claim my beautiful life, I had to rejoice in my freedom -- and continue to focus, everyday on what was right with my life in that moment, not what was wrong. My humanness often meant I slipped into thinking about the hugeness of the problems before me. Whenever I did that, I would feel depressed, dispirited, overwhelmed. So I stopped doing it. I chose instead to focus on what I could do in the moment that added value, that created another step in my journey forward. I focused my thinking on what I could do for myself in that moment to heal, and quit focusing on what I could do to 'fix my life'.
Fixing my life thinking had kept me stuck in believing there was a magic wand that would miraculously change my life while I was with him. There was no magic wand. In fact, with or without him, there will never will be a magic wand that will fix my life.
Life is a moment by moment process. It's up to me to create the life of my dreams by living each moment with grace, ease and dignity.
When I am living with grace, I am living from my true self. In grace I move with ease and dignity through the moments of my life without fear that I am 'not enough'. Not tall enough, short enough, thin enough, smart enough, good enough. When I live in grace, there is no other 'enough'. My best is acceptable. I am enough.
Leslie and I spent an hour and a half talking on Monday about where we'd been and where we are today. In that conversation, I was reminded that where I was is nothing compared to where I am today. Yet, where I was forms the foundation of where I'm at because I have moved from being that wounded, frightened, worried little girl who believed she was not worthy. When Leslie and I were experimenting with life, pretending we were in control, having the time of our life and terrified of the consequences, we were living a lie.
Today, we both live our truth. Somedays more gracefully than others! But it is our truth. We are miraculous, magnificent human beings on the journey of a lifetime.
Today, I give up all hope that I can have a better past. Today, I embrace the truth that I am all that I am meant to be when I accept I am enough. Just the way I am. And how I am is a reflection of my inner state of being. It is a reflection of my truth: I am worthy.
Today, I see the past in a better light than yesterday. Today, I see that the past is simply the journey I took to get to where I'm at. The past is not the map for my future. It has receded into the light of knowing it was just a thousand and one points in time that lead me to today.
May you journey through your day knowing your past is nothing compared to what today may bring. May you accept yourself with a forgiving and a loving heart, treat yourself with tender loving care and exercise your mind through rejoicing in the wonder, the beauty and the magnificence of you. You are awesome.
*not her real name.
Tuesday, May 8, 2007
Love Never Dies
This morning when I awoke I wrote my gratitude list and forgot to mention something that has had a profound effect on my life -- and for which I'm truly grateful.
The Internet.
I love it. Think about it. Sitting here at my desk in Calgary I am in touch with people around the world. Every day I hear from people who read my blog, or have read my book, who take the time to write and tell me how my words affect them. And every day, I have an opportunity to reach out and touch people, fulfilling my purpose: I am a fearless woman touching hearts and opening minds to set spirits free.
When I first got out of an abusive relationship, the Internet helped me make sense of the nonsense I'd endured. Clicking my way into a chat room of people who had also endured similar circumstances to mine, gave me the courage to heal. In those rooms and sites, I felt less alone, less stupid, less crazy. I felt hope stirring within me as I awoke to the realization that I could uncover myself from beneath the grime and grit of that relationship so that I could one day give back and help others heal.
The reason I am so grateful to the Internet this morning, however, is because of an old friend of my brother's who after 30+ years contacted me. He'd just heard about my brother's death when he searched online for him and found a note on a site for kids who went to the school we went to in Europe. He wrote to tell me, though it's 10 years after the fact, that he was sorry to hear about George's passing.
In his note, he reminded me of what a great guy George was. And it's true. My brother was an awesome human being. When I was in my teens, he was the person I looked up to, the guy I admired the most. Not many men could compare to my brother. Tall, dark and handsome. He had a great sense of humour, and would help anyone in need. My girlfriends all loved him -- which accounts for why so many of them hung out at my house!
My brother is also one of the reasons I work at a homeless shelter. My brother was an alcoholic. He was never homeless, but alcohol stole the brother I loved when he was in his twenties and replaced him with an erratic, unpredictable man who had a vicious temper and the capacity to cut me down in two seconds flat.
Throughout my twenties and thirties I cried a lot about my brother. I couldn't understand where the boy I had grown up with had disappeared. The brother I remembered was caring and funny. He always had a kind word and never lost his temper. But as we both grew into maturity, the brother I knew disappeared into an angry, bitter man who needed three vodka's at lunch to get through the rest of the day and then three more to get through the evening.
I hated my brother for who he had become. I hated alcohol for stealing him away. Yet, I always held onto the hope that one day he would awaken from his alcohol induced state and reclaim his life in sobriety. It never happened. A head on collision between his car and a semi-trailer took my hope away. Both my brother and his wife died in that accident, and with them, all hope of ever getting my brother back went up in the flames that engulfed their vehicle and snuffed out their lives.
