In Word and Deed

In 2015 I focused on three words to guide my decisions and actions: Happy, Healthy, Helpful.  I enjoyed exquisite health this year and moved into greater health regarding my eating.  Today I don’t eat sugar, haven’t for 9 weeks without a day off.  Since I can’t eat sugar in moderation, having none is really the best route for me, and it feels like this has now become a habit. Although I haven’t lost much weight, I have reached a mental clarity that I find exhilarating,  and a level of joyful energy flows through me more often than not. 

I wouldn’t have been able to ride this wave of health without being happy, which is why I put that word first.  For years my happiness has depended on my weight and body size, and that’s a losing proposition.  This year, instead of waiting for results that I thought would make me happy, I went right to the happiness by focusing on the aspects of my life that are working well and being much more consciously appreciative and grateful as a discipline.

How helpful I was this year is harder to measure.  I showed up for work wholeheartedly,  attended my recovery meetings, and sponsored women, whom I speak to weekly. I prayed to be gracious when people came to our home, and now that we’re moving, I’m being helpful in the preparation and facilitation of that process.  

Could I be more helpful? Probably, so I’ll continue the weekly work of self-examination and conversation with a sponsor and the monthly check on my spiritual fitness with my spiritual director because both of those guides help me stay humble, which I suspect is the foundation for being truly helpful.

This coming year, I’d like to be Calm, Clear, and Kind.  

What will your guiding words be next year?

Guarding the Heart

I tend to finish what I start, yet I just stopped reading a 688 page book on page 227.  I realized that my customary good spirits were waning, and I connected that to reading this award-winning novel each night. The talented writer renders a complicated context in which each character lives and recreates the oppressive conditions of its setting in the reader. However, I cannot absorb a couple hundred pages of violence and the worst in human kind with impunity.

There’s a spiritual concept called “guarding the heart” and “guarding the eyes” that comes from the desert fathers and mothers. While I’m not oblivious to the mayhem in this world—headlines of heartbreak and outrage come steadily into awareness-- I do watch where I put my attention during discretionary time. 

 Just as I don’t pay for movies that scare me or go on amusement rides that turn me upside down, I use my free time to seek out kindness, wonder and the kinds of connections often called “heartwarming.” I guess that’s why I’m so drawn to the concept of leaning into the light.

 I can appreciate the accomplishment of this massive book and be grateful for the privilege of setting it aside.

In Praise of Hot Coffee

I was on silent retreat last weekend and was consistently amazed at how hot the tea and coffee was at the monastery.  Every single cup impressed me with its delicious flavor and, most of all, its heat.

On the second day it occurred to me that there was nothing special about the retreat center’s coffee dispensary; I was simply drinking immediately after pouring, something I apparently never do.  

Rarely do I drink a cup of tea immediately after preparing it, and this is even true at home, first thing in the morning. At work, I make a cup and then do 17 other things that call my attention. Every cup I drink is cool or lukewarm at best. 

On retreat, after 24 hours of “desert time,” my powers of observation and awareness were keen. The silence and the pace slowed me down so much that while I was reading a poem and drinking a cup of coffee a voice inside said “too busy.”  I wasn’t really focused on either action, so I put down the poem and simply drank the hot beverage, savoring each sip.

How I wish I could be so attentive always.  Yet last night driving home in traffic I had to slam on my brakes so quickly that everything on the front seat fell to the floor. (This used to happen weekly so I’m happy it occurs less often.) Where was my attention when the car in front stopped?  

As much as I’d like my life to feel like a retreat, it doesn’t always. Even as I finish this blog I’m eating my lunch because I have to be somewhere in 12 minutes. Ah well. Walking the spiritual path is a continuous process of notice, adjust and savor. Notice, adjust and savor.  

Ambient Addictions--an Inventory

I’ve been intrigued by what Mark Muldoon calls ambient addictions, the background activities or thoughts that preoccupy us and keep us sleepwalking through life. No one is exempt from an ambient addiction; we all do something to distract ourselves from moments of uncertainty, discomfort or emptiness.

