How do I Grow Spiritually?

One of the benefits of being a spiritual director is having the opportunity to sit with peers and explore some question that has come up for me in the work.  After ten years in this profession, I’m feeling more like a beginner than ever, contemplating fundamental issues of authenticity, connection, and even good and evil.

In order to gain clarity, grow closer to others, and show up in the world authentically, I find the following helpful:

1.       Notice beauty and name it. This is a fast way to tune into Spirit and rest in appreciation.

2.       Savor stillness and let it seep into my bones. This provides a contrast to my regular pace of life and thus creates a new focus.

3.       Celebrate connections, look people in the eye, give them my full attention, smile often and ask to hear their stories. Someone’s story is the route to expanding my heart,which I want more than anything.

4.       Create daily, whether it’s cooking with different spices, putting a new combination of clothing together, or writing. Creating enlivens.

5.       Ask for help, guidance, and understanding.   The very question provides an opening for something new to develop, and a change in perspective most always brings relief.

Join me Nov. 16-18 for my Renewal Center retreat, Letting Go Absolutely: A Retreat on Acceptance.  We’ll go wide and deep.

What fills the cracks in your day?

I recently took Facebook off my phone—again—because I noticed it was functioning as caulk between the open, unscheduled spaces during my day.  Every spare moment was devoted to checking what was new, reading great articles on topics I hadn’t selected, and ping-ponging around the globe. It seems I don’t have much choice in the matter once I log in and start reading.

Don’t get me wrong. I still am on Facebook every single day, but only at a computer on a desk somewhere, and that has reduced my phone screen time by 59%. In the past week I’ve used spaces between appointments differently.

I’m listening to more music.  I’m looking outside regularly. I’m reading emails that accumulated because they seemed too long. Now, I’m more patient with a sustained argument or elaborate spiritual principle. And I’m reading more books on topics I’ve chosen.

I use the analogy of caulk because I believe we’re always caulking our moments with something. What is the thread that weaves together your days? What fills the spaces in your life?

 I’m eager to have prayer, meditation, my own thoughts, and the sheer enjoyment of mental spaciousness become more central, and for that, I have to make room.

Be a Sacred Container for Others' Grief

“If you cannot grieve, your creativity is locked up.” Matthew Fox

 I’ve been writing an essay on the impact of my father’s death when I was sixteen because I’ve been invited to read at a night of loss and remembrance in December.  His heart attack feels like the central feature in my emotional landscape, the river that runs through all other relationships. Although I’ve told this particular story of loss many times, I’ve come to new awareness as I attempt to be utterly true and faithful to the events of that week.

For instance, because I was told not to cry minutes after finding out he had died, I turned my attention to the many people at our home, most of them crying at his sudden, tragic death. How often today do I privilege another’s experience over my own reactions, sometimes to the point where I don’t even know what I’m feeling?

REFRAMING THE FAMILIAR

Back then, I focused on organizing the food that acquaintances brought by, and when a neighbor asked if we needed anything, I dead panned “yes, we’re running low on potato salad.”  Another woman looked at me sharply, as if to suggest this was no time to joke. 

For years I’ve interpreted that moment as my inept defense against sorrow.  But recently a new thought emerged—what if I was channeling my father’s dry humor? What if that sentence was a signal he was right here with me? What if I didn’t do it wrong?

No matter how many years later, we can reinterpret our actions through a lens of compassion, and thus heal from what might have been silent, secret, or even false.

RETELLING IMPORTANT STORIES

What are the major stories of your life? Have you shared them with someone recently? Even if you’ve told them to dear friends, siblings, or partners, tell them again, because you’ve never shared from today’s perspective, and something new could emerge. Our lives are not movies or news where we only share the latest with hungry consumers.

BE A SACRED CONTAINER FOR OTHERS’ GRIEF

Publicly we are in the midst of listening and telling our hardest tales. We are called to be sacred containers for the difficult stories of those we love and those we’ve never met.  Yet, I am able to hold another’s trauma without looking away, diminishing, or dismissing it only  if I’ve faced my own heartbreak. As Carl Jung noted, those who don’t face their own shadows project them into the world.

May these shadow stories seep into our hearts and soften our rough edges. 

And when the grieving is over, perhaps we can then create a new world where kindness prevails.

Growing One Nudge at a Time

Sunday I gave a talk entitled “Claiming Your Spiritual Progress.” I got a lesson on this topic that very morning when I put some eggs on the stove to boil for lunch. I put them in the usual pan when a quiet internal voice said “use a bigger pan.”  Here’s the progress: even though they were already on the stove, I transferred the eggs to a different pan.