And that's why I work at a homeless shelter. We keep hope alive. For the individuals and their families. We provide a safe place for people in need to catch their breath, to find their balance until such time as they can say, 'This isn't working for me anymore. I need to make some changes.' Every day at work, I feel blessed. I can make a difference, and because of my brother, my heart is open in love, without judgement, without regret, without sorrow. I know that because of what we do, a mother, a father, a sister, a brother has a chance of getting their loved one back, some day. There is hope. It's a fragile thread. A single breath that can change the direction of a life forever. But, there is hope. Without it, all is lost.
When I received the email from my brother's friend this morning, I was reminded of the awesome young man my brother was and I was grateful for the reminder that, while my brother died ten years ago, love never dies.
This morning, I am grateful for the Internet. An invisible network of bits and bytes circumnavigating the world in the blink of an eye and carrying messages of hope, love, forgiveness, possibilities to people just like me who start their day with an online ritual of logging on.
I am grateful for this thead of hope that spins its way around the globe on invisible threads connecting hearts and minds where ever we are.
I am grateful for the people who build sites so that others can visit and reconnect with long lost friends and family. For those who create sites for healing, and sharing and connecting so that we can share our hope, strength and experience. And for the courageous men and women who share their stories, so that others feel hopeful they too will find a different story beneath the pain and suffering.
And, I am grateful for this moment when I can sit and cherish the memories of a brother who lost his way in life, but who will never lose his way to my heart.
Today, I remember my brother in love. There's no judgement, no regret, no sorrow in my love. He was an awesome human being who fell hard on the road of life. He taught me many things and most of all, he taught me the awesome truth -- Love never dies.
The Internet.
I love it. Think about it. Sitting here at my desk in Calgary I am in touch with people around the world. Every day I hear from people who read my blog, or have read my book, who take the time to write and tell me how my words affect them. And every day, I have an opportunity to reach out and touch people, fulfilling my purpose: I am a fearless woman touching hearts and opening minds to set spirits free.
When I first got out of an abusive relationship, the Internet helped me make sense of the nonsense I'd endured. Clicking my way into a chat room of people who had also endured similar circumstances to mine, gave me the courage to heal. In those rooms and sites, I felt less alone, less stupid, less crazy. I felt hope stirring within me as I awoke to the realization that I could uncover myself from beneath the grime and grit of that relationship so that I could one day give back and help others heal.
The reason I am so grateful to the Internet this morning, however, is because of an old friend of my brother's who after 30+ years contacted me. He'd just heard about my brother's death when he searched online for him and found a note on a site for kids who went to the school we went to in Europe. He wrote to tell me, though it's 10 years after the fact, that he was sorry to hear about George's passing.
In his note, he reminded me of what a great guy George was. And it's true. My brother was an awesome human being. When I was in my teens, he was the person I looked up to, the guy I admired the most. Not many men could compare to my brother. Tall, dark and handsome. He had a great sense of humour, and would help anyone in need. My girlfriends all loved him -- which accounts for why so many of them hung out at my house!
My brother is also one of the reasons I work at a homeless shelter. My brother was an alcoholic. He was never homeless, but alcohol stole the brother I loved when he was in his twenties and replaced him with an erratic, unpredictable man who had a vicious temper and the capacity to cut me down in two seconds flat.
Throughout my twenties and thirties I cried a lot about my brother. I couldn't understand where the boy I had grown up with had disappeared. The brother I remembered was caring and funny. He always had a kind word and never lost his temper. But as we both grew into maturity, the brother I knew disappeared into an angry, bitter man who needed three vodka's at lunch to get through the rest of the day and then three more to get through the evening.
I hated my brother for who he had become. I hated alcohol for stealing him away. Yet, I always held onto the hope that one day he would awaken from his alcohol induced state and reclaim his life in sobriety. It never happened. A head on collision between his car and a semi-trailer took my hope away. Both my brother and his wife died in that accident, and with them, all hope of ever getting my brother back went up in the flames that engulfed their vehicle and snuffed out their lives.
And that's why I work at a homeless shelter. We keep hope alive. For the individuals and their families. We provide a safe place for people in need to catch their breath, to find their balance until such time as they can say, 'This isn't working for me anymore. I need to make some changes.' Every day at work, I feel blessed. I can make a difference, and because of my brother, my heart is open in love, without judgement, without regret, without sorrow. I know that because of what we do, a mother, a father, a sister, a brother has a chance of getting their loved one back, some day. There is hope. It's a fragile thread. A single breath that can change the direction of a life forever. But, there is hope. Without it, all is lost.
