"So Much Happiness"

I’m at work, about to lead a session based on the title of Naomi Shihab Nye’s wonderful poem, “So Much Happiness.”  It’s the day between my parents’ deaths, for although they died 27 years apart, Dad died December 23 and Mom on Christmas. It’s been long enough that I’ve reclaimed the holidays and don’t experience grief, but I’m not sure I’m thoroughly happy either. That’s probably why I volunteered to work today, to free up someone with children or greater access to the joys of the holidays.

And yet today is the only day I can ever access happiness.  There’s a line in a sacred text I read regularly, “We are sure God wants us to be happy, joyous, and free.” Why would that be? What’s the benefit of being as happy as possible? Every time this text mentions cheerfulness or joy, it’s linked to service. When I’m happy, I’m most useful to others. Since joy is the most efficient fuel, I’m also most productive; what’s unnecessary disappears from my view and I don’t fret about anything I’m not getting done.

Happiness is contingent on my level of presence, something my meditation practice has helped me to recognize when it wanes. Outside of this moment, I get anxious, critical, and unsatisfied when I’m even slightly in the past or the future. And while that’s human nature and something I’m going to be noticing for the rest of my days, I would rather just serenely allow the moment to unfold.

I’m grateful I can recognize the signs when I run from the present. For me, overeating signals living outside this moment because my body sends cues when it’s full and doesn’t want more, but my addictive mind continues compulsively on. What am I afraid will happen if I stop eating when- I’m full? Or wait until I’m truly hungry to eat? What new territory of emptiness would I traverse? Today I’m ready to discover that.

Do you have something that challenges your integrity that could become the greatest gift for becoming more present? Do you do something you’d rather not or not as often? Just for today I will take a deep breath before I put something in my mouth--even a sip of water--to disrupt the habit. In that space I will ask “what do I really want?”  That question, after all, is the route to happiness. If I can ask, listen, and then act on the answer, I not only head toward joy, it’s my companion for the entire journey.

On Franken and Growing by Crossing a Line

It’s four in the morning and I have to write about a scene that keeps playing in my head, ever since the news that Senator Al Franken inappropriately grabbed women when hugging them. This is a #metoo story from the other side.

I attend meetings three to four times a week that end with the group gathering to say the serenity prayer.  It used to be that people held hands, and I loved that connection with strangers, the spacious equality of the circle. In past years, though, it seems all groups gather more closely and put arms around each other. I do not prefer this because I am short—5’2”—and occasionally feel uncomfortably swamped, overwhelmed, and engulfed by tall men next to me.  But unless it’s a group I’m running, I don’t request we hold hands, and even in the groups I lead, I mostly go along with this huggy tradition. No one’s touch has ever seemed inappropriate.

Until one morning at the end of a closing circle, when the young man next to me said very loudly, so loudly it seemed like he yelled, “Did you just touch my butt?”  I was shocked, embarrassed, and ashamed. Did I? Because I’m short and it’s not easy to rest my hands on shoulders a foot higher than mine, I often put my hands at waist level. Did they go lower?

I can’t remember what I said next, if I denied it, apologized, or just left the building.  I was frozen in shame.  Although I never told anyone about this, I’ve run through that moment many times; I must have unintentionally touched this man’s buttocks. Why else would he have said that? I may have even unconsciously applied some pressure as I settled into enjoying our human contact. Inappropriate? For sure.  A pattern? I don’t know. No one else ever objected to alert me if it was.

Ever since that day, when we circle up at the end of a meeting, I have not ever even let my hands rest on the people next to me, men or women. When we scoot in, I bend my arms at right angles and hover an inch away from the bodies next to me.  I don’t ever want to be misinterpreted again, especially in a work setting, when we perform this ritual. Today I am vigilant because I once crossed a line.

Someone recently said, “I’m not very good at predicting consequences. I learn by crossing the line.”  We all laughed. I cross a line when I insert my opinion, speak too harshly, solve someone’s problem, and speak without thinking.  One time, grocery shopping with an acquaintance and her toddler, an interminable outing from my perspective, I did something that severed our relationship. As we stood at the self-checkout, the mother looking away, the toddler reached out to touch the screen. I instinctively pushed her hand away, not a slap but a definite movement away from the baby’s intention, and she shrieked and wailed for the next 15 minutes.  Engulfed in shame, I didn’t tell the mom what I’d done, and we headed home with that little girl refusing to take my hand or walk near me.  I never heard from the woman again.

These little moments stick in my mind because they are the exception to the way I move through the world. Because I’m human I make mistakes, especially in new settings, with people I don’t know well. Maybe the only people who don’t ever cross a line are too timid to step into unknown territory or too obtuse to experience another’s pained response.  How many of us can say we have never moved a child with more force than required, or hugged someone harder than they may have preferred because of our need, our comfort, and our own selfish motives?  I’m more concerned about the people unwilling or unable to take responsibility for their actions, see the harmful consequences, and do the hard inner work to change so it doesn’t happen again.  

