"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.