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Be Fair: A plea for a more compassionate response

Posted on January 15, 2011 by Lauren

Out beyond ideas of wrong-doing and right-doing,
There is a field.

I will meet you there.

As a teacher I saw this sort of scene unfold more times than I can recall.

I would be watching group of children playing a game – kickball or keep-away or freeze tag. I’d look away for just a moment and then suddenly I’d hear a scream. When I looked back I’d see one of the children lying on the ground, hugging his knee, and crying. When the other children saw me rushing over, their response was predictable: They’d immediately begin to point fingers. Literally. “He did it!” one would cry insistently pointing to the child standing next to him. “No I didn’t! He did,” the accused would yell, pointing back. And then a third would point at the hurt child, shake his head and calmly assert, “No one touched him. He tripped. He did it all by himself.”

When someone gets hurt we need to stop what we are doing and help.

When someone gets hurt we need to stop what we are doing and help.Often it was the case that none of the children really knew what happened for sure. It all happened so quickly and everyone was moving so fast. They were all so intent on winning that no one was really paying attention. And since I wasn’t watching when it happened, I was in no better position to determine who was guilty than they were.

My response as the adult in charge was always the same. I’d go and kneel by the injured child. “Please stop arguing,” I’d say to the other children. “When someone is hurt, you need to stop what you are doing immediately and check to see if they are okay.”

“But we didn’t do it on purpose!” “It was an accident!” they’d insist. “It’s not our fault!”

“Whether or not it was accident doesn’t matter right now,” I’d say, “What matters is that someone is hurt – and when someone is hurt, you must stop what you are doing and see what you can do to make it better. You need to ask what you can do to help. You stop the game and you don’t go back to playing until you know your friend is okay.”

So I would ask one child to help their friend up and move them to a safer spot. And I would tell another to run and get the first aid kit. And yet another would sit down and tell their friend jokes until their knee was bandaged and they were able to smile again.

And then we would all sit down together and figure out how to make the game safer.

. . . .

I am not sure that as adults we do much better than our younger counterparts when it comes to injury. Something terrible and tragic happens and we immediately begin clawing our way to the moral high ground. “It wasn’t me!” we insist. “I didn’t do it!” “He did it first and HE didn’t get in trouble.” “You always let him get away with it!” “Why am I the one who always gets punished?” When it comes to casting blame and refusing responsibility, we behave like frightened, petulant children on a playground.

And all the while the injured party is left to wonder if anyone is even paying attention to their pain.

I’ve been thinking about this phenomenon quite a bit this week in the aftermath of the senseless violence in Tuscon last week. This is not about what’s on purpose and what’s an accident. This isn’t about “Boy, are you going to get it!” and “I told you so!” This is about tending to the injured. And stopping in our tracks to ask ourselves if we are playing the game safely.

We are all in this together because we were all playing the game when it happened. So we are all responsible for making it better. We have to retrace our steps and ask ourselves what we were doing when it happened. Were we moving too fast? Were we pushing others aside? Were we not watching where we were going? Did we get too rough, forgetting that other people were human and vulnerable? Or were we simply distracted and not paying attention?

It is all too easy to point fingers. It easier still just to dust ourselves off, turn our backs, and walk away as if nothing happened.

We need to stop the game. Now. This is no longer about winners and losers.

We need help the injured stand again. We need to tend to their pain. And we need to ask what we can do to make it better.

Then we need to sit down together and figure out how to make the game safer for all of us.

After all, we are playing on God’s field with God’s children. So let’s play fair.

Posted in be compassionate | 1 Comment

How To Be Compassionate: Stuck in traffic? Maybe you are behind your spiritual teacher.

Posted on January 15, 2011 by Lauren

Three years ago, I was at a spiritual retreat at Blue Cliff Monastery in New York with the Venerable Thich Nhat Hanh, Zen Master, poet, and peace activist. I can’t begin to express what a transformative experience it was: learning to sit peacefully, gently attending to my in breath and out breath; learning to eat mindfully in full awareness of the miracle of the food I was chewing; and learning to walk mindfully — realizing every step I took — no matter where I was — I was walking on sacred ground.