When I received the email from my brother's friend this morning, I was reminded of the awesome young man my brother was and I was grateful for the reminder that, while my brother died ten years ago, love never dies.
This morning, I am grateful for the Internet. An invisible network of bits and bytes circumnavigating the world in the blink of an eye and carrying messages of hope, love, forgiveness, possibilities to people just like me who start their day with an online ritual of logging on.
I am grateful for this thead of hope that spins its way around the globe on invisible threads connecting hearts and minds where ever we are.
I am grateful for the people who build sites so that others can visit and reconnect with long lost friends and family. For those who create sites for healing, and sharing and connecting so that we can share our hope, strength and experience. And for the courageous men and women who share their stories, so that others feel hopeful they too will find a different story beneath the pain and suffering.
And, I am grateful for this moment when I can sit and cherish the memories of a brother who lost his way in life, but who will never lose his way to my heart.
Today, I remember my brother in love. There's no judgement, no regret, no sorrow in my love. He was an awesome human being who fell hard on the road of life. He taught me many things and most of all, he taught me the awesome truth -- Love never dies.
Nameste.
Monday, May 7, 2007
If life is a lemon, how sweet is your lemonade?
Have you ever felt as if all life was serving up was a bunch of lemons? Anyone who has encountered the heady aroma of a grove of lemon trees in blossom will understand why nothing could be sweeter! Years ago, while travelling in Greece, I walked through a lemon grove and was in awe of the aroma. Pure delight. Sweet, succulent, refreshing. My entire being felt kissed with the nectar of the gods. I felt grateful, in awe and inspired by the moment. It is a scent I carry with me in memory, an aroma that continues to inspire me today, whenever I ask the question, Why me?
Why not me?
If this is the lemon, can I sweeten the juice? Can I create value from the perceived negative, turn the dark into light? Instead of asking, why me, can I ask instead, What can I learn from this event?
Victim's ask, Why me. Victor's ask, What can I learn.
Life is not a guarantee for happiness. How we live it increases our chances of tapping into the joy of living, but it's up to us to ask the questions that strengthen our journey, and give us direction.
When I focus on why life is so hard, why life is getting me down, why life is so unfair, I am letting life get the better of me.
When I focus on learning from every circumstance in my life, I am getting the best from me and my life. I am creating lemonade from lemons.
A few days ago I was driving to meet my two sisters and mother for lunch. My eldest sister had emailed me the directions which I'd printed off -- and left beside my computer at home. Just before leaving my office, I quickly looked up the address for what I thought the name of the place was and set out into the pouring rain. Unfortunately, I had the name wrong. The only thing my address had in common with the actual location of where I was supposed to be was it happened to be in the northwest quandrant of the city -- oh, and it did include Bow in the name!
As I headed towards where I thought I was going, I came to an intersection where I clearly remembered my sister telling me to 'turn left'. I looked at the address I had written down, looked at the left turn and turned right. My address was not to the left, it was to the right -- a long long way to the right, I might add!
In that right turn I committed myself to a path in the wrong direction. Even though I knew where I was going should have been on the left, I chose to follow where I thought I should go because my information was faulty. As I travelled north, in the complete opposite direction where I wanted to be, I kept thinking, "hmmmm, this doesn't feel right." But I'd look at the address I'd written down and think, "Well, it should be out here somewhere."
Eventually, I phoned and got the right address. Sure enough, I was miles north of where I should have been. It took me forty-five minutes to take what would have been a 10 minute drive -- even in the pouring rain. Fortunately, I had given myself an extra 20 minutes so I was only 15 minutes late!
What a great lesson.
A map. Directions. None of them make an iota of difference if I don't know where I'm going to start with.
Just like life.
I can have an idea of where I want to go, a sense of what I'm heading for, but if I don't have an actual, and accurate, address, I'll never get there. And, if I don't pay attention to the details, use coordinates unrelated to my destination, I'll always be leading myself astray.
There have been other moments in my life where I have ignored what I knew to be right and driven myself into the wrong direction because I trusted information that was wrong for me. Having survived 4 years 9 months with an abuser, I can tell you, everything he told me was an untruth, from hello to good-bye, I love you to I hate you, You're beautiful to you're ugly, it was all a lie.
Yet, while I was with him, I wanted to believe him so badly I clung to his lies as if they would lead me to the truth.
Truth is, only I know what path I need to take to live the life of my dreams. Only I can choose my direction -- and sometimes I make mistakes because my information is faulty, or I didn't pay attention to the details. It's okay to make mistakes as long as I learn from them and make appropriate adjustments to my course so that I can get to where I want to go.
Like last week when I turned right instead of left. Eventually, I realized it was time to turn back and head in the opposite direction. I found where I was supposed to be and had a delightful lunch with three awesome women.