Such a Know-it-All

Do you see how small this moment is? It’s progress because I have a tendency to ignore good advice, even when it comes from myself, let alone anyone else. I try not to make mistakes, hate to acknowledge errors, and am the kind of driver who, if I miss a turn, keep going because turning back is not an option.  I once missed an important event because I refused to retrace my path and follow the original directions, thinking I would just circle around to the right road eventually. I ended up too lost to even go home, eventually arriving at the meeting long after my scheduled portion.

Practicing Self-Compassion

The act of putting the eggs in a different pan acknowledged my initial mistake, and here’s the next moment of spiritual progress: I didn’t beat myself up for choosing a pan too small in the first place. Because I wasn’t in a shame spiral about selecting the wrong pan, I soon realized that I was boiling twice as many eggs as usual and so of course needed a bigger pan. (I’m very concrete when it comes to spatial relationships, despite my high scores on the Iowa Basic Skills tests in third grade, and so had to actually put the eggs in the pan to realize it was too small.)

Many of us notice our small mistakes all day long but don’t have the same facility in recognizing small successes. We’ve trained ourselves to be critical more than appreciative, and in the process, we’re missing out on savoring subtle indicators of spiritual growth.  Becoming open, curious, and gentle toward ourselves helps us notice the mundane ways we are changing and also tunes us to  the quiet inner guidance that gives us a nudge when we become complacent or in a holding pattern.  

Don't Wait to Arrive

Living a life of conscious growth comes from listening to and following those nudges, one at a time.

If I’m heading toward despair, it’s usually because my focus has shifted from small moments of progress to a larger movement that hasn’t yet occurred.  In other words, I’m looking at where I think I should be rather than appreciating where I am;.l,k.  These small movements can go unnoticed unless I set aside time to reflect on my day. When the process of moving toward what you want feels as good as getting there, you’ve arrived.

Claiming Progress versus Perfection

Perfectionism is such a part of me that I need to understand when it’s in the lead and then take actions to shift into the more sustainable path of claiming spiritual progress. So I came up with this set of criteria that tell me whether or not I’m living in the path of progress or seeking an impossible state of perfection.

Movement or Stalled Out

Progress feels like momentum.  I feel a sense of possibility, accomplishment perhaps, and even a sense that all is well. I’m eager for the day and look for evidence of progress.  When I’m living with a mindset of perfection, however, I have little momentum because my attention is on the gap between where I am currently and where I want to be. That gap can feel insurmountable and it’s pretty discouraging, thus little sense of momentum.

Humility or Humiliation

When I claim spiritual progress, ironically I’m not in my ego at all, but pretty humble about how anything got accomplished in the first place. I’ve had a part but it’s not all up to me. When I live in a perfectionistic mind frame, I’m often humiliated because I haven’t arrived at where I think I should be, or I’m boastful that I can do this why can’t you and thus judging others. There’s a heap of comparison that comes with perfection and often I’m humiliated because I haven’t measured up to I perceive are your accomplishments.

Hope or Despair

Hope accompanies spiritual progress because I’ve taken the time to see even subtle shifts and movement and therefore know change is possible, if incremental. When I’m looking through a lens of perfection, though, I feel despair that I’ll ever arrive and shortly after that I’m in self-pity, looking for a consolation prize of some sort. Despair is not a sustainable path in recovery.

Creative Solution or Forced Fix

What happens during a problem when I’m in the progress frame of mind is that a solution appears almost at once. It’s usually a pretty creative solution and I get a hit of energy just watching it appear. I’m excited to try it and delighted at how quickly challenges can be resolved. But when I’m in the perfectionist zone, then a problem needs a precise and difficult solution, something beyond what is available in the moment. I become paralyzed with the notion that I’ve got to solve this thing, don’t avail myself of others’ ideas or inspiration from the divine, and feel desperate to fix things myself. It leads to overwhelm.

Humor or Hiding

When I make a mistake and I’m used to claiming spiritual progress, I can laugh at myself, see it as a lesson, and sometimes shape it into a teaching for others. I write blogs about these mistakes and am eager to continue to learn. But when I’m in a perfectionist patch, which I’ve been in for a while, mistakes feel deadly and something I want to hide from others or blame on something or someone. It’s lonely making mistakes when I’m supposed to be perfect, and they tend to make me want to isolate even more.

To Serve or to Wait

Finally, when I’m in the vibe of spiritual progress, I’m eager to be of service. My life and my ideas are useful and I share easily at meetings, delight in others’ stories, listen and speak only when I have something necessary to say. When I’m in perfectionist zone, I either talk too much to demonstrate to others how spot-on my recovery is or I get very quiet and want to only serve when things get all perfected. I don’t write much because it’s not good enough, wise enough, or relevant for others. I tend to take the temperature of a room before speaking and second guess my impulse to share.