On the final day of that five day retreat, we were to meet at 6:15 a.m. in the meditation tent for the transmission of the Five Mindfulness Trainings, which are teachings regarding ethical speech and behavior.

Zen Master, Poet, and Peace Activist: Thich Nhat Hanh

Those of us who stayed at a local hotel were to come to the grounds of the monastery in on four buses. I was in the fourth bus. As we were approaching the monastery, I heard our bus driver say “Oh great. This is all I needed this morning.” Looking up, I could see that the two buses ahead of us were blocking the way. One had stalled and the other, trying to get around it, had dropped a tire into a shallow ditch. The passengers on all three buses had to get out. Another bus that had already dropped its passengers off at the monastery, began to ferry passengers to our destination. I was on the last ferry ride. It was already closing in on 6:15 and it looked as if we would be late.

When we finally arrived, we all hopped out of the bus and began to make our way up the 100 yard pathway to the meditation tent. It was still dark and the air was cold. I was walking at a fairly fast clip, hoping that I would not miss out on the start of the ceremony. As I got about halfway up the path, I saw that up the way there was a small group in front of me moving very slowly. I immediately began to feel worried and irritated. I could feel my nerves begin to push me forward. Why were these people going so slowly? Didn’t they know we were already late? My heart and my mind began to race. Every cell in my body very much wanted to pass them. I could see that others in front of me were already were going around. Those people would get better seats than I. They will get to sit closer to Thich Nhat Hanh. They will have a better view. I should make my way around the slow group and go catch up with the faster group. This is what one part of my mind was telling me.

But then I also thought, What if that person up ahead in the slower group is hurt? Maybe they twisted their ankle. It would be wrong of me to take advantage of their pain and rush ahead of them to take their place in the meditation tent. That would be exploiting someone’s injury. Benefiting from another person’s pain. I began to wonder about them. How were they feeling? Were they feeling worried and anxious about all these people who were passing them. What if that person was me? I found that was filled with compassion for that person, whoever they were. I couldn’t pass them. How could I? It would be like passing myself.

So I slowed to match the pace of the group ahead of me and began mindfully walking, breathing deeply and firmly planting my feet on the ground: kissing the earth with each step, as Thay (this is the Vietnamese word for “teacher” which Thich Nhat Hanh’s students call him) had taught us. And as I did this, I began to enjoy the brisk morning air and I saw the light coming out in the early morning sky, and I began to smile and truly enjoy the walk to the tent. My worries were dissolved. I had already arrived in the present moment with love and awareness. How could I be late?

As others continued to pass, the crowd began to thin out and I drew closer to the group in front of me. And I saw then, in that early morning morning light, that it was Thich Nhat Hanh himself, walking slowly ahead of me. And that in choosing to take the slower, mindful path, I was literally following in this great man’s footsteps.

So perhaps the next time you are traffic, slowed to a crawl, and you are ready to lean on the horn or jump out of your skin, curse your misfortune or the person who has caused it, perhaps you could stop and wonder — maybe you are stuck in traffic behind your spiritual master. Because if you can take that moment and learn compassion and understanding from it, certainly you are.

Posted in be compassionate, be wise | 1 Comment

Be Attuned: Listening to the poetry of the mystic within

Posted on January 4, 2011 by Lauren

As a little girl I came down to the water/ With a little stone in my hand/ It would shimmer and sing/ And we knew everything.

As a little girl I came down . . .

But, in a little while I got steeped in authority/ Heaven only knows what went wrong/ There’s nothing so cruel/ Than to bury that jewel/ When it was mine all along.

And I’m gonna find it . . .

You’re shining, I can see you/ You’re smiling, that’s enough/ And I am holding on to you/ Like a diamond in the rough.

