Unencumbered

Vestiges of the holidays exit my home around mid-January (although I will sheepishly admit to finally removing the gorgeous red velvet-ribboned boxwood wreathes and greeting cards from the porch just yesterday).  I pledge to spend the remaining cold winter weekends through the end of February purging my cavernous home of non-essential “stuff”.  This process is set in motion after my entire closet is officially organized with Elfa product courtesy of the wonderful people at The Container Store. The original rods and shelves literally pulled away from the drywall months ago and with some downtime at year-end I finally take action. An amazing feeling of lightness comes over me, along with a plan to continue on with the boxes in the basement and make my way back up.

 

My fixation over doing away with clutter feels a little bit like the nesting behavior consuming a pregnant woman as she waits for her bundle of joy:  The need to downsize consumes me with an urgency I can’t quite explain.  So when I come across this piece in my Twitter feed via Huff Post’s GPS for the Soul, I see maybe I’m not alone; perhaps this is normal behavior for women of a certain age?  The author suggests what we all need to leave behind as we approach fifty.

While I’m trusting my self-awareness is accurate, allowing me to state definitively that I effectively ditched many of these undesirable behaviors years ago, one I struggle with for sure is clutter.  I’m quoting the author’s entire statement on this because it is so eye-opening for me:

“Traveling light through life keeps you focused on what is really important -- friends, loved ones, family, and work you feel passionate about. The rest of it is just a distraction. Truth is, we don't need so much stuff in our lives. I know someone who buys black shoes every time she sees a pair on sale. What she needs isn't another pair of black shoes, but something to validate her life. So start with your closet, move to your attic and then look at your relationships. Discard the time sucks, the "just in cases," and the "what ifs."

When I am finally able to see every pair of shoes I own, displayed on beautiful Elfa shoe racks in my closet, I am disturbed to discover that I own not only a disproportionate number of black shoes, but more shoes in general than any woman could ever wear. I’m sure I’m guilty of shopping to validate my life; I’m especially attuned to how much of this I did when I was freshly divorced.

I am intrigued by the author’s observation that we not only assess and purge the tangibles in our lives, but extend this same practice to the intangibles, our relationships, suggesting there is an unhealthy overabundance here as well.  I have lived the life of time sucks, “just in cases” and “what if’s”.  I’ve hung out with sad, depressed, angry and negative individuals, drinking the poison they push, unwittingly plummeting into their black holes.  I’ve held on to friendships where much more was asked of me than was ever given in return because I need to be liked.  I still cling to relationships in my head and my heart long after losing all significance in the mind of the other I want desperately to be with.   And I’ve been fooling myself in thinking that I am gradually letting go of my oldest; if I’m being completely honest with myself he’s been gone for longer than I’m willing to admit.

 

Maybe we hold on to so much for fear of being left with nothing. Maybe what we need to realize is that when we have ourselves we have all we’ll ever need. It’s not about the perfect shoes for your little black dress; it’s about enjoying connections with the people you meet when you’re wearing the dress. It’s not about saying yes to those in your life who demand time and attention, it’s about being able to say no to make room for those who demand nothing more than whatever it is you have to give.  It’s not about wishing the one you share flashes of intense closeness with was capable of giving more, it’s about trusting you bring at least 50% of that magic to the table, and you’re built to recreate it with the next wonderful someone who will undoubtedly come along.

 

I look at it as a two-step process:  There’s the actual purge itself and then there’s freeing ourselves from the mental energy we invest in holding on even after we’ve physically let go.  I decide to take the mountains of Legos my boys amass and subsequently outgrow to Goodwill because I will never be the grandmother in a two-story colonial with a toy box full of vintage treasures for my grandchildren’s visits, but with this I also need to decide I will not feel guilty about the statement I’m really making:  I’ll never be the grandmother my mother was. If I don’t commit to step two, I haven’t really let go of the clutter because it still exists in my mind.