There’s a difference between sexual predation and inappropriate hugs. I’ve heard too many stories of horrific abuse suffered by children to have even a degree of tolerance for “bad touch.” But once we’re adults, it’s important for us to say something directly and immediately to whoever has touched us in a way that makes us uncomfortable. If it wasn’t intentional, the person may be shocked and apologize. If they were seeing how far they could go, you’ve just told them.

 Human interaction is messy, and we’ve got to get better at using words to explain our responses.  Often when something is off it’s difficult to name. It takes time to figure out what actually happened and, for me, usually requires a vulnerable conversation with someone I trust to reach clarity.  Rather than a senator who never acknowledges error, I want to be represented by someone willing to learn from his mistakes as we work individually to improve ourselves and collectively to create a safe and just world.  

Connect to Correct

The other day I made an observation I thought would be helpful but in truth was aimed to help someone see—and be in-- the world the way I do. Not surprisingly, the person snapped at me, and I withdrew like a turtle. This is the second incident in the last couple weeks where someone I care about has reacted harshly, and so I’m looking at my tendency to judge and criticize under the guise of service.

I could seek the origin of this old habit, which I’m sure has kept me feeling safe and defended for years because I’d like to react differently, and sometimes understanding fosters that. In the meantime, I need to mend these disruptions, and that requires new skills. Someone wise pointed out that whenever there’s a conflict, my practice is to disappear, sometimes for a long time.  That’s the old route in my brain, and in order to create a new pathway, I have to do something different. I need to move toward the very person who has pushed back, at least if they had justification and are someone I love and want in my life.

Staying present when there’s conflict and rising above my childish reaction to take into account the ways I have hurt the other requires a presence of mind I'd hope to have cultivated in 30 years of daily meditation practice. But these old pathways are deep riverbeds that feel like the only route when I’m scared or hurt. I think I’ll only be able to return to the scene of that pain if I don’t go alone but rather invite Spirit and the calm voice of my inner being to accompany me.

Developing the skill to pause when I’m agitated in order to respond rather than react takes practice. When self-will runs my day, I keep people at bay, want to punish or seek revenge for perceived hurts, and replay the incident in my head to feel righteous about my reaction.  When my inner being calls the shots, I’m compassionate, understanding of myself and the hurt person who reacted angrily, and I can imagine a future where we are harmonious again. In that state, the right words and actions come to me and I have the courage to do something kind.

My daily work is to invite the best of me to be in charge and to lovingly put the scared part in the back seat, safe and protected, but not driving. How do you do that every day?

Observations from Walking the Camino

I recently returned from Spain, where I walked the Camino de Santiago for 12 days.  This route across northern Spain has been walked by pilgrims for over a thousand years and is well-marked and supported with places to stay, eat, and get water.  Over a quarter million people walk each year, some for religious reasons, many for personal or spiritual motives.  Walking 14 miles a day with a backpack holding all I needed gave me time to reflect.

1.      Whatever path you’re on, you do have to walk it to receive the benefits of awakening spiritually. To only read others’ accounts or hear their stories of making the pilgrimage is not enough for lasting change.

2.      The route I took, called the Camino Frances, does not require special mountaineering skills. It went uphill and downhill but mostly in a gradual fashion. What was required was stamina, which I had.  Honoring stamina and consistency, watching miles or days unfold slowly, becomes a new skill.  A spiritual teacher once said, patience is a beautiful path.

3.      People are willing and even eager to offer support, but usually I had to ask because no one can read my mind.  When I wasn’t sure where to go, I asked the first person I saw. When I needed help finding the right food, getting lodging for the night, or understanding something, I asked.  I found everyone to be willing to listen to my rusty Spanish and offer assistance. People like to be helpful. Being a foreigner made asking for help easy. Now, can I be a beginner at home too?

4.      While being with others along the pathway was nourishing, fun, and essential, insight occurred when I was alone with my own thoughts and in connection with my higher power.  I’ve got to have enough time alone to reflect on a regular basis.

5.      We have inner guidance flowing through us constantly. On the Camino, it comes in the form of yellow arrows or a seashell symbol to indicate where the path is.  Any time there was a possible option, there’d be an arrow to show me the way.  Soon I had radar for these signs and learned to trust the first arrow rather than need more. Similarly, I believe our Higher Power helps keep us on the path of our heart’s desire, and that there are confirming signs all along the way if we have eyes to see them.  I never had an advanced reservation along the Camino, but I always had a bed.  I listened moment by moment to when to rest, when to stop, where to stay, and it always worked out.

Sometimes inner doubt trumps intuitive knowing, but with practice we can keep walking until the next fork in the road and then look for help finding our way.  Doubting myself every step of the way isn’t helpful.  Observing a sign and then walking forward until the next one required some level of trust as well as created joy in the discovery of a confirming sign. When I didn’t see one, I backtracked rather than forge ahead on my own.

6.      Being connected to something greater than myself allowed me to feel more alive, which led to gratitude and wanting to be useful to others.  Because I was outdoors 12 hours a day, walking on gravel paths through olive groves, vineyards, and forests, I literally felt a connection to Earth I don’t often experience in northeast Minneapolis.  I could see the horizon and the curves of the earth.  Several times each day I stopped to soak in the beauty, turning slowly in a circle and saying wow. Perhaps because the vista was so vast, my thoughts turned global and I contemplated people and places all over the planet. I fell in love with Spain, because it’s easier to love specifically, but that movement of my heart filling with awe, wonder, and appreciation led me to feel connected to all that is.