These are states of being I’ve noticed that can help me discern where I am at any given moment. The answer will affect what I do next, what I pray for, and how I ask for help from others.

Just Pray

I've been struggling with food issues, again, despite having all kinds of knowledge, accumulated wisdom, and support from lovely people and skilled experts. In reading Mary Oliver’s “Morning Poem,” it occurred to me I’m not asking for divine help. I’m not really praying but just sort of going through the motions.

Here’s the line that captured and opened my heart: “each pond with its blazing lilies/is a prayer heard and answered/lavishly.” The idea that prayers are heard and answered lavishly reminds me that relying on myself to muscle my way through an addiction can never work.  When I first got sober, my prayers were desperate, heartfelt, and almost constant.  That worked to get me from one difficult moment to the next until I could go to bed early and make this “one day at a time” thing work.  My addiction to sugar is longer, stronger, and more pernicious than anything I experienced with alcohol, and I need stronger spiritual muscles to get through the cravings and obsessive thoughts. Prayer builds the bridge to a new life of freedom.

Clearing the Channel

If I don’t ask, I can’t set in motion the answer, the new creation. Once I ask, a channel opens up. And it flows to me lavishly beyond what I can imagine. Source grants my deepest hope and beyond. I don’t need to know how or expect an answer by when because that slows it down and introduces resistance. All I have to do is pray rather than reach for the old comfort. Each moment I ask for help is the dawn of a new morning; the world is created anew in the asking.

Listening to the Real Need

When I can believe or act as if help is available if I only ask/pray, I will never be without exactly what I need. And as I realize that what I need is never sugar, flour, alcohol or a new item, then I move toward a deeper, truer listening, to the wounded child who was not heard, who couldn’t articulate what she needed and soon silenced the fact that she needed anything as she reached for a cookie or something nearby to soothe.

 I want to give her attention, compassion, and kindness. I’m learning to be gentle with her and never give her something to shut her up, so she soon learns to trust me and let me hold and comfort her. And that feeling of peace, I’m coming to see, is all I’ve ever wanted.

I Turn 60 Tomorrow!

Today is the last day of my 50s, so I’ve been reflecting on this decade, setting intentions, and cultivating hopes for the next one.  What happens in my 60s is really up to me. I’m in exquisite health, have a solid spiritual foundation, harmonious relationships, meaningful work, sufficient money and material objects, a strong desire to be a world traveler rather than tourist.  I turn 60 in good company, not only all the others from Delphi’s class of ’76, but famous people who look pretty good join me: Madonna, Sharon Stone, Angela Bassett, Michelle Pfeiffer, Annette Benning, Kevin Bacon, Tim Robbins to name a few.

A NEW CALLING

I’ve had a new career this past decade and just celebrated 10 years working as a spiritual director for Hazelden, the premiere organization in the world (in my opinion) for treating addiction to alcohol and other drugs. I have a job that is never dull, requires creativity and spiritual fitness, and use my intelligence, intuition, and experience to help others find a power greater than themselves that also resides in their being. It’s a daily privilege and challenge to make spirituality as practical as I can.

A DISAPPOINTMENT

My writing this past decade has been more off than on. It’s been 22 years since my book Toward a Feminist Rhetoric was published, and in the interim I’ve gotten another degree, fallen in love and married, moved a number of times, built a beautiful lake cabin, read hundreds of books and journaled thousands of pages. I’ve just not published much other than a couple essays in Presence. This blog came to be several years ago as a toe in the publishing waters.

A DREAM

In the coming decade I want to fulfill this persistent dream of publishing a book that inspires, educates, amuses, and encourages others interested in living free from addiction. I’ve written so much already that can be collected, revised, and expanded. May the “wanting machine” inside me quiet enough to savor the space to write rather than fill it with the next purchase or project.

USA Is Spiritually Bankrupt

I keep reading “This is not who we are as a country,” and yet this is, apparently, exactly who we are.  We are a spiritually bankrupt nation. While not every single person is in spiritual free-fall, collectively we are.  Here are just a few of the signs:

Operating from fear rather than love. This often takes the form of withdrawing behind the protection of rationality, moving into an intellectual, hypothetical realm when confronted with income and opportunity disparities, overt injustice, and sobbing children.

Putting stuff before people. We prioritize material over spiritual connections and place tasks before people in order to protect ourselves from feeling vulnerable. We have more storage units than affordable housing, each of us probably knows someone who hoards, and we shop and sell our stuff for entertainment rather than create music, art, or converse with each other. It’s easy to be in control when organizing a closet or shopping for the perfect item, much scarier to talk to people about their lives, listen to hard stories, and be present to radically different views.

