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How To Be Real: You don’t have to settle in Cynicsville

Posted on June 14, 2010 by Lauren

Imagine, if you will, two towns: Cynicsville and Pollyannatown. Two towns beset by troubles large and small. And yet the residents of these towns look at their troubles in decidedly different ways.

No matter where life takes you, know you have the power and agility to face it, fix it, or change course

The residents of Cynicsville feel they’ve seen it all. No matter what the turn of events – good or bad — they know where it’s going: Downhill. And fast. There is no reason to feel hopeful, because all hopes are eventually dashed. There is not reason to try to make things better because eventually it all winds up in the dump. They know themselves and their fellow human beings to be decidedly selfish and cruel. They distrust everyone. Even themselves. In Cynicsville the town is falling to pieces. Why try to improve it if it will eventually fall to pieces all over again? No one reaches out to help another human being, because they know that eventually their good will is going to be exploited. They’re not bad people, the residents of Cynicsville. They don’t mean to harm anyone. They are just tired of being disappointed by life. Therefore, if they imagine the worst, they are never disappointed. When something goes wrong, the residents of Cynicsville just shake their heads and wryly smile, “See? I told you,” they say, “What else did you expect?” Upon leaving Cynicsville, you will see a sign that reads, “Leaving Cynicsville. Don’t say I didn’t tell you.”

And then there are the residents of Pollyannatown. On the outskirts of town you’ll see a sign that says, “Welcome to Pollyannatown. I’m sure everything’s going to be okay. Just don’t ask me how!” Strangely, Pollyannatown is in the same state of disrepair. Houses have fallen into rubble, and their residents sit in their living rooms, assaulted by wind and rain, smile at one another and say, “I’m sure this house will fix itself soon.” The residents walk about, all skin and bones, and stare with vague grins on their faces at plots of land where not a seed has been planted and tell one another, “I am sure something will grow here eventually.” The residents of Pollyannatown are not unintelligent, they simply have forgotten that pain, decay, and suffering are a very real part of life – and that it takes more than a sunny attitude to turn things around.

You and I don’t have to settle in either of these communities. There’s a vast expanse between them in which we can move. We can look at life straight on without falling prey to cynicism or feeling the need to play pretend. We can see challenges and know we are empowered to make effective and long-lasting change. And knowing that we are empowered, we can look at difficulty without denying it. Of course it is tempting to settle in these towns. Just pick an attitude and stick with it. And no matter what happens, you never have to adjust it. Simple? Yes. Dangerous. Also yes.

It is much more challenging, engaging, and ultimately fulfilling to travel the roads between Cynicsville and Pollyannatown. You will see pain. You will also see wonders. You will feel hurt. You will also feel joy. You will know your own power and your own agility and you will use it to turn when you need to take a detour. Heck, you may just want to get out and fix the road yourself.

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How To Be The Person You Want To Be: Start with Your Eulogy

Posted on June 13, 2010 by Lauren

In Chapter 17 of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, Tom gets to do something that many of us (at least subconsciously) wish we could do. He gets to hear his own eulogy. He gets to witness how greatly he has touched the lives around him. His town, thinking him dead, is awash with grief and they lavishly extol his praises, finding even his mischievous spirit to be something they will sorely miss.

Tom Sawyer got to witness his own funeral. What if you got to do the same?

There will come a time when each of us will be eulogized. Unlike Tom though, we won’t be around to hear it. We do however get some control over the content. We can live our lives right now in accordance with how we wish to be remembered.

Author, essayist, and poet, Annie Dillard once wrote, “How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives.” So it goes without saying that how we spend our individual moments is how we spend our days. If we wish to be remembered as loving and accepting, then we oughtn’t spend our moments being ruthlessly judgmental. If we wish to be remembered as patient, joyful, and appreciative, then we should stop sprinting through our moments as if our lives were some sort of grueling race to reach the finish line.

