Best Winter Ever

Here in Minnesota we’ve had an intense winter, and it’s not over. This afternoon the snow came down in a thick blanket. Recently, the Minneapolis newspaper published an article entitled “Worst. Winter. Ever.”  The next day, a clever letter to the editor pointed out that if one likes snow and cold, this year has been amazing.  Fifty nights below zero. Sixty-one inches of snow. “Best. Winter. Ever.” he wrote.

It all comes down to perspective.  I’ve never found it useful or interesting to complain about weather. I’m never served by resisting, complaining, or working myself into a lather about something I can do nothing about. I know I do have an effect on my world—the choices I make affect climate in the end. However, knowing I have an impact and influencing something immediately are not the same.  When I’m upset about weather or traffic, a plane’s delay or a person’s response, I’m actually cut off from the very thing that can have a positive impact.  Namely, my positive attitude.

If I’m in a funk, that’s not the time I can improve a situation.  The old sayings “do no harm” or “if you haven’t got anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all” come to mind.  Once I’ve regained equilibrium and good cheer, I may in fact be able to help. But not before then.

Being powerless over something can lead to frustration or a renewed sense of humility. My choice. I know which choice feels better, and every time I choose to remain calm, ask for help, focus on the positive, see the humor, I strengthen that ability for a time when it will be essential that I remain calm so that I can be useful.

Perhaps those little irritations are precisely the workout my spiritual condition needs to get into shape for whatever is around the corner. And even if life goes smoothly forever after, reaching for the wonder of a snowy day just before April feels much better than the alternative.

The Land of Enough

 

Tired of having a full closet and nothing to wear? Recently, I tried an experiment of putting only 40 of my favorite items of clothing on hangers.  Turns out, I never tired of my wardrobe this whole, long winter because everyday I wore things I loved.  That’s the standard to use throughout my household, my relationships, and my activities.  When I’m engaged with people I love, doing what I love, in clothes I love, I have enough.

We experienced enough with my grandparents. There’s a photograph of me, seven years old, in a scarf, shawl, and big pocketbook on my grandparents’ couch.  My three year old sister, also in costume with a huge purse, sits beside me.  We are playing “Bus,” looking at the scenery, chatting, and exploring the treasures in our purses. This ingenious game was no doubt suggested by a grandparent in need of quiet. That couch wasn’t the only special prop. We played “Waitress” with their TV tray on wheels and “Bank” as we knelt before a straight chair with slats for the teller window. 

My grandparent’s house had one doll and one box of crayons and my sister and I got along better there than anywhere else. At our own house we had a play kitchen, dozens of baby dolls, Barbie dolls, a doll house and every game produced. Yet I have few memories of playing with my sister there. Mostly I remember squabbling.

At first glance this doesn’t make sense.  Wouldn’t we be more likely to fight over a single doll than the dozens at home?  But it didn’t work that way because siblings rival for attention, and at Grandma and Grandpa’s we had two loving adults’ full attention. Even when she continued her housework, meal preparation, and gardening tasks, Grandma included us so that we felt it was all play. 

Geneen Roth has observed that enough isn’t a quantity but a relationship to what you already have. Margaret Bullet-Jonas writes that you can never have enough of what you don’t truly want. When I take the time to discern what I want, it’s rarely a thing. Most often it’s a connection to an old friend, a hug, a chance to talk about a new inspiration, a walk in the sunshine, or time to read a good book.

Experiencing enough is a spiritual discipline because it’s never my spirit that wants more stuff. Though it seems scary sometimes to walk away from more, focusing on the riches already in hand is what nourishes me truly.

 

Only Connect

 

Yesterday I passed an SUV with a painted tiger on its back tire cover and the words “Please do not get close.”  Years ago a friend painted on my back tire cover a picture of the globe with the words “Only Connect.” When asked what does that mean? in every single parking lot,  I’d tell these strangers it was my favorite phrase from E.M. Forster’s novel Howard’s End. What do you think it means? Over the years I’ve come to believe that every problem can be solved, every difficulty eased, by greater connection.

These two phrases sum up my choice every day: Will I seek connection or distance? Draw closer to those I love or keep them at arm’s length? Be curious or oblivious about whoever crosses my path? When I review my day before sleep, I can usually tell which choice has been dominant by how I feel.  When I’ve connected I feel loved and loving. When I’ve signaled “please do not get close” I feel empty and alone.