 Muldoon observes that “we learn to do [ambient addictions] automatically when anxieties begin to flare and we need to manage them without acknowledging them. . . .The actual substance or activity that our bodies have learned to employ are only a means to an end to manage our un-owned anxieties by altering the mood of fear and threat that accompany them” (“The Addicted Pilgrim” 24).   Facing our “un-owned anxieties” is the work of a spiritual path.

Many ambient addictions are rewarded and made to seem the norm in our society--shopping, exercising, workaholism-- when they are actually “substitutes for the Holy,” in Muldoon's words. Spiritual growth occurs when we knock on the door of our ambient addictions and enter.

 

I've created this inventory to discover what my ambient addictions might be.  I hope you find it useful.

Ambient Addiction Inventory

1.      Who is the least addicted person you know? How do you feel around them?

2.      What do you tend to do with unscheduled time (10 minutes, an hour or two, a day)?

3.      On what do you spend discretionary money?

4.      List the traits and habits in your partner or someone close to you that most bother you.

5.      If you had a six month sabbatical in life, how would you spend it? 

6.      Why aren’t you doing that?

7.      During a typical day, what brings you contentment, ease or joy?

8.      What do you do that you know you shouldn’t do or should do less of?

9.      What do you not do that you think you should do or do more often?

10.  What gets in the way?

Big Thanks for Big Magic

When I finished reading Elizabeth Gilbert’s book Big Magic I burst into tears.  It's  an extended note of permission to be creative and was just what my soul needed to hear. Gilbert demonstrates that ideas are alive, looking for a human to manifest them.  When we get one, she says, we have to do something with it or it moves on to another person who will do the work.  Keep working, she argues, because inspiration looks for motion rather than inertia.

I’ve been struggling to not eat sugar on and off for several decades now, and the only times it seems to be effortless is when I’m creating something.  When I'm engrossed in a project I eat to survive rather than to distract or entertain  myself. It's not enough to know what I don’t want (i.e. to be fat and cranky); I have to know what I do want (to be kind and happy, creative and alive) and lean into that. If I really am leaning into the light everyday, I’m creating the life I want.

So I’m going to get a writing coach to keep my own work moving along. I’ve got a couple projects in progress, and have been writing pieces on spirituality, recovery, relationships and growing for years. It’s time to gather them, see what still resonates, ask more questions and follow the answers wherever they lead.

There’s a direct connection between creating and becoming lighter, literally and metaphorically, because creation comes from our light.  Gilbert puts it this way:  “What you produce is not necessarily always sacred just because you think it’s sacred. What is sacred is the time you spend working on the project, and what that times does to expand your imagination and what that expanded imagination does to transform your life. The more lightly you can pass that time, the brighter your existence becomes.”

So I will publish my thoughts and observations, questions and curiosities more regularly and keep the momentum moving.

Ingredients for a Sweet Life without Sugar

I’ve recently stopped eating sugar, again, because I like who I am when I don’t have sugar in my system and I’m not capable of occasionally just having a little. Sugar-free, I’m more patient, joyful, and kind, the person I really want to be. However, I’ve tried this many times since 1989, so I have to reframe “giving up” sugar into leaning into something better. How might I make every part of my day sweeter, which is what I wanted all along when I ate that third ice cream bar anyway, a sweet life.

1.       Wake up eager for the day. Be curious about who will cross my path. See everything as an opportunity to connect, all good, all the time. There are plenty of highlights to be had beyond food.

2.       Savor the food I prepare. Be it little or much, simple or complex, put it on a beautiful dish, clear the area, use a real napkin and enjoy.

3.       Move intentionally, stretch fully, breathe deeply, enjoy the emptiness, the fullness, flexibility or new awareness of some change. Celebrate my body's health and functionality rather than focus on appearance.