I look at my life as a mother and I think that I would rather be remembered as the mother who would drop everything to go look at a flower opening to the warmth of spring than one so intent on paying the bills that I could not put down my pen to gaze in wonderment at that small, faithful miracle. I would rather be remembered as a mother who would run in the rain than one who worries about whether that rain gets tracked across my clean floors. I would rather be the mom who could sit in a rocker on the porch next to my child, hold their hand, and witness the remarkable person they’ve become than a mom who must get up from that same rocking chair, because something — I don’t know what — but something must need to be done in the house (and I am the one who needs to do it) so I’d better go scout around for some kind of busywork to do.

Of course bills need to be paid and houses need to be cleaned. But if I, like Tom Sawyer, were able to eavesdrop on my funeral and heard my children singing the praises of my spotless baseboards or my meticulously balanced checkbook, I would be the one grieving, for I’d have lost my life twice.

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How To Be Celebratory: The release of our new video, “Sticky Notes”

Posted on June 11, 2010 by Lauren

I saw this video in my head long before it made it’s premier on YouTube. The actors. The expressions. The movements. I knew just how it would unfold. Just how it would be paced.

I wanted to make a short film that would illustrate what it means to have a “To Be List.” And with the help of a brilliant filmmaker, good friends, and a remarkable musician named Laurie McClain (who allowed us to use her recording of the beautiful song, “Give Yourself To Love” by Kate Wolf), it all came together. It’s a true labor of love. And I hope it sings with the gratitude I feel whenever I watch it.

I hope you enjoy it. And I hope it moves you To Be the person YOU truly wish to be.

With love,

Lauren

Posted in be blessed, be caring, be courageous, be grateful, be happy, be healing, be kind, be light, be loving, be nurturing, be openhearted, be openminded, be relaxed, be strong, be supportive, be visionary, be wise, be yourself, Videos | Comments Off

How To Be Realistic: Don’t just see the big picture. See the small picture, too.

Posted on June 10, 2010 by Lauren

Sometimes when we lose perspective, we are encouraged by friends and family to look at the “big picture”. And of course there are times when we really need to “zoom out” and see that the problems we are having — problems that appear to be so enormous and threatening — are in the larger scheme of things, not such a big deal after all.

Like all small wonderments, our cells faithfully, dutifully, and miraculously uphold life

But there are other times when the big picture itself seems overwhelming. The Gulf Oil Spill. Genocide in Sudan. War throughout the world. Poverty. Hunger. Problems so large, that no matter how far we pull back, they still seem enormous. When we try to put these things into perspective we feel, by comparison, small, ineffectual, powerless.

What do we do when the big picture looms so large, that we feel we will be swallowed up by it?

Zoom in.

Yes, look at the small stuff. The stuff that seems so insignificant that we hardly see it when it is right in front of our eyes: the gift of our breath, the colors arrayed before our eyes every day, the taste of a crisp apple. The ability to smile. To laugh. The feeling of a small child’s hand in ours. The loving and encouraging words of an elder. The solidity of the ground under our feet.

These small gifts are like refreshment. Small treats that we can savor throughout our day. And they are no less real than oil spills and wars. They are like the microscopic cells in our bodies. So small and so ingenious in their daily work of sustaining us, that we forget they are there, faithfully holding us together. Doing the work of healing us when we are hurt. Returning us to wholeness.

We need to be realistic. If we choose to ignore the big picture, it will be at our own risk and to our own detriment. We are part of the big picture. And we must never forget that it will not change unless we are able to look at it. But we need courage to do that. We need strength. Reality has many dimensions. And there is wonderment in the small, the quiet, the persevering and faithful elements of life. We need to be in touch with the wonder of life to find that courage and strength.

So zoom in. Closer and closer to the heart of life. And you will find the strength and the courage to see the whole picture, of which you are a miraculous, powerful part.

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How To Be Lazy: Put “Do Nothing” on your to-do list

Posted on June 9, 2010 by Lauren

I have a hard time sitting down. I think it’s genetic. Really.