7.      Appreciation makes the time fly.  I played little games from A to Z, naming parts of my body I appreciated, remembering teachers, listing places that I treasure.  When I focused on what was working, I had more energy than when I focused on an ache or the hot sun. I was blessed to not get any blisters, in part, I believe, because I thanked my shoes every  morning before I put them on, much as I feel love for my car each time I get behind the wheel. Gratitude can be a sign of spiritual fitness, and self-pity and resentments don’t thrive in an environment of appreciation.

8.      Do not underestimate the power of resting.  I stopped every two hours to sit, take my shoes off (sometimes my socks) and drink water. A 20 minute break completely revived me and I started walking again with fresh energy.  The times I postponed resting were not worth it.  When my body told me to rest it was best to do so as soon as I could.  I also removed social media from my phone and found greater mental spaciousness and connection than I do when every spare moment is spent consuming information or images on a screen.  I’ll need to find the cues to rest in something other than tired feet.

9.      Honor your heart’s desires. I have wanted to walk the Camino for almost ten years. I read memoirs, saw The Way, and talked with people who had done it. At the end of a documentary, the producers dedicated their film to anyone who “has heard the call” and I burst into tears. This was a call! Two years ago I planned to walk, but a family tragedy made me rethink the timing. I put the idea to rest until someone asked “when are you going on that trip?” and I burst into tears, which told me it was more important than I realized.  So I bought a ticket to Madrid, hiking shoes, and a guidebook. It’s immensely satisfying to follow a dream and to accomplish even a small portion of a big goal.  I walked 145 miles and hope to return and complete the route from Burgos, where I stopped due to time considerations.  My body and soul would have happily walked the rest of the way.

On the Eve of my Camino

Tomorrow I leave to walk the Camino in northern Spain.  I’ve had people ask if I’m going to blog, post on Facebook, go to meetings, call my husband or sister or sponsors.  No.  I plan to be silent as much as possible during this 10 day walking meditation retreat.  Sure, I’ll interact with other pilgrims along the way, have conversations with people from around the world, talk to inn keepers and shop owners in my rusty Spanish. But for the most part, I hope to be silent for hours on end listening to inner guidance, the still small voice, or the conversation of the natural world.

 I crave this silence even as I run pell mell from it during a typical day.  When I get on Facebook, time slips away and before I know it, my consciousness has ping ponged from political analysis to spiritual guidance, from friends who rejoice about weight loss to others who share heartbreak. Over the years I’ve curated my own life for social media consumption, and developed a habit of thinking in captions, imagining an audience response, and checking back frequently for comments and likes.  I don’t know how to moderate this habit, so I’m going cold turkey and taking a social media fast.

I’m walking for ten or so days because I want to slow down, to “move at the pace of guidance,” as Christina Baldwin so eloquently puts it, and to examine what’s underneath these desires to remove myself from the moment or intensify it.

I sit everyday for twenty minutes of meditation to improve my conscious awareness of how connected to Source I already am.  That connection never goes away, but my consciousness sure shifts throughout a day. Walking in silence, paying attention to each step on a stony path, putting a walking stick down before my feet move requires a level of mindfulness I don’t need to get through my usual world. Displacing myself, being physically uncomfortable and emotionally off balance because I have no plans or reservations, knowing no one, and being in the elements most of the day means I will have to draw upon inner spiritual resources for help and guidance.

Last night I found a shell, drilled a hole in it and threaded wire to attach it to my backpack.  That may not sound like a big deal, but I don’t use drills or cut wire, and so my journey is already underway, using new skills and what’s at hand to make do.

Where do you find safety?

Last night I took a walk in my neighborhood and admired the many yards blooming with flowers, shrubs, and ornaments.  These modest houses are well-kept, close together, and built in a time of solid construction. I’ve learned how deep the roots in northeast Minneapolis are for some people who live in their grandparents’ house, or return to the block on which they were raised, or have children living close by.  We don’t need bigger houses to enjoy a marvelous life.

Where do you find safety? We each hold a worldview that helps us feel safe.  Right now, a group that believes there’s not enough for everyone and therefore they need to insure they get theirs (“we will not be replaced”) is in the news. A perspective of scarcity interprets anyone else’s advance as dangerous and any means towards self-protection as ok.

I feel safe believing this is an abundant world, and that when everyone has food, shelter, water, education and health, we’re all better off.  As I let go of more stuff, cut my working hours with a corresponding cut in pay, and stop shopping for recreation, I learn to focus on what truly nourishes my spirit—connections with others, creative endeavors, and time outside. 

In less than 10 days I head off to walk in Spain--an attempt to displace myself from routine, put my safety in the hands of strangers, and live with what I carry in a backpack. It’s one thing to say this world is abundant and loving and another to trust it through action. No doubt at least a few times I’ll have to leap empty-handed into a void and develop new levels of faith. (I’ll also carry a phone and a credit card,  a safety net millions do not have.)