Being materially comfortable but unwilling to share. When the Syrian refugee crisis began, I wanted each one of us in this wealthy nation with a spare bedroom to host a family for as long as needed, knowing that act of generosity would benefit our homes and communities for decades to come. Instead, our country admitted a tiny number of people in need.

Holding imaginary lines (borders) above human connection. Borders, like money and laws, are human constructs that can be changed when they no longer serve a life-giving purpose. That people are now traumatized because they are asking for help at our borders (at lower numbers than ever, by the way) demonstrates our spiritual bankruptcy.

Good news! Spiritual bankruptcy is reversible but only when it is acknowledged, which is a very humbling process. In fact, humility is the essence of spiritual fitness, and the USA has lacked that quality almost from its inception. The roots of today’s crisis are in the founding of this nation—genocide of Native people, systematic separation and destruction of those cultures and families, enslavement of Africans, separation of those families and destruction of those languages and spiritual practices. Our founders did not approach difference with curiosity and a willingness to learn, and that arrogance and entitlement persists today. It’s what keeps the Electoral College in place rather than one person-one vote, which has reversed two elections.

Becoming spiritually fit requires a paradigm shift of magnitude.  What restores a spiritually bankrupt state of being? Love. Hope. Humility. Responsibility. Awareness. Accountability.  If this is not the America we want to be, then we need to articulate that vision, use art and creative acts to imagine what we DO want, and create just laws that keep in check the worst of human qualities, such as greed and fear-based exclusion.

What might a well-nourished spirit do? 

If we had the courage to heed our hearts, many of us might head south to hold babies, comfort toddlers and free parents detained for the simple act of asking for help. We would witness in fierce and loving silence every single act our US gestapo, ICE, takes, and awaken the humanity in those guards who’ve been ordered not to hug a sobbing two year old. Those who conduct this president's diabolical plan to dismantle the remaining shreds of our democracy need to know that more people want to give, love, and connect than retreat behind a wall.  We, the most militarized nation on Earth, will not fund a new branch of the military. 

Waiting for permission, a leader, a movement to take action may be not be spiritually bankrupt, but it is spiritually timid. Wave after wave of loving bodies showing up during hard times can restore our humanity and reclaim our souls.

What Am I NOT Seeing?

I recently experienced an object lesson in empathy.  One afternoon a directee squinted into the sun as she sat down, and as I adjusted the blinds, it occurred to me I could rearrange the furniture so that she didn’t have to face the window. I’d often tinkered with the blinds without considering the possibility of moving furniture. Now we sit side by side with our backs to the sunlight.  Why did it take me five years to figure this out? Because my chair had its back to the window in an arrangement I had inherited, I really had no idea what life was like in the other chair.

What else have I inherited without questioning?  What social “furniture” should be moved to make lasting changes that benefit everyone?

I pride myself on being able to imagine others’ lives, but nothing compares to sitting in the other’s chair. My world was forever changed after living for a summer with a Muslim family in Turkey.  All the novels in the world couldn’t create that life-changing experience. How do we bridge differences we only imagine?

Recently, Loyola staff had a workshop on dismantling racism to examine our preconceived ideas, unexamined assumptions, and cultural blinders that prevent us from reaching as many people as we might. One lesson in the video we watched was that white people have the luxury of avoiding racists (including those in our own families) but people of color don’t have that luxury. So whites have a responsibility to confront racists, even over a dinner table. When has tending my comfort been the priority rather than starting a difficult conversation?

Jesus said it’s easy to love the lovable, but the real opportunity to see the Christ in others comes when our differences are the most apparent. I look forward to a year of rich discussions, new learnings, and growth as we put dismantling racism center stage for staff development. We hope to do more than adjust the curtains.

Taking in the Good

Perhaps because I’ve been on peaceful retreat for a week, I was able to observe the beginnings of an inner disturbance and respond differently rather than only notice agitation once it’s moving too fast to stop.

This morning I observed my mind take me down an unhappy path, and as I noticed anxiety and irritation rev up into a plan to get even or take revenge, I decided to tune into wise mind instead.  She told me, “The reason you feel bad is because what you’re imagining isn’t true. Whenever you make up a story about someone you love and feel bad, it’s an imaginary tale. Stand in the truth and you’ll be calm immediately.”

I decided to change the story. I recognized the goodness of the other person, his lack of malice and his faithfulness, and I took a deep breath. The moment I unplugged from the hurtful, untrue narrative, I was able to see his point of view and to wish him an enjoyable event. Instead of asking him to change, I changed my perspective, and went on with my day at peace.