– Diamond in the Rough by singer/songwriter, Shawn Colvin

When I was a child, I loved to lie on my back and gaze up at the clouds, feeling the coolness of the earth cradling me. I loved to spin on the lawn until I fell down to the ground, just so I could watch the world wheel around my like a topsy-turvy amusement park ride. I would drop leaves into a stream and follow them like friends until they made it out of the jagged narrows and rushed away like heedless wayfarers into the rapids. And I would stand there on the bank with my toes sinking in the mud, smiling as they went out of view, feeling a vicarious sense of wild freedom.

The world seemed alive to me. And not just flora and fauna. All of it. The sky and rocks. The shimmer of the sun on the asphalt on the street. The sponginess of bread and the smell of books when you cracked the spine. There was a pulse of life lying just beneath the surface of the ordinary. Everything seemed to be breathing. I would pick up a pebble off the driveway and turn it over and over, waiting for it to whisper some profound secret to me. I felt that there was something there just beyond what fingers could touch, what eyes could see. Just beyond what words could express.

All the same I tried to express in words the wonder I experienced.

Recently in sorting through some old papers, I found a couple of poems that I wrote as a child. My mother kept these poems for me, hoping some day I would appreciate them. I’m so glad she had the wisdom to do that, because within these poems, I have found something essential and precious: my core story.

This first poem I wrote when I was eight years old.

Nearly four decades later, I still feel that child alive within me. And it isn’t as if experience hasn’t tried to convince me that life can be impersonal, hard, and unforgiving. I have allowed myself to be led down the path of cynicism, guided by signposts that have pointed me in the direction of disappointment. And I have told myself along that path another story: that the child within me is naive and misguided. That she doesn’t really understand the way the world works and that it is my hardened world view and not her misconceived, bright-eyed optimism that will ultimately keep me safe.

But believe that this child within is naïve and misguided is a grave misunderstanding.

No. She is neither naive nor misguided. She is the strength within me. She is the visionary that has guided me safely down life’s path, showing me that the path of cynicism only leads to the cliffs of despair. She is the everyday mystic that has insisted that despite all disappointment and appearance of absurdity that the light of the Divine shines within Life. Even when it is difficult. Even when it is painful. She is the voice of comfort that speaks through me with compassion and encouragement.

Because she was connected with her Source all along.

The small mystic within speaks to me insistently. She sings with purity and clarity that life is deeply meaningful. And we find that meaning when we engage with a full and open heart in the moment that is. She insists that this is real. This is tangible. This is something we can grasp. Right here. Right now. In this very moment.

Here is the other poem my mother kept for me. This one I wrote at age 11.

I affirm now what I knew so well as a child, even without knowing how I knew: That meaning exists with every step. And there is something to live for in every moment, if only we listen with our hearts and step with reverence.

There is a small mystic alive within each one of us. A mystic that delights in the miracle of the ordinary. Who twirls and twirls just to watch the world spin. Who watches clouds shift their shapes and knows deeply that the world is constantly changing and is pregnant with possibility.

Listen to the mystic within. He is shining, smiling, and offering you his hand. She is speaking her poetry to you even now.

Posted in be attuned | 1 Comment

Forget about resolutions. Instead: Envision! Intend! Act!

Posted on December 31, 2010 by Lauren

I’m not a big fan of New Year’s Resolutions.

It seems to me that besides being notoriously hard to keep — there’s a lot of negative judgment hidden within them. And I honestly don’t think you have to dig too deep to find the judgment. Usually that judgment is right there, just below the surface, laying in wait, whispering its sinister message to you: that up until this point you have been a failure at the things that you value most.

Tell me your resolution and I will tell you the negative judgment that is motivating it.

“I’m going to spend more time with my kids,” = “I am a sorry excuse for a parent.”

“I’m going to drop ten pounds,” = “I’m overweight and unattractive.”

“I’m going to start showing up on time for events,” = “I’m unreliable and distracted.”

“I’m going to call my mother more often,” = “I’m an ungrateful daughter.”

