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The Reunion

It started with an Outlook Reminder. I must have created it years ago in a fit of nostalgia: “40th High School Reunion This Year! . . . Do you want to go?”

At first I did.

But then I didn’t.

Weeks later I e-mailed my sophomore year locker mate, who teaches English at our old high school. She had been involved in organizing previous reunions.

Will there be a reunion this year?

Yes! You must come!

Oh, good! I want to go.

But then I didn’t want to go.

Later I got curious. Who do you suppose would be there? I pulled out my old yearbooks, looked at the pictures, read some articles.

Yes, I want to go!

Then I started reading all the things that people wrote in my yearbooks, and I changed my mind. I didn’t want to go.

Later I remembered how much fun it had been to connect on FaceBook with a few people from high school.

Yea, I think I want to go.

What was this ambivalence?

1972
Plain and simple, I just didn’t like remembering who I was or what I was like in high school. Awkward. Misfit. Unsure. Afraid. Uncomfortable. Vulnerable. Yuck! I didn’t want to be reminded! I didn’t want to admit to ever being THAT!

And then I got “the Nudge”—that quiet voice of my inner wisdom: “Go to the Reunion! Go and Grow!”
What is it about my inner wisdom and alliteration? It’s always saying things like “Go and Grow!” all perky and excited and happy, like it was a trip to the beach.

As Divine Perfection often manifests (i.e., “as fate would have it”), that very week I was taking a class that focused on Divine Guidance. Homework involved listening for and then following our inner wisdom. Well, if it would meet the homework requirement for the week, why not? So I took a DEEP breath, booked a flight, a room, and a rental car. That was easy.

But it didn’t take long for my insecurities to begin waking me up in the middle of the night. That’s when the fun part started . . . . (To be continued)

Father’s Day

I’ve been thinking about my dad today. It’s my seventh Father’s Day without him. I was so grief-stricken the year he died, I begged my husband to let me skip the June remembrance that first year. Now I remember mostly the good times, the jokes, the fun. He was a good father and a remarkable man in so many ways.

Today, though, I found myself remembering the last five years of his life. They were not so good, not much fun at all. He often complained and sometimes ranted to me on the phone about this or that injustice. He blamed me for my son’s difficulties in school. He criticized me as a daughter, a wife, a person. Communication became so unpleasant, I dreaded his calls.

When we visited for his birthday in 2004, I spent most of the trip with my nose buried in a book, not wanting to engage in conversation because I knew it would be neither meaningful nor pleasant. When he passed away a few months later, I knew he had been ready to die. He was so tired of dealing with his failing health and he seemed so disappointed by everyone and everything. It hurts to remember how helpless and inadequate I felt those last several years of his life.

So now when I remember Dad, I just skip over that time and instead focus on the wonderful person he was before. Today I find myself wondering who I will be at the end of my life. One thing is certain: I don’t want to be a restful lump of disappointment. I want to be filled with contentment and awe. I want to look back on my journey with satisfaction, compassion, and amusement.

As a spiritual being having a human experience, I want to consistently see beyond the limitations of the physical world to a bigger picture where everything is working just like it’s supposed to, where I can rest in the certainty that all is well.
How can I be sure that my last years won’t mimic my father’s? I believe the thoughts, habits, and actions I focus on now are the key to my future. Next year. Five years from now. And all the way to the end.

Our thoughts today determine our reality tomorrow. We become what we think about most. I think I’ll have a large serving of happiness, please, with a double scoop of gratitude on the side. I love you, Dad!

When I have a lot to do—in the office, at home, or even getting ready for vacation —I have a difficult time meditating. This morning was like that. It began with an unsettled feeling as I tried to coax my mind to join me in the present moment. But it would not be tamed.

My mind became a hungry animal, keenly searching for something to sink its teeth into, preferably something substantial that required gnawing, tearing, and lots of chewing. An idea to be explored. An event to be analyzed. A behavior to be dissected. A plan to be created in excruciating detail.