James and I always chuckle when we remember a time when my mother had suffered a back injury (no, the injury was not the least bit funny, just the story that follows!). She had been told by her doctor in no uncertain terms to stay off her feet. No walking except when necessary. No standing for extensive periods of time. And absolutely, positively NO LIFTING!

How to relax? Find ways to be lazy and put them on your to-do list!

Find ways to be lazy and put them on your to-do list!James and I stopped by her home one Saturday afternoon for a visit when we found my mother in the kitchen, bent over a low cabinet, rearranging her pots and pans.

“MOM!” I yelled as I ran to wrestle an especially heavy cast iron pan from her hands, “You’re supposed to be sitting down!”

My mother, a woman who was known for her hustle, her bustle, and her endless list of to-do’s looked at me incredulously, sighed with exasperation, and gestured emphatically to the place where she stood: “I AM sitting down!”

I know the feeling. When you’re in the habit of moving constantly, standing in one place can feel like a rest. And if you have a to-do list that is constantly calling to you to move, move, move, you may actually feel a bit guilty about stopping, even for a few minutes. You might confuse resting with laziness. Relaxation with sloth.

Well, if this describes you, I have a bit of a work-around for you. You know what a work-around is? In the world of computers, if a program is not specifically designed to perform a specific function, there are ways you can sort of trick it into performing that function.

So to all my just-can’t-seem-to-stop-for-the-life-of-me friends out there, here’s your work around. Put “Be Lazy” on Your To Be List. Yes, you heard me right. Set your goal: be a lazy, good for nothing, unaccomplished slug. And do it well! Get out your to-do list and write down what you are going to do To Be Lazy. Here’s a sample list:

Sit on the couch and read (10 minutes)
Sit on the porch and watch people walk by (5 minutes)
Lean on the kitchen counter and stare out the window (2 minutes)
Look at the piles of laundry and bills; shrug, sigh, and smile (30 seconds)

Yes, my overachieving Brothers and Sisters, you too can enjoy the pleasures of laziness by scheduling it in to your day. And did I mention you HAVE TO enjoy it? That’s another thing to check off your to-do list:

Enjoy the idle pleasures of simply “Being lazy”

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How To Be Understanding: Worry wants to be your friend, it just doesn’t know how!

Posted on June 8, 2010 by Lauren

I come from a long line of worriers. Worrying in my family was a way of showing you care. If you love someone, you naturally worry about them. You want the best life for them, so you try to prevent the worst fate. If you don’t worry about someone, then you are obviously indifferent to their fate. If I had a dime for every time my mother imagined that I was “dead in a ditch somewhere” I would be set for life financially. In my family the motto might well have been: I love. Therefore I worry.

Worry tries to spare us pain in an unpredictable world. It's just trying to help.

So as I made the passage in life from childhood to adulthood, I naturally made the transition from the Child-to-be-Worried-About to the Chief Executive Worrier. And I was a pro, I tell you. “Dead in a ditch somewhere” was just the beginning of where my troubled mind wandered.

But it turns out that worry wears you down. It consumes you. I began to wonder if it was really all that necessary to do. Does one really need to worry? Or is it a habit that can be overcome with discipline? And so I began to examine the habit of worrying and asked myself this question: Why worry?

Before I tell you my answer, I want to tell you a story. Last year, around about Memorial Day, we were planning on having some friends over for lunch. With happiness singing in my heart about the day ahead, I set out for the grocery store to pick up some treats that we all could munch on while lunch was being prepared: some fresh pita bread, some hummus. Some kalamata olives. As I left the grocery store — a fresh breeze blowing some puffy white clouds over the blue sky — a sick feeling started to overcome me. Worry. I could feel it in my gut. Goading me. Prodding me.

But why? Everything was perfect just as it was. The food. The weather. The friends.

So I tuned into that sick feeling. “What are you trying to tell me?” I asked it.