It’s the same with relationships, too.  I’ve been attempting to hold on to a teenager who’s slipped through my fingers.  We pretend he’s asking permission to see his friends, to leave the nest for various reasons when the ask is really a formality, nothing more than honoring a past routine.  The minute I accept wholeheartedly this foregone conclusion is when I will fully let go.

As I take on emptying my basement, I’m thinking about how I can preserve some of the sentiment and leave the physical evidence behind.  I’ve been posting on Instagram photos of forgotten treasures I’m sending to the dumpster like my collection of cassette tapes, those scratched and yellowed plastic containers covered in a teenaged girl’s handwriting calling out the music that struck a chord deep inside.  And with this I’m able to toss out much I’ve carried with me for five decades.

I want to travel light.  I want to find ways to leave my boys with the essence of who I am in a format that will transcend the 21^st century world they will, God willing, spend much more time in than I ever will.  And I want to jailbreak my mind. Our bodies move in the direction our minds tell them to go. The path forward is nowhere to be found when we’re looking back.

Burnish

Our feet soaking in bubbly, warm water, the decision finally made about whether “A Good Man-darin is Hard to Find” or “Ladies and Magenta-men” will titivate our toes, we settle into a conversation about appreciation, and how so infrequently this free gift is shared with the countless individuals touching our lives.  I’m not talking just about a “thank you”, but the sentence or two following to explain what exactly it is we’re grateful for.

 

The guidance we receive as managers, when giving feedback both positive and constructive, is to articulate the precise behavior, quality or action so your direct report understands exactly what to do more of, or less of, and why. Lots of us are very experienced at getting extremely specific about what it is others, particularly our spouses or children, are doing wrong, but seldom do we put as much energy into praising what’s going right.

 

The way I see it there are lots of reasons to break into applause, and lately I’ve been working on letting it fly. This practice is proving to be prolific; here’s what I’ve learned:

Words of appreciation don’t cost a thing.  Not only are they a free gift, but you could argue the most valuable gift, right up there in MasterCard’s “priceless” category. We tend to think that we need to reward our employees with large bonuses, pay increases, trips and gold watches.  We wonder if we should pay our children for good grades. Yes, these material offerings are certainly valued, yet our most loyal employees are those who feel genuinely appreciated; their great work regularly acknowledged. And I’ve never met a kid bursting through the door after school to announce an “A” who didn’t bask in the ensuing glow of pride emanating from the thoughtful parent quick to connect the effort that went into studying with the desired outcome achieved.

When you’ve built a big bank of good will speaking up about strengths and those qualities you love in another, you create space for your constructive feedback to be welcomed and heard. It’s never easy to tell your employee you see a career-limiting gap in skills, or to sit a teenager down to address the consequences of his latest lapse in judgment, but it’s much easier to initiate those discussions when you’ve assured the person on the other side of the table through your frequent expressions of satisfaction that one mistake does not define him, or lower his value in your eyes.

People gravitate toward those who are free with their words of praise and delight.  You create energy, building self-esteem in the person you compliment, cementing relationships.  I’m forever indebted to the manager who once told me no one arranges a conversation better than I do. I don’t know if I would have ever put my finger on it if he hadn’t said it out loud to me. I draw on his observation constantly; when I’m nervous, doubting my ability to give a presentation, thinking of his words brings me the confidence I need to get back on track.  If nobody’s better than me at this, then of course I can do it! 

What you put out there comes back to you; it’s inevitable.  This might sound a little sappy, but since becoming open with praise for people at the office, I sense a subtle buzz around me.  I’m finding people seek me out; I’m noticing smiles seem brighter.  Maybe it’s just my own confidence building, but that’s the thing:  People receive you with greater joy when they know you think well of them.  And when you’re received positively, you naturally emote positivity.