How to reconcile these two viewpoints of the way the world operates? How to talk to someone threatened by another’s thriving? I don’t know.  I have people who believe this in my life today, and I’m not certain how to have conversations with them.  Maybe when I return I’ll have new stories that show that loving everyone in this world really is the route to freedom and joy.

Why am I doing the Camino?

I’ve felt called to take this pilgrimage across northern Spain ever since I saw the documentary about it, which I sought out because I’d read two memoirs by people who had walked it, and then I saw The Way with Martin Sheen.  All of those confirmed this was something I wanted to do, and for a while I asked friends if they’d like to go. Everyone had bad feet or bad knees, and one dear friend said yes and then backed out because she doesn’t like to walk at all and realized she just wanted to spend time with me.

So I’m going alone, two years after my original plan, and only for a couple weeks. I have sought the advice of psychics several times and the messages are always about letting go of planning, buying more socks than I think I need, and being open to ending it sooner if that’s what happens.  Be prepared for pain, but also don’t push.

I’m a transformation junkie and have learned one of the best ways to change is to displace myself regularly. I had a huge shift at 17 while living in Turkey as an exchange student for a summer. I didn’t know the language, my dad had just died, I got homesick, started smoking and was drunk for the first time there. I also never saw the world the same way. Since then I’ve been looking to be transformed through travel, and am usually disappointed because I’ve been a tourist rather than a traveler mostly since then.

So walking across Spain feels like being a traveler, staying in little towns or big cities, resting or pushing on, eating or going hungry, all of this looms ahead of me. I studied Spanish but it’s been years. I am hopeful it will come back.

What is the Camino to me?

It’s a chance to be in quiet, without the usual distractions of facebook, or the radio, or even other people.

It’s a chance to ask for help when I’m lost, for conversation when I’m lonely, and for food when I’m hungry or a bed when tired.

It’s an opportunity to follow the thread of an idea to its conclusion without interruption.

It’s the chance to remember things I’ve forgotten and re-experience blissful memories.

It’s a chance to pray while walking, bring people into my heart, and send love to the world.

It’s a chance to be surprised, expect lovely connections, and look for synchronicity.

It’s a chance to ask and watch the need be fulfilled in the most amazing and timely ways.

It's a chance to really know that things are always working out for me.

It’s a chance to talk to my body, listen to it deeply, give it what it needs and see what she can do.

It’s a chance to appreciate my strength, stamina, and spirit of adventure.

It’s mostly a chance to listen to my intuition, follow my heart’s desires, and do exactly what I want for a couple weeks without taking anyone else into account.

Imagining What Could Be

I’ve noticed that I’ve been isolating, not reaching out to the many people in my life I love. The other night I devoted the entire evening to Facebook rather than write, journal, call someone, read, take a walk or swim. I’ve been cutting corners on meditation because my phone is too close at hand, and I've filled spare time with an obsessive hunt for a bargain in my new size. What’s up? These little indicators tell me it’s time to get more connected.

The best way I know how to deepen my spiritual connection is to savor, so yesterday, as I drove 45 minutes to work, I didn’t turn on the radio but rather talked aloud to myself and the universe. I started with appreciations-- for my trusty car, which I love every single time I get into it, for my house, which I adore when I take the beautiful stairs or walk through an archway.   I loved the skirt I was wearing, the cup I was using, and the days I had just spent in Florida.   Finding things I love isn’t difficult and acknowledging them opens me to more.

I believe what we focus on expands because I’ve watched it work time after time in my life. Attention is energy and nourishment that makes whatever I’m looking at grow. When I focus on what I DO want, I keep seeing that. When I rest assured that my heart’s desires will come, I see evidence. I don’t live here all the time. I’m overwhelmed by the news, distracted by my social media feed, and absorbed by stories of hardship and tragedy I hear every day. But I get to choose what evidence I’m looking for in the case I’m making about the world.

I’m trying to reconcile my belief that we create our world, whether we’re conscious of it or not, with the actual world we live in, which is filled with inequality, and pain.  I admire people who fight injustice.  They are courageous and smart, persevering and energetic. It seems to be their path this lifetime.

I’m more energized by connections and nourished by looking for the best in a situation or a person.  I’d rather imagine what could be, share solutions, and find what’s working in a given situation. Years ago, when I read the philosopher and rhetorician Kenneth Burke, I was struck by his observation that good rather than evil lies at the root of human purpose, and he used war as his evidence. What act requires more cooperation than war, he asked? Such a perspective opens up my horizon of what’s possible. My spiritual work and my daily challenge is to stay focused on what IS working and keep leaning into that light. 

Interrupting a Shame Spiral

I woke up at 4 am this morning in a remorse and shame spiral.  I realized that I don’t use my gym membership much at all, certainly not enough to justify the monthly fee. This has been the case all year, and, as I look at my busy summer and fall, will probably continue.  On reflection, I knew that I actually stopped using the gym regularly eighteen months ago when we moved. Going to the new gym never worked its way into my routines: it isn’t as close, doesn’t have as robust a schedule, blah blah blah.