A list of resolutions can feel like a long lecture to yourself. And that can be discouraging and exhausting.

Okay, so let’s look at that all together.

And that can be discouraging and exhausting.You might be saying, “Starting January 1^st, I am going to spend more time with my kids. I’m going to drop ten pounds. I’m going to start showing up on time for events. And I’m going to call my mother more often.”

Sounds fine right? But underneath it all you’re saying, “As of December 31^st , I’m a sorry excuse for a parent. I’m overweight, unattractive, unreliable, distracted and on top of it all, I’m a bad daughter.

Let me ask you something. Can a person like that get ANYTHING positive done? It’s like giving yourself a long, discouraging lecture. You’ll end up feeling exhausted and defeated before you’ve even started!

And let’s say you go back on your resolutions and you DON”T get them done. Or you try at first and then you slip up? Where does that leave you? Right back in your ugly stew of negative judgments, that’s where. And every negative thing you thought about yourself has been confirmed by your apparent lack of conviction and follow-though. You may end up feeling more mired in negativity — and consequently LESS likely to act than when you began!

When will we learn to compassionately accept who we are? And when will we learn that the only place to start is precisely WHERE we are?

Instead of wishing for less of what’s wrong with us, why don’t we begin by envisioning more of what’s RIGHT?

This is where having a To Be List comes in very handy.

Your To Be List engages you in a three-step process that continually feeds you into a ever-ascending spiral of success.

And those three steps are: Envision. Intend. Act.

What do you want To Be in the New Year?

Healthy?

Envision: Begin by envisioning health. What does it look like for you? Being vibrant? Energetic? Fit? Toned? Hold that vision in your heart. What will it allow you to do? Wake up feeling energized and prepared to take on the day? Spend more time being active with friend and family?

Intend: How can you spend time realistically in the days ahead being healthy? Buying a few more whole foods at the grocery? Drinking an extra glass of water or two? Taking a walk in the evening with a friend? There are thousands of ways that you intend to be healthy. And the healthier you become, the more readily you’ll see these opportunities!

Act: Find time in your regular schedule to do at least on or two of these things as part of your daily to-do’s! Get it on your to-do list. Then check it off. Success! You’ve brought your “To Be” into Being.

The more you feel successful, the more you will see your vision come to life, the more energy you will have to put into your intentions, and the more likely you will be to act in service of your vision!

Transformation must begin from where we are at the moment. And with compassionate acceptance, self-understanding, vision, intention, and action – we can move forward with grace and strength, not just into the New Year, but into every new day, new hour, and new moment.

So rather than asking yourself “What are my resolutions for the New Year?” ask instead, “What do I envision for the New Year?”

And if you absolutely insist on making resolutions, try this one on for size: “This year I resolve to find ways to be even more of the remarkable person I already am.”

And may your New Year blossom into a garden of sacred moments.

With love,

Posted in be visionary | 4 Comments

Be Delighted: A Moment of Sheer Yumminess!

Posted on December 29, 2010 by Lauren

This is my Reverb10 response the following questions:

From Tracey Clarke: Sift through all the photos of you from the past year. Choose one that best captures you; either who you are, or who you strive to be. Find the shot of you that is worth a thousand words. (Okay, technically this isn’t a shot of me, but it represents some very important work I do in the world!).

and . . .

From Elise Marie Collins: What did you eat this year that you will never forget? What went into your mouth & touched your soul?

The Meal. The Moment. The Memory.

If you only looked at the raw ingredients, it didn’t really amount to much. Pancake mix. Water. Food coloring.

But then there were other ingredients as well: creativity, ingenuity, resourcefulness, cooperation, generosity, lovingkindness.

If there was a meal and a moment of sheer deliciousness and delight that I experienced in 2010, it is this one:

James and I were sleeping in on a Saturday morning. We heard our kids (ages 14, 12, 10, and 10) moving around downstairs in the kitchen. It was not their conspiratorial whispers, but their laughter that finally woke us up.