 

So what’s the trick?  I don’t know the psychology behind it, or if there is any science involved, but to me expressing deep appreciation is an extremely emotional experience, another mode of putting ourselves out there. And putting ourselves out there means showing vulnerability, which is inherently hard for all of us.  Maybe it’s because deep down we all crave the unspoken love words of appreciation evoke.  Maybe it’s because we’re all too hard on ourselves, questioning whether we’re truly worthy of the praise another graces us with, so we know instinctively the sentiment voicing this to another will stir up inside.  All I know is that sometimes my eyes tear up when I’m telling someone what it is about them I absolutely adore, respect or love.

We leave the salon donning flip flops in the dead of winter, having swapped our appreciation stories, pledging the mindfulness to share more, and more often.  Maybe for a little inspiration we should have chosen “That’s Berry Daring” or “I Pink I Love You”.

Filament

She’s distraught and I’m listening.  A tremendous amount of energy fuels her anger and angst; fired up yet at the same time weary like Atlas, worn down under the weight of the world which she’s propped upon her shoulders.  As she unloads her despair over what’s transpired I can’t help but recall myself in a similar place, at a similar time in my life, fighting desperately to affect change, not realizing I really wasn’t in any position to make it happen, yet finding it impossible to let go.

It can take years of life experience to become skilled at untangling what we can’t change from what we can.  Once we’re able to discern the difference we begin the hard work of pushing from our minds what’s out of our dominion, focusing squarely on what we can influence.  For most of us, when it comes to dealing with circumstances beyond our control neutralizing our emotions is a major achievement.  But what if we could take it a step further?  What if instead of training ourselves to disregard what’s out of our purview, we think about how we might draw power from it?

 

A light bulb inside my head turns on when I read what Thomas Edison is rumored to have said when his lab, and the years of research within it, goes up in flames:  “Thank goodness all our mistakes were burned up.  Now we can start again fresh,”   Wow!  Imagine what we’d be capable of if we looked at the natural disasters of everyday living through those eyes. The post housing this anecdote goes even further saying “The ability to find energy and power from what we don’t control is an immense competitive advantage.”

And so I think about the compounding benefits of staying calm in the face of adversity.  While others are burning up precious strength reeling from whatever it is that life throws in the path, we can maintain momentum, re-charting our course, incorporating unforeseen consequences into our new plan of attack.

I’m going to venture to guess that no one is flawless when it comes to consistent practice of this kind of mindfulness.  We’re all human.  There’s not a single one of us who hasn’t wanted something or someone so badly we’ve been blind to the mountains we can’t move, and there is an undeniable rectitude in this passion. But refulgence is found in our ability to channel our fire into the path forward.

Bequeath

Rolling Fat Max, my heavy-duty tool box on wheels, into the hotel I can’t wait to unsnap its lid, slide out its drawers and dig into the photographs, paper, tape, pens, markers and stickers housed inside.  It’s the annual scrapbook weekend I spend with some of my favorite girlfriends, a marathon we power through for three straight days every February.

 

We’re all preserving memories for our kids; I’ve been with many of these wonderful mothers for the past twelve years, as our children start their very first days of school, and now as some wind up their last days.  When I move into the neighborhood (and into their lives), I expect I’ll watch their children come into their own, what I don’t anticipate is watching these women come into their own, too.

Many of us (well, me anyway) are years behind in our scrapbooks.  In the pages of the books we’re creating, the teenagers among us are still in elementary school.  So it’s no surprise we run across vintage photos of ourselves from younger days teasing big, frizzy hair or sporting questionable fashion choices.  But as I look at these photos now, I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that while the face of my youth may be pretty and unlined, on the inside she lacks confidence, wisdom, and any idea about what she wants, has a right to, or is capable of achieving in her lifetime.