What We Focus On Expands

If I can’t accept a circumstance or quality in someone close to me (or far away, for that matter), then I need to look for some quality within them I can accept, or focus on a different topic altogether. In looking for something to appreciate or even celebrate, I follow the gaze of loving kindness that lives at our core, and in tuning into that, I access solutions I couldn’t envision when I was so worked up about what is wrong.

There are always multiple things going on at any given moment. Where is my attention? I know there’s plenty wrong in the world --injustices are happening to people everyday, the land is being abused, profit is put before people, and too many of us are intent on accumulating more, swapping old things for trendier, prettier things, when much of the planet doesn’t have basic needs met. I know this.

And I am grateful to those who report, record, and analyze these developments and ferret out the causes. I stay informed, share information, and contribute to organizations working for change.  But I cannot keep my attention solely focused on these problems and be useful to others.  That doesn’t work.

Heeding Inner Guidance

“Perhaps this is how you know you’re doing the thing you’re intended to: No matter how slow or slight your progress, you never feel that it’s a waste of time.” This line from Curtis Sittenfeld’s novel The Man of My Dreams reassures me. The work I feel called to do happens with individuals, one at a time or in small groups.  I help people make choices to contribute rather than to critique, to create rather than to destroy, and to tune into their desire to live fully and inhabit the edges of their own goodness.  It’s the kind of vocation that rarely has a visible or immediate outcome. I keep at it because every conversation matters to me, even casual exchanges in the hallway.

I also work for a spirituality center that has as its vision, “As each person is awakened to the sacred in all life, the world is transformed.” I was there when we created this vision and I believe it more than ever.

Imagine a world where every person sees what is precious in everyone else, including animals, plants, work and creative efforts. How might that transform our interactions, our communities, and our environment? Because I can only change myself, I’m putting my energy, one person at a time, into seeing the preciousness right in front of me, because no effort in that direction is ever wasted.

What’s Blooming in You? Thoughts on My Next Decade

It’s finally spring in Minneapolis and I’ve been thinking about what is blossoming in me right now. And what might I need to let go to make room for it?

On Turning Sixty

What’s being born in me is absolute delight at turning sixty in two months. I don’t often celebrate birthdays, but I’m giddy thinking about how I want to acknowledge this one. I am ready to claim the wisdom, confidence, and acceptance of others that might come with entering the age of the crone.  Although I haven’t completely identified what, I know that something needs to go, wither, perhaps even to die in me to more fully embrace this new decade. I know the zip code of the attitude but not yet the house number, let alone its fingerprint.

During my fifties, I’ve let go of needing to climb a career ladder and focused on working directly with people.  Because the corporate world honors those who manage employees more than those who work with clients, this has meant fewer titles, less pay, and way more daily satisfaction. Give me a 1:1 conversation with a 19 year old who doesn’t believe in God over a meeting about marketing any day.

Saying Goodbye to the Inner Critic

To more joyfully inhabit this next life chapter, I’ll need to release incessant self-judgment, the running commentary that tells me how put-together, thin (or not) I look, how smart, wise, or silly I sound. This inner critic takes the pulse of everyone’s assessment of me and measures my worth by numbers: how many read, like, or attend whatever I offer? It doesn’t help that in a recent yearly review when I asked how to move from good to excellent I was told that while the staff realize how valuable I am, all the clients need to recognize my worth as well in order to nail it.

In that case, excellence means winning over the 400+ people who are in the building each week at various stages of wanting what I teach. That may be an admirable goal, but it’s dangerous for a people-pleaser. Rather than work for universal acclaim, I think I’ll let go of wanting the excellent rating and concentrate on doing excellent work.

The Deepest Acceptance

Contentment gets born in the process of letting go of such scorekeeping, a practice of accepting who I am that goes beyond what I can re-arrange, such as my current wardrobe, body size, hair style, etc. Becoming at home with the way I write about what interests me, how I think about something and what I’m drawn to read, share and invite others to explore requires deeper acceptance. I can’t or won’t be like X (fill in the name of any famous author, 10-15 years younger, whose memoir is a best-seller.) And I have plenty to say.

When I let go of that comparison, savor who I am, and get my ideas out there because I love sharing rather than need a certain reaction, then what is now a young plant just blossoming will mature and bear fruit that can nourish me into old age.

Who Feels Blue in the Spring??

I’ve recently been told that my affect is flat and my energy is grey. Since this feedback came from two women I love and trust, I’m taking it seriously.  Other indications that something is off include a difficult situation with someone I love, more challenges at work, and snafus with money that are unusual for me.

These are all signals that I need to surrender--to what I'm not sure--but since I’m leading a retreat on “letting go absolutely” in three weeks, I’m curious about how to be with this discomfort without running to shopping and sugar for a quick escape.