When we came downstairs we found this was what they were (literally) cooking up:

Our son presenting us with a masterpiece of love, cooperation, and creativity!

Hamburger pancakes! Complete with pancake patties, tomatoes, lettuce, cheese, and buns!

Throughout our fourteen-year career as parents, James and I have aspired to teach our children what we have felt are very important values: to love one another, to listen with an open heart, to seek common ground, to be resourceful, to live spontaneously, to be in the moment, to be guided by vision, to put your learning and skills to work, and to think of the happiness of others. And this meal — though it actually tasted just like pancakes from a mix — also had the flavor of every important life-lesson we’d ever taught them.

Oh! How I savored that meal.

And how I will always savor the memory!

Posted in be delighted | 2 Comments

Be Amazed: No Moment is Every Truly Ordinary!

Posted on December 28, 2010 by Lauren

Today’s post is inspired by Brené Brown’s reverb10 prompt: “Our most profound joy is often experienced during ordinary moments. What was one of your most joyful ordinary moments this year?”

(There is a) statement from the book of Ecclesiastes “There is nothing new under the sun.” And I disagree with that statement! I would say there is nothing stale under the sun, except that human beings become stale. I try not to be stale. And everything is new. No two moments are alike – and a person who thinks that two moments are alike has never truly lived.”

– Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel

How do you define an ordinary moment? A moment like all other moments. A moment not worth attending to. A moment not worth knowing more deeply than its perceived face value.

A newborn baby is a miracle. Is a teenager with a serious attitude any less of a miracle?

A newborn baby is a miracle. Is a teenager with a serious attitude any less of a miracle?Whether out of sloth or haste (or some combination of the two) we very frequently label moments as ordinary so that we can walk past them on our way to something that seems more important.

Yet within every moment we perceive as ordinary, there is a miracle crying out to be seen. A spark of divine light waiting to be born. But unless we stop and see the potential within that moment, it will remain in the hardened shell of the ordinary. It will produce no light. It will elucidate nothing.

When a child is first born, we see that child as a miracle. We are so overjoyed by this remarkable gift of life that we weep tears of profound joy. We weep at the raw, unfiltered experience of life’s essential, fragile beauty. We weep life’s miraculous capacity to give breath to the new in the form of this person who now belongs to us, heart and soul.

But then that child grows up. And they throw their dirty socks on the floor. And they listen to their music too loudly. And they forget that it’s their job to walk the dog. And they ask for $5 for a field trip that they are going on that very morning – when we only have $3.25 in our wallets (“I told you about it last week!” they insist, “I KNOW that I told you!”). We roll our eyes at that child and sigh with exasperation as we dig through the spare change in our car, looking for the remaining $1.75.

We no longer see the child as a miracle walking in our midst. Has their miraculous nature worn off day by day, like a layer of varnish that dulls over time? Or is it us? Have we become so accustomed to seeing a living breathing miracle walking and talking in our homes that we fail to see it as such. Has the child stopped being a miracle? Or have we become stale?

It is natural to see newborn baby is a miracle of life! But is a teenager with a serious attitude any less of a miracle?

Ask yourself this simple question: When did this child stop being miraculous? When did life stop being miraculous? Or when did my own eyesight stop being miraculous? Or when did the sun or the moon or a flower or a book or my own ability to perceive it all — when did any of it stop being miraculous?

The ordinary moments that have brought me joy are moments that I have touched my children’s heads and marveled at the masterpiece of each hair. Where I have listened to them speak and heard the music of Creation singing through each word. When I have looked into their eyes and seen the light of Life shining through them. The miraculous has cracked the hard shell of the ordinary! And its warmth brilliance melts my heart.

But this shift does not happen within the thing itself. The shift doesn’t happen within their hair or their voices or their eyes. This shift that brings on the joy happens within me!

This is the paradox of finding profound joy in the ordinary moment. Once we have experienced the miraculous nature of the ordinary moment – and the profound joy that follows in its wake – that moment no longer seems ordinary at all.