 

When we talk about aging, especially as women, we often feel time is not on our side. We agonize over physical attrition:  Those lines and wrinkles creeping onto our faces, gray hairs becoming prominent in our manes, a few extra pounds on our frames, maybe our teeth aren’t as white anymore, our hands not as smooth.  We’re socialized to reject the patina years of weathering the storms of life wash upon our bodies.  While we proudly, willingly don (and even pay extra for) clothing revered for its imperfections, plainly spelled out on tags announcing the inherent flaws of natural fibers, we have a hard time accepting, with the same enthusiasm, how this concept translates into that same coveted beauty when bestowed upon us by years of living. It’s a Shiva we can sit for decades, so engrossed in mourning all we lose we fail to identify, let alone celebrate, all we gain.

And the gains are significant, life-altering even.  Years of being everything to everyone give way to an understanding that taking care of ourselves is imperative to the well-being of everyone we touch.  In making room to acknowledge and validate our own wanting, we open up the possibility to explore our dreams and desires.  We take risks and find confidence in all we’re able to accomplish, as well as in the lessons learned when we fall.  And suddenly what’s on the outside doesn’t matter so much anymore because we’re fueled by all we’ve created on the inside.

    

I wish I could say I penned these words, because they are so beautiful in their simplicity, in their raw truth aching to be heard:  “Time is a gift, not a detriment, to a woman.” 

Not only do I want every woman to believe this for herself, I want to infuse this into those little boys starring in the pages of my scrapbooks, growing into men who not only believe it, but value it, and voice it to the women they love, every single day. 

Extemporaneity

As I reach out to give her a warm hug, she suggests we alter our approach.  Instinctively, she points out, we turn to the left to initiate an embrace with another and in this thoughtless reflex routinely cheat ourselves.   For when we move toward the right to meet each other, we press our hearts together, adding a whole new layer of connection to a practice already touted for transferring life-sustaining energy.  While this seems like a simple, meaningless adjustment, I’m not prepared for the amplification it brings to this common gesture; the soothing  and powerful rhythm of the human heartbeat is seldom felt in broad daylight out from under the covers with those other than the one closest to us.

Each February I again find myself without a valentine I look for other ways to experience what it means to love. What starts as a salve to combat self-pity turns into an education on all the different ways there are to love. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think there is any replacement for romantic love, but I know, like many out there, I am guilty of narrowly defining this devotion. I have closed myself off from others, missed the joy of connecting with human souls, believing my love is finite, reserved for a special few.

I spend most of my life thinking my love is earmarked for my knight in shining armor, that I am required to keep a demure and respectful distance from all of the truly amazing men in this world in deference to my one and only.  And even when our happily ever after crashes, rebooting into my new once upon a time, I still hold myself at bay, at odds with my desire for total independence while secretly on the lookout for a poison apple or spinning wheel to prick my finger cuing the only man I’ll ever need to dash to my rescue.

 

As they say in one of my all-time favorite movies, “love, actually, is all around.”  It’s in places we’d never expect to find it. It’s in every encounter we inhabit:   Family ties, tight friendships, casual acquaintances, spirited colleagues, complete strangers.  The barista who remembers your coffee drink and has it made for you before you even finish paying; the driver who, with a smile, allows you to merge in front of him even though you ride the exit ramp all the way to the end; the manager who sings your praises to the new person joining your team; the co-worker who invites you to lunch when he passes you in the office.  When we’re open, we receive incredible amounts of love from countless individuals every single day.

And the really great thing is we get the opportunity to be that same love for every human being crossing our paths.  We get to be the grin, wink or twinkle in the eye, the affirming voice, the listening ear, the heart-to-heart embrace making someone else’s day. When we let our light shine through, others feel the love.

I’m embarrassed to admit it’s taken me far too many solo Valentine’s Days to figure out that I am the one I’ve been waiting for. I don’t need to sit passively expecting love to drop into my lap, nor do I need to scour the ends of the earth seeking it out.  I possess an infinite amount of love at my disposal to dispense whenever, wherever, to whomever I please.  It’s free for the giving.  And when I pass it on, it comes back to me.

Seems like getting what you’re after is about sending out what you’re looking for. Lovers are nothing more than other strangers until we’re brave enough to show them who we are. 