I wish I always made the choice to connect, but I don’t.  Inattention, stress or fatigue keep people away.  Sometimes I tell my higher power not to get close by keeping busy, distracted, and noisy inside. Something that diminishes connection with others is my desire for perfection. Tonight, as I prepare to host dinner for a dozen, I intend to connect with each one by listening with delight rather than with one eye on the oven.   When I’m the hostess that’s a challenge. So I cancelled something I’d planned to do earlier and am giving myself the kind of day that will prepare my heart to be a welcoming world that says—Come closer. I’m so glad you’re here. 

Perhaps the loneliest days are those I keep myself at a distance by going through the motions of obligations or duties rather than pausing to listen to what will surprise and delight me.  This past week I went to the Walker Art Center on the spur of the moment.  That lovely art date made the March afternoon brighter, and I felt connected to the artist, the others viewing the exhibit, and had an interesting exchange with one of the guards. Saying yes to that inspiration, taking the time to act on intuition, actually strengthens my spirit, which in turn, invites me to come closer. Yes, that’s the direction I want to go.

 

 

Happiness

I‘ve been watching Pharrell Williams’ video “Happy” a lot lately (24hoursofhappy.com).  Today I danced along with it and felt that powerful combination of endorphins and music.  The simple words of this song “happiness is the truth” lift me because they are the truth.

I may spend more time thinking about happiness and joy than most people, but I did earn the nickname “Joy Ann” growing up and believe a happy life is completely possible regardless of circumstance.  When I’m content, I’m most useful to others, which is a value I hold. As I release one addiction after the next,  the path to happiness becomes clearer and easier to walk. I’m sure age has something to do with this as well.

Today I want to feel wonderful more than I want to look wonderful. That’s a big shift. When I pay attention to what feels wonderful, I let go of the clothes, shoes, knick knacks, food, activities and ideas that are less than marvelous.  Is that too high a standard? I don’t think so given the sheer amount of things I own, activities I can participate in, and thoughts that run pass my brain.  I only want those things in my life that help me feel wonderfully connected, joyous, and alive.

Everything I’ve ever wanted in my life I thought I’d feel better if I had it.  Much of it worked only in the short run. I’m more likely to reach for an old comfort when I haven’t made the time to be still and listen to my inner guidance, which always has a creative and perfect answer for the moment. Whenever I want to feel wonderful via a binge of sugar, a shopping trip, or some other old way of getting relief, I now get to learn what truly brings a sense of well-being.  This week, when I’ve wanted a change or help making a transition, I’ve gone outside and looked at the sky, called an old friend, organized a closet, browsed in a magazine, and walked in to lecture without a note.

I’m traveling into new realms of happiness and joy, and since I’ve long thought joy is the spirit’s most efficient fuel, I’ve been productive in other ways as well. Which is a nice bonus of feeling like “a room without a roof.”

Winter Light

Minnesotans are watching the winter Olympics more than any other state.  A cynic might say we have nothing else to do, but perhaps we like to see athletes at the top of those sports so many of us amateurs enjoy. Skiing, skating, snow shoeing and sledding help us inhabit our lives fully during this stretch of subzero weather.

What also sustains us through the winters is art, which is why having both the Minneapolis and the St. Paul orchestras locked out last year felt dark in many ways.  This past weekend Brian and I attended one of the first post-labor-dispute concerts of the Minnesota Orchestra. Sitting in renovated Orchestra Hall, chatting with the people next to us about the improvements, awaiting a concert after over a year’s silence, I felt very much part of this community. When the musicians walked on stage the audience was on its feet shouting cheers of welcome and delight.  

At some point in the lush music of Holst’s planets I felt my heart fill to overflowing with the beauty of the composition, the skill of the performers, the fluidity of the conductor, and the proximity of my husband, who took me to the orchestra early in our courtship.  And then I was aware of my mother, dead for 13 years, who was a classical music fan and had attended many performances of this orchestra with my grandfather.  I thanked her for teaching me to be open to this experience in the first place.