These are mere facts, but I woke up feeling stupid, wasteful, almost criminal.  A voice in my head added up how much money I’ve “squandered” and asked if I wanted to be the kind of person who no longer swims, does yoga, or walks in the winter. Nothing particular happened to set this off, except I’ve removed my oldest way of feeling shame—overeating--and so now my inner critic is searching for something else to beat myself up about.

Even as I felt paralyzed, I felt silly for focusing on something so minor when the world has much bigger problems to tend. And yet I believe that the more I can become healed and whole, the more I offer a troubled world.  So I looked for the choices I have on this issue:

A)     Change my behavior and develop new habits. Start using the gym, perhaps going frequently enough to get the monthly discount from my insurance company or just incorporating swimming or yoga into my week.

B)     Change my behavior and embrace the emptiness. Quit the gym and trust that I’ll get enough walking in, find a yoga studio nearer to home, and use the pool that we have access to in the summer. Or not.

C)     Change my mental framework. Keep the situation as is and consider the fee a gift to the universe or a down payment on eventual motivation.

 I don’t have the option of staying with the status quo and beating myself up about it every single day. That might have been my old pattern, but it doesn’t serve me today. It disrupts my sleep, distracts my attention to other things, and interferes with my celebration of life. I don’t have to make this decision today, but I do need to make it for my own peace of mind, which is priceless.

Loving with Wild Abandon

There are days it feels like a musty closet door of my heart has opened, and there are other days where I’ve put an extra padlock on the door.  Recently I’ve been ambushed by extravagant love for the clients I work with--men and women 18 to 50, at different places in their desire to get healthier.  Last week, as our circle created a sacred container of listening hearts. I heard a dozen stories of grief and loss, some delivered through tears.

Keenly aware that there was not one thing I could say to diminish the pain, I gave thanks that the ongoing work of life in recovery is learning to be present to it all without escape. After my father died when I was 16, I watched my mother close down for the next 30 years from a broken heart.. For decades I used alcohol, drugs, food, and shopping to buffer whatever pain I experienced. Today I have different practices that also need to be dismantled if I am to have authentic connections with others, for I’m just now learning to keep my heart open when it cracks.

One way I have “protected” myself is focusing on the faults, flaws, and what’s missing in those I love. I make up stories, rehearse of old hurts, and spend way too much time wondering what you think about me to be vulnerably receptive to the love I inevitably feel when I sit quietly and simply listen.

What would my life be like if I loved with wild abandon? What if I let go absolutely, not into an abyss, but into a soft feather bed of wonder, joy, and delicious love? I feel like I’m in new territory, willing to get my heart broken by another’s pain or rejection, just as I’m willing to be healed by another’s gratitude and tender love. I’m willing to share what’s really true for me in the moment, including the stories that don’t have a tidy spiritual lesson, yet.

The 12 Steps as Characters

After reading J. Ruth Gendler's Book of Qualities, I thought about what the 12 Steps, which I teach regularly, would be like if they were characters.    Let me know what you think.

The 12 Steps as Characters

One crawls onto the stage, shirt torn, mud under fingernails, thirsty and in need of a haircut. He’s been alone so long that human touch is an immediate balm. He eats and rests so deeply the restoration seems miraculous.  He’s actually been wanting this for some time.

Two walks barefoot across a lush grassy yard, tentative at first, with head up, amazed at the sunshine and blooming flowers. She’s curious, her heart is tender, and she holds the hand of a wise elder, a stranger perhaps, who already loves her.

Three is a student who buckles down to study. While always smart, he realizes this time he has to do things in order, and that people can see through his glib responses. To get where he wants to be, he’ll have to be more disciplined than ever and work with a level of consistency that will be challenging. He decides to give it a try.

Four is a savvy businesswoman who sees clutter and doesn’t look away. She’s pulled everything out of the junk drawer then tosses some items in the trash and finds the proper place for the rest. When she’s finished, she takes a deep breath, the first one in years that truly feels free.

Five is on his way home from school and doesn’t yet know a plate of cookies and a listening ear await him.  He bursts through the door ready to share some details, reluctant to tell other stories, but because the kind person waiting is eager to hear it all, he tells it all.

Six is a middle school girl alone with the door closed standing before a mirror. She’s happy with her eyes, mortified by her nose, yet sees it all clearly--the blemishes and circles she tries to hide from the world. She remembers her friends are envious of her hair and smiles.

Seven is a baseball player ready to be coached. He has a pretty good pitch and swing but it could be even better and he needs help to get there. He signs up for lessons, shows up on time, and faithfully practices because he believes he can improve, with help.

Eight is a mother about to see her son get married. She reviews their years together and wonders about some of the moments—was she selfish? Did she push him too hard? Did she encourage her young man’s emotional intelligence or worry about him fitting in? There’s not a moment she’s forgotten, and she takes out each memory to see it from a new light, the perspective of letting it go in order to see who he is today.

Nine is a police officer who used too much force in his last interaction and needs to go back into the community to make it right. He gets out of the car and walks the neighborhoods without a gun, listening to people’s stories, receiving their complaints, and asking what he can do to restore trust and right relationship. He’s open, non-defensive and ready to learn and grow.