4.       Greet people with delight, true delight. Kick up my energy a notch, look them in the eye, stop moving when I greet them and really see them. Hug them if they’re open to that. Connection is food for the soul.

5.       Leave silence between words, activities, locations. Inhabiting a silence fully will help me transition seamlessly from one thing to another because I will be aware. Transitions are toughest when I’m not really there and I often used food to transition.

6.       Look at the sky, absorb sunshine, drink in natural beauty, appreciate architecture, look for some beauty in every scene to appreciate and the whole world brightens. These are the true treats of life.

7.       Act on a good idea as soon as possible. Trust the inspiration and take action, which widens the channel to perceive even more. Keeping forward momentum for a purpose makes eating a source of fuel rather than entertainment.

8.       Thank people for who they are, show them I appreciate them with a smile, light touch, laugh and encouragement. Coming from the best in me to the best in them is the tuneup I need.

9.       Give advice only when asked and only when it’s necessary (and most times it’s not needed for everyone has her own guidance).  I’ll be less tempted to give advice the more I’m following my own guidance.

10.   Take time each night to enjoy having a bed, sheets and a great mate.  Savor the times my heart was filled that day. That's a true dessert.

12 Steps to Joyful Connection

12 Steps to Joyful Connection

1.      Don’t doubt the presence of the holy (guides, angels, teachers, higher power, God).

2.      Be wide open to what you will receive, no expectations or fears, no preconceived ideas or concerns.

3.       Be willing to be changed by the information. Knowing and not knowing are equally glorious states—enjoy it all.

4.      Be totally honest in your questions, your hurts, your desires, dreams and longings. Without that level of honesty with yourself, there is nowhere for us to land.

5.      Hold nothing back from us. Just because we already know doesn’t mean we can act on it without your revelation and request. Share it all with us, not just what you think we want to see.

6.      Love all of yourself, the good, the bad. Laugh at your mistakes and give up on perfection. You can’t do this wrong and stretching is how we all grow.

7.      Let us help you when things get hard.

8.      Stop worrying about past mistakes. People were hurt because that’s how they interpreted things. You were hurt because of your story and interpretation. Shift internally and it all goes away.

9.      Love the people in front of you, strangers in cars, the lover in your bed, the sister on the phone, the friend obsessed with his pain. Love them all and you will mend and heal all wounds.

10.  Be totally present. This is the only moment, so hold it gently and savor.

11.  Open to us often. We are always available, accessible and eager. Do not turn to us for answers only, but affirmation, assurance, and the pleasure of our company would be nice sometimes.

12.  Love and live fully. Be helpful and enjoy. Take care of your heart and your true desires will always be helpful to others. Share what you know now without waiting for it to be perfect, really.

Signs of Alignment

What adds to the delicious state of being aligned in body, mind and spirit? Seeing a confirming sign that that’s the case.  I still love catching a digital clock at 11:11.

After scratching my car two weeks ago, I’ve been more attentive to lining up spiritually before I take action.  I’m following Christina Baldwin’s advice to “move at the pace of guidance.”  For me, that requires more silence and more space in my schedule.

Last week I was working out of state, had fewer responsibilities with more time between them, and the opportunity to develop trust in Siri, my GPS system. The whole week felt magical and not just because I was near the ocean in bright sunshine.

One of the little signs that confirmed I was moving at the right speed came in a co-op gallery in Santa Monica. I was drawn to a glazed blue bowl because I’d been wanting a new bowl for cereal. When I turned the bowl over to see the price, I laughed.  The sticker had the price, which was reasonable, and JoAnn, the artist’s name.  I bought the bowl.

Another sign confirming my choices was at a meeting I attended. I had many options and randomly selected one. I arrived a few minutes early and introduced myself to the person next to me. He said “I know you. Don’t you work at Hazelden?” and there I was, thousands of miles from home, with a new friend.

These small indications might mean nothing to another person. To me, they confirmed that the time I’d devoted to getting centered and attending to my inner knowing was in right proportion for the day. And while I know I’ll be out of balance again--grouchy, critical, impatient, dissatisfied—knowing I can come back into alignment makes those times interesting rather than frightening.  