When I was in that relationship, however, I never turned back. I kept travelling the road of lies and deceit because I could not admit I'd turned in the wrong direction; that I was on a path leading me into danger.
Pride.
It can drag me down if I don't keep my eyes focused on where I want to go in my life.
Today, I cultivate a lemonade mind. There's no negative in life -- it's all positive as long as I learn from every situation. Along with keeping me focused on my goals, my lemonade mind lifts me up with the sweet aroma of laughter. Last week, with rain streaming down my windshield, the roads slick with oily water, I started to laugh. One of my favourite sounds is rain pummelling the metal roof of a car while I'm inside it. I love that sound! And because I was lost, I got to experience it longer than I would have had I gone directly to my destination. Cool!
When bitterness is pouring like lemon juice in your life, laugh! Laughter will sweeten even the darkest day.
Why not me?
If this is the lemon, can I sweeten the juice? Can I create value from the perceived negative, turn the dark into light? Instead of asking, why me, can I ask instead, What can I learn from this event?
Victim's ask, Why me. Victor's ask, What can I learn.
Life is not a guarantee for happiness. How we live it increases our chances of tapping into the joy of living, but it's up to us to ask the questions that strengthen our journey, and give us direction.
When I focus on why life is so hard, why life is getting me down, why life is so unfair, I am letting life get the better of me.
When I focus on learning from every circumstance in my life, I am getting the best from me and my life. I am creating lemonade from lemons.
A few days ago I was driving to meet my two sisters and mother for lunch. My eldest sister had emailed me the directions which I'd printed off -- and left beside my computer at home. Just before leaving my office, I quickly looked up the address for what I thought the name of the place was and set out into the pouring rain. Unfortunately, I had the name wrong. The only thing my address had in common with the actual location of where I was supposed to be was it happened to be in the northwest quandrant of the city -- oh, and it did include Bow in the name!
As I headed towards where I thought I was going, I came to an intersection where I clearly remembered my sister telling me to 'turn left'. I looked at the address I had written down, looked at the left turn and turned right. My address was not to the left, it was to the right -- a long long way to the right, I might add!
In that right turn I committed myself to a path in the wrong direction. Even though I knew where I was going should have been on the left, I chose to follow where I thought I should go because my information was faulty. As I travelled north, in the complete opposite direction where I wanted to be, I kept thinking, "hmmmm, this doesn't feel right." But I'd look at the address I'd written down and think, "Well, it should be out here somewhere."
Eventually, I phoned and got the right address. Sure enough, I was miles north of where I should have been. It took me forty-five minutes to take what would have been a 10 minute drive -- even in the pouring rain. Fortunately, I had given myself an extra 20 minutes so I was only 15 minutes late!
What a great lesson.
A map. Directions. None of them make an iota of difference if I don't know where I'm going to start with.
Just like life.
I can have an idea of where I want to go, a sense of what I'm heading for, but if I don't have an actual, and accurate, address, I'll never get there. And, if I don't pay attention to the details, use coordinates unrelated to my destination, I'll always be leading myself astray.
There have been other moments in my life where I have ignored what I knew to be right and driven myself into the wrong direction because I trusted information that was wrong for me. Having survived 4 years 9 months with an abuser, I can tell you, everything he told me was an untruth, from hello to good-bye, I love you to I hate you, You're beautiful to you're ugly, it was all a lie.
Yet, while I was with him, I wanted to believe him so badly I clung to his lies as if they would lead me to the truth.
Truth is, only I know what path I need to take to live the life of my dreams. Only I can choose my direction -- and sometimes I make mistakes because my information is faulty, or I didn't pay attention to the details. It's okay to make mistakes as long as I learn from them and make appropriate adjustments to my course so that I can get to where I want to go.
Like last week when I turned right instead of left. Eventually, I realized it was time to turn back and head in the opposite direction. I found where I was supposed to be and had a delightful lunch with three awesome women.
When I was in that relationship, however, I never turned back. I kept travelling the road of lies and deceit because I could not admit I'd turned in the wrong direction; that I was on a path leading me into danger.
Pride.
It can drag me down if I don't keep my eyes focused on where I want to go in my life.
Today, I cultivate a lemonade mind. There's no negative in life -- it's all positive as long as I learn from every situation. Along with keeping me focused on my goals, my lemonade mind lifts me up with the sweet aroma of laughter. Last week, with rain streaming down my windshield, the roads slick with oily water, I started to laugh. One of my favourite sounds is rain pummelling the metal roof of a car while I'm inside it. I love that sound! And because I was lost, I got to experience it longer than I would have had I gone directly to my destination. Cool!
When bitterness is pouring like lemon juice in your life, laugh! Laughter will sweeten even the darkest day.
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