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!

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.

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 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.

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!

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!)

Pathway to Peace

Going to the cottage has become part of my morning ritual. My soul has come to rely on it in much the same way as my body revels in morning coffee. Thus, sitting in my cottage rocking chair while watching the sun rise and sipping a hot cup of coffee has become this summer’s version of heaven on earth.

This morning it occurred to me that a mere two years ago the cottage didn’t exist. In fact, two years ago, the only thing that did exist was the land and my growing desire for “a bench or something” where I could sit outdoors and meditate.

As I allowed my desire to grow, the “bench” grew first into a glider, then into a gazebo, then into a “shed,” and finally into a fully-insulated, all-weather structure with a sleeping loft and its own electrical service. Oh, and let’s not forget the 100-yard path of stepping stones that keep my feet dry as I pick my way through the woods on dew-soaked mornings. Wow! That’s some meditation bench!

The manifestation of this cottage feels like a miracle on many levels. It’s something I dreamed up, planned, and paid for myself. It was built by me, my family, and friends. I hired no one to help. It’s truly a labor of love. On an outward level, I learned to use power tools, pound nails, install siding and decking, shingle a roof, hang drywall, and much more. On an inner level I learned how to admit my shortcomings, ask for help, allow others to be in charge, and accept without guilt the amazing outpouring of love from so many of my friends and family.

The lessons I learned along the way were both painful at times and funny at others; they were usually at least somewhat interesting. For example, Lesson #12: It takes 3 times longer to remove the wrong caulking than it does to put it up in the first place. (It took a while for that one to seem funny.)

The manifestation of my cottage from desire to reality has been a spiritual journey for me. I mention it now because it will no doubt appear in or be the topic of future blogs. I mention it, too, so you’ll know where I am as the sun’s coming up.

We all have behaviors that don’t seem to make sense. But when we take time to step back and observe ourselves with genuine curiosity, we can oftentimes find the faulty wiring that causes this kind of short circuited behavior.

When I was very young and feeling sick, Mom would pop a thermometer into my mouth to see if I had a fever. If I didn’t, then I couldn’t stay home from school. It was just that simple.

I carried that marginally useful measuring stick into adulthood where it became part of my unconscious belief system that sounded something like this: If I don’t have a fever, I’m not really sick. And if I’m not really sick, then I need to go to work (or otherwise tend fully to my commitments and responsibilities).

There is, of course, a major problem with that particular belief: not all “sickness” is accompanied by fever. The debilitation caused by headaches, pregnancy, and even broken bones can’t be measured with a thermometer. I can see that now, and I’m also beginning to see many other places where my faulty thinking has caused irrational behavior.

I noticed it yesterday when I went out for a run. A week ago I strained my Achilles tendon, and so I rested it for a week and then resumed my usual running pace. There were a few twinges at first, but I ran through them. A couple of miles in, I couldn’t take the pain any more, so I limped home while listening to brain chatter: “It should be healed by now. I took the week off. It should be all right. What’s wrong?”

There’s that “should” word, a definite red flag that something’s going on under the surface. So I simply observed and eventually noticed my belief in the “fact,” that all injuries and illnesses clear up on their own in about a week.  I don’t know where that came from, but it is clearly not serving me nor my unhealed Achilles tendon. With awareness comes the freedom to make new choices.

So, as I move into the days and weeks ahead, I want to pay closer attention to the unconscious beliefs that operate quietly in the background of my life. Some are useful; some are not.

Living consciously is all about exploration, discovery, and choices. It’s only when we find the short circuits that we can consciously choose to begin rewiring our belief system to something useful and supportive. When that happens, our lights shine more and more brightly, and the whole world reaps the benefits of lives lived consciously.

I didn’t see it that way. I still don’t. I did, however, over the past few years, use the incident and my strong emotional reaction to it to explore my own inner world and to get a better glimpse at some of my own dark shadows. I asked myself, “Where am I not taking responsibility? … Where am I blaming someone else?” I thought I had done a pretty good job of sorting through all of that until now.

Now there’s British Petroleum, and the shadows are back. I was pleased when I heard the company spokesman say, “We take full responsibility.” I thought, “Good for you!”

And then I remembered that I own BP stock. Instantly, I wanted to dump the stock. I didn’t want to suffer financially for something “they” did. After all, “it’s not my fault”!

“You sound just like Exxon,” said a small, quiet voice inside. “You are part owner of the company; what makes you  think you’re not responsible?”

My inner wisdom tells it like it is; it can ask some pretty tough questions. It  takes my own self-righteous indignation and holds it up as a mirror. There I am, squirming and wiggling and trying to find a way out. Just like Exxon.

Oh, I could find a multitude of justifications and rationales for selling my stock. But the real bottom line for me is this: I invested in BP because I thought it was a responsible company. And now, as they are taking responsibility, there is a part of me that doesn’t want to have anything to do with them. What a hypocrite!

So, I have made a decision. I’m holding onto my stock, and I’m going to do my share. As part owner of BP (no matter how infinitesimally small that part may be), I, too, will hang my head in shame and regret. I, too, will say, “I’m sorry.” I want my company to do whatever it can to make it right, even if I lose every cent of my investment. My integrity calls for me to put my money where my mouth is. It’s time to hold myself to the same standards I want the rest of the world to live up to.

I’m reminded of Wayne Dyer’s question: “When you squeeze an orange, what comes out?” Answer: “Orange juice … because that’s what’s inside.” And when I “get squeezed”–when I am under pressure–what comes out? Anger? Frustration? Sadness? Surrender? If I want to know “what’s inside” on any given day, I can observe my reactions to the small pressures: a dropped spoon, my misplaced car keys, the inevitable computer glitch. When those things happen, what comes out?

When I’m over committed and stressed, I may react with impatience or anger. I may direct it inward (poor me!) or outward (poor husband!). It’s shamefully true, I can be very mean to myself and others when I’m stressed.

Lately, though, I’ve been starting my days with purposeful solitude. I’ve been setting an intention for a day of flow, which requires from me a higher level of compassion, acceptance, and vigilance. Slowly I’m learning which choices move me in the direction I want to go and which ones drive me off course. There are many opportunities throughout my days to get a glimpse of what’s inside. That’s why I’m smiling now as I remember the spilled berries. I do have some peace and acceptance inside, and it’s affirming to see it emerging more often.