A Chance to Wake Up

The other day I backed out of my garage and down the driveway, as I have several thousand times, only to scrape the stone wall that runs alongside.  The rear panel of my car looks like a bear took a swipe, and the length of the scratches indicates I didn’t notice right away. That’s because my attention was on a cd of  a conversation between two writers, and I was trying to figure out who was speaking.  The topic of their conversation:  mindfulness.  Ah, the irony.

I get little nudges and lessons in the most obvious ways.  Or maybe it’s that I finally pay attention when the point is so obvious.  It’s not enough to read about mindfulness. Apparently, I have to be mindful every waking minute.

There’s a line in the Big Book “The spiritual life is not a theory. We have to live it.”  It’s so tempting to talk a good game and live on autopilot, especially with activities I do often and with people I know well. In terms of my colleagues and my husband, I need to see them anew every day, share what I appreciate,  and be really present to who they are today.

The lessons for long-term recovery are also clear.  I can’t just go to meetings, call a sponsor, complete daily spiritual practices as if checking them off a list.  I don’t have the luxury to become complacent or do sobriety half-way. I have a daily reprieve “contingent on the maintenance of my spiritual condition,” and that requires daily nourishment, which I receive only when fully present.

Each day I have an invitation to wake up another degree. Let’s hope I don’t need to be scraped to experience that today.

May you find the joy that is yours today

I haven’t written a blog in a long time. I seem to think that something magical or amazing has to happen to be worth reading.  So instead of combing my days for that, I’ve been busy preparing to teach a graduate course for the first time in 19 years. 

When I found the following in a journal entry from April, I realized that I've already given myself the blessing I need today.

May you find the joy that is yours today,

wear it easily,

claim it often,

hold it gently,

share it readily.

May you see the tendrils of the past as

kindling for the flames of

your heart’s desires,

so that the ghosts of longing

do not haunt

but serve as guides to what you

desire and so richly deserve

today.

Lessons from a Fox

Every morning I draw a word to meditate on all day.  Yesterday it was “fearlessness,” a prescient commentary on the morning to come.  Brian had tethered Harry, our 16 year old Westie, outside and left him to do his business.  Ten minutes later I sat drinking tea at the counter and for no apparent reason went to look out the window.  I saw Harry and seven feet away crouched a fox, one we’d seen trotting around the neighborhood earlier in the week.

Immediately I ran out the door towards the two creatures, screaming to Brian “the fox, the fox.” The fox moved off and Harry waddled toward me, oblivious to his near demise.  When my heart rate slowed, I realized that while I was scared about Harry, I was fearless for myself. Did my love for this dog eclipse fear? Perhaps, but I think there’s more to it than a simple love/fear matrix of emotion.

Though bold, the fox is wild, and therefore more predictable than a domesticated animal accustomed to people.  I would have been afraid had it been the neighbor’s Boxer in our yard, for that dog regularly charges me, stirring up my old fear of dogs.

But wild creatures seem to have a set of rules for violence. Even though this might be a mother fox needing food for her young, she ran rather than attacked me. This has been my, albeit limited, experience with wild creatures. For example, I left work one day this winter through a back door and found a half dozen deer within a few feet.  When one turned to approach me, I got scared and fumbled for my key before remembering these are wild and gentle creatures. I clapped my hands and they dispersed.

There’s a prayer in the Big Book for Step 4, where we list resentments for those who have harmed us throughout our lives. That prayer rests on the assumption that anyone who has hurt us is “spiritually sick,” and says God, please help me show x “the same tolerance, pity and patience I would cheerfully grant a sick friend.” In order to move on, we need a new perspective, and this prayer enlarges our view so that the old story loosens just enough to be healed.  I can't change the past, I can't change another, but I can grow more loving, open, and awake, which changes everything.