Ah! What a mind! Monkey Mind Extraordinaire, enthusiastically swinging from one branch to another, totally engaged in frenetic acrobatics. It drags me through time and space at an awesome pace, leaving me restless and dissatisfied.

Riding my thoughts gets me nowhere near the peace I desire. A deep sigh. Enough! I’ll try again tomorrow.

I’ve been thinking for a while now about giving up something for Lent. As a child, I usually gave up candy. As I got older, I started doing something for Lent. Meditation. Spiritual readings. Daily entries in a Gratitude Journal.

This year I’m reverting to the early years and giving up something. It’s something dear to my heart, one of my Ego’s Favorite Things.

Advice Giving.

It comes in many guises. Sometimes it’s cloaked in concern; other times it shows up as mere opinion. Usually, I’m just trying to help. Most of the advice I administer is unsolicited. Occasionally I am polite enough to ask, “May I offer some advice?” But few refuse; I know that. I understand this sort of thing will have to go. I’m giving it all up for the next 6 weeks.

Why? Just to stretch myself, to observe what happens when I take off my know-it-all hat and keep my mouth shut.

Oh, wait! My Ego has a question: “What about when someone comes and legitimately asks for my advice? As in ‘Would you give me some advice?’”

Ego truly loves it when that happens. Why, just last night my son said, “I’m looking for some advice, Mom.” And he was looking to me! Yes, that’s my favorite: Motherly Advice.

But this is serious business: Lent and Spiritual Growth. So, Ego, here’s my decision: We’re giving up giving advice in our personal life. However, there are those who pay us to advise them, and we shall continue to do so professionally.

Am I prepared for this challenge? I’m not so sure. When I told my husband, he laughed uproariously.

As for you, my friends, family, and colleagues: no fair taunting me with, “A penny for your thoughts!” (My advice is worth at least a dime!)

I’ve been thinking for a while now about giving up something for Lent. As a child, I usually gave up candy. As I got older, I started doing something for Lent. Meditation. Spiritual readings. Daily entries in a Gratitude Journal.
This year I’m reverting to the early years and giving up something. It’s something dear to my heart, one of my Ego’s Favorite Things.
Advice Giving.
It comes in many guises. Sometimes it’s cloaked in concern; other times it shows up as mere opinion. Usually, I’m just trying to help. Most of the advice I administer is unsolicited. Occasionally I am polite enough to ask, “May I offer some advice?” But few refuse; I know that. I understand this sort of thing will have to go. I’m giving it all up for the next 6 weeks.
Why? Just to stretch myself, to observe what happens when I take off my know-it-all hat and keep my mouth shut.
Oh, wait! My Ego has a question: “What about when someone comes and legitimately asks for my advice? As in ‘Would you give me some advice?’”
Ego truly loves it when that happens. Why, just last night my son said, “I’m looking for some advice, Mom.” And he was looking to me! Yes, that’s my favorite: Motherly Advice.
Lent and Spiritual Growth are serious business. So, Ego, here’s my decision: We’re giving up giving advice in all aspects of personal life. However, there are those who pay me to advise them, and I shall continue to do so professionally.
Am I prepared for this challenge? We’ll see. I admit, it will be quite a challenge. So, no fair taunting me with: “A penny for your thoughts!” (My advice is worth at least a dime!)

I ran across a quote this morning: “How We Do Money Is How We Do Our Lives,” Maria Nemeth, PhD., author of  The Energy of Money.

It made me stop and think, Just how DO I “do money”?

When it comes to money, I’ve always been careful and cautious. I don’t like to take risks with money. I plan for the unexpected by keeping a “rainy day” fund. I am responsible with money. I always reconcile my checkbook, pay my bills on time, and meticulously track my income and expenses. I use money to get all of what I need, some of what I want, and a taste of frivolity every now and then. I feel like I am in control of my money. And yet, I worry that somehow something unforeseen will happen, and I will end up regretting some of my conservative choices.