I don’t have to know

Although I’m not sure what kind of help I need, I do know that it’s time to ask--others, the universe, and my own inner guidance. I don’t have to know what form the help will take, or how it will work, or even why I’m in this present situation.  Just the act of asking  for help releases the problem and opens me to a solution.

Answers are everywhere

So this morning I sat by a wise man I don’t know well at a meeting and asked him how he cultivates joy.  He looked at me for a beat and then answered that he does it in little ways all day long—having meaningful conversations, spending time outside, being present to changes without needing to control them.

In order to feel more connected to others, I spoke at this meeting without knowing exactly what I would say or if it would be helpful or wise.  Yesterday I started therapy with a counselor I liked who seemed safe. Today I’m inviting Spirit to show me what to read, who to hang out with, and how to be.   Images of golfing and gardening came as ways to play and to create, states I'd like to experience more.

Befriending Silence

I’m pretty sure silence is the way through this flat, grey period: sit still, plan nothing, stop consuming something every waking minute, be observant and curious. Taking a baby step in the direction of what brings my heart peace rather than finding the best bargain or eating copious amounts of sugar is the truest route to a sweet life.

Permission to Grieve

My 92 year old mother in law died last week, with no pain, in a homey hospice, surrounded by her six children singing, praying and professing their love. Unless you believe no one should ever die, this was a good death, the kind everyone deserves but too few experience. The setting allowed those of us left behind time and space to remember, celebrate, and mourn together. If sacred passages were the cultural norm, perhaps we’d have less fear of dying, more reverence for birth, and communal rituals to facilitate key stages in life.

No Time to Grieve

My own father died suddenly when I was sixteen and my sister was twelve. My mother, for unknown reasons, chose to proceed as if all were normal. That very night she sent Lori out Christmas caroling with the Spanish club. The next day I went to work, where they were surprised to see me and had called a substitute. It didn’t occur to me to go home, so I was an extra worker on the floor.  We attended the usual church services Christmas Eve (he died December 23) where I tried valiantly not to cry, as if that would have been a breach of etiquette rather than a genuine expression of my irrevocably changed reality. 

With no space or time to grieve, I buried that raw emotion only to have it emerge as anger, self-pity, or fear at odd times over the next decades.  With no permission to grieve, I learned to ignore my feelings and act as if something essential didn’t matter, living on a surface of pleasing others rather than acting from my heart’s desires.

So this week, I did it differently, even though this death was neither surprising nor tragic. I used bereavement leave to be available to the family, host meals, organize her few possessions, and take care of myself.  I feel lucky to work at a nonprofit that acknowledges these fundamental human needs with some paid time off. Isn’t this what every worker deserves?

A Life of Faith

Jill Rice was the least addicted, least materialistic, and least sentimental person I know. Her family and her faith were the important anchors in her life.  Her reading consisted of novels and materials published by various Catholic organizations. Her church attendance continued right up to the end, and she prayed immediately when told sad news.

Allowing Love 

Her faith was the source of her sweet love for others. Nurses, waitresses, her hairdresser, and her grandchildren all fell in love with her because she lit up whenever she saw any of us.  Though kissing hands was all that was left of her expressiveness towards the end, she always chose loving over complaining. She really was an instrument of peace.

Thy Will, Not Mine, Be Done

At her funeral, we entered singing Here I Am, the hymn reflecting Samuel’s willingness to do whatever God asks.  We ended with Breathe on Me O Breath of God, singing “that I may love the things you love, and do the things you do/ My will to yours incline, until this selfish part of me glows with your fire divine.”  I cried during both these songs, reminded that this is all I’ve ever wanted—to act from the best in me.

Jill Rice showed me how to love everyone for who they are, to delight in beauty and to simplify with ease. Most of the time I’m aware of falling short of this ideal, but my desire to be aligned with love is strong. Some days it even trumps the desire to protect myself by keeping people away through isolation or criticism.

 

Today, rather than try to eliminate my negative qualities, I’ll follow this sweet woman’s example--plug into the Great Love that moves through this world and offer it to everyone who crosses my path, like Jilly did.

On Dying without Children

My 92-year-old mother-in-law is in hospice, a day or two from death according to the nurse.  Her six adult children have gathered, and because the facility is a beautiful home with gentle, attentive staff, they are free to read to her, sing hymns with the music therapist, and stroke her head and hands.

Jill Rice had eight children in twelve years, each one confident, unique and adored.  While she sleeps and her breathing changes, while they administer pain meds every two hours, the siblings plan the funeral, write the obituary, and share memories with various cousins, grandchildren, and in-laws who visit.  Someone is always with her, and when I left the other day, the room had filled with eight of us.