The only route to fearlessness I know is to trust a larger goodness in people and the world. Any malevolence stems from spiritual sickness or imbalance, which only love, tolerance, kindness and pity can restore.  That fox was doing what it does.  We’re the ones who will no longer leave our old dog unattended and tethered as if it were bait. With a shout, a clap, or a new perspective, the balance of life can be restored.

Savoring Routine

I spent last weekend at my cabin with two dear friends and a dog.  A woman I’ve known for 25 years flew in from out of state, a visit we’d been anticipating for months.  The three of us walked, talked, meditated, wrote, read, cooked, gazed at the lake, and played yahtzee. It was a wonderfully renewing time.

What occurred to me today is that just as this long-awaited event was now over, so too would all the other trips and major events I have planned this year.  Each one will have a morning after when I reflect on what’s happened. Every eagerly anticipated gathering, every dreaded event, each routine appointment comes to an end.

This isn’t earth shattering news, I know, but somehow today it struck me how poignant our lives are, how quickly time moves as I get older, and how important to savor whatever is before me, no matter how routine or grand. If I pay attention, I end up with moments:  a rescue dog’s growing confidence walking on bare floors, the easy way three women put together meals and clean up, the sparkle of clarity that comes from being listened to deeply.  What moments today will I keep?

Tutored in Wisdom

 

Yesterday at my desk at home, futzing with my computer, I glanced out the window. On the peak of our shed at the property line was a large brown animal. Was it a cat? It had pointed ears and turned its head as if to lick its shoulder. But how could a cat have gotten up there with no nearby trees and metal walls too slippery to climb?

 

No, it was an owl, a huge one, in plain sight during the day. Almost a year ago in New Mexico, I dreamed about a mother owl. When I told the spiritual director at Ghost Ranch, she suggested I pay attention to my next owl sighting. When I shared that dream with my own spiritual director, she invited me to notice when owl came up in my dreams again. When I told the dream to a friend who walks a Native American spiritual path, she gifted me owl feathers to pray with. I hadn’t seen or dreamed of an owl since.

 

Here in day light, unprotected by trees, was an owl perched on the highest point directly in front of me. What did it mean? What might it want? I quietly moved to the deck with my phone to take a picture. The moment I touched the button, as I knew in my bones it might, the owl flew—gracefully, massively, steadily—away from me.

 

The photo I have is too blurry to tell there’s even a bird, let alone one of such significance, so why did I take a picture? Why the need to document and share (brag about) this remarkable sighting? If I had a do-over I would just observe and commune with this magnificent creature as long as it allowed me to.

 

I would realize that all it was asking of me was my attention--that my presence is all that Spirit ever requests. I hope someday I will instinctively savor the preciousness of the ordinary and the remarkable.  Thanks be for do-overs. Each day I have the chance to give my undivided, wholehearted attention to the holy, which is always and everywhere perched in plain sight.

 

The Insidious Power of Cinderella

 

Brian and I went to see the new Cinderella movie this weekend.  We weren’t the only couple without children on a Saturday night date to see my favorite fairy tale. When I turned seven I received a Cinderella watch with a pink band and her face on the dial. I proudly wore this first watch for a couple days before it stopped.  My parents returned it and I put the new one on my wrist until it too stopped running.  Someone concluded that my metabolism prevented watches from working (is that even possible?)  so for the next many years the only watches I owned were on pendants or rings. 

I had Cinderella paper dolls and a Cinderella birthday party with the round cake forming her skirt.  When Leslie Ann Warren starred in the musical, I learned every word to the songs.  Something about the scullery maid alone in her “own little corner” resonated deeply.

What’s been the impact of being enamored with Cinderella? During the years I was single, I was a feminist with a satisfying career and no desire to be rescued by a handsome prince. However, I did want a man to love me so much—at first sight if possible—that no one else would do.  I wanted someone to search a kingdom until I was found.  It was 52 years before that happened, before I said yes to a man I knew truly saw and loved me.  When we became engaged, I faced the dilemma of wedding attire. What was proper for a first-time middle-aged bride? After a couple months of hesitation, I tried on wedding dresses, walked away, was rational, consulted with everyone, returned to the store and bought a big full white gown with a little jacket to wear down the aisle to meet my husband/prince.