Ten is a night nurse, intuitive, wide-awake, and wise. As she does her rounds, she pays attention to anything out of the ordinary—sounds, movements, irregular breath--and then moves without hesitation to make the necessary adjustments to return things to optional operation.  She’s good at this because she’s experienced and never cuts corners.

Eleven is a farmer who daily puts her hands into the dirt, welcomes the rain, and turns like a plant towards the sun. She greets the wind, the grain moving, and the brook through her property as friends. When she learns what needs to happen next, she doesn’t hesitate to do it. This life depends on her listening and acting in alignment.

Twelve is a troop of boy scouts volunteering at a soup kitchen. They arrive smiling and do whatever is asked of them. They do the work with happy hearts because they are having fun together. Their laughter and occasional singing fills the shelter with light and soon everyone else is smiling. They’re eager to come back next week.

JoAnn Campbell-Rice, May 2017

Mothers

My husband has a sweet relationship with his mother.  She’s now 91 and he visits her many times each week, manages her finances, and attends her medical care conferences. Apparently they’ve always been close. When he started kindergarten, he preferred her company to the folks at school.  He tells me he stayed home more days than anyone in his class.

My own relationship to my mother was complicated; I didn’t much like my mom because of her sharp tongue, critical nature, and mercurial temper. She seemed self-absorbed and childish to me, even when I was a teen. My dad provided a buffer between us, until he died when I was 16.  Then I reluctantly took his place as Mom’s bridge partner and confidante.  I came home every holiday and my mother supported my ongoing education by supplementing my graduate student stipend and writing checks on my birthday and Christmas.

Despite her generosity, I often felt judged and so hid my inner life from her. My mother was a strong-willed, tiny woman who smoked herself to death.  Although I was physically present when she died, I wasn’t yet sober, so on a spiritual and emotional level, I was pretty distant.

While I was able to quit smoking when I was 27, I’ve spent the last 30 years unable to lose weight because I’ve equated being tiny with being mean and critical. However, I’ve come into a new phase with my mother by focusing on the best traits we shared: we’re both organized, energetic, opinionated, independent, good with money, and love solitude.  Today I’m much more accepting of my mother for what she was capable of and can discern all the ways she loved me without saying so outright.  

And in the process, I’ve shed 27 pounds.  While I’m not as tiny as she is—yet--I’m no longer afraid of becoming her if I look like her. And that seems to have made all the difference. 

A Love of Work

I’m out of town for a week’s work at a spa resort.  All my delicious meals are prepared, the room is cleaned daily, the schedule offers many options for physical and spiritual nourishment, but I don’t have to attend any of them.  My own, already prepared, talks aren’t until the end of this week’s stay, and while I’ve brought lots of reading materials, my laptop, and have internet access, I don’t HAVE to do any of it. I’ve finished just the novel I was halfway through when I arrived, have read the NY Times every morning, and have fulfilled the two hours required daily for my job.

This leaves me with vast swatches of unscheduled time, something I claim I want dearly in order to meditate, contemplate, and create. And yet, I’m startled at my discomfort at being so at “loose ends,” even as I do not participate in most of the yoga, swimming, exercise classes, demonstration kitchen, creative arts, comedic talks, or hikes.  Most of this time, I have not been overly happy or even content. A wise woman I talked with Friday morning suggested I ask my higher power/inner being what I might be or do for small chunks of time, as looking at a week of possibilities has felt overwhelming.  When I reign in my horizon, the next right thing usually appears—go to lunch, wash your hair, journal.

Still, I yearn for meaningful work and feel slightly off-center when I’m just focused on self-care. There’s a balance I’ve long sought between service and self-care, and this week feels as though I’ve tipped into self-indulgence.  Maybe because in my regular life I take good care of myself and don’t overwork as a daily practice I haven’t needed such a deep dive into relaxation. Or maybe because I’m always busy and focused, this kind of spacious time and ease is just so unfamiliar as to feel uncomfortable.

I know I could be appreciative for the luxurious conditions and unique opportunity. I know I could be open to explore, connect, and learn more about this particular place and the people here. I know that this too shall pass. And I’ve learned that, even as I can’t be here wrong, my soul longs for a grittier experience and my heart needs community to thrive.

What to bring to Spiritual Direction?

At a recent poetry workshop with Naomi Shihab Nye, I became aware of what I love so much about this artist—she finds poetry everywhere, and she shares it enthusiastically with her audience. It’s enlivening being in her presence.

So too, as spiritual seekers, we can find the sacred in everything, and sharing the discoveries can be transformative. The monthly hour of spiritual direction is a time to sift through everyday life and see what comes to the surface as guidance, a nudge, or an invitation. Sometimes people think they don’t “need” to come to spiritual direction if there’s nothing major happening in their lives.

Actually, without external drama, we can attend to subtle, inner movements with new ears. In that monthly session, without an agenda, we can learn to listen more deeply to the guidance which is always leading us to our heart’s desire. For example, when there’s a troubling event, I can look for a message from the universe. When I have a negative response or reaction to someone, I can better understand my own history and beliefs. When I move slowly with openness, I can find beauty in simple movements, commonplace objects, and ordinary activities. Meaning, understanding, and beauty all nourish my spirit, one of the benefits of spiritual direction.