Because in truth, it never was ordinary to begin with.

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How To Be Courageous: What I learned from letting go

Posted on December 27, 2010 by Lauren

My parents collected coffee mugs. Lots of them. For decades, everywhere they went in the world, from Topeka, Kansas to the Topkapi Palace they found a mug emblazoned with the name of their point of destination and brought it home, where it sat on a shelf, testament to their lifelong love of travel and their curiosity about the world.

I inherited their love of distant places. And their penchant for adventure.

And when they passed away, I also inherited their mug collection.

When I first brought the mugs into my home (and there were boxes of them!) I had every intention of displaying them. I imagined that I would make special shelves for them in my kitchen and I would show them to my children. I would talk to them about all the places that Papa and Grandma Ruth had traveled, and they would delight in their grandparents’ sense of fun and adventure. It would be my way of teaching them something important about the grandparents whom they lost too early to ever truly know.

But my intentions, pure and loving as they were, never came to pass. The boxes sat in storage for five years, until at the tail end of a year-long attempt to declutter and simplify our home in 2010, I came across them again.

Now, the decluttering was truly soul-cleansing. I decided I would only keep the things that were either regularly useful or that really made me happy. And after months of asking my possessions whether they had recently fulfilled their promise of being useful or making me feel happy, I found myself with piles upon piles of possessions that screamed the words “yard sale” to me. And I was ready to release them into the world.

All except the mugs.

Those mugs! I just couldn’t bring myself to let them go. Every time I thought of giving them away, I felt a sinking fear. But what was this fear? Where was its source? After asking myself these questions again and again, I came to an answer.

I am afraid of losing my parents. Again.

When they passed away, I thought , I lost their physical presence. If I give away these mugs, perhaps I will lose their memory as well. And then they will be lost to me completely.

So I found a place in my heart, a place where I could feel my parents’ love alive within me and I told them: I am afraid. I am afraid of losing the two you of you forever.

My parents' mug collection may be gone, but their love remains.

And I heard my mother laugh. Don’t be silly. Our memory and our love are not in those mugs. We are right here in your heart. We speak through your voice. We touch the world through your hands. We will always be here. And we are not just in your heart, we are in the hearts of your children, because you have passed our love along to them. Let the mugs go. Let someone else use them. Besides, I hate to see a good mug go to waste.

And so I opened up the boxes. And I unwrapped each of the mugs and I carried them out to the yard sale. One by one, I saw customers find a mug that suited their fancy. They gave me a few coins and off they went, smiling. And I saw my parents’ love of travel and curiosity about the world walk down the street with them. I smiled, knowing that in the morning they would pour their coffee or their tea into that mug and they would wrap their hands around its warmth, never really knowing that some of that warmth came from the lives of two people they would never know, but who go on touching the world all the same.

And with each mug that left my yard, I felt even more my parents’ love for me thriving in my heart.

There. You see? I heard my mother say, Look how happy they are. And aren’t you happy for them? Everyone needs a good mug, you know.

Yes, Mom. You are right, I thought with a grin. As always.

So now my parents’ mugs are gone. But their memory still lives with me. I feel their presence now even more than I ever did before. Now that I no longer see their memory in their belongings, I see it shining in my heart and in the hearts of the people I have passed that love on to.

If there is one lesson I wish to remember and to pass on this year, it is to have the courage to let go of the possessions that we believe contain memories. Because sometimes in letting go of the possessions, we are able to receive an even greater gift, the gift of living memory that resides in the heart.

Posted in be courageous | 4 Comments

How to be Appreciative: Appreciating Appreciation

Posted on December 14, 2010 by Lauren

Today’s Reverb10 prompt from Victoria Klein asks:

“What’s the one thing you have come to appreciate most in the past year? How do you express gratitude for it?”