Today, I think about the money I spent on that gown--cheap by wedding dress standards and yet more than I've ever spent on clothing. Today, that dress hangs in the basement untouched and unvisited. Today I wish instead I had bought a beautiful tailored silk suit or dress I could still wear on special occasions.  But I did not.  Today I can be curious about where my desires originate and discern which ones truly fill my heart.  That's a lesson worth every penny.

Slow Subtle Progress

I just returned from a silent retreat at House of Prayer in Collegeville, MN. The minute the topic “Silent Fire: Consumed by Love” crossed my email I knew I wanted to attend, and I'd been eagerly anticipating this weekend of silence, meditation, and quiet community for a month.

When I arrived at the retreat center, there were three rooms left, so I peeked in them and selected one that faced the woods.  The next day I read the room’s book of reflections by past occupants.  Dated Feb. 18, 2007 was a paragraph in my own handwriting. Almost eight years to the day I had been on retreat in that same room.  I took that as a confirming sign that I was listening to my guidance and was in the right place. Yet I also remembered what had preoccupied me eight years ago, and that same issue was up for me last weekend too. I began to wonder if I've made any progress.

What kinds of scales and standards measure spiritual progress?  I’m a scorekeeper, so it’s tempting to use numbers, yet what numbers can gauge the health of my spirit? Certainly not the size of my clothes, how many have registered for my retreat, how many spiritual directees I have, what rating I got on the recent performance review, or how many minutes a day I meditate. (And yes, I keep a mental tally of these numbers and more.)

The trouble is when I measure my value by an external standard I feel like eighth grade JoAnn, taking my skates off early when the last song was couples only and no one asked me to skate.  If my mood depends on things I cannot control, I’m always hoping or praying for a shift in conditions to make me feel ok. To feel my worth deeply, I have to look beyond measures of popularity and to what is much more subtle and sacred--those moments of waking up, those small miracles of connection.  Like landing in the same room eight years later and reading an encouraging note from myself.

Loving the Question

I love questions.  I happily answer surveys that cross my desk, take quizzes in magazines, and stop for anyone with a clipboard and a questionnaire. When I meet strangers I ask questions about what they do, what they’re passionate about, where they’ve traveled; I like to get beyond the headlines and into the heart of their story.   As a spiritual director, I ask questions that invite people to go beneath what they think they know and deepen an inquiry into mystery. However, I’ve come to see that this practice of questioning can be a block to intimacy and connection.

Because not everyone asks questions. Some people think it’s rude--they don’t want to pry.  I have interpreted a lack of questions from people as a lack of interest and have an unwritten rule that I will only share if you demonstrate that you want to know, and you’ll let me know you want to know by asking me a question. And then ask me a follow-up.  Imagine how this works with someone who believes asking questions is rude.  It’s not a mutual exchange. I come off as a prosecuting attorney, they’re relieved when I stop asking, and I believe they don’t care a thing about me.  It's time to let people off that hook and do the work myself.

Questions open my mind and heart and help me grow. So I’ve started writing questions in my morning journal and answering them later in the day.  These questions are a mixture of idle curiosity and a real desire to know.  They often surprise me. For instance, in one session I’ve asked myself where are the top ten places I’d like to live and what does it feel like to love with my whole heart.

I’m having fun asking and answering these questions. While I will always appreciate someone who asks me a question that makes me reflect before responding, today I’m not going to wait until that person crosses my path.  I’ll be my own happy questioner—a social gathering of one.

Expect the Best

Have you ever had an experience where a rule was changed or ignored to accommodate reality?  This past weekend my husband and I traveled to a warm spot and returned home through customs.  We had a tight connection to our next flight, and the lines were long and slow.  Knowing there was not one thing we could to do speed things up, we remained patient and told ourselves that all would be well, whether we made the plane or not.  In reality, this was the last flight to Minneapolis that night and we both had to work the next day.