Worry answered me. And this is what Worry said: “You can’t be this happy forever. It can’t last. That sniffle you heard from your daughter as you walked out the door is probably the start of a full-blown cold. You might as well go home and cancel with your friends. You don’t want to get them sick. They’ll blame you, of course, and they’d be right to do so. And by the way, you probably didn’t get enough food. And if you did, it’s probably the wrong kind. Do your guests have allergies? You probably didn’t check. You never do. And those clouds? Looks like rain. You’ll probably have to spend the afternoon indoors. And I don’t think your house is picked up enough. You know there are dust bunnies on the stairs. And your guests probably won’t mention it, but you know they’ll see it. Sure they’ll keep quiet about your poor housekeeping while they’re at your house, but you can also be sure they’ll go home and that’s all they’ll want to talk about.”

And so here I was, in the midst of a beautiful day, preparing for a joyous occasion with friends I adored and I was full of feelings of powerlessness, inadequacy, sadness, and betrayal.

My happy day was ruined before it had even begun. Worry had had its way with me. And succeeded.

But succeeded at what? Destroying my happiness? Is that what Worry is trying to do?

I don’t think so. Far from it. I actually think, in its own misguided way, Worry is trying to protect my happiness. “But how?” you might ask. “Worry just told you every reason NOT to be happy.” True. But, I think that Worry has the best intentions. In fact, I think that Worry is trying to teach what the Buddha taught: that everything is impermanent. Even our happiness. Even life itself.

The difference between what Worry is doing and what the Buddha is teaching is this: the Buddha’s wise teaching is trying to instill within us an awareness that pain and loss are inevitable, so that we can enjoy our happiness while it is happening. Worry on the other hand is overzealous in its attempts to protect us. Worry tells us, “Pain is inevitable so you might as well start experiencing pain RIGHT NOW! That way, you won’t be so upset when the inevitable comes to pass.” In its attempt to protect us from pain, Worry creates pain. In an attempt to protect our happiness, Worry destroys it. In an effort to block the rain and the wind, it also blocks out the light.

So Worry wants to be our friend. It wants to help us. It wants to spare us pain in an unpredictable world. It just goes a little too far out of its way to warn us. So next time Worry taps you on the shoulder and tells you, “Excuse me, you seem to be enjoying this walk through life, but I just wanted to tell you that Pain and Sorrow are just around the corner waiting to sucker punch you,” you can tell Worry, “Thanks friend. But I already knew that. They’re always there. I’ve seen them many times before. They’re not as tough as they look. By the way, did you happen notice the beautiful sunset? Let’s stroll together and enjoy it while we can.”

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How To Be Content: Be happy just where you are!

Posted on June 7, 2010 by Lauren

I think we must live in the bed and breakfast capitol of the world.

Honestly, though I can’t verify it, I believe there are more bed and breakfasts per capita in our city than any other in the country. Or maybe it just appears that way to me because there are B & B’s three, four, and five houses down the street from us. Because of this, we often see couples walking down our street, hand in hand, dressed in freshly pressed khakis, sporting brand new Tevas and Mephistos on their feet. They stroll down our sidewalk as they head from the B&B’s toward downtown, and as they pass our house, they smile and wave. I can’t help but think that part of their smiles come from their amusement that just down the street from these practically palatial, immaculately manicured, turn-of-the-century homes where they are resting and relaxing, sits our humble abode, complete with an overgrown lawn that is littered with bike pumps, scooters, and hula hoops.

The bed and breakfast down the street. Paradise?

One weekend not too long ago, as fresh spring breezes were blowing, flowers were blooming, and new spring leaves spread their dappled shade on the lawn, I sat on the porch with my oldest daughter. We sat side by side on the glider bench, swaying back and forth and watched as one couple after the next passed our home, smiling in anticipation of the day ahead. I sighed with envy, “Boy, the people who are vacationing in Asheville this weekend sure are lucky.”

My daughter looked at me as if I had just lost at least a couple marbles. “Mom,” she said with the patience you reserve for small children, “We’re in Asheville this weekend.”

Touché.

How often do we look around us and yearn for the very treasure that we have. We see happiness outside of ourselves and we long for it. We chase after it. We pursue it as if it were always just out of our grasp. We see it in other people and we wonder: is it their clothing? their beauty? their job? their location? their car? their house? Whatever it is, I WANT IT. I need it. I can’t be happy without it.

