Shifting Identities

This morning when I looked in the mirror (yes, I had to get really close to be able to see without my reading glasses :) . . I began to see that I am really changing . . my eyebrows no longer have a full arch (yes, too overplucked for too long). . my lip color has washed to a paler pigment . . the dark circles under my eyes defy the highlighting concealer. .

And yet, I'm going to say it here. . . I still have a definite "look" . . an identity that is uniquely my own.  We all do . . and yet, so many times, we fail to own it.  There are so many days I run around the house in my jammies and a tee . . waiting until I've done my work before jazzing up.  Unfortunately, when I get in a rut . . I never get around to "jazzing" up.  So, if I have to run to the store or run an errand . . well, I tell myself, "no one will notice".  But the truth is, I do.  When those days roll one into another, I feel rumpled, inside and out. . . and I bet my face looks "rumpled", too.

. . .all of this has to do with my shifting identity . . .and if you can relate, yours is probably shifting, too . .

In order to take ourselves seriously . . and to get anything done. . . we have to have an identity (which then also, by context, gives us purpose).  However, just like my changing face as I am ever-so-slightly-getting-older. . .my identity is shifting, too.

In order to define who I am and what I am going to take on . . I've got to choose something and stick to it.  My process and purpose has to be meaningful.  .  . and yet, it only has to make sense to me (however, the caveat here is that it has to be defined and real within myself).

"There is a vitality, a life force, a quickening that is translated through you into action, and because there is only one of you in all time, this expression is unique.  And if you block it, it will never exist through any other medium and will be lost.  The world will not have it.  It is not your business to determine how good it is, nor how valuable it is, nor how it compares with other expressions.  It is your business to keep it yours, clearly and directly, to keep the channel open". . Martha Graham

And so for me, today, I am "jazzed up" early :)  I am dressed and ready to work.  I have a mission (and a purpose).  And I'm on track.  Open . . and listening . . .still.

Running Away

Why is it that when things are tough, we want to run away?  I've been thinking a lot about this lately . . as have some of my friends.  I am pretty sure it has to do with this instinctual search to protect ourselves. . to find a place where we can retreat from the seemingly constant barrage of needs.  My editor "needs" this today, I "need" to go to the store (and start dinner), "need" to pay the bills . . . and "need" to make certain everyone else's needs are met (which is what creates most of our angst).

And so, when we become overwhelmed (after trying to dig out for weeks/months/years) . . we throw up our hands.  I am never sure whether we give up because we run out of options or run out of energy. . but none-the-less, we choose to flee. . rather than waving the white flag of surrender.

And, I'm thinking maybe this is a good thing :)

After all, if we can run away for a bit (whether to our sister's or to the water's edge), we retain the possibility to find peace in this quiet space.

We cannot "fix" anything other than ourselves.  We know this. . even though we refuse to accept it (over and over).  And the longer we continue to try and fix someone else, it is really just a way that we have to escape working on our own needs. . whether they are painting our toenails or pulling weeds.  And I'm totally convinced that when we give ourselves permission to "run away" . . .we will be taking the first step to beginning again.

I am totally convinced that we have the power to endure . . to flourish. If we can get out of our own way.  And for me, sometimes the best way of seeing is to talk it out, write it out, dance it out, cry it out.  And so, just for today . . I'm running away (with friends :)

Tomorrow, I'll be back . . listening . . .as always . . .

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 . .