Here is my answer:

Kids are naturally like miniature lawyers. They are always on the lookout for a good loophole. So (for example) if you were to ask a child what they would ask for if they were granted three wishes they would say something like, “My first wish would be for an X-Box Kinect . . . and my second wish would be for trip to Disney . . . and my third wish. . . ummm . . . (and then their faces will light up as if they have found the keys to heaven) . . . and my third with would be to have all the wishes I could ever want!”

And with that small stroke of genius, they’ve granted themselves a lifetime of fulfillment. They are set for life. Theoretically, anyway.

So, if you ask me what’s the ONE THING I’ve come to appreciate most in the past year, I’m going to jump right through that same childhood loophole.

What I appreciate most is . . . ummmm . . . my capacity to be appreciative.

Appreciation is the gift that keeps on giving!

Sure, it may be a childlike trick, but I’m being honest. Without the capacity for appreciation, there would be no joy in my life. Without the capacity express appreciation, life would feel like painstaking drudgery.

And if I waited around for something “BIG” to feel appreciative about, something that is so huge and out-of-the-blue, well then, I might be waiting for an awfully long time. I would be like the child on Christmas morning that is looking for the XBox Kinect, and opens one thoughtful present after another – warm socks, sweet chocolate, a dazzling necklace, a thrilling book, a danceable CD – but can’t appreciate the warmth, the sweetness, the dazzle, the thrill, or the dance – because she is waiting for that ONE BIG THING that she thinks will make her happy.

Well I am not going to pass on the warmth, the sweetness, the dazzle, the thrill, or the dance of life. Because those things dwell in the small, daily gifts: The warmth of a morning snuggle and that first sip of coffee in the morning, the sweetness of the air when I step outside, the dazzle of the colors of the sky, the thrill of a fast-paced morning as we all prepare ourselves for work and school, and the inspiring dance of it all coming together.

The gift of appreciation IS my big gift. And it is a gift I choose to give myself every day.

And with that small stroke of genius, I am granted a lifetime of fulfillment. I am set for life. Truly.

Posted in be grateful | 2 Comments

Be Willing to Let Go: 11 things I don’t need in 2011

Posted on December 13, 2010 by Lauren

The December 11^th Reverb 10 prompt is from Sam Davidson, author of 50 Things Your Life Doesn’t Need.

He asks:

“What are 11 things your life doesn’t need in 2011? How will you go about eliminating them? How will getting rid of these 11 things change your life?”

Here are my 11 things that my life doesn’t need (in 2011 and beyond):

Eleven things my life doesn't need

#1. Entertaining “Unreasonable Doubts”: The law asks that we consider evidence beyond “reasonable doubts”. One would presume then, that there are also “unreasonable doubts”. Here’s how I would draw the distinction: Reasonable doubts keep us from the brink of megalomania; Unreasonable doubts block our path to success and happiness.

#2. Ruminating about things I can control: If I do the math, I have easily spent twice as much time thinking about the dust in my house as I have actually dusting.

#3. Ruminating about things I can’t control: I’ll admit it. No one gets my panties in a bunch quite like Sarah Palin.* But it appears (after much wishful thinking) I can’t control what comes out of her mouth. Only she can. I, on the other hand, have complete capacity to control what comes out of my own mouth. See #4.

* Note: I only use SP as my personal example. You probably have your own panties-in-a-bunch fave. It’s my behavior that matters here, not the behavior of the person in question.

#4 Spending time ranting about You-Know-Who: After ruminating about Sarah Palin* it often feels good to rant out loud about her. It blows off the steam that has accumulated in my head after boiling my brain in rumination. I frankly have spent way too much time doing this. I aim to live without regrets – and I think when I am on my deathbed I will want back the 13 hours, 28 minutes, and 17 seconds ** I have spent ranting on and on about her. So I shouldn’t spend another second on it, starting now!

** Time is only approximate. I actually have no idea how much time I have spent doing this. I certainly do hope it isn’t much more than that. Oh. And also this goes not just for SP rants, but all unproductive ranting.

#5. Eating standing up in the kitchen: I never, ever truly enjoy any food I eat standing in the kitchen, leaning over the counter. Never. Ever.