It calls to mind the story in the bible of Adam and Eve, who awaken to life in the Garden of Eden, a literal paradise where they dwell in the presence of the Divine and where every possible need is met effortlessly. And yet what they deeply desire is the one thing they are told they can’t have. That darned apple. Temptingly hovering just out of reach. Gazing at it, they forget that everything they require for happiness is right where they are. So certain are they that the key to their happiness is in that apple, that they risk everything they already have just to taste it. And they lose. According to the story, reaching for the apple is the end of paradise. And the beginning of suffering.

It was the same with me that day. Here I was in paradise. A beautiful spring day, sitting on the porch with my beautiful daughter whom I love beyond measure. Longing to be a visitor to the city that I live in.

There’s a punch line to the story:

After the couple had waved and passed us and we watched them recede down the street, my daughter said to me, “You know what they are probably saying? ‘Those people are so lucky to be living in this city that we only get to vacation in.’”

Touché.

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How To Be Loving: A Mother’s Message of Love

Posted on May 9, 2010 by Lauren

Today is Mother’s Day.

My mother passed away thirteen years ago, in September of 1996. She had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer about eighteen months before. After surgery and treatment, she went into remission for over a year. In that time that she was in remission, I became pregnant with our first child. Her first grandchild.

When our daughter Mira was born, my mother was there for me. Vibrant, joyful, and celebrating this miracle we shared together. When I returned home from the hospital, exhausted and anxious about my ability to care for this new and fragile life, my mom was already in our apartment, making us lunch, ready to hold the baby, stroke my hair, and let me know that love was all I needed to be a mother — and because I had infinite supplies of love, I would be a great mother.

Two weeks later, she became ill again. And when Mira was ten weeks old, my mother passed away. She and I never got to celebrate a Mother’s Day together as moms.

My Mother's Childhood Diary

When my mother passed away, my father gave me her teenage diary: a worn, green leather-bound book, with fragile, gilt-edged pages. The contents are fairly mundane: reports of spelling test scores, movies seen, and complaints about siblings and boredom. On the inside cover, though, is the most amazing entry. It is not by my mother, though. It is a note from her mother. My grandmother. It is written at 12:01 a.m., just a minute past midnight, on my mother’s 13^th birthday.

This is what it says:

Ruthie dear:

Today is your thirteenth birthday and I felt I must enter your private sanctuary to tell you how really glad I am that you are my daughter.

Yes, I get angry with you for little things and correct you – but that’s part of making a “woman” out of you. I am confident that you will grow up to be the fine person that I know you must be, for you have every qualification for a young lady that parents might well be proud of.

You are kind, thoughtful, & sympathetic, eager to help people and lovable to all of us – and we love you for these qualities.

Honey, instead of a silly card that says “Happy Birthday” I’ll write it in my own way – I know dear, that your dad and brothers and sister feel as I do so I’ll say Good Luck, Honey. Stick together with your family always.

Mother

On the same day, my mother wrote these words in her diary:

Happy Birthday to me – my 13th birthday – that’s the writing in the front (of the diary) – and (when I saw it) me, like a little kid, starts to cry.

I share in my mother’s tears whenever I read my grandmother’s words. The love she conveys is so simple and yet so profound. A love that sees the past, present, and future of her child — proudly, fearlessly, and joyfully embracing it all.

The green diary my mother kept was not her last. She kept a daily diary until the day before she went into the hospital for the last time. In her very last entry, she speaks of her personal pain, not just her physical pain but her emotional pain as well, knowing that she was not longed for this world. Her last written words though, were about her two month old grandbaby, and how grateful she was for the opportunity to hold her before she died; and how her pain disappeared whenever she held this tiny miracle. These were my mother’s last written words:

That baby is like medicine to me.

My mother and my grandmother are both gone now. But I carry them wherever I go. I carry their love in my heart today and every day. I pass it on to my four children. And they will carry it on and pass it to their children.