And, yes, that also describes how I do life: careful, cautious, not taking many risks, in control, and yet sometimes worrying that I’m missing out.

I wonder what it would take for me to loosen up a bit.  Certainly awareness and intention are key ingredients. What about a new budget line item: Frivolity.  I wonder what it would be like to regularly and intentionally use some of my money for things that “don’t make sense.” I wonder how that would show up in my life.

What about you? Are you willing to take a look at how you “do money”? If so, write down your patterns with money, or ask someone close to you how they see you “doing money.” Notice the parallels between “money” and “life.” Notice if there’s something you’d like to experiment with, something you’d like to change.

And then set an intention and share that intention with at least one other person who’s willing to ask you how it’s going.

If you don’t have all the money and all the life you want, make a new choice today.

A Year Without Drama

Last Tuesday night during leadership training class, Debbie Ford asked us if we could commit to making 2011 a Year Without Drama.

Someone asked, “What does that mean?”

Exactly! What does it mean?

I think the circumstances of our lives become drama when we give them center stage, when we begin to encourage others to participate by telling them all about “what happened.” Drama always sets the stage to (1) prove I’m right, (2) demonstrate how I have been wronged, or (3) elicit pity, attention, or even admiration for my strength and courage in difficult times.

Before long, we are defined by our dramas. We feed off the energy of them. Everything else takes a back seat.

And so a Year Without Drama is a commitment to perspective, to trusting Source, to surrendering to my own process. I will not  get carried away by the circumstances of my life. I will keep my eyes on my vision and goals. I will be an observer. I will stay conscious.

Already I can hear my ego saying, “But drama is so much fun! Just a little here and there to keep things spicy? Is that okay?” Hmmmm, already I resist. How interesting!

Getting Inspired

Creating Life

Life is About Creating Yourself

When I started blogging, I promised myself that it wouldn’t end up being another “have to” on my list of chores. I would only blog when I felt “inspired to do so.”
But I haven’t been inspired lately.
And then this morning in the shower, there it was! Inspiration! Pouring in  faster than I could register it all. I was getting ideas for writing, workshops, marketing, exercise routines, home decorating, and creative cooking! I was only in there for ten minutes. What happened?
Could it have something to do with the fact that this morning, I stepped out of my routine? It wasn’t a leap, mind you. I just rearranged things a little. I had breakfast before meditating. I exercised and then prayed. There were just a few small, mindful changes that resulted from an exploration of the role of structure in my life.
So many people resist structure. It’s a common trait among my life coaching clients: many don’t want to commit to goals and deadlines. Many don’t want to embrace discipline and accountability. And yet, without structures, important things are often postponed until the last possible moment, or worse, they don’t get done at all. I gladly embrace structure in my life as an incredibly useful tool that helps me get where I want to go, sort of like a bridge, reliably supporting me as I move from an outdated way of being over to a more productive one.
There are, however, restrictive structures, which are like jail cells. They keep us stuck in our thoughts and routines and quite often dull our creativity. Upon self-reflection, I realized that I had become like a robot in the mornings, doing exactly the same things in exactly the same order, morning after morning. I realized today that I had lost my sense of self in the process. My unchanging routine had caused a certain dullness to descend upon me. I’ve been on autopilot, simply following pre-determined steps, not even taking time to consider that I might prefer tea to coffee some mornings.
And so, at 5:30 this morning, I made a conscious decision to shake things up a bit, and look what happened! I’m inspired!
Over the next week, I plan to take a closer look at the structures, routines, and rules that govern my day-to-day life. I guarantee I’ll be making some changes. The real challenge for me is to not allow the changes to become new jail cells. And the only way to do that is to commit to living consciously as a full-time participant in my own life.
Now the coach in me is saying: “What structure can you put in place to make sure you remember that commitment?” (And you thought being a Life Coach was easy!)

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