Timber

It’s the word the lumberjack utters in warning as a tree teeters on the precipice of falling. I just want to get out of my own way.

I know what I want in this situation; an opportunity to get it presents itself.  I need to put myself way out there to make it happen. And so I take a deep breath; I take a risk.

The rewards overwhelm me, unlike anything I’ve ever experienced, expected or could even imagine.  I’m speechless, but I’m not. I’m glowing with pride, awestruck by my own power to create the very encounter I’d hoped to have.  And there’s nothing I want more than to replicate this moment again and again and again.  Yet I know if I’m ever to find my way back here, I need to walk away okay with the possibility that I may never find my way back here.

In art we’re taught to appreciate the beauty of negative space, the area around and between the images we create, as much as and sometimes even more than, that of the figure or object itself which occupies the positive space.  It requires a trained eye to absorb and behold the value of negative space in its own right. Few are attuned to its existence, but what if this is the exact space we need to be in to create the life we imagine?

Maybe the life I imagine doesn’t come to me through a steady stream of soul-baring connections alive in the positive space; maybe it takes an intermittent course of heart-stopping vignettes orchestrated from the negative space to build what’s truly lasting.

And so it isn’t about wondering why we can’t have more wonderful moments.  It’s about striving to live each wonderful moment in indelible evanescence.

Sometimes life is best lived when we don’t know what’s coming until it's right on top of us.

Grapnel

This winter’s steady dose of snowfall mixed with sub-zero temperatures conditions me to pay little attention anymore to dire warnings about hazardous storms and dangerous cold.  So when the garage door creeps up its track this morning to reveal a thick ledge of snow standing proudly at my feet, I’m not deterred, blasting my new Saab 9-3 in reverse.  It takes maybe fifteen minutes and one-half mile to acknowledge today will not go as planned; I’m better off turning around, hitting the deserted coffee shop and heading home.  Laura, the voice of my GPS, would not be happy with me if she were recalculating my route.

On the radio at this very moment, the morning talk hosts are asking the quitters to call in, those who abandon their commutes in favor of returning home and nestling into their “dirty pajama bottoms”.  I guess I qualify (although I have no plans to change from my sweater dress and boots).  This causes me to think about what really defines a quitter, and why we are so quick to claim that quitting is bad.

The negative connotations of quitting are taught to us early in life.  I can remember being that prospective parent who swore, right along with the rest of the tribe, that if my kid signed up for sports or some other activity and decided mid-way through that it wasn’t for him, he was going to finish anyway.  I’m not raising any quitters, right?  Fast forward to the realities of dragging my five year old to his soccer games; immune to my pleading he’s planted on the sidelines defiantly in his towering strength of stubbornness, refusing to take the field.  I didn’t sign up for soccer to engage in a battle of the wills with my kindergartner nor to watch other people’s children play the game. But was he missing out on some huge life lesson around perseverance and tenacity because I seek equanimity and enjoyable Saturday mornings?

We want our children to learn how to work through difficult and ambiguous situations, to find the strength within that it takes to stick with the Cub Scout meetings even if they don’t like every activity or to get through a class with a teacher they’re convinced has it out for them.  We want them to experience the bursting pride making it through situations they weren’t quite sure they’d survive evokes.

 

I believe it’s important to teach my boys to honor their commitments, to suffer the disagreeable, to stretch into the unpleasant, enduring some pain so that they can truly revel in the joy that comes with accomplishment.  But I also want them to differentiate between obligations and options, feeling empowered to choose what’s healthy for them, with the understanding that sometimes that means saying “I quit”.

We can waste a lot of time and energy in jobs and relationships that are futile, unable to delineate what we can control (ourselves) and what we can’t (everything else).  We find tremendous power and relief when we’re able to assess a situation making the decision to graciously bow out because we’ve done all we can to fix what’s broken or affect positive change. Sometimes what’s wrong is more than one committed soul is capable of repairing. It’s this wisdom that makes the difference for us adults in the real world.