Our mothers may pass from this world, but the love we share with them is undying. Eternal. It’s like good medicine that restores our hearts and souls.

Happy Mother’s Day, everyone.

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How To Be Honest: I’m having a hard week. But I am still having beautiful moments.

Posted on May 8, 2010 by Lauren

No one, but NO ONE is immune to pain, suffering, and difficulty in life. Even if you are feeling happy, hopeful, and trouble free, it goes without saying that at some point in time, trouble will come knocking at your door. This is a natural experience in life, and we would do well to face it with honesty.

It is also natural in time of difficulty, to retreat from the very things that sustain us: like love, joy, and gratitude. Like our animal ancestors, we have the instinct to find a dark and lonely corner in a cave, and lick our wounds. “Tomorrow,” we tell ourselves, “tomorrow when I feel better, I will come back to gratitude. I will return to joy. I will reach out and connect with those I love. When I feel better, I will laugh again. I will smile again. I will listen to the birds singing outside my window and feel joy.” We feel that we will be capable of receiving support, worthy of receiving goodness, when the trouble has passed.

But why wait? The birds are singing right now. Your friend is waiting for you to call so they can help you feel better. And the brilliant light of the sun is shining on innumerable reasons to feel grateful. (continued below)

We’re going to have bad days. And weeks. And months even. But there are moments of pure goodness. Moments of deep joy. Moments of profound gratitude that we can create. And like a star that shines in the darkness, they illuminate our dark times. They even create beauty. And they can sustain us until the sun is shining brightly again.

You know that you want to be happy. To be relaxed. Joyful. Peaceful. Courageous. Strong. So find moments to do that. The more moments of light we find to connect with, the more light shines in our dark days. We do not need to wait to be illuminated. We can draw back the curtains ourselves and be reminded that the light of illumination is waiting for us.

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How To Be Patient: Seek the sacred space within

Posted on April 28, 2010 by Lauren

Patience can seem elusive. Just when we need it most, we cannot seem to find it. Like the car keys that seem to hide themselves when we are late for an appointment, patience is an energy that we often scramble to find when our frustration levels are high and our coping levels are low.

How many times, when we are feeling pressed, pressured, and at our wits’ end, have we implored the Most High, “Dear Lord, give me patience.” Patience, it seems, is such a rare commodity, that it is stored in the high heavens and only granted to us when we are completely out of mental and emotional options.

We see patient people as inherently spiritual beings. “She has the patience of a saint,” we’ll say of a teacher who maintains her composure in a classroom full of tired, edgy toddlers.

Patience requires us to find a sacred space within where we can retreat from the demands of the ego.

We are right about one thing: patience is a spiritual practice. Patience requires us to let go of our ego’s demanding timeline. It is an offering of permission for change and evolution to happen of its own accord. It is an admission of our lack of control over circumstances and how they will play out. It is a faith that resolution will come, down the line — not in the way we had envisioned it — but in a way that will be revealed to us if we have a willingness to wait and see.

And like any other practice, if we want to get good at it, we have to practice at it. You see, patience is within us. And it is . . . well . . . patiently waiting for us to access it. It is like a quiet room, away from the constant motion and endless noise of life. Patience is a sacred space where we retreat from the ego’s demands of NOW NOW NOW. And like that quiet room, patience is prepared to enfold us.

Perhaps patience will require us to wait a few moments for someone else to finish speaking. A couple of minutes in line at the grocery store. An hour in traffic. A day for a package to arrive. A week or two for a return phone call. Months for the right job. Or years for justice.

Make no mistake. Patience requires strength. It takes strength not to yield to the pounding drums of NOW NOW NOW. It takes strength to refrain from pushing, pulling, forcing, and screaming in frustration.

Saints have no more patience than you. You have the same sacred space within you that they do. It’s just that they have practiced that long, quiet walk to that sacred space within. And they have learned to sit down. To smile. And to wait. Until there is a knock on the door and a voice says, “It’s time.”

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Your "To Be" List