Our night out renewed my appreciation for live performance, whether of  classically trained musicians, high school Thespians, sixth grade basketball, or a children’s program at church. While most of us don’t play at an Olympic or orchestral level, to be fully human we must create.  When I attend a live performance, a ceremony, a celebration, or just go to work, I come away recharged and changed, simply because I’ve participated rather than consumed. When we come together to celebrate the best of human beings, we are warmed from within, whatever the season.  

The Daily Work of Recovery

My sadness at the death of Philip Seymour Hoffman surprised me, and I have been reading every related column, article, and blog that crosses my path. Addiction is a professional interest as well; my work is teaching, writing, speaking and sharing a message that no matter how virulent an addiction becomes, there is a pathway back into the world that many of us are walking.  I don’t study addiction or the brain, but I do listen to stories of recovery and relapse daily. Here’s what I’ve witnessed of lifelong recovery from addiction and the all-too-frequent slips that occur for those working to stay clean and sober each day.

Addiction is a disease of the mind as well as of the body, so in order to recover we have to be consciously on that path every single day developing healthy habits.  The most common tale when someone relapses is they stopped attending meetings regularly, lost touch with a sponsor, and/or became too busy to be a sponsor because life was good and full again. After 20+ years in recovery, it’s easy for an alcoholic to forget she can’t drink like 90% of the population—socially, moderately, stopping when it is no longer fun.

Addicts and alcoholics whose disease is in remission gather regularly (weekly) to remember we can’t have even one drink, hit, joint.  We also need to be useful to those new to a life of recovery so that our hearts and our minds move in a healthy direction of service rather than scan every environment for the next fix, which, left alone, addictive minds will do.

Recovery doesn’t have a long shelf-life; we have to refresh it each day to get the reprieve from addiction promised by daily work along spiritual lines. Yet even with all that work, there is an element of grace that I can’t define or predict but can only appreciate and share. 

Today my heart cracks open with this loss of a talented public figure and the local loss of a young woman of promise who left us this week.  I hope that this heartbreak allows me to be filled with more compassion, greater tenderness, and a commitment stronger than ever to walk this well-lit path of freedom from addiction one more day.

A Dissolving Fear of Dogs

I’ve been afraid of dogs as long as I can remember. I walked blocks out of my way to school to skirt houses with a barking dog, avoided riding my bike in the country where dogs run loose, and still scream occasionally when my neighbor’s boxer charges me in the yard.

The fear feels innate yet I could never trace its source, and I’m not scared once I get to know an individual dog. When I moved to Minnesota I went dog sledding to immerse myself in a pack and learn to trust them.  After my initial fear, I enjoyed feeding, harnessing and petting different dogs all weekend.  Not until I was in my 30s did my mother mention that she’d had to give her black cocker spaniel to her own parents when I was born--“That dog was so jealous of you he growled whenever you were around.” Apparently, having an unhappy dog around newborn JoAnn hardwired my fear.  Over the years, I’ve learned to talk myself down from panic into a state of wary watchfulness.

Last month we were at a party where I didn’t know many people; as I sat on the couch the host’s dog came over to me.  I reached out, petted it, and she responded with a happy tail. A stranger nearby commented “you really love dogs don’t you?”  I almost replied that actually I have a lifelong fear of dogs, but I didn’t. Somehow that didn’t feel necessary. Why tell an old story when it’s not accurate? Why tell it when it’s even a little bit true if it isn’t the direction I want to go? Instead,  I smiled, nodded and continued to connect with this dog I’d never met but somehow didn’t fear. 

It wasn’t until I described the scene the next day that I realized the party dog was also a black cocker spaniel, and I felt a tingle alerting me to something significant. What did it mean that the very dog I wasn’t afraid of upon first meeting was the same breed as the origin of my fear? Was the fear gone? When had it left?

Change doesn’t happen like a light switch. For me it’s mostly gradual, morphing into something new at the steady rate of an Airborne tablet dissolving into water. I'm not in charge of the change itself. My responsibility is to notice it.  How easy it is to tell an outdated story because it’s familiar and used to be true. To stay current with the evolution of my spirit, I need a practice of checking in with myself, and I need someone to talk with regularly about my innermost self.  I’ve spent years cultivating both the practices and the intimate connections that allow me to see what’s true and where I’m heading next.

And then, sometimes, the universe gives me a sign that, in fact, I’m already there.