She is having a good death. And her dying brings up memories and questions: I’ve lost both parents, one quickly and one in hospice care. I have regrets about how I showed up around both deaths.

I don’t have children--who will attend my death? Years ago I was a volunteer with hospice, and during the extensive training a group of four women spoke to us.  They had worked with a patient who didn’t have family, tag teaming for weeks so she was never alone.   Would strangers do that for me?  

In the end, I suppose it won’t matter because I’ll be dying.  Although I hope to die quickly and gently in my sleep after a day spent golfing, writing, and visiting with friends, I’m not sure we get to precisely plan our exit. I just hope we have some say in the when and how and that my ending will be surprising and fast, for everyone’s sake. In the meantime, I marvel at the love of the Rices for this beautiful spirit who was their mom.

Loneliness or Solitude?

“Don’t surrender your loneliness too quickly.  Let it cut more deep . .  . /Something missing in my heart tonight/has made my eyes so soft, my voice so tender/my need of God absolutely clear.” Hafiz

How do you know when you’re lonely? How do you soothe yourself when you feel lonely? How might loneliness, which had a role in my addiction and now fuels numerous ways of distracting and numbing myself, actually be a tool for developing spiritual connections? 

Loneliness is like those little plastic bags that protect the newspaper, helpful for the moment but useless for any other purpose.  Loneliness signals I need more connection to myself, others, or Source. Often I don’t welcome that feeling, because I interpret it as meaning that I’m a loser nobody wants to spend time with. Once I start down that path, it’s not long before I question how I’m spending my day and if my life even matters. No wonder I do about anything to avoid feeling lonesome. 

Lonely in a Crowd

But I can also be isolated surrounded by people when the conversation is shallow and I’m not hearing or sharing anything real.  Time with someone I want to be close to but feeling unseen may be the loneliest.

Joyful Solitude

On the other hand, when I’m spiritually connected being alone can be joyful. In solitude, I’m curious, eager to explore, open to spontaneous ideas and welcoming of feelings, memories, connections, and even emptiness. I’m never bored in solitude, but when I’m lonely, I'm desperate to entertain myself.

I can move from solitude to loneliness in an instant of self-pity or comparison. It usually takes longer to move from loneliness to enjoying my own company.  I do know that eating, shopping, smoking, drinking, mindlessly consuming social media or other forms of entertainment only keeps me isolated and postpones the move required for me to be happy and helpful to others.

Oh, that I could notice the edge of loneliness and welcome it into my heart as an invitation to intimacy with spirit, my whole self, and others. Becoming familiar with the beginnings of loneliness, being curious about that feeling and aware of what is missing can be an important tool for recovery.

To Explore

What do you typically do when you are at loose ends or bored, overwhelmed or not sure what to do next?

How do you feel when you’re lonely? When or where are you most often lonely?

Who in your life do you feel least lonely around?

What role does a higher power have in feeling lonely or enjoying solitude?

With a partner, share two moments from your life:

1) When you were alone and loved it. What were you doing? What connection did you have to nature, a higher power, or the best in you?

2) When you felt most alone in the world. What did you do to not feel so alone? Was it effective? What’s the healthiest thing you could have done? What prevented you from doing that? How is that habit, belief, or tendency to isolate still present in your life today?

Is Your Life Big Enough?

Everyone has some creative endeavor to immerse in, whether it’s creating a family, a home, a career, art, or community. If we don’t follow our heart’s desire, then we may turn that energy into perfecting things around us, redecorating, revising relationships, or even destroying things in order to rebuild them. In my life, I’ve lost the same 30 pounds multiple times, then gained them to make that my project, yet again.

If you don’t have a bigger project, your health becomes a project.  I’ve been saying no to flour and sugar without saying yes to what I truly want, which is to write new ideas, revise old essays, and publish it all so actual people read my work.When I make my top priorities losing weight, getting the perfect wardrobe, keeping care of an already fine home, or fretting about teaching something that will save or at least transform lives, then I dissipate the energies that could go into writing, revising, editing, rewriting, imagining, sharing, listening, telling stories, and being filled with wonder.

I don’t receive new ideas until I put the current ones occupying my mind on paper and release them to be critiqued, expanded upon, or affirmed. It really is that easy. The food always slips into the background and becomes delicious fuel rather than my main source of entertainment or the bane of my existence when I put my energy behind what I know to be the real point of being alive—sharing all of me with whoever wants it. 

Belonging Is an Inside Job

I recently attended a workshop with what I had hoped would be my tribe, women working the same program for food addiction. Throughout the day, though, I felt separate and very critical of the participants. By the time I left, I was bereft: if I don’t belong here, where do I belong?