#6. Checking to see if people “like” what I posted on Facebook: (Admit it, you probably do it, too) If I want to know that I am liked, it is probably a much better use of my energy to find opportunities smile at the people who actually like me and see them smiling back at me. In the end, that is much more affirming than a little red number up in the right-hand corner of my FB page. But . . . oh . . . I do like that little red number so much.

#7. Rolling my eyes and sighing in exasperation at my children’s behavior: As if I was never a messy ten-year-old, a distracted twelve year old, or a self-absorbed teenager. Been there. Done that. I should let my childhood experience guide me with compassion and humor.

#8. Pretending I am listening when I am not: Bad habit honed over a lifetime of living with ADD.

#9: Interrupting: Okay, usually when I do this, it is actually because I am EXCITED about what you are sharing and I can’t wait to tell you why. But I know it comes off as the exactly the opposite. So, I can certainly wait to share my excitement until you are done speaking.

#10: Not inviting people over because my house isn’t clean: Here’s a great story from my family lore. When I was about five, my maternal grandparents came to visit. My Nana made absolutely no secret about what a poor housekeeper she thought my mother was. One night, my parents had invited some friends of theirs over for dinner to meet my grandparents. About five minutes before the guests were expected to arrive, my mother went looking for my grandmother and found her on her hands and knees in the bathroom, scrubbing the ring out of the bathtub. “What are doing?” my mother asked, “Our guests are going to be here any minute!” “Do you want your guests to see how dirty your bath is?” my grandmother answered incredulously. My mother’s answer was swift and sure: “Leave it. If people come to my house looking for dirt, I think they should find it. I wouldn’t want to disappoint them.”

My friends know me. They know I have four kids. They know I work. They probably know I don’t have money to hire someone to clean.

So if anyone comes to my house looking for dirt, they will find it. Good luck to them (though they won’t need it). Those who love me will either not see it or not care.

#11. Pretending I am anything close to perfect: So I am hereby officially not going to give myself a hard time if I go back on my word and do any the things I listed from #1-#10.

No. Sorry.

Make that #1-#11.

Photo Credit: Leo Reynolds

Posted in be courageous, be strong, be wise | 6 Comments

How To Be Wise: Want wisdom? Just breathe.

Posted on December 12, 2010 by Lauren

What’s the wisest decision you can make in the new year?

Simple: Breathe. Just breathe.

Your wisdom is as close as your next breath.

Your wisdom is as close as your next breath.In the moments before harsh words escape your mouth. In the seconds before you lift a fork to partake in the miracle of nourishment. While being put on hold during a customer service call. When your patience is being tried by you children. Or your parents. Or your coworkers.

How do I know that taking a breath is such a wise decision? Easy. In my own experience it’s never gone wrong. Ever. It’s never resulted in misgivings, regrets, or hurt feelings. I have never looked back and wondered if it was the right thing to do. I have not needed to wait hours, days, months, years, to see if it panned out. And I have never wished, “Boy if I could only have those two seconds back! What a waste of time and energy!”

No.

For me, the decision to breathe has only resulted in abundant gratitude, greater understanding, more patience, deeper compassion, and a heightened awareness — awareness that in this very moment I am alive and participating in the miracle of life.

It’s really no wonder. Breathing carries within it an inherent wisdom. Through breath, oxygen is carried from our lungs, to our blood, to our vital organs. The wisdom that sustains life is carried on each breath. And when we engage with that wisdom, we become part of it.

Breathing is an act of deep engagement with life. It is wisdom itself. And it available to us with . . . well . . . every breath we take. And it will be available to us until the last breath we take. If only we were willing to take the time. If we feel we don’t have time to breathe (and believe me I feel that way frequently) then we are living in a world of illusion. How can you not have time to do something that you are doing already?

So what are my plans for deepening my wisdom in the year that’s to come?

Simple.

Just breathe.

I hope you’ll find the time to do the same.

Posted in be calm, be relaxed, be wise | 6 Comments

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