Tuesday, March 8, 2016

Letter of Permission

Since I'm the only thing that gets in the way of my happiness, I've written a letter of permission to myself to be as alive as possible.  Are you waiting for someone to give you permission--perhaps a parent, partner, employer or child? What do you give yourself permission to be?

Dear JoAnn,
I give you permission to be strong, powerful, charismatic and funny.
I give you permission to laugh and cry, make mistakes and to heal.
I give you permission to ask questions, sit in silence, talk for an hour, write what’s on your mind without censure.
I give you permission to love your body and brain, ask for what you want, and trust deeply in the goodness of the universe.
I give you permission to be a true original, to be just like everyone else, to be ordinary, dowdy and dull some days and on others to be the shiniest one in the room. 
I give you permission to love deeply, to look like a fool for your truth, to be uncomfortable.
I give you permission to be curious, scared, and wonder-filled. 
You have my permission to rest, to make friends with emptiness, and to be easily delighted.
You have permission to be.

Love, JoAnn

Thursday, March 3, 2016

Falling into Grace


When you fall, in my case literally, it’s a chance to reflect before moving on.  If you can take attention back from “what does this look like to others?” and ask “what was I thinking before this happened?” you’ll maximize the learning—at least I hope I have.

This morning I forgot that a plumbing inspection was scheduled. When I heard the doorbell I was upstairs reading the newspaper in bed.  I put on clothes as quickly as I could and raced downstairs.  Why didn’t I simply throw a bathrobe over my nightgown and greet the inspector? Because I didn’t want a stranger to think I wasn’t yet dressed at 8 am.

We have two doors to our new house and I haven’t yet learned which doorbell ring goes with which door. I ran to the side door where most of the work folks come in. No one there. I raced to the front door and no one was there either.  In fact no one was even in sight. Apparently my thought process at this point was “if I miss this inspection not only will the plumbing not be approved but we will be fined and possibly lose our house.”

I flew out the door and saw a car with “City of Minneapolis” at the curb.  I yelled and continued toward it, tripped on something in my loose slippers, and fell sprawling on the frozen ground. The inspector, now out of her car, came toward me asking if I was ok. I got up quickly, wincing, and limped into the house, accompanying her throughout the brief, successful inspection. Her last words to me were “take some ibuprofen.”

I am certainly grateful that nothing is broken; my body is healthy and will heal quickly from the scrapes and bruises. I also think I’ll have a quiet day--soaking in a hot mineral bath, wearing soft clothing, and moving mindfully. 

But because I view everything as an invitation to increase awareness, I’d also like to notice where I might be governed by subtle fears of a worst-case scenario, fed perhaps by what I'm obsessively reading about our current political scene.


When else do I hurry because I’ve packed too much into a day, afraid I’ll miss something important?  How did I forgot the essential spiritual perspective that all is well? And can I be grateful that the earth itself has reminded me?