Relationships are complex. I can’t help but see parallels to the frustrations my kids relate with teachers and my own past aggravation with managers I struggled to respect, or team members I felt weren’t pulling their weight. The irony is when we’re able to tune out the perceived injustices swirling around us this is the very behavior that makes it possible for us to stay in it.  When we discard what belongs to others, focus on how our strengths will get us through the mess, we find ways to influence we didn’t imagine were possible.

Sometimes we are the quitters, and for good reason.  But sometimes, when we think we most want to quit, we find within us exactly what’s needed to stay.

Mantle

They say “What you think, you become.  What you feel, you attract.  What you imagine, you create.”  I don’t know who “they” are, and neither, apparently, does Google since my search for the individual to credit with these words of wisdom comes up empty.  Regardless of who published it first, this thought is another example of the power we possess to change our own lives. Maybe we all know this, but those who imbibe these words unlock a set of superpowers of staggering proportions.

The hot room is a safe place to stretch your body beyond its limits.  What we learn in this space, suffused with oppressive, suffocating heat, is to tune out all distractions.  Not just what we might be thinking about inside our heads, but the sweat dripping down our faces, flushing our eyes, beading on our backs, pooling on the floor.  We’re taught to focus on ourselves, to train our minds to move our bodies.  What’s illustrated quickly with yoga is a universal truth about trust:  All trust issues start within us.

 

Our bodies are fully capable, designed in fact, to articulate every single pose Bikram dictates.  When I’m wobbling on one leg attempting to hold my foot in my hand in tree pose, I’m certain my problem is not a lack of physical strength; it’s me holding back.  I’m letting self-doubt, my lack of trust in me, get in my way.  Nowhere are words of encouragement or faith being whispered, let alone shouted, in my head. My thoughts are about nothing more than remaining upright at all costs.  Instead of emboldening myself into the complete pose, I’m sabotaging my efforts, stagnating in suspension.  No wonder there’s no room to trust; I’ve muted my greatest strength.  My mind has no space for the image of success when it’s clouded with what it looks like to escape failure.  What if I focused on achieving instead of avoiding?

At the risk of becoming labeled a yogi, I’ll admit I’m more than curious about the self-mastery that comes with this practice, and how it transcends the hot room, wafting into real life. As I think about taking risks here to move toward full expression of these healing postures, I can’t help but compare this to the full expression of living I’m feverishly pursuing.

Of course we’re qualified to successfully tell the stories our beautifully arranged presentations at work lay out, but all we can think about before opening our mouths is the resultant horror of becoming tongue-tied or confronted with questions we can’t answer.  In relationships we seldom envision confession of a misgiving, mistake or misstep received with love and acceptance, so we stay silent, convinced with this approach we’re avoiding a reprimand.  More damaging than anything though, is when we hold back words of kindness, interest, love and desire because we question our worthiness, believing our admissions can’t possibly be embraced and appreciated, taciturn to avoid the pain of rejection.

 

I want to master yoga for no other reason than to master me.  I can see clearly now that what I feel, I am attracting.  My life is a hot room where I collide with individuals stretching me way beyond my comfort zone in areas where I have a thirst for achievement:   The manager teaching me to use my creativity to become an influential, strategic leader; the writer generously offering to share her experience and network in self-publishing; the date holding me accountable for my baggage.  When I think about these new people who have entered my life in the last twelve months to play pivotal roles, they are in some ways overwhelming, frightening even, so much so at times I want to push them away.  Yet, I’m cleaved to them because they are daring me to go after my deepest desires, to create what I imagine.

The enlightenment for me, after two weeks and ten yoga classes is this:  Like the yogi, we hold the entire cosmos within ourselves. We’re all born with the most incredible superpower ever designed already inside of us.  When we trust ourselves we’re poised to pierce through the sun.