Once clear of customs, we sprinted through the airport to the security line, which was also long, slow, and impossible to speed up.  Another sprint to the gate through the very big busy airport.  Wheeling my suitcase, clutching my travel purse, I ran until out of breath, and then reminded myself that there was no time to rest, and started up again flat-out sprinting.

When we arrived at our gate, another couple was pleading with the gate agent to let them on the plane.  The woman was literally crying—“I have to get home tonight.”  The agent shook her head. The door was closed, she had cancelled our reservations.  Brian went to the window and waved at the plane sitting at the gate.  He walked away.  The runway door retracted.

I went to the window and waved in SOS style. I didn’t stop until I could see the pilots looking.  Then I put my hands in a prayer posture, held up four fingers, waved some more, prayed some more, and held my arms out in supplication.  I kept doing this until I saw the runway door moving back toward the airplane.  Then I jumped up and down, clapped, and bowed to them.  The ticket agent hung up the phone, opened the door, asked for our tickets and we ran onto the runway.  Another attendant tagged our bags and told us to find any available seat in coach.

I walked onto that plane elated, beaming, and grateful. And out of breath.  We found middle seats. Our plane left on time. when we deplaned I was able to thank the pilot for letting us on.  “No problem” he replied. 

If I had stood in the window and given those pilots the finger or shaken a fist, the results might have been different.  I believe that appealing to the pilot’s good will and common sense helped me get what I wanted, and that life is more efficient and magical when we invite forth the best in others and ourselves.

Collecting Thoughts

In looking at my Christmas decorations, I’m struck by this whole idea of collecting.  I have angels, snowmen, trees, crèches, and joy in various forms.  There’s always a story to a collection, and that’s part of the delight in sharing them. My aunt and uncle gave my sister and me angel ornaments when we were kids, and we’ve continued the tradition ever since, following a “one for you, one for me” practice of giving.  The first crèche I bought was in Israel when I traveled there in eighth grade. I gave it to my parents and now it’s mine, along with several others from around the world.  About the only thing I don’t collect are Santas, though my shelf of Tomtens, a Scandinavian precursor to St. Nick, is full.

Perhaps it’s an ancient gathering gene that makes us collect.  Shopping (hunting) is more interesting when there’s something specific to seek.  Maybe not all families collect, but mine did. My mother had two racks for souvenir spoons on display and when she died, I kept a couple of them. They are too tiny to be useful. My grandmother collected tea cups, which I get out each year for a party, wash, and put away.  Once, at a garage sale the woman told me she was moving and had three sets of Christmas china. I took one off her hands. 

What harm, if any, comes from collecting? I have friends who take great joy in sharing their collections; it’s part of their personality, identity, and social group.  Someone who collects is easy to buy a present for.  Collecting contributes to the economy. Serious collectors need proper equipment, and there are stores devoted to containers for our stuff.  How many storage units around this country hold boxes of collection?  But I’ve traveled and seen enough poverty to realize the imbalance in our excess.

Can consumables be collectables? I have a shelf of blank books I’ve been given, and when they’re filled they go on a different shelf.  I have lots of tea, which I drink daily. I just bought a new tray to organize my jewelry and new hangers for my scarves. How does so much well-organized and cared for stuff serve me? It must fill some emptiness or I’d be willing to let it go. Why else am I scouring stores with 50% off holiday items for more snowmen, angels, or joy.

 As I wrap up the holiday cups I wonder how much courage is required to live just with enough for this day. Looking out on a fresh new year, I want to be sure I’m using my energy for work that really brings me lasting happiness and might be helpful to someone.

This year, when the urge to visit one more consignment store hits me, I hope to pause and see if perhaps sitting still, thinking, reading, walking, or writing might not be exactly what I want instead.  I hope to collect contentment, connection, and other intangibles.