I’ve left myself vulnerable to feeling excluded because I’ve thought belonging depended on someone else’s welcome, invitation, and desire to know me. I’ve come home from many a gathering where no one asked me a question, convinced I didn’t fit in, when I could have more generously interpreted their silence as shyness or a different set of rules for social interactions.

 I see now that I typically enter a social setting looking for evidence that I don’t belong, and of course whatever we seek we find. Even overt assurances that I am welcome are fleeting when I’m determined to find the ways that I’m better or worse. Mostly I’ve used quite superficial standards of appearance and weight to determine my ranking. I’ve bought the social lie that thin equals happy, so that particular gathering of women, who were mostly heavier yet clearly happier, jarred loose that old idea. To feel like I belong, I need to look for similarities, and when I’m aware of differences, to become curious rather than judgmental.

Instead of waiting to feel happy once I’ve achieved a certain goal (book publication, number on the scale, number of readers, etc.) I need to first belong to and with myself. This is tricky because my self-critical pathways are so strong, that I’m mostly in a state of feeling like a project in need of perfecting, which bleeds into every encounter I have. (For instance, I’m currently “working” on stopping caffeine and recreational shopping.) When I don’t belong anywhere, I know it’s time to up my meditation, which, for me, is the primary practice that soothes that critical faculty. When we meditate, barriers and boundaries the ego has created for protection diminish, soften, and go into the background as my inner being comes into the foreground.

Perhaps that’s why sitting down to meditate feels like coming home. The 12 Steps and 12 Traditions says, “Perhaps one of the greatest rewards of meditation and prayer is the sense of belonging that comes to us” (105). Sitting with the intention of being in conscious contact with a power greater than myself, with my inner being, and in connection with all souls striving to be loving and kind may not alone change a world that demonstrates indifference and cruelty each day.  But my desire to be connected to a larger goodness that is also within me is the soil from which helpful public actions grow.

When I even glimpse that I belong in the most cosmic sense of the word, I breathe easier, become clear-minded, and grow more tolerant. No longer am I awaiting a welcome from someone who may be struggling today. What would happen if I made a decision to belong, starting today with this human body, just as it is?

Setting Intentions for 2018

My three guiding words for this year are Curiosity, Creativity, and Courage.

Curiosity is the route to growth. If I pay attention to what feels stale, where I’m just going through the motions, what bores me, and when I want to disengage, it’s amazing how quickly a new invitation crosses my path. A class or workshop, a book or movie, a talk or new friend invites me to wake up. If I don’t listen to these stirrings of restlessness and discontent, I’ll have more difficulties until eventually I’ll be in despair, flailing for relief. To keep my life as non-dramatic and chaos-free as this world allows, I want to listen for the next stretch. Curiosity is a gentle path to surrender.

It’s also time to clarify what I want to learn, where I want to visit, and with whom I’d like to spend more time. How exactly does a belief in something greater than oneself facilitate abstinence and recovery from drugs, alcohol, shopping, food, and other addictions that encroach on one’s freedom? I already have some books and people to guide me. After being in the field of spirituality and addiction for nine years, I’m ready to do my homework. (Reminds me of my time at UT Austin, when, after prompting, I added the primary literature review three weeks before my dissertation defense.)

After 30 years of practice, I want to learn more about meditation and have found even the opening pages of Pema Chodron’s How to Meditate helpful. I’ve signed up for a four week class at Common Ground to learn a Buddhist approach to joy and equanimity from someone I identified as a potential teacher on a five-day silent retreat years ago. Apparently, sometimes the next step takes time to incubate and ripen.

Creativity will help me focus on writing and publishing. I’d like my writing to be so honest that it’s risky—perhaps even controversial. I hope to discover where I’ve censored myself to win approval, which I may only notice after I’ve crossed a line. The joy of creating should build enough momentum to make mistakes, forgive myself, and keep going.  Creating something daily might alleviate the cravings for shopping and sugar that plagued me so last year.

I want to be a better friend, and oddly enough that also requires courage. I’ll schedule a conversation every week with someone dear, ideally without an end time, so we can connect, meander and travel to new territory. That will be better than therapy because it’s mutual, free, and I can sit in my favorite chair at home.

To live a year of curiosity, creativity and courage requires a foundation of meditation, journaling, mutual support meetings for my sobriety and abstinence, enough sleep and exercise, and giving and receiving love and kindness daily. Plenty of people are critiquing reality brilliantly.  In 2018, I’d like to offer glimpses of hope, strategies for renewal, and invitations to connect.

What nudges are you noticing that will help you live more fully awake to the wonders of your life?