Embracing Emptiness to Make Room for Joy

I’m currently happier than I’ve ever been. I have a new job, my addictions are not running the show, and I’m making friends at levels I haven’t since I moved to Delphi when I was eight. I’ve always been a fairly happy person, but this joyous state goes deeper and is not dependent on external events.  It’s rooted in the belief that everything is working out, even things that appear to be challenges, and confirming signs of this truth flood my days.

What’s allowing so much joy to seep into my consciousness?

 I think it’s the space that’s been created by not packing my calendar, not filling my belly to overstuffed, and doubling my time in meditation.  These acts have allowed a spaciousness to form that’s inviting.

Oddly, I’ve become way more productive by doing less. I now write for 30 minutes first thing in the morning, and that’s allowed me to complete tasks as well as tap into inchoate creative energies before the list for the day gets going in my brain. It also frees me from the nagging sense of disappointment I feel every day I don’t write, because writing is my heart’s desire and what’s next for my personal, creative, and spiritual growth. I’m getting confirmation that what I offer is helpful and clear, and while I’d like my writing to be dense, mystical and astonishing in its vocabulary and syntax, that’s just not the kind of writer I am. Rather than wait until I become that writer, I’m allowing what I do know and the way I do put it to come forward daily.

Sitting with emptiness means accepting things as they are, without trying to fix, change,  or make it more comfortable or familiar. Every step in life is a new one if I’m paying attention, but if I’m a hair away from fully awake, ordinary tasks can feel very routine and dull. The difference, an inch perhaps, changes my world. Listening to the deepest desires of my inner being requires enough stillness each day so I discern that voice and not the ego’s long list of “shoulds” that would “improve” me.

Today, I’m on a course of exploration rather than self-improvement, and the difference is a lightness in my day. 

So here’s what I recommend: Look at your calendar and see where you can schedule in some unscheduled time. No irony intended. And look at your menu and see where you could eat less and explore feeling emptier. (Lent for Christians is the season to sit with that emptiness and see that it’s not deprivation but discipline, which turns out to be the path to freedom.)  And look at your surroundings and see if you’d like less input, so you can be still with your interior wisdom for a few minutes each day.

I suspect you’ll soon be experiencing more joy than you’re used to, and that’s a new, more interesting situation to get used to, isn’t it?

Learning Requires Love

I’m in a new job coaching people who are struggling with and conquering food addiction. Many resist that label, which is fine with me, as long as they acknowledge the experience of feeling crummy once certain kinds of foods are in their bodies and yet reaching for them again and again.  Others embrace the word addict because it explains a lifelong struggle, and, once acknowledged, provides a clear answer for freedom—steer clear of those substances that are addictive, namely flour and sugar.

While I have embraced the notion of myself as an addict for well over a decade, the most recent old narrative I’ve had to discard is that I’m technologically challenged. Working remotely for an online company requires a bunch of new apps and video conferencing .And I’m doing it!  I may not be the fastest learner, but I’m capable and enjoying these virtual connections-- the meet and greets with other members of the team, the department meetings with pictures of all of us in front of me, the poignant calls recorded for others to hear.

I woke up this morning and told Brian I was just so happy. Sure it’s 28 below zero, sure I didn’t leave the house yesterday, sure I forgot again to lead the centering exercise before beginning the coaching call. But I’m in a loving, forgiving, supportive community, which is the safest container in which to learn.

What are you ready to learn if given the right context and a warm invitation?

The Tenderness of Transition

I just left a job I loved for 10 ½ years, at a company I admire and respect, the Hazelden Betty Ford Foundation.  My work--leading spirituality groups and meeting individually with people--was fun, helpful and appreciated. So why leave?

 The pattern of my last five jobs has been 1) I'm content and competent where I am  2) the Universe taps me on the shoulder and points to something new 3) my innermost self feels drawn to apply 4) I get the job. This time,  I read an email,  drafted a response, applied, went through six assessments, two interviews, and am now a Coach and Program Delivery Associate for Bright Line Eating Solutions, an online company to help people lose weight and keep it off, founded by the brilliant  and lovable Susan Peirce Thompson.

I’ve moved from working with people recovering from addictions to alcohol and other drugs to those recovering from food addiction, albeit in varying degrees. And just as my own recovery was reinforced by working for a decade in the field, today I find myself in the middle of a community I’ve been a member of for two years, with an unprecedented level of support to work on my earliest addiction.

Getting “sober” with sugar is more challenging for me than was letting go of alcohol and other drugs because eating was the earliest way I learned to soothe myself.  And also because we live in a culture saturated with cues for bad food choices as well as free samples in many workrooms and offices.

Once again I’m learning new systems, getting to know new colleagues, and operating on a much bigger platform than ever before. The course I coach has over 3,000 registered, and while not every one of them will listen to every coaching call, a good number will.  Once again I get the chance to recognize I’m not going to do this perfectly, laugh at my mistakes, and remain teachable from all who cross my path.  I also know enough to double-up on those actions that nourish me physically and spiritually: phone calls, hot yoga, deep breaths, mindful cups of tea, more meetings, more meditation.

Life is a series of transitions. Right now I’m in a BIG one, and once again, I’m invited to deepen my connection to Source so I can hear guidance, have a better sense of timing, and remain calm. I’m grateful for this new opportunity, which builds, as all of our next steps do, on everything I’ve ever learned. Nothing is wasted. Everything is gift.

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.