Small Good Things - Grandchildren

On Friday mid-morning, I will head to the airport . . my youngest daughter and youngest grandchildren will be arriving.  I can hardly wait.  I long for the joy and life that they bring.  


In the weeks and months between visits, I spend time teaching and working on my business efforts . . spending so much time in matters that I know for certain cannot compare to the sweet reality of sticky kisses and constant streams (or screams:) of chatter.  


When I am with them in Peoria, we might have a tea party or play in the breezeway . . we might eat chili dogs and ice cream cones . . or throw bowling balls while they squeal with delight as I drop my backwards (as my older two beautiful grandchildren have taught them:) .  All familiar places and familiar comforts.  Small good things that I hold close until they return.

Today, I am longing to see them practice their acrobatics, hear them sing out wildly, gobble their spaghetti and salads . . and most of all to hold them in my arms . . listen to them read . . take them to the library. . .splash at the beach . . chase away the errant clouds.  It is a love that I can only share through images . . but that runs deeper than any vein of gold . .    it is through their love that I see possibility . . . and goodness in the world. Small good things.  

Who reminds you of those small good things?  Who props you up when you are sagging . . and reminds you of hope and possibility?  I'd love to hear.  I truly believe that the greatest gift we have in life is each other . . .I am here . . I am listening ...

Fridays Are Meant for Poetry

Asking Anna
"And when one sees the truth,
what is one to do?" -- from Anna Karenina

In my museum of friends
sacrifice winters our lives.
In this deterioration
we decline to specify,
I ask Anna:
what's it like when lights
are going down, and like miners
with flashlights we're lying
thin on the ground?

What does she make of it?
Do icons remain icons,
forever concealing secrets
in the float of their skirts?
Do doorways open upon arrival
to those with a connoisseur's
eye for jewels and paintings?
Is the magic word as cold as vodka
slamming the back of the throat?

Finally, she smiles: around her ears
I can see traces of flame.
None of her answers longer
than a sentence, Anna understands
the potent mix of mandate
and submission, of choosing
to love or die. She advises,
"Let a dozen roses go with you."
And so they will, I reply.

Andrea Bates

Small Good Things

This has been a spectacular month . . one of sensory delights (squiggling, sparkly-eyed, nuzzling children; gem-toned tulip promises; precious I-Love-You's in real-time; scrumptious Batman-Birthday-Cake; and the salty-sea air of home) . . and of continued amazing graces (family, laughter, health, and work).  Small Good Things.


I am not the same woman I was two years ago, last year . . or even six months ago when I held stubbornly to the belief that I "knew" the answers would come . .  that if I was good enough, listened close enough, believed hard enough . .then I could hold the keys to the kingdom.  I would be whole.  I would have everything I ever needed to survive, to be happy.  And although I noted the Small Good Things when I wasn't busy looking for the Major Jackpot (and I don't even play:) . . I was preoccupied with certainty.  I needed to know that I would be okay .. that economic security could be wrapped up in a neat little package, that I would still see tomorrow the same things that I saw today, that I could intellectualize my way out of an emotional squeeze. 


And then I began to see Small Good Things . . speckles of life, sparkles of hope.  


A soft peach cotton shirt, a smile from forever, holding hands, noshing pastries, sipping coffee, sharing tidbits.  


I am in transition . .or maybe it is translation.  The beauty of life is unfolding right in front of those little windows of light that still allow me to see.  Small Good Things.


"I humbly opened my hand . . . I let go.  Lay the hand open.  The sun slides across old hairline scars.  My palm holds light."

"Monster" Perceptions: From Failure to Flow

If you're anything like me (poor thing) you understand how it's so easy to get up in the morning with a list of ideas to jot down, tasks to accomplish, and a good book to finish . . and of course, the walk or jog to keep the fat devils at bay.  And each morning as I get up, I believe I can get it all done . . along with a load of laundry and a top-of-the-stove-skillet dish of some yummy concoction.  I never get it all done (of course!) and then I feel like I've failed.

Failure.  A horrible word.  A horrible feeling.  And I've done it to myself  . . even though it's very easy to blame someone else. . .the interruptions, the phone, the can-you-help-me-figure-this-out requests, and/or my real job of teaching and practicing the art of therapy.

However, this evening I'm reflecting on the possibility that my failure is not horrible . . that failure in the face of persistent perfectionism could possibly be a blessing!  For me, this is an idea worth jotting down :)
 

Our perceptions about who we are and what we are supposed to do in life come from years of measuring ourselves against an external world . . their values and ideals. And yet, when is the last time you asked yourself what you wanted from life? I want to dance. I want to rumba, samba, and jive:)  I want to experience movement and flow.  . . a flourishing life.  And in this moment, it seems, I need to gently re-frame my "monster" perceptions.