What could I bring to spiritual direction this month?

Small moments of grace:

Curling into a white chair when the sun hits and basking like a cat

Times my feelings were hurt and I want to know why:

A best friend shutting the door after twenty-one years

That sentence in a life story that cracks me open:

T’s appreciation of sunshine after 150 days (5 months!) “in the hole”

The contradiction that never heals:

A basement playroom stuffed with dolls and my childless life

Everything counts in the hour of spiritual companionship, so bring your life, every single time.

What do best friends tell us about ourselves?

I just got a friend request from a woman I met when I was eight and we instantly became the best of friends for the two years she lived in Delphi.  My heart was thrilled to connect with her via Facebook, and reading her timeline gave me a glimpse of her life today. She’s a woman of deep faith, which made me think anew about what drew us together in the first place.

I didn’t realize that I have had a string of best friends who wanted to be good girls and actively chose to connect with a higher power and be part of a spiritual community. A couple of them probably didn’t have much choice as they were the daughters of local ministers. Still there was something simpatico about us that was a comfort.

This morning’s awareness comes in the context of a week where I’ve been focusing on a painful pattern of former best friends: over the course of my life at least four women have written me a letter to break off the friendship, the most recent five years ago. I’ve assumed whenever I see a pattern there is some insight to be gained through a thorough analysis. I had planned to journal about that, think about my role in that pattern, and try to understand why I’ve chosen people who once they really know me don’t want anything to do with me.

And then this friend from third grade turns up whose life has been devoted to God and I’m instantly aware of an alternative pattern.  Now the names of deeply spiritual best friends is in the foreground awaiting analysis, or at least curiosity. I am both rejected and desired, and perhaps neither means a thing.

Everyday I have a choice what grabs my attention. Since I have limited time to write, contemplate, and dig deeper, where am I going to put that energy today? If I focus on the nourishing connections and continue to meditate, my experience is that an answer to why I’ve experienced a string of rejections will be revealed in its own time.  

I may have an aha moment or awareness, recognize my part, and be able to consciously choose differently, but I don’t have to dig around for it. Instead, I can respond to the invitation from someone who wants to be connected.

Arrogance--the Swiftest Route to Humility

I’ve been invited to look at my arrogance, which is the opposite of humility, and humility is required to be sober and abstinent successfully.  So here’s what I know.

Arrogance is thinking “I’ve got this” and probably don’t need to talk to my sponsor this week, work so hard on meditation, or be vulnerable with the people in my life.   Arrogance is relying on my past, my own willpower, and my big brain to navigate the treacherous waters of addiction, in which, as a food addict and alcoholic, I always swim.

Arrogance is thinking I’ve just channeled six book ideas, exactly the number the psychic Reiki master told me I would write, and then floating on that high of creative energy, assuming the books will simply be assembled rather than worked on.  Arrogance is having a mastermind call that I initiated and organized and believing I was different from the other three, who struggle with the bright lines.  Arrogance is assuming that because I’ve gone 25 days without sugar this stint, I’m better and wondering what on earth I’m going to “get out of” this group.

Arrogance is going through the motions of recovery without honestly asking if I’m feeling any authentic connection, revelation or progress.

Arrogance is assuming that when a group at work goes well, I’ve got unique abilities and can probably write the manual for the rest of the country to work with young recovering addicts. Only to be told two days later that a sizable portion “hate this spirituality group, and that it’s the least favorite” thing they do all week because it’s repetitious, boring, and dull.

Arrogance is thinking that because I find comfort and insight through writing, reading, and talking, most others will too, and if they don’t, too bad for them. Arrogance is working with the ones who want it and letting the ones on the cusp or actively resisting fall by the wayside as “not my job.”  They are my job and they require me to dig deeper, be more creative, and ask for help from others.

I am grateful I was impassive as I heard and felt that hatred and kept my tears until the bathroom afterwards.  I came home and went to bed, heart sick, but perhaps that was an indulgence in self-pity.  Poor JoAnn, not a total success today. 

Arrogance is assuming I will hit a home run every single time I show up because that’s who I am, or else why show up?  Humility is doing good work regardless of outcome, regardless of the way it’s received, being open to suggestions and improvements, and feeling no shame for being a beginner.  If I want more humility, no problem. Something in life will humble me soon enough. 

The Sacred Container of Community

 This week in my Indiana hometown, two eighth grade girls went for a hike in the country. Their bodies were found the next day and the hunt for their murderer continues.  My heart hurts for the families, friends, teachers and neighbors of those sweet girls. I watch the montage of photographs shared by high school friends and I weep. I spent many days of my youth in the woods, rode my bike on country roads, spent entire days outside without my parents  wondering or worrying about me.  Today, we’re revising our narrative of a town we thought we knew, shaken to our core, as my sister put it. I imagine there will be new warnings to children to avoid strangers, in an understandable attempt to keep them safe.

Yet this week, a ten year old Minnesota boy was honored for rescuing a woman who had fallen on the ice in her driveway and was immobilized, calling for help, yet hidden behind trash cans. Had no one come she would have gotten hypothermia.  At a school convocation, the boy commented that although his parents had always warned him not to talk to strangers, he moved toward her cries anyway. Something deeper led him to help.

