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.