Flow is a sense of "effortless action" that leads to an internal sense of positive self-worth.  According to Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi (Finding Flow), we flourish when  we fully engage to overcome a manageable challenge. . we are drawn into the process  . . there is no room for distraction or fear of failure.  So flow is a process . . not a perception.  It is dynamic . . it is never perfect. . . it moves to the challenges.  When I think of flow, I immediately think of water that glides over and around and through . .teardrops and raindrops and dewdrops.  Uninhibited, unimpeded. . .flow.  The dance of life.

What are your challenges . . your "monster" perceptions?  How do you move and flow?  Share in the dance of life . .. I'm listening . . .

Paying Attention to the Positives

Yesterday was one of those days that felt like I just couldn't lift myself out of the doldrums.  It seemed like everything was gray . . and might stay that way forever.  On those kinds of days, I forget about all of those things that are beautiful in the world . . and how lucky I am to be healthy and active . . to be loved and have the capacity to share love. . . and to be happy for the gifts in life that lift me up and nudge me forward.

These past few weeks I have been really thinking about resilience . . leading me to wonder if there are specific things we can do to promote more positive energy in our life.  How do we find gratitude, contentment and joy when it seems as if we are sitting in Job's lot?  

My friend, Patty, suggested the book, One Thousand Gifts (Ann Voskamp) . . and so as I searched the web for a preview, I found her website, too . . a comforting and reflective resource that reminds us to "write them down" . .or to keep track somehow of those amazing gifts in life that are all around us if we just pay attention. 

 And so, I've been on a mission to pay more attention to the positives in life . . even as I struggle to distance myself from the clouds of worry that can occasionally try to sneak in around me.  

Today,as I was listening to Michele Tugade, PhD speak about her research studying resilience I am reminded again to pay attention to those subtle things in life that are positive and beautiful . . like the pure sweet voice of my granddaughter who sings Somewhere Over the Rainbow in perfect pitch . . watching the baby dolphin who playfully splashes near the water's edge . . seeing the male and female bald eagles dancing in paired flight above me  . . . and delightfully nibbling on chocolate covered peanuts as I write :)

What are the positives in your life?  There are so many . . can we, too, practice the art of seeing the thousands?  As always (even when you think I am not here) . . I am listening . . 

The Challenges of Change

Why is it that change is so hard? Recently I've been working on the steps of change . . questioning the relationship between what we know and what we do (or do not do as it seems in so many cases). What is it about our personality that allows us to adapt to change . . or to fight it tooth and nail? Is it the situation . . or our age . . or the height or depth of the circumstances?

As one who studies the thoughts and feelings of women in context, I am always perplexed by our ability to resist change even when we "know" that life is dynamic and that growth demands flexibility. But most of us are so resistant . . and even when we do internalize the need to re-chart our course, we are such self-saboteurs . . hopelessly and seemingly helplessly clinging to old, outworn habits.

It is so difficult to work our way through the steps of change at the deepest level so that we can actually "wear" our new identity with a smile and a lighter step. Change requires that we re-focus our energies . . and most of us want that . . .but desire does not seem to make a dent past my first or second day (when I want to throw up my hands and cry for mercy or pity . . oh god, not that disheartening emotion again:(

So what is it in our personality that allows us to meet the challenge . . or even allows us to realistically recognize and evaluate the challeges? Age, support, belief in the possibility for our own success? A calendar? A check-in with someone else (a constructive mirror)?

As always, I'm listening . . .

Sounds of Love

This week (well actually the past few weeks) I've been struggling with my vision . . the retinitis pigmentosa that narrows my visual field to a little pindot on the right behind the subcapsular cataract sandbagging my central vision . . and on the left that caters to my right and pretends that schisms are just a part of the way things are..and so I've been having a little pity party :( Yes, I have them, too . . the Dr in the house, the intellectual, the philosopher. And Christ (yes, dad, that's a prayer:) . . I've really had enough! So I visited my favorite therapist . . Patty . . .she offers her salon chair in the corner . . a shelter against the onslaught of the outside world . .and she listens . . intent on every word. And it is the calm in her reply to my angst that gives me hope . .as she says, "we will never let you go through this all alone, I will always be here for you". And although I truly know that I am not alone . . my sisters, my daughters, my son, my mother . . and my bear.

And even as I share this tonight, it is not in grief . .although I have grieved and I'm sure my tears are not over . . but I write it in love for those who are willing to never let us walk alone . . to always be there with us and for us .. to love us even in our imperfection and our struggle to become whole again . . or to create that new place where we are more sure of our steps that we were before.

And so, for you, too . . I am here . . for my ability to hear is even keener now than it was before . . as always, I am still here . . listening