There’s another story I can’t get out of my head. Earlier this month immigrants from Africa, afraid of persecution and deportation, walked into Canada across the borders of northern Minnesota and North Dakota in 22 below zero weather.  One man lost fingers, another lost both hands to frostbite. They literally risked life and limb for the sake of their children. The pictures of Canadian police greeting these refugees with smiles and hugs flood the internet.

When we hide, judge, close our eyes, doors, and hearts, we’re letting the most frightened parts of ourselves call the shots. It might feel safe for a time, but it’s not who we are as full human beings. It’s when we’re sick, helpless, poor, and bereft that we realize how much we need each other. Challenging times call for us to open our hearts wider, to trust more and to care for strangers.  There’s been a huge outpouring of support, benefits, and prayers for the families of the murdered girls. That response to tragedy shows me we are hardwired to be connected and take risks to create a beloved community.

While money can insulate me from dependence on others (I hire help when I'm in trouble most of  time), I want to say yes when I’m invited to stretch my hand to the next person in need, look them in the eye, and offer support. That’s the only way I know that the fabric of community, so horrendously broken each day in some way, is healed and repaired.

Disciplined by Love

I’m reading Cynthia Bourgeault’s new book, The Heart of Centering Prayer, and although I’ve been a practitioner of centering prayer for years, I feel like a beginner again.  I know that’s a goal of meditation—to become so present that each moment is new--but there’s part of me that also says, “I’ve been doing it wrong for years.”

Bourgeault describes her own profound shift from thinking that the point of this meditative practice was to become empty for God’s presence to realizing that letting go of the current thought was “the main event.”  She writes, “thoughts were not the obstacle; they were the raw material, as every opportunity to practice releasing that focal point for attention deepened the reservoir of “free attention” within me and strengthened the signal of the homing beacon of my heart.”  At some point during her practice, “the strength of this signal becomes stronger than the attraction exerted by the thoughts.” 

It’s perfect timing to read this book that returns my attention to my heart and invites me to dwell there for twenty minutes, twice a day.  I’ve been on a food plan that I’ve followed for three weeks where the elimination of sugar and flour, again, I know, has brought joy and a more profound love for others than I’ve experienced in a while, if ever.  When I wrote about the waves of love I’m feeling in the online support community, a leader commented that’s a result of radically loving ourselves. I get that taking actions aligned with who I want to be is an act of self-love, but I hadn’t realized it also opens pathways for love to flow through.

I hadn’t thought of my sugar addiction as blocking the flow of love, although it made me cranky and irritable often enough, and while I’m not even close to the loving, kind, tolerant person I want to be all the time, I have felt real progress these last weeks.  I’m frequently ambushed by love for the client, sponsee, or directee talking to me, the group I’m sitting with, the stranger who looks me in the eye, and for my sweet husband.

It’s nice to recommit to a meditation practice that is grounded in this love,  and that invites me to become disciplined in this spiritual instrument, the heart.

To what are you devoted?

Last year I chose three words to guide me: clear, calm, and kind.  To keep them in the foreground, I used them as passwords for various log-ins, and while I can always become clearer, calmer and kinder, it’s time for a new word.

For 2017, I’ve selected the word devoted because I concur with Matthew Kelly that “the way to say no to something is to say yes to something deeper.”  I want to focus my energies on what I do want rather than what I don’t want and to do that with a level of commitment that’s best described as devotion. Mindfulness might be a synonym, but somehow devoted implies that my heart is fully engaged and that I’m leaning into something rather than releasing something in order to be present.

So, devoted to what? There are so many worthy causes, and I always start with the personal before moving out, so here are the five things I want to devote myself to each day—connection, writing, movement, marriage and fun.

If I’m paying attention in each of these areas, then I’ll be likely to see and seize available opportunities, and I suspect that really devoting myself to these, beyond writing about them once in January, will have an effect on me.  I’ll get to notice my resistances, my fears of living so wholeheartedly or fear of missing out on something else because these are my foci. I’m hopeful that having this intention will help me discern what to do when faced with choices or nudge me when inertia and old habits feel more comfortable.

I’m happiest when I’m learning, changing, and growing, and I love life when it’s intense and things are happening quickly. For momentum to increase, I need to be devoted to what I value. Devoted implies the deepest yes inside me.

Each day I intend to connect (look people in the eye, stop whatever I’m doing and listen, pray and meditate, journal and tune in), move (stretch, walk outdoors, swim, yoga, take the stairs), write (daily pages, more blogs, essays, manuscripts and letters), celebrate my marriage (savor my mate, appreciate his charm, intelligence and goodness), and have fun (seek comedy, spend time with funny people, attend live entertainment, sing more, create gatherings of family, neighbors, friends, say yes to invitations that surprise me).

Each of these lightens and nourishes my spirit, and I have the privilege of a life that allows me to put my focus here because survival and meaningful work, nourishing people and safety are in place. It’s really a gift and a responsibility to not complain and be the brightest light I can be.  In a year of impending darkness, I want to be devoted to something bigger.